As
Eternity’s historian penned long ago, these were now the final days of the Forbidden World’s Last Ground Battle. But once won—as the Allies still hoped to duplicate—no one left to this
world will remember it ever having been fought.
Having
successfully completed an extensive, cross-country advance, Dellasseea N’Syis and the Allied Forces, were positioned
mere days from what they trusted to be the vicinity of the Tunnels of Life and Death.
This time--- the FirstBorn Daughter must push her privileged feelings aside and close The Doorway forever. There will be no return to this world; no coming through what is to be left of its boundaries.
Rain
fell hard upon the ground the night Aukasaunon used it to his advantage when he lead the army that raged the first time the
Allies fought their way home. It is the same rain-laden night; but Gaallon
who now heads the army that just launched two rounds of anti-aircraft missiles into their encampment. Simultaneous explosions sent up yellow-orange plumes into a moonless sky.
Never
expecting others to fight her battles for her, Dellasseea could always be found at the front of the skirmishes. Flanked by two of her guardians she cried out suddenly and shrank to ground. Pivoting slowly, her back hit hard against the cold steel of the armored vehicle behind which they took
up point. With an M21 still in her hands, she sat quiet.
“Are
you hit?” Khy-Lin questioned over his should; weapon still at the ready. When
she did not respond, he turned in concern. “Lady…” Mud splattered when he kneeled down, quick, alongside her. He
looked for a sign to indicate whether or not she’d taken a hit.
Lionheart
kept to his position but looked back to question her safety. Khy-Lin raised his
free hand but said nothing as he watched her eyes stare seemingly at nothing— listening.
Ringlets of wet hair lined her face and with the exception of the flutter of her eyelids hit by the occasional raindrop,
she sat motionless. “What?”
Khy-Lin stressed more as an impatient statement, rather than a question.
Slowly,
Dellasseea moved her head back and forth to indicate a silent, ‘no…,’ not knowing how to answer.
“Perrie!” Lionheart called sharply, eyes intent on the frontline.
His
familiarity barely registered as her breath became more labored.
“We
don’t have time for gdmoadn-twenty-questions, Woman…” he continued as enemy rounds tested their marks.
“No
…” she replied in a heavily drawn breath—trying to decipher who and/or what she felt, “no one—
is answering my...”
‘What the TOS’s going on back there?’ Lionheart VoiceThought in anger. ‘Something just took her heart down.’
“Roth!”
Khy-Lin took him to task sternly.
Though
they had skilled code-talkers among them; technological communication was tricky and difficult to maintain without detection. Tech-heads were valuable and well protected on both sides. Those with the power of
Voice-Thought, knew to use their ability sparingly. Contrary to what the masses
perceived as being able to ‘read another’s mind,’ is nothing more than non-physical language. It’s simply the ability to hear what another is saying; not knowing what another is thinking--- which
is an entirely different matter. Unfortunately, it is also an open channel her
enemy has no shame using to their advantage.
Dellasseea
looked to Khy-Lin knowing only that something had just gone very terribly wrong. Both
sensed a sudden overwhelming concern— but shared no pain from anyone bound directly to her heart. And no one replied despite her inquiry.
Knowing
Khy-Lin had also inquired—though with more discretion—Dellasseea looked him hard in the eye; just in case she
missed hearing a response directed to him. When his eyes and head fell away,
she rose from the ground. His infamous reputation for not being able to keep
certain of things from her knowing made it certain that no one had.
“Roth.”
Lionheart
turned abruptly when he heard his name from behind. Unless he was remembered
and/or recognized from before the warring years, most didn’t know him by any other name.
She was the only one he allowed to use his given name.
“I
need to know what’s wrong.” The urgency was undeniable.
He
knew he’d regret the developing notion, but he couldn’t refuse her. Lionheart
rarely left her side. By her order or request only, would any of her personal
guardians even consider doing so— and this didn’t seem the time or place to leave his charge to Fate. Then again, he knew she wouldn’t let the matter rest. Then again— he also knew better than to discount his own growing sense
of Deja-Vu.
She
would be safe enough. It’s why he and Khy-Lin chose this spot. With the exception of the Dusters that just whooshed over-head, they’d only taken small arms fire
for the last two hours. Not even an RPG. They
rigged the military-issue hum-V with additional drop-down, armored side panels. At
their backs stood an old radio station built of reinforced cinder block. Khy-Lin acknowledged Lionheart’s hesitation and nodded for him to go; indicating
he could see to her safety.
With
that and a run of his fingers up and through his hair, taking it away from his face, Lionheart ordered his charge to, “Stay
put!” Pointing a do-what-I-tell-you finger, he finished, “Do you
hear me?”
Dellasseea
didn’t question the determination behind his instruction, but offered, “I don’t die here, Roth!”
“Like
knowing that’s any comfort to me!” He knew how easily just
one thing could change the course of the future.
She
appreciated the worried look on his face and gifted him with what she could form of a smile.
His long, dirty blonde hair fell back into his eyes and he shook his head to ward-off those ‘cow eyes.’ Watching as he checked his rifle, he reached for an extra magazine and stuffed
it in to a pocket. He ripped apart the hook-n-loop straps to tighten his well-worn
flak jacket, bent to pick up the M-47 Dragon and hand it over to Khy-Lin.
As
he stood—hesitating, Dellasseea gave orders to, “Go!”
With
another run of his fingers through his hair, Lionheart turned, edged past the heavily armored duce and-a-half and began his
trek back toward base camp.
Dellasseea
rose to watch after him. Only when he jumped down and disappeared into the rain
washed ravine, did she begin to distinguish the moment and know– the first of their troops that he came upon,
he’d send back here—to take his place.
***
Dellasseea
offered up a meaningful, “Thank you.” when the rain abruptly stopped. She
felt the dampness in her bones and longed for a hot cup of tea. Unfortunately,
distant snipers still had them pinned down. Khy-Lin fired off another when four
rounds pinged off the armored plating just ahead of them.
‘Interpreter's down!’ The statement pierced the inner silence.
Taken
aback, Dellasseea looked to Khy-Lin.
Yes. He heard it too.
***
Veiled
by the darkness Lionheart raced back to the front. Though he chose to return
alone, just as he’d come, two Allied troops followed close behind. He dropped
and rolled behind a jeep when he saw two flashes up ahead. Having missed their
mark, Lionheart heard them wiz by and sink into the earth. He cursed the muddied
ground as he rose to take off again; he still had some distance go.
Born
of this world, Lionheart could not see or walk Within, as could those who fought so hard to get and take her back home. But, somewhere in his family’s history, there had been a hybrid birth; giving
him the ability Voice-Thought.
With
haste imperative, Lionheart ran on through the dark. He wrestled with what he’d
witnessed and the message he bore; but, suppressing the urge to protect Dellasseea from providence a few moments longer, he
once again risked vulnerability and shouted, ‘Interpreter's down!’
It’s
all she would need to hear. Though there came no immediate response, he knew
to expect none.
***
The
words send a chill rippling up her spine and through her entirety. Though graciously
long in coming, his communiqué clearly indicated the realization of yet another predetermined night. Dellasseea shut her eyes momentarily—stilled the swell of her heart and then indicated to Khy-Lin
the need to disengage.
With
no questions asked they broke from the conflict. Crossing the strap of his M-14
over his neck and left shoulder, he wove the fingers of his other hand between hers and took off to meet Lionheart halfway. Grasping up clips and magazines, two troops followed after watching their backs.
Trusting
her guardian to duty—maneuvering around burned out vehicles and craggy terrain—Dellasseea lost herself in memories
of Interpreter's cryptic alliance.
Due
to the circumstance of her false birth, Dellasseea N'Syis spent the greater part of her human life ignorant of the fact that
she was, by this world’s understanding, empathic. She could literally feel
that proverbial tension in a room. Once Awakened, (the stratagem used to draw
her attention to her disguised imprisonment) the process of distinguishing her feelings from another’s began. Learning to recognize is one thing. Disconnecting hers from
theirs, proved the more difficult. Especially when those closest to her stood
to lose the comfortable lives they’d become accustomed to.
Her
imprisonment required she be stripped of this ability. To at very least be unaware
of any knowledge of her own capability. Perceiving what another is thinking is
a powerful tool, especially when used by those suffering a lesser degree of integrity. Extremely
beneficial to the ongoing struggle and those who perpetuated the great lie upon the masses.
Though
her Awakening offered harsh lessons, the learning explained many things to her. Among
them being that certain thoughts evoke specific emotions and emotions emit outward.
Imagine a sordid man’s confusion when—even though he knows he’s looking less-than-kindly upon a beautiful,
innocent-minded woman and says nothing to offend or give himself away—ends up surprised by her rejection of him.
Imagine
the woman not recognizing that what she’s feeling is his threatening and perverse emotions and is not as physically
ugly as she believes he sees her. While she walks away feeling ugly—believes
she’s ugly—not knowing it’s the dark emotions she picked up on. He
moves on—with luck—rejected, inadvertently, by his careless thought process.
What happens if he acts on that misunderstood rejection?
What
if, in the grander scheme of things, someone believes another’s ugly thoughts to be his or her own? The greater offense or true wrong done is to keep them believing these were his or her own passions. The implication to this alone disturbed Dellasseea deeply. Once she'd dealt and come to terms with whom and what she was, she concerned herself with its misuse by
those who possessed and shielded the same inherent abilities.
It
was during the Awakening Years that The Interpreter (who worked in the same corporate surroundings as she), risked the increased
danger of knowing her and established a harmless working relationship. In his
own initial naivety, he believed there was a great deal more to this woman than what normally met one’s eye. There was a grace about her that he found refreshing if not obviously appealing. She didn’t mess around with small talk or gossip and welcomed a challenging conversation.
Though
she’d been weaned on head games, upon her Awakening they were noticeably more serious.
As her awareness of the lies that enveloped her grew, so did the games. Orchestrated
to force her into making mistakes, trumping her up; anything to discredit and/or demean her.
Over
time, Interpreter saw for himself, the varied end results suffered by those getting too close.
Often enough— they were fatal. Just the same, he offered her subtle
reassurance and vague acknowledgments. All
denied her by those losing control of the known future.
As
their seemingly platonic relationship grew, Dellasseea rarely challenged when his words fell out of sync with what she sensed. She let him say and lie what he wanted to anyone else.
He usually had his reasons and, out of respect, she left him to them. She
understood, quite well, the factor always centered on self-preservation. Though
he was not so unlike the many others she knew to be inextricably linked to her future, his distinction was that of never verbally
let on that he knew of such things. But, that tends to happen when you play both
sides.
Once
among the Allies and her writing became more prolific, he never even acknowledged reading of himself in her published work. Never let on that he knew she had written of his fate.
He was the perfect player.
****
After
ducking behind one of the supply trucks to catch their breath, Khy-Lin nodded to Dellasseea to move on. In a crouched run they headed for the next available cover. When
a sudden burst of enemy fire erupted from the darkness, the two following after them, stopped to engage. Khy-Lin pulled at and pushed his charge ahead of him. Dellasseea
headed for a pile of sand bags and jumped into the fox-hole just behind. The
instant Khy-Lin landed inside, he found a solemn-faced Lionheart The look on Dellasseea’s face that said Interpreter’s
wound was indeed mortal.
Reading
the anguish in her eyes, Lionheart knew every moment would be precious to her. He
nodded to Khy-Lin to move out and quickly went about retracing his steps. Along
the way, he confirmed the Duster that hit the truck behind which The Interpreter hid and the explosion that sent shrapnel
and jagged fragments of sheet metal everywhere. Unfortunately, his would not
be the only mortal wound suffered this night.
When
they arrived at ground zero, a boy and a newer member to the camp—a man not well known by most at present—hustled
out of their way. Here, Dellasseea found a visage exactly as it had been given
her to know so very long ago.
On
a dank and muddied ground laid his all but lifeless body. Torchlight glistened
in the blood pooled and flowing free from a gaping chest wound. Another of Dellasseea's
personal guardians sat cross-legged; cradling Interpreter's head in his lap.
Though
Styian's feelings belied what he knew, he was still no less amazed when he looked to her and said in a thick EasternSector
accent, "I don't know how he's even still alive!"
Those
were all the words Interpreter needed to hear to know his final embrace neared. His
body tensed as he tried, with effort, to open his eyes and search for hers. Blinking
uncontrollably, trying to focus, he managed a fragile smile as the woman he followed into war struggled for something to say.
Though
Dellasseea chronicled so many years ago of no words being said, her heart found none, even now. Her eyes hurt with the pressure building up behind them. As
she knelt down beside him, her throat tightened. The odor of his spilled blood
permeated the air. The moment she held his dark gaze, an all-but-forgotten fragment
of their past together, came to the fore of her thought. She welcomed its remembrance
with a frail smile.
~~~~
Newly wed, Dellasseea stood in Geffen’s arms, at the front of the stage, waiting while Salisbury’s
frontman queued the band to jam on through the intro; until Interpreter could be found.
She had just laid her head back upon Geffen’s shoulder as he circled round her neck with kisses when
he whispered Within, ‘Here he comes.’
Dellasseea lifted her head and tried to hide the grin forming as she watched Lionheart march The Interpreter
without mercy—hand to his back—across the dance floor. Could
he truly not have known that this was their song?
“Not a good idea to keep the bride waiting, Ahsosle.” Her guardian chided. Perrie may have been comfortable with him. Lionheart clearly was not.
Geffen removed his arms from around her waist and relinquished his bride to the next dance.
Dellasseea charmed the rest every step of his approach with an all but perceptible hint of a smile; held out
her hand, ready and waiting for Interpreter to take into his own.
Overwhelmed by his nervousness when he took her hand, Dellasseea took a quick breath and put forward, "Relax,"
broadening her hint into a full-grown smile.
Upon further sensing reluctance—his indecision to dance close or apart—being ever-mindful of his
prudence she offered reassuringly, "No one from my camp will question how you hold me."
With that, she felt Interpreter slide his hand in fluid motion, round and about her waist. As he pulled her to him, Dellasseea cupped her left hand over his shoulder and laid her head down upon
it.
This moment belonged to him and an extended version of Salisbury’s, Eyes.
He moved into the perfume that lingered about her neck, took a deep breath— and relaxed!
Though well staged, most of the onlookers knew the evening's significance.
Knew well what the years to come would bring. All knew this night to be
one of the last calms before the storm. Having taken so long for her to be allowed
among them, each who danced before him—as would each who remained to follow—all had earned the right for their
moment in chronicled Time.
~~~~
Throughout
the Awakening Years, the Allied bands used their music to help affect her awareness and understanding. While it was an old track from Silent Lion, that gave her the visions of Interpreter's death, Salisbury’s
track, Eyes, helped Dellasseea's focus her attention on his importance. The song
that while
They
used that one song, playing it in the background, to help her chronicle his part in the Forbidden World’s story. Though he'd known well the music she listened to, she could only trust he knew which
songs provoked what visions of their future together.
Throughout
the duration of the Interpreter visions, Dellasseea fought with incessant coercions to confront him. During the Awakening
years the battlefields then were still concealed deep within the minds of those fighting for the truth. Ever wary that the pressure came via her opposition—as both ally and enemy alike used the same tactics—she
never asked him direct if he knew she saw his death. Never asked if he knew that
he would indeed be the one they would refer to as The Interpreter. And, had he
ever truly known just how protective she'd been of him?
It
is many years passed, now, since either she or Interpreter heard Salisbury’s music.
Uneasily, Dellasseea whispered with affection, "You were so nervous the night we danced!"
What
smile Interpreter still held, broadened in acknowledgment of his place in her memories.
Lost
in the moment, Dellasseea all but heard the night's sole voice of sporadic rounds of ground fire that continued to plague
her people. A sudden gust of wind swirls about those standing; carrying with
it the stench of war and its demise. Loose wisps of dry hair danced about and
caressed her face as the uneasy smile she held began to fade.
The
scrutiny with which The Interpreter held her gaze was intense. He was not so
unlike the many in that her eyes reminded him of twin suns, total eclipsed in a gray-blue sky and no matter how the many tried
to discredit her, he could always look into them and know the True.
Dellasseea
loosened the strap and removed the fingerless glove protecting her right hand and held it briefly fisted at her breast.
Most
present noticed but understood a slight hesitation and knew exactly what to expect. The inevitable now firmly established,
Dellasseea reached down and took her fingertips gently inside the wound. Inside
the torn flesh and displaced ribs, she searched through the warmth until she captured the pulse of what life remained.
Interpreter's
dark eyes—sparkling with torch light—widened. Not so much by the
sensation of her hand about his heart; but, by for the audacity of her doing so.
Followed
by personal realization of a. Simultaneously as Dellasseea sensed his wonder—his
own realization of a once cryptic promise only now, truly believed—on a short, quick intake of breath Interpreter raised
his right hand and took an abrupt, solid grip of her left arm. Affected by the
force, a slight involuntary groan escaped her.
Lost
in resolve, Interpreter's eyes fluttered and closed slowly. The flesh about his
face rippled with the set of his jaw. As he opened them again—just as slow—through
an ebbing whisper he conceded; as if he owed her the answer, "I knew."
The
pressure behind her eyes swelled. Styian reinforced his own grip on Interpreter's
shoulders and with that acknowledged, Dellasseea N'Syis could no longer hold back the tears that welled and blurred her sight. Feeling the first actual tear form she fought the desperate temptation to reclaim
her arm and wipe it away.
Subject
to his own anticipation, Interpreter watched it roll and gave her permission to, "Let it fall!"
Dellasseea
tensed. She closed her eyes and with all the strength left to him, Interpreter
pulled her closer. She, of all people, would not deny him peace. Here—directly over his wound—the fated teardrop left her cheek.
In
that incalculable moment of time, everyone present stood witness as the single tear fell.
They watched the sparkling droplet fall and mingle with his blood. In
that instant, The Interpreter's hand loosened from her forearm and fell away. Here,
in her embrace, his heart ceased to beat.
Feeling
each finger loosen and brush away, her eyes sealed even tighter. Within the lingering
silence of his passing, Dellasseea drew in and released another long and arduous breath.
She opened her eyes and looked upon that which was left to her. Being
of human descent, she could not absorb his essence. He is now gone.
All
those bound to her heart—no matter the distance—felt his passing and shared the anguish of her tears tenfold. For the pain now suffered is hers and it rushed through her entirety.
Styian
caught his friend's fallen arm and rested it upon the ground. He brushed his
fingertips across Interpreter's eyelids to close them.
Totally
unaware of Styian’s movement, Dellasseea reluctantly released her embrace upon that which caged his soul and slowly
withdrew her hand from the cavity. All that came next seemed so scripted. She had after all, written and edited it. Read and reread it countless times. Listened to other peoples’ suggests for making it a better story… now,
she knew it as his testament.
As
Styian reached for the bloodied shirt that lay at his friend’s side, it seemed strange even to him that he could still
be amazed when anything happened the way he read it happening. He took Dellasseea’s
hand to wipe clean the blood that drenched it. In that same instant, Dellasseea’s
eyes moved to the steel fragment that they pulled from his chest. The image of
its impact and their subsequent effort to remove it swept through her and she swayed back.
Gently
Lionheart seized her by the other arm and raised her to his side. She brushed
mindlessly at the mud now caking the front of her skirt. Again, to those around
her, there seemed a hesitation.
Looking
to the boy standing wide-eyed with amazement, she reflected out of frustration, ‘Am I truly re-living a displaced
portion of time— or merely following the rewritten words of a long-lost storyline?’
Finally,
, she stated in a matter-of-fact voice, "His body comes with us."
"Another
one?" The brazen young voice pierced a now silent nightscape. "We can't keep carrying all these bodies around. It’s…"
Had
he not smarted off she would have left it alone at the question. But his tone
warranted her attention and direction. Though she chose to accept and walks a
road not of her own paving, knowledge of the future never made it easier to meet. Dellasseea
turned and grabbed the adolescent by the front of his shirt. Pulling him closer
she abruptly interrupted, "He goes with us!"
Her
gaze didn’t falter as he tried ineffectively to back away from her grip. His
mouth dropped open, a sudden sense of fear shot through her.
Though
she had more sympathy for his current situation than he could presently believe, she finished with, "I owe you no explanation!" Hoping he would see
in her eyes that she offered him guidance, Dellasseea delayed for the response she knew he wouldn't make.
She
couldn’t fault the boy his attitude. ‘So you’re him!’
Dellasseea mused.
She
hadn’t recognized him until just now. He just came into his own place;
his part in the future her people fought to duplicate.
As
she let go, he looked down at the bloodied print staining his shirt. "Besides, if you truly knew what was going on here, you'd
already know why we’re taking …" she couldn’t finish. No need
to. She had to let it play out.
Instead,
she tried to offer a loving smile, turned and walked off; disappearing with Khy-Lin and Lionheart, into the darkness.
As
Styian and others lifted Interpreter's body, the boy just stood there; knowing better than to say another word. Still somewhat frazzled, it didn't register who it was that shoved a dog-eared paperback at him. Or, for that matter, who told him simply to, "Read it!"
Frozen
in place until completely alone, he looked down to find he actually recognized the book.
Destiny's Heir, the second volume in The Forbidden World Chronicles series. He’d
read them all. And is exactly why he joined the camp. Written throughout the Awakening Years and published sometime after the Caged Heart tours, it chronicled
the events that would lead to their eventual escape.
With
unfettered curiosity the boy opened it up to a worn out bookmark. Its tassel
long since torn away and floral design all but remaining, an equally faded verse barely read, “Anything is possible
if you believe.” Closing it quickly, as if not the proper time or the actual
place—as he would soon come to read—he tucked it safely away in pocket of his adult-sized, professional sports
jacket. He then rushed off to join the rest as they departed to secure the camp.
Later
that night, able to sleep, he opened the books tattered pages and read of the very situation in which he'd been a part. By reading anew, he now found himself in her stories much the same way others recognized
themselves inextricably linked. As he continued, he remembered reading of the
young boy and the man who adopted the little loaner.
He
had a sudden awareness of his existing attachment to one of her personal guardians and that from tomorrow on, he will be the
one this high-born woman affectionately refers to as, Shadow.
In
the long and hard days to follow, Dellasseea N’Syis saw The Interpreter's body along the way to his pyre. She sang at its lighting in a voice not of this world and touched the souls of all who listen.
His
remains would be carried on to EeDellon because she will not leave him to the coldness of this unkind world. There will she return him to the earth. Though his are not
the only ashes to be taken, the difference is that the seed of the other's rebirth already sleeps within her; making his the
first on EeDellon since the night of its all-but-total annihilation.
As
the First Born Daughter of the Primal Elements returns to the front, there is consolation only in knowing The Interpreter's
soul had belonged to The Ancient One and not to the one who ruled this world. Though
he is gone to her now—for what will seem as forever—he will be re-absorbed into the oneness from which his soul
had been extracted. There, where time matters not, he will wait. For now, there are people and a Doorway yet to be found. And once upon returning home—when the Old
One sees things set right—will The Interpreter's soul be gifted back as a child for her to birth.
THE END
of the current working draft
