The Children's Crusades, -For Nemai-

[E'doa A'nii]

(I'm assuming this setup is interactive, correct me if I'm wrong and I'll fix my post to match.~_^)
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Stephan kept up with ease, ocassionally nodding good naturedly (and half-mindedly) at what Theron was saying. The hunted prince was only listening with half a mind because he was focused on working out the minor details of his illusions. He was paying attention to where they were going, only so much as to follow his guide mechanically... and so...unfortunately did little to help his small companion as he slid about.

He wanted everything to be perfect.


But then suddenly his tour guide dissapeared with a delighted laugh, and Stephan found that he had to twist almost 180 degrees to catch up. And there, before his very eyes was the vantage point the boy general had promised him. Rowan split a wide grin, and set his sister down on the ground.

"Thank you so much." It was heartfelt. This was perfect. Why, from here he could even see outside! Experience at being hunted had given Rowan long practice at estimating the numbers and strength of his foes. About 20 or so camped about the building. He wasn't sure what they were constructing, but it looked like an assault weapon of some sort. They must not get that up.


Carefully, quietly, he frowned. He had to time this just right. The trebuchet should burt into flame mere seconds before the weapons master arrived. A little added incentive... They would blame her for it; all the better for chasing.

The prince extended his hand, pushing heat, concentrating light. His frown deepened. Just a little more. He squinted. His extended fingers and flattened palm flipped up to face the ceiling and make a fist as the miniature trebuchet burst neatly into flames. He sighed.

Now, if Narishel was half the weapons master she was supposed to be... she would be out and about in no time.

Olivia simply sat down where she had been placed, with her legs in front of her, eyes transfixed on her older brother. Just like a little doll.

---------------

The guards outside greeted the flaming trebuchet with surprise. With the amount of chaos that ensued, one would have though an activated nuclear warhead had landed in their laps. They began to run about everywhere. Some grabbed water to put it out, others scanned the sky as if Doom might descend upon them at any minute. All wondered about the source, however and eventually all eyes settled warily on the Temple of Death.

[Nemaisare]

From which emerged a grinning old lady. A woman hardly frightening with her limp and her cane as she walked closer. But there was something different they might notice as she walked towards them. Something hard to tell and harder still to define. Maybe it was the way her walking staff bent, or how she had appeared so soon after the burst of fire and flame while they were all distracted. Or maybe, just maybe, it was her utter lack of fear. Few women presented with such a fearsome sight as the Legion would face it with a smile on their face and a biting, mocking laugh. Theron, watching, laughed with her, though he couldn’t hear the words she spoke, snorting out a choked giggle as he waited for her to add to the chaos Stephan had so wondrously created. No wonder Shrake wanted him so bad. Although the boy still couldn’t understand why the god wanted Olivia.

“Yore toy’s burning, boys. What’s gone an’ got you lot so scared, eh? Lost yore words an’ yore brains.” The old woman snorted, then, pulling out two arrows from where she’d hidden them beneath her shawl, she set one in her mouth, put the other against her staff, which really was a bow, bent and strung already, pulled back and loosed in one smooth, almost continuous motion. It was no wonder she’d considered them fools, not keeping their bows trained on her. Nor was Nari going to forgive them with the excuse that they’d been distracted by the fire. By the gods, she hadn’t known where it had come from either, but was she losing her head over it? No! She laughed as her arrow struck its mark, taking the second and sending it after the first, two men down and then she was running at the nearest group. They’d come closer in the confusion of the burning trebuchet. Her limp had magically faded away. It wasn’t gone, she was just ignoring it, and had grown into the habit of exaggerating her bad leg. Her bow swung, banging against a raised shield, and her curses rang out as she shouted insults then took off running back for the temple doors.

“Wish we could ‘ear what she’s sayin’. Them’d be some fun words ta learn, I’ll bet.” Theron was struggling with his glee. It had started and, so far so good. Not that they were very far into the whole plan, but that was beside the point, he had Stephan and Abigail where Shrake wanted them. He giggled again, pleased with himself and with Narishel. He’d known she could do it! He watched with bated breath as she turned to engage the men again, her bow snapping out and sending a few men reeling back before they could catch their balance and shake their heads clear, but surprise only lasted for so long against well trained soldiers, and eventually, one got in a blow that shattered her wooden bow and forced her to retreat a little more hastily.

The young boy sighed, unable to keep from feeling a little bit of relief that that close call hadn’t been a little too close. Death might not have been so bad, but dead folks could be terribly boring. Besides, he didn’t want Nari dead yet.

While they were distracted with the small, living model, Shrake was not lying idle and the room was filling with his presence once more. Theron shivered at the feeling, but didn’t move, showing fear now would get the god really angry. And, just to be sure, he eyed Stephan from the corner of his eye, he didn’t want the boy leaving now, when the god was so close…

[E'doa A'nii]

The soldiers had been just as surprised by Narishel's arrival as they had been by the sudden combustion of the miniature trebuchet. At first they weren't sure what to make of her. Was she a spirit? a messenger of death? What mysterious and unstoppable power did she hold? Was she going to kill them?

There was something odd about her. Very odd. A fact which did nothing to settle the unease. The soldiers scrambled about trying to get at their weapons and regroup. Some ,obviously, were toying with the idea of giving up and running for the hills: They vacillated between grabbing their weapons, and leaving them.

Some actually did run.

Some ran like madmen towards the old woman.

She had her bow out and two arrows fired before they knew what hit them. Two of the Fist were dead. But it was a death they knew. And suddenly all their fears vanished. Ok, so their trebuchet had blown up. That was currently unexplainable; but maybe miss big-shot-with-the-bow had fired a flaming arrow? It wasn't unlikely.

And a single archer could be faced.

In an instant the men rallied their courage and surged together, once again becomming the fearsom group of warriors they were. Apparently the old woman realized this, because she took off running for the temple. Was that all this place had to show for itself? one flamming arrow and a crotchety old woman?. The men hastened their speed. Sneers of condescension and laughter of relief filled the air as they gave pursuit.

Fool old woman. She would die on her feet!

Apparently she was feeling desperate because she turned to face the Fist again, only to be assaulted rather vigorously. One of the men shattered her bow, (though her arrow took out on of theirs) and she turned and fled like a hare before the hound.

The soldiers, humiliated, embarrased, and down by three men, were not about to give up chase on the old woman who had so successfully (and easily) accomplished such a feat. Without giving it so much as a thought they were over the threshhold and into the maze-like temple, hard on the fresh footprints of Shrake's Weapon Master.

-------------------

Rowan watched the developments from his cozy little perch with satisfaction and total absorption. He was much too interested in the welfare of the children, to be paying attention to his surroundings. After all, who would know he was here? If Olivia noticed, she didn't say anything. If Rowan thought it was ok, it was ok.

So as Shrake approached, Rowan readied himself to deal with the inter-temple battle. Already his analytical mind was planning the way to deal with them. It was even better that the troops, for the most part, were unarmored. He would not have to worry too much about having his attacks deflected. So it was that as they passed the threshhold, a few of them found that they were on fire.

Others did not have so much as a moment to realize they were in the temple, because the equivalent of lazer beams ripped holes through their chest. Rowan was exerting himself quite a bit. Already he was sweating and breathing hard. But at least he had lessened the numbers of the foe, and planeted the seeds of terror. It should be much easier on the children now...

[Nemaisare]

This was wonderful, their plan was working just as well as Theron had hoped! And Nari had got those guards into the temple too. The boy could hardly contain his pleasure, in fact, the huge grin on his face made it quite clear he was enjoying this more than was entirely appropriate. Then again, he didn’t have anything more to do. He wasn’t working magic like Stephan was, and he wasn’t running for his life with Nari, he wasn’t a part of the group of priests who suddenly fell upon the guards with rage and fear and some insanity ruling their expressions. A few met their deaths before ever they could summon their courage to face the enemies they had been sent, while others lashed out with crippling waves of magic, unorganized and with absolutely no discipline, but they got another five before the rest were past them and they could slump against the walls, giddy with relief.

Nor was he among the children who waited with a quiet stillness that was very nearly unearthly. Every pair of eyes held on their leaders. Waiting, watching, listening and curling their fingers, slender and small, around the shafts of spears and javelins, others resting their grips on the hilt of a knife. Steady breathy and the echoes of beating hearts, faint and gentle, gathered in the hallway where they waited, and then, suddenly, the guards were thundering past them. They were caught now, trapped by the shadows in their minds and their ignorance. The children could hunt them as they liked, or leave them to die on their own, but that was more dangerous.

No, he’d finished his task, the boy and his sister had been delivered to Shrake and now he needed to leave them in this room, just as the god had demanded of him. He knew what would be done and wasn’t to interfere, not ever! Theron sighed, then supposed that if he hadn’t anything to do, he might as well go chasing after a guard himself while he waited for Shrake to tell him it was done. “Hey! ‘e’s got hisself a big hole in ‘is-- Was that yew?”

Theron stared at Stephan, eyes wide. That was some magic to have. He though Stephan ought to have been a priest, with powers like that! What did he want to learn fighting for, anyway? It wouldn’t ever de so useful as putting holes in someone when they got worrisomely angry. Then he sighed. It wasn’t fair that he never got to see this stuff when it was just him and Shrake. Oh no, he had to have another kid with him before the god would make him a little landscape like they were looking at now. But there wasn’t much point in dwelling on it, he was leaving anyway, and the tiny temple wasn’t likely to be around when he came back. The young boy pushed himself off the floor, stretching and yawning. “Well, I gotsta go help Arya and Gavin find them guards. Yew kin stay ‘ere until they’s all gone an’ I’ll come back fer ya. But don’t yew leave this room without as ya know where yore goin’, else ya won’t be goin’ anywhere! See ya!”

And on that cheerful note, he almost skipped from the room, humming some old tune he half remembered from the last time he’d wandered through the market place.

Almost as soon as he stepped clear of the door, the darkness that had been floating inward rushed to fill the room, so that a glance back revealed a doorway of shadows darker than the stones that surrounded it. He grinned at that darkness, then ran off…

Gavin reached out with his spear as the last of the guards ran past, tripping the man with the shaft and then leaping on his back before the man could recover. His weight by itself would have done little to keep the guard from returning to his feet, but the knife he pulled out and pushed through the skin right where the neck connected with the man’s head kept the guard from ever getting back up. There was a wicked light in the boy’s eyes as he looked up and glared at the second guard who’d stopped at the commotion behind him. He was an archer, and well out of reach of anyone’s weapon, for those with the space to throw had yet to notice him. He was shaking, as he set an arrow to his string, frightened of this dread temple and it’s guardians, shaken by the magic and the quick deaths. Shaken by the eyes of those children. But his aim wasn’t affected, and before Gavin could rise, he slumped backwards with an arrow growing from his eye.

[E'doa A'nii]

As the soldiers reached the priests, Rowan's heart sank. They had gone through those fellows much too quickly. He must hurry or they would reach the children. It was then that he'd wished the children had stayed near the torches that lined the halls in which they stayed. He would have more influence there. It would be easier to protect them.

He cursed himself for not thinking of that important detail.

The guardsmen scattered like chaff in the wind quickly becomming to spread out to keep track of all at once. Rowan's satsifaction was becomming rapidly replaced by a growing sense of dread and anguish. Theron's question of amazement went unheard as Rowan concentrated on the rapidly growing problem before him.

Infact, Theron really hadn't needed to make any excuses at all. His guest was truly absorbed. Rowan's mind was rapidly assessing the situation in an attempt to find the best possible way to prevent the children from dying. He was able to pick off one or two more of the soldiers with more lazer beams. But that was an inefficiant, though undeniably effective way of doing it. It just wasn't fast enough.

Rowan would have given anything to have had the knowledge and the skill to put with a good sturdy sword. To be down their giving his life instead of using the children. He felt like he was using the children. They had volunteered. It wasn't like he'd had a choice. His people needed him, he couldn't give himself up. And the children needed him too.

They could not stay like this.

Apparently the best way would be to set a series of traps. But that would be too risky. What if he accidentally killed one of the very people he was trying to save? Rowan gritted his teeth. Why? What had he done that he should face so much suffering? At this moment he resented being born of noble blood more then anything else. This was all his fault. He grunted in annoyance and anger. His body began to tremble and glow with suppressed rage and frustration. Would it never end? Why couldn't it just be between him and Gyle?! The light kept getting stronger and stronger, as Rowan's wrath grew. That monster! He was going to destroy everyone in his attempt to reach the prince. Suddenly the light began to swirl around him much as the winds in a hurricane. As he shook his fists at the guards who had caused him and those he associated with so much trouble and heartache the light flew from his person and scattered about raining down on the miniature temple below.

Not all of it would hit the guards. Most of it would land in blank space, and none of it would hurt the children if it did touch them. But it had been a last ditch effort. He had to save the children. So much emotional energy and such a rapid expenditure of physical strength left Rowan on his knees; dizzy, panting, watching the world about him succumb to darkness. He was pretty sure he had fainted. There was no miniature temple. No Olivia. No children. No sound. Nothing. Only a cold empty feeling, and the sense of surreality that pervades the sense of the very tired.

He was tired.

Something felt wrong.

But he was so tired. If he could just rest. Just for a moment.

Something was very wrong. He could not find Olivia. ...Olivia... Rowan had not realized he had collapsed. He had to get up. He had to...

---------------------------

Olivia's expression changed dramatically as Rowan's emotional state went from satsifaction to a boiling cauldron of anger, resentment, frustration and pain. Her face crumpled and big sad eyes cried the tears that Rowan should have been crying.

He hurt so much.

And as the blinding storm of light released itself from Rowan, her brother released some of that pent up emotion and Olivia felt a little better. Rowan felt better. He still hurt, but it was the usual dull ache now. He would be ok.

Then everything went dark. Olivia panicked. She couldn't see Rowan! Where was her brother?! She stood up in the black, cold, scary darkness, and began to totter about on her own two legs. Where was Rowan? For a moment she couldn't feel him. And then he was there feeling panicked and worried. Rowan! The little girl's feet changed their direction and she tottered towards her brother, collapsing onto his soft, large bulk with a little sigh and a loving pat of her tiny hand.

[Nemaisare]

Ah, child. There is such anger in you. Such loss and anguish. But calm yourself now, your sorrow becomes your sister’s. She is frightened… I am sorry for that, but it is her choice to understand how you feel, and your choice to feel such things. Come now, children, little ones. So young you are, to have so much fear, so much courage and strength and rage. The world is foolish to throw you away as it has. But I am not a fool, I would have you, as I would have all the young ones the world turns from. The gods forgot the children… I did not. I forget no one… I care for everyone! Everyone, children…

The voice was soft, soothingly empty and open. The words shifted in the darkness, shadowed by the presence that created them. There was nothing between them and the two children, nowhere to hide and no point in trying. But Shrake was not a cruel god. It was as it was, and its words were truth, for Death cannot lie. At least, not outright…

You are safe now, little ones. And I must thank you, for watching over my children. For loving them as few others do. You will belong with them now, little ones. My brave children, strong and proud and fierce. You are mine, as they are mine, and you are theirs, as they are yours. My son will show you. He sees the truth, he knows what questions must be answered. Do not be frightened now. Those men are no more. Their hearts stilled, their breaths lost… I took them! For what they stole of mine! My children, the balance was broken, shattered and shaken. My son will show you, and all will work to fix it. But see, those men are mine now; I took their deaths and closed the doors.

A slow procession, grimly lit from those faint forms that shivered in the dark. Frightened and lonely. There was no one for them, no place to go, no comfort, and no comforting voice. Just darkness and knowledge. They knew they were dead, these ghosts, and there was nothing they could do. These were the men who sought Rowan for their lord. These were the men who would never return and never leave. Shrake’s justice was a harsh sentence, but it was only the pathway between life and oblivion. Beyond death there were only two choices, and it was the one to make them. No other. A cruel fate for E’doa, a cruel fate for any, Death was indiscriminate, but when one came into its temple and brought in their hands that which called to Shrake as nothing else could, then they risked an attention they might not appreciate. And when they brought the death of those Shrake knew should not have died so early, they risked nothing; they assured themselves that fate. The ghosts faded away…

You see. It is done. They chose, and they chose foolishly, my children. But wait you here. Sleep now. My son will come for you. You will see, my children. My little ones. You are safe, for now and ever, you are safe. My children. You will grow strong…

The god continued to murmur, its voice gentle; the words nothing important as it attempted to make them relax. For it was when the children were dreaming that it was easiest to creep into their minds. But it was almost as easy to lose them in their fears and hide itself there with them. Already, its hold on them was there, but it was weak, against the light that had come from the boy, the life that had filled him at that moment, Death could only grow stronger in balance, but it could not come closer. It was against this balance that Shrake fought, but soon, soon it would have to ease away or its presence would kill them. To have them too long near Death’s threshold would tempt their spirits to cross. And Shrake did not wish that.

-----------------

The children who saw Gavin die made no sound, they only stepped aside to give Arya the space she needed to heft her spear and throw it, straight and strong, so that it quivered within the guard’s gut, bright metal head buried deep and deadly. Then, with no more regard for the dead or the dying, they walked over them, and moved after those guards still living. They were in Shrake’s temple now, and Shrake had his own rules, he didn’t play the same game and only the children understood it. They split into their original groups at each intersection, one waiting for Theron now that they had no leader. The rest focusing their thoughts on the guards and, without so much as a word, they began the hunt.

And that was where Theron found them. Not all of them, of course, for he could not be in ten different places at once. He came across Arya first, because he could remember her, she was easy to find. They’d just killed another man, with no casualties on their part, though Riss had a cut on his shoulder that would need looking after later. Arya hardly bothered glancing his way. “Gavin’s dead. His group’ll be needin’ ya for leadin’. Ember’s in that group.” And then she was following after her own group, who had continued on without her and were waiting at the next corner. Theron watched them go, dark hair falling into his eyes and pricking them to tears. Gavin had finally lost his anger, now that he’d lost his life. Nothing could hurt him now… The boy scowled down at the dead guard, then kicked him with a barefoot before turning to follow the way Arya had come and thinking hard about the girl she’d named. Ember of the dark eyes, Ember of the wicked smiles and wild ways. He liked her, she’d once tried to set his shirt on fire, but Shrake hadn’t let her.

From every direction, as he ran, Theron could hear the sounds of fighting. Shattering echoes of metal against metal, ringing against stone and catching in flesh. Cries of pain and fear and rage, shouts of derision, and calls for others to come, but once the guards were separated, they’d never find each other. Shrake had promised him that. And the priests were guarding the doors, just in case, not that they’d be much use.

Then, breathing heavily and momentarily winded by all the running he’d been doing, the boy reached Ember’s group and felt very much like collapsing. But that wouldn’t have been any use to anyone, even if it would have given his legs a break. The girl took one look at him and sighed, shaking her head. “So we’ll be walking then. Well, come on, we don’t have all day. We’ve got bad folks to kill! Come on, Theron! Let’s go! About face and all that!” And with that cheerful greeting, the mostly sane girl turned him about and shoved him forward. They had things to be doing and she wasn’t waiting for him to catch his breath.

Theron could only gasp and comply with her wishes, trudging sullenly in the lead and cursing his grand ideas. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help. He liked helping, but why did it have to be by running around when he could hardly breathe? But he’d get them all nowhere thinking about such things. So, he forced his mind to stop complaining and, after a few deep breaths, recovered himself sufficiently that he was soon bouncing out in front, focusing his mind on searching out a guard or two for his eager companions to fight. Every one of them wanted to be rid of the men who were invading their temple, they were just as eager for blood now as they had been when he’d first called them out. But now, their excitement was of the quiet, undeniable sort that grew into the space left behind when fear and rage were pushed aside and confident desire pulled them onward. There could only be one outcome worth considering today. The guards would all die, whether or not it took the life of every child to do it.

[E'doa A'nii]

Rowan clutched the little hand instinctively. Heaving himself upward into a sitting position he enfolded his baby sister in his arms. A small voice pervaded his thoughts. It grew louder. The voice was soothing like a mother's and gentle like the feel of someone stroking one's forehead when one is ill. It was empty like a room is empty and inviting like a soft bed to the weary bones of a traveler.

It murmured soft things about being forgotten, and not being forgotten and how much it cared for all the children. Rowan found himself listening quite happily to the tender voice, until it got to the children. Something stirred in the back of his mind. That was wrong. It did not care.

Who was talking?

Did it matter?

Something said it mattered. Why did it matter? It was so hard to concentrate. Rowan found he had not the desire to concentrate. When he tried he found that he often had to begin his train of thought over. The sound was so pleasant. So comforting. His weary soul, tired of the struggle of living against the world felt a desire to forget it's suspicions and rest... if only for a moment. But something was wrong, and part of him did not want to rest; said he should not rest. Some small part that was just enough to keep him from resting. But only enough.

Safety. They were safe. Yes. No. They were not safe. Something was wrong. But what? Why did he not fear this voice in his head? A tinge of urgency touched him as something flickered in his mind more strongly. That was it! What was it? He had forgotten. Oh well, it would come back. 'My son.' Theron. Yes... Theron. Theron was a nice boy. Justice had been done. They were dead. All dead. They could not get him. They would not hurt him anymore. They would not...-something flickered. There was something wrong with that. But what? Did it matter? Yes... it mattered.

As the ghosts wandered along in silent, grim procession Rowan attempted once more to concentrate. Something in the back of his mind was screaming against the voice in his head. Something in the recessess of his grey matter was renouncing this voice as a liar. If only he could hear it. Somewhere in the darkness someone was talking. There was a sound there, seperate, independant of Shrake. But he could not hear it. So faint, it was, so fragile... it barely registered.

Rowan focused.

The voice began to babble on like a broken record. The noise in the distance got louder. It sounded like 'no'. It was 'no.' Rowan had not realized it had been him talking. And suddenly something in his mind snapped. He knew what it was! He knew!

"NO!" That last one came out a yell as the peices fell together, and Rowan shook his head in an attempt to clear it of the voice and the feeling of longing that overwhelemed him. It would be so nice to end it all. Not to have to struggle. ...Not to have to...

-...Focus Rowan. "NO! You lie!" Rowan stood shakily on his feet, lifting his sister with him. He had to concentrate and movement helped that. It was an effort to form the words against the hypnotic sound that was Shrake's voice.

"You... You don't...c-are about... about the children." He gasped out.

"You don't...care." Care... what had he been trying to say? Oh yes: "If you...cared.." ,there was that word again, "You would not make them...fight." Fight. Why was that wrong again?

There was a moment of silence while Rowan reconstructed the fragile train of thought he had begun. It was so hard to concentrate. So hard to fight. Fight. What was he fighting again? Nothing. Shrake. Yes, Shrake.

"If you cared..." If he cared, what? -To give in. It would be so much easier to ...rest. Urrgh. Rowan. Concentrate. If he did not concentrate, something terrible would happen. He knew it. Something was wrong. But he was so tired and the little voice in his head was so peaceful. ..so peaceful...

Rowan clutched his head. "You slay them!" There! That was a thought! Now, if only he could finish it..."You slay them because....because... You make them fight. If you cared....you would...you would... protect them!" Yes! That's it!

"You would...protect... them..." How? Protect them. Sleep. Die... die. Peace...death. Rest. CONCENTRATE.

"You would...provide for them. Provide." Ugh! What had he been trying to say? Protect. "Why do not your priests fight, instead of your children? Why do not your children have people who care for them? Why do your priests hurt the children? Why do your children not learn? Why do your children fight? Why do you not protect them? Why do you not....love them?" This was becomming more work then he wanted. Rowan was panting and gasping from the effort; clutching his head with one hand, swaying back and forth. Concentrate. He must not loose it now.

--------------------------------------

Olivia was too young to understand what was happening. She only knew that the voice in her head frightened her. Rowan felt like a struggle. The voice was empty and soothing. Why did brother feel like a struggle? Who was the voice? It didn't matter. Pain died in the voice. Sorrow ended there. Rest was calling, and peace. And release. Brother was worried. Why? Something was wrong with brother. Did he not hear the kind voice that bade to rest? Did he not... Olivia yawned. So sleepy.

It is not hard to lull a young child to sleep and Olivia was soon sleeping. Not even the emotional turmoil which was gradually growing in her brother's breast could fight the power of hypnotism that was Shrake. Rowan was holding her. What was there to fear? Sleep was calling. She always slept on or near Rowan. So she slept. Rowan would make everything alright. He always did.

So deep was her sleep--for the child was weary from the long days of running; from the bearing of her brother's emotions; from the fighting of everyone's emotions; from the fear and the terror and the pain and the sorrow;---that not even her brother's shouting could wake her. So dark it was, that the small amount of light left in Rowan's posession could not fight back the darkness and illimunate his person with it's usual aura. He had no idea his sister was sleeping. And as she slept, Olivia dreamt:

It was a dark night, and raining. Shouts came from somewhere behind. Mama was panicked. She was hurt and crying. They bounced along in the cold rain. And then Mama hurt. A sudden bolt of excruciating pain shot through Mama and then it was gone. And Olivia hurt. She hurt a lot. Pain wracked her body and filled her eyes with tears. Silent screams, inaudible but real filled her throat. She hurt. She hurt.

And then they stopped bouncing and Mama picked her up and gave her away.

Gave her away.

Why?

What had she done?

And there was screaming and terror and someone killed Mama. More pain. More pain. Endless numbing pain. And the lady gave her away.

Why?

So much pain. And the boy ran and ran. And there was shouting and pain and noise. So much pain. And the boy ran. Pain. It was ok. And the boy ran. It would be alright now. And then there was no more boy, and Olivia was alone. Panic filled her, mixing with the pain, and she wandered about screaming and crying and thrashing and still no boy. And still no boy. And endless darkness and big scary men and no boy. No boy.

And pain. So much pain...

And still...no boy.

[Nemaisare]

The boy was being stubborn. Fighting against all that Shrake told him, but it was such a dismal effort that the god felt it would be cruel to push those efforts to the side. Not that it often worried about what was cruel and what wasn't, but the boy deserved to have his say if he was working so hard to earn it. Shrake waited patiently, as its mind followed the young girl's dream and shrank away from her presence. She was growing too close, that was not safe if he wished to keep her. She was his way to the boy, for the boy was too old now, and influenced by those Children of Light who lived so near this temple. But the patience was not rewarded. the words that tumbled into its darkness were terrible, accusing and, for all their hesitant confusion, they were more cruel than the boy could possibly know.

If I cared... I care! If I cared nothing for them I would not have brought them here, would not shelter them within these walls, would not receive them when they leave this world! To fight is not to die, any may die without once raising a hand, little one. And the priests are not warriors, they do not know how to fight. It is as you witnessed. Do not accuse me of leaving my children without protection! I have given them a teacher, and learn they do! I have given them what they need and brought them together! I have given them more than any! ...And now I offer the same to you. Take it or not! -Theron-

The god left it at that, its silence closing around them like a door slammed shut. the darkness did not lessen, but now there was nowhere for their spirits to wander through. Their deaths, even after what Rowan had said, would not be Shrake's doing. Though it was angry enough that it no longer cared whether it won the boy. the young one was its and perhaps, that would be enough, though if Rowan tried to leave at just this moment, Shrake would not try to stop him. Of course, the boy would have to find his way out of the dark first, and that was difficult.

------------------------

He was dead. Finally. It had been a long fight, between the children and the two guards who had managed to remain together. But they had both fallen, though not without a cost. Theron snarled silently at the dead faces lying at his feet, then turned to look more sympathetically upon those faces of Shrake's children. Living and gone through the gates. The last, at least, would suffer no more, the others did not understand as he did what death was, but they were dry eyed, saving their tears for later. When the guards were all dead. But even as he started forward, a strange light came tumbling from the ceiling. Tiny specks that darted and slipped down the walls, striking and tumbling against the children who stared, amazed, at the spectacle. The sun was raining tears where no light had ever been, and they struck with only a gentle warmth. Theron laughed, joining a few others in trying to catch the falling stars before they disappeared into the stones.

And then, they were all dead...

Shrake told him, the guards were gone, his god had gathered them all to keep them in that dark place. The frightening place where he was never to go. Full of peoples' shadows, he'd seen it once, and there had been no more need for Shrake to ensure his obedience in that.

"They're dead, Ember! They's all dead! .... Now we gotsta get them all out." His joy faded as the light passed away and he turned to face those who had left them behind. It would take some time, but he hoped the guards outnumbered the children. And the priests would sing their chants outside and Nari would light a fire and make the bodies disappear.

But first they had to carry them all outside. Theron grabbed a guard's foot and began dragging him down the hallway. He would let the others carry their own, he wasn't strong enough, and the guards didn't need to be lifted up.

............. He and Riss, who had joined him a short while after the light rain, had managed only two guards before Theron straightened suddenly and left the other boy without even a backward glance. He walked away from the small pile of corpses and back into the temple, ignoring those others walking the other way. He walked through the hallways, slowly, thinking. there had been sorrow in that summons, and anger. It wasn't so strange, but he'd never felt both at the same time before, and it made him wary. Left him wondering. Stephan and Abigail wouldn't be going anywhere, he could take his time. But he hadn't come up with an explanation when he reached the door, and Shrake wasn't answering his questions. He hesitated then, staring into the darkness, but not for long.

"Hey. Stephan! Stephan! C'mon. I'm gonna take ya to back t'th'children's rooms. Only, I can't carry yew." He caught hold of the older boy's arm gently, having found him quickly in the dark. He'd brought no light with him, but he knew the way out just as surely as he'd known the way to them.

[E'doa A'nii]

The boy clenched his teeth in an effort to formulate exactly what he was saying. For one thing their definiton of care was not equivalent. To Shrake caring was taking an interest, providing a hole and a bit of food. To Stephan caring was something else. There were souls in those children, and needs for love and belonging. Children could coexist and maybe even find a limited amount of love and belonging among each other. But not as much as they needed. Not nearly as much. They needed parents, and a real home. Not just a place to keep the rain off and the wind away.

Here they learned death and war and pain. They fought each other as much as they fought the world around them. Here the children learned only the 'law of fist and club' (To quote Call of the Wild.) Here they learned madness. Here they learned sorrow. They learned a twisted sort of compassion that hurt more then it helped.

If Shrake cared, truly cared he would have intervened while the guards were still outside his temple. He would have struck the whole lot of them dead. At the very least he could have wiped them out the second they set foot in his temple. He was the god of death wasn't he? If Shrake cared he would have surrounded his children with priests who were fatherly rather then bullyish. If he cared...--

But Rowan never got a chance to open his mouth.

Shrake was huffy and indignant at his accusations and questions. He was downright insulted. A teacher. Well, she was that. No offense to Nari, but it didn't look like her children were exactly thriving under her tutelage. Oh they learned. They learned. But what they learned poisoned them so that if they were unleashed upon society they could not be better then they were now.

But then... he was the god of death. Perhaps he knew nothing about caring for the living. In which case, he should not be caring for the living. And shrake ended the conversation with the abruptness of an angry child.

Well...at least he was out of his head. Rowan sank to his knees unable to maintain his standing position any longer, and not exactly wanting to. Now he could rest. But only for a moment because Theron was there taking him by the arm and leading him out. Rowan made no protest. He was all to happy to be out and away and much too tired to resist if he'd wanted to.

Even Olivia felt heavy.

Olivia continued to sleep, though her sleep now was of the peaceful, dreamless sort.

[Nemaisare]

Theron frowned at the darkness around them as he led the way clear of it. Stephan seemed an awful lot worse off than he ought to be, after a simple chat with Shrake. But Shrake hadn’t killed him, and Theron was fairly certain the little girl was still alive too. It had happened once or twice, when the children were too young or didn’t respond well to whatever Shrake did with them. But even a god can learn from its mistakes, though it might not like to admit to those mistakes. Still, he must not have wanted to give in if he was tired enough to actually decide to go to sleep. No one but Theron had ever done that here!

But, he wasn’t about to complain as they made it through the door and into the hallways that would lead them to a bed, somewhere, just so long as the older boy didn’t fall over right there and then, Theron didn’t have any objections to a silent follower. Because he knew the boy would have questions later. They always did if they’d been old enough to talk when Theron brought them here. And sometimes he found it hard to answer everything they asked, but he always tried, because he didn’t like being the only one who understood. It got tiresome, it did.

“I’ll jest get ya t’bed now, I think. Else ya won’t get anywhere far. Don’t yew dare fall over though! I ain’t carryin’ yew nowhere’s! C’mon, lessee ifen we can find a shortcut.” He didn’t even try to offer his newest friend support, not being certain if he’d be able to escape from getting squished should Stephan decide to fall all the way asleep, but he did walk as slowly as a nine year-old boy’s patience would allow. So at least it wasn’t too hard for the older boy to keep up.

True to his word, Theron tugged Stephan around a corner and thought really, really hard about the hallway where the children lived. And he didn’t turn after that unless it was necessary, which, he had learned, sometimes made him get to where he was going faster. Although he’d never been certain if that was because of where he happened to be compared with where he wanted to be, or if there was some other reason behind such an unimportant little secret. And they did make it, eventually, with only a few moments of worry for Theron to lose in all his other memories.

“There. Yew kin sleep ‘ere fer now. We’ll get ya yer own bed soon ‘nuff, but I don’t mind sharin’ whiles we wait. Sleep now, like Shrake tole ya. Come mornin’ yew’ll be hungrier’n a pig, I’ll bet!” He showed Stephan the bed he could have, which wasn't much more than a thin mattress and a few blankets crumpled into a comfy nest, and left him to fend for himself as he went back to helping the others clear the temple of the dead.

[E'doa A'nii]

Rowan followed. Every step was an effort; his feet felt like lead. No. They weighed more then lead. Either that or gravity had gotten stronger. Surely the pull of the earth had gained some renewed vigor since last he had attempted the fine art of walking.

He felt shaky on his feet.

But he followed Theron like a willing puppy and sat gratefully on the bed. Theron was very kind to share his own bed. Stephan just nodded as the boy spoke. The bed was so comfortable and inviting. Already his bones sighed with releif. Rowan's massive bulk positively yearned for the bed. Yes, very kind indeed. Rowan set his sister down upon the bed, wrapping her gently in the covers as he removed his shoes. The toddler did not waken or moan. She was quite deeply sleeping. Theron had left as soon as he finished speaking. Mentioned something about food.
Food would be nice. But right now, he needed sleep.

Yes, sleep.

Even Shrake had said to sleep.

Suddenly the bed did not feel so very inviting anymore. Rowan leapt off the bed as if his pants had been set alight. Suspicion filled his mind with dread. Why did Shrake want them to sleep? Something to do with that hypnotic voice wasn't it? Well, Stephan would do no such thing as 'sleep'. His body rebelled at that. It demanded sleep.

Of what use would he be to the children, if Shrake got him? Of what use to his people, the Children of E'do who needed him to relieve the chain of tyranny placed upon them by Sir Gyle? Of what use to Olivia? Ah yes... Olivia. Rowan stared fondly down at his sleeping sister. She breathed so softly; serenity etched on her innocent features. With horror, the boy prince realized the reality that Olivia was sleeping. Such an innocent act could endager her!

Hastily, but gently he pickked her up.

"..C'mon Olivia. Wake up." He kissed her on her forehead and bounced her on his knee.

Still the girl slept. She must not sleep!

"Livvy!" He raised his voice a little, --wary of being overheard, yet neededing to wake his sister--. Added more of the intense urgency he felt.

Olivia sighed and huffed a baby's sleepy huff. Slowly she opened her eyes. Rowan breathed a sigh of relief and clutched Olivia close to him. She was ok. Shrake had not gotten her yet. He had not failed her. The twelve year old 'could not bear to see any harm come to his little sister. He repented greatly over the smallest bruise.

Truly no child was treated with more gentleness then the dauhgter heir of the Lord High Counselor.

Truly no child was more dutifully protected.

Perhaps overprotected.

But she thrived well under her brother's almost obsessive watch. And paid him back more then he felt he deserved with a child's simple love.

And he had almost failed that.

He leaned back against the wall. He was tired. So very tired. But he must not sleep and the children-- the children. Had they all been taken by Shrake as the god had tried to take Olivia and himself? If they had he must find a way to free them. But it was hard to make plans or fight without sleep and the young lordling was truly exhausted. He would ask Theron when he got back.

Oh wait.

He could not trust Theron.

WHo then could he trust?

No one. The answer came back biting and cold. Always to trust no one. Always to run and hide. Always to fight and starve and hurt. Always. But there was always tommorrow and tommorrow brought hope even if today felt like a blow to the head.

So Rowan paced the room back and forth and entertained his sister. (Who could not understand why she was wakened, but did not mind.) She must not go back to sleep.When he felt a little better he would see about healing and helping the children.

Right now it was all he could do to walk.