Ch7.62 Revelations

The water seems bottomless, and instead of rising, Alma sinks toward a glimmering light. She sees it ahead of her, the dark, hard object, floating somehow despite being solid metal. She knows it, but how did it get here?

As she reaches for it, she sees for a moment an identical pale hand reaching for it. She looks and sees a pair of frightened eyes, eyes so familiar, eyes from a distant youth, a timorous, childish Alma she left behind so long ago.

But then she seizes the object, and breaks the surface. Her world spins as she reorients herself. Just as she is looking around, taking note of the chamber glowing with light from the water, noticing that the chamber is empty of anyone else, Sky surfaces behind her, putting an arm around her. “Are you all right, Lady…ehm, Inspector?”

She squirms in Sky’s arm, not struggling but turning, searching desperately for Dion. “Oh no….no, no, no…” Without thinking, she brings her fist down with considerable force on Sky’s shoulder multiple times. “Stupid, stupid, stupid – you are so stupid, Alma!” she roars in frustration and anger.

The water rises up, lifting her and Sky onto solid ground, before splashing away as the ocean-god releases his control of it. Sky sets her down, and she feels shame at hitting him, though she knows such pounding without some supernatural oomph behind it will do little harm to the big god. As she falls quiet, he murmurs, “I will get you home. I swear it. I won’t let them be without you.”

Alma takes a deep breath. “Thank you…does this mean…? I saw myself on the passage through. Was the other me, the Senator’s wife, going to the other side?”

Sky shakes his head. “You’re asking me? I think I caught a glimpse of myself as well. Perhaps your Sky is back home now. Perhaps we cannot exist in the same world at the same time.”

“Gods, I truly didn’t need this now.” Alma opens her hand, suddenly noticing that she is still holding the thing she grabbed. “The God Striker…”

Sky takes a look. “Fancy brass knuckles? A sort of lightweight cestus.”

He looks at Alma. “You punched an Archon to death?”

Alma shakes her head. “No. Gwydion punched him. He could have killed him with this but…he hesitated. He would have arrested him like the good Guardia officer he is. Instead, I ripped Nekh’s soul from his shattered body.” She gives Sky a look of defiance. “He was going to murder all my children in front of me.”

Sky’s expression carries no condemnation. “Sounds like you did what needed doing. Pity someone didn’t do that to him in this time-line.” He takes another look at the artifact, studying the fine script etched into the surface. “It seems inert at the moment. Still, I’m glad you weren’t wearing it when you were walloping me just now.”

“I’m sorry,” Alma says. “That was uncalled for. There wasn’t any convenient wall to punch…but I shouldn’t have punched you.”

“That’s all right,” he says. “I was confused and upset myself when I crossed over. But I will get you home, Alma. I promise it.” He sighs. “But it seems we will have to be back here in another twenty-four hours for that. We should go meet the others and find out what’s happened. Surely they won’t be far…”

“We need to find the Oracle, too,” Alma says. “If she is anything like the Nevieve I know, I would not be surprised if all of this is not just some elaborate cry for help.”

“At least Somrak will be glad to know the Fates are on our side.” He stretches a hand toward the pool. Water rises in a small hump, then pops free in a floating globule. Sky levitates it to float above his shoulder, and a swirl of glowing particles, like a tiny galaxy, spins into being from the center of it, suffusing the globule with bioluminescence, producing a watery glow reflected by the stone of the walls and floor in soft glimmers.

“This place,” Alma says and they start down the tunnel together. “It was Nevieve’s home. And Doria’s. They were our friends.”

“And now it is empty, violated.” Sky pauses, listening. “Though not entirely empty.”

Alma hears the faint echo of voices, too, as they approach the center of the Grotto. “I am not sure if I want to explain to these people what just happened,” she says in a low voice. 

“Do you want to hang back? Just wait by the pool? I could bring you some food.” 

She considers his thoughtful offer, but shakes her head. “It is better for them to know the truth than to think the other Alma is lost.”

He looks ahead and says, “Too late anyway.”

Before he’d even spoken, Alma had seen the two souls approaching. They had almost immediately been recognizable as Bunny souls, different from humans in their own subtle ways. Are they the same souls as her Bunnies, though? Before their faces appear in the watery light of Sky’s glowing globe, she thinks they indeed seem very similar to those of two of her daughters, Rosemary and Mayumi. If there are any differences, they are too subtle to detect without a more thorough examination.

And yes, there it is, Merri’s face entering the light, the ginger curls and freckles and russet fur on her ears so familiar. But her voice, when she asks, “Is that you, Mother?” is different. The timbre is the same, but carrying the accent and rhythms of a high-ring family, not the unique lilt and burr that matches no other accent on the Insula she knows of, the one her daughter emerged from the dreamworld with. 

“Almost,” Alma replies, keeping her voice calm, reassuring. “But not quite. Are you all right, Rosemary? You sound frightened.”

Rosemary slips past Sky and takes Alma’s hands. “You’re all wet! And wearing different clothes! You smell…different. And and and…”

“You’re taller,” May says, wonderingly, wide-eyed. This daughter, too, sounds a little different. Alma reminds herself that in this world, according to Sky, she goes by May rather than Mayumi, a shortening that her Mayumi once tried to explain was just incorrect for some strange reason. “And…you have a sword.”

“Let’s return to the others,” Sky says. “You shouldn’t be away from them. Is everyone well? Your father and sister and little brother?”

Alma feels a flash of appreciation toward this world’s Sky, for trying to distract them while she gathers herself back together. This is so very strange. There are Sky and May together, in her world so much in love, here meaning nothing more to each other than bodyguard and client. Yet she notices Sky looking at the Bunny with a little curiosity, perhaps wondering what his counterpart sees in her.

But she feels her equanimity shaken again, by anxiety and desire about seeing this godling babe. She takes Merri’s…no, Rosemary’s hand, and then May’s as she resumes walking toward the others. “I took an unexpected dip in the pool. I’ll explain everything when we’re all together.”

They find their way to the Oracle’s audience chamber. As they step in, she sees several people: Machado is there, and Cala and Aliyah, all three in uniform. Somrak, too, probably fueling the fire that burns on the stone floor, unfed by wood or anything else. She sees his scar, healed away by her mother weeks ago, returned to his otherwise beautiful face. And sitting at his feet–

“Saira…” she breathes. Her ally. Her patient. Her friend. 

Saira who lost her life in a quest for vengeance – and in the process saved them all. Here. Alive. And…a prisoner?

The Bunnies look up at her, feeling her tension.

Sky murmurs to Alma, “Not sure who that is. She must have joined us earlier today.”

Rosemary tilts her head, one ear flopping to the side. “But…what? You captured her.”

May wrinkles her brow. “You’re not the same Tuma-Sukai who was here a little while ago. You’re the one we first met, aren’t you?”

Rosemary shakes her head like a fly is trying to get into her ear. “What? There’s two of them?”

“Not only him,” May says, looking up at Alma, her eyes accusing and fearful. 

When Alma feels May let go of her hand, she feels a sharp, brief pain at the rejection. She and Mayumi had struggled to find their way to a strong connection – just before the girl had gone off to the Guardia Academy, Mayumi had become, in some ways, the one Alma felt closest to among all her children. The pain of the chasm she’d struggled to bridge returns. But she reminds herself that these are not her children. They are Lady Alma’s. And Senator Gwydion’s.

She wants to explain. These may not be her Bunnies, but they are mortals who are in a frightening situation. And more, she still feels a bond to them, even across the divide of universes.

She gives Rosemary’s hand a little squeeze of encouragement, then drops her hand. “You’re right,” she says to May. “But I–”

“Alma! But you are drenched!” Senator Gwydion, emerging from an alcove, hurries toward her, brushing aside Sky’s halfhearted attempt to stop him. “Oh, I knew this was a bad idea. You don’t even know how to swim. Are you well, my little lamb?”

Before she can think to bring her hands up to keep him back, the god, a rather well-fed, older-looking version of her Gwydion, embraces her. Alma stiffens at his touch. Her eyes widen at the treatment, then narrow at the pet name. Lamb? If for even a moment she had thought this soul was her beloved, that moment was past. She pats him awkwardly on the shoulder blade. “I am fine. For the moment.” She shares a look with Sky, who is trying to hide an amused smile, and tries to silently tell him, Man, you were not kidding. “But I am afraid I have some bad news for you.”

“Alma, what is wrong?” Senator Gwydion sounds worried as he releases her. She waits, watching him look her over, take in the differences. With the fire at his back, he can see her face more easily than she can see his in Sky’s aqueous globule’s glow, but still she sees him blanch. He turns to Sky. “What happened? What did you do to her?”

Sky takes a breath. “Do you know about the pool, Senator?”

Gwydion nods, impatient. “The pool that is supposed to be some sort of link to another world, yes! What…” He pauses, his eyes flickering over Sky’s uniform. “You’re no longer…half-naked.”

“Daddy!” Rosemary cries. “You knew?!”

Sky raises an eyebrow. “I was…? Never mind. I am the first Tuma-Sukai you met. The one that was…out of uniform was from the other world. I think he must have gone back at midnight, exchanging places with me once again.”

“Which would have set everything right,” Alma says. “But…” She opens her hands to indicate herself.

Senator Gwydion deflates, like someone has punched him in his slightly paunchy belly. “You mean to tell me that my wife is…gone?” The two Bunnies look horrified, and Alma catches sight of Cherry – no, Cherish – coming out of the alcove, holding a little baby in her arms. She has been overhearing this, and looks confused and afraid.

“Not gone,” Alma assures him. “She has crossed over to my world, where she will be perfectly safe, with good friends to take care of her.” She reaches out and pats his arm. “However, the same cannot be said about us, Gw– Senator.”

“On top of that, we now have someone with us who knows a thing or two about our enemy, and has beaten him before,” Sky adds. “The Inspector, here, has defeated Nekh in battle. It’s not a bad thing that she’s crossed over.”

“Why don’t you all come closer to the fire?” Somrak’s soul, like Sky’s, is much less scarred than that of the Somrak of her world, though not entirely free of the mark of old wounds, Alma can see even from here. His face, though, still bears the old scar that twists his pretty mouth into a slight sneer. But he has the same challenging, confident – even arrogant – stance. The same slender but muscular figure. 

He looks her over, skeptical but then smirking a little in satisfaction as he notes the way she bears her sword, like it belongs on her hip and is very comfortable there. “And, if you’ll allow me, I can do something about the wet clothes.”

“For as long as you are gentle with the fabric,” Alma replies, with a little smile. “I was told the blend is somewhat prone to shrinking.” She looks again at Gwydion and the two Bunnies, who have moved closer to him for comfort. They are still looking at her, confused. “I am sorry if I scared you. This is as strange and worrying for me as it is for you. I am Acting-Inspector Alma, of Three Rats Station.”

Rosemary asks, “So…our mother is a Guardia officer in another world? And… you have children there?”

As she’s speaking, Cherish, holding the infant comes closer. The Bunny’s big brown eyes are wider than usual. She asks, hesitant, “Are you sure our mother is well?”

Somrak takes Alma’s hand and sends warmth into her, and more specifically into her Guardia-indigo sari and her hair, heating them to the point that steam starts to come off them.

Alma almost wilts at how good that feels. She smiles thanks at Somrak, and says to the Bunnies, “Your mother has my closest friend and my world’s version of your father with her to protect her.” She looks at the one holding the baby – the same beautiful dark skin, the same full lips as her own daughter, but the wild kinky curls of her hair tamed and straightened into a glossy black ponytail similar to Somrak’s. “Tell me, Cherish, do you ever go by Cherry?”

Cherish says, “Oh…well sometimes Rose and May call me that. But nobody else, really.”

Rosemary adds, “And Shirtless Sky called May ‘My Yumi’ or something! And May said that it felt like something from a dream…now isn’t that curious?” She grins teasingly at May. 

“I rather imagine he would call her that,” Alma says with a smile. “He knows my daughters as Cherry, Rosemary, and Mayumi. Their names in my world. They look very similar to you but they are also different. And each has her own accent. Also, in my world, I have four other Bunnies: Sage, Kori, Chime, and Tulip. But no godlings.” She looks at the baby and her expression softens. “What is jys name?”

“His name is Nari.” The Senator’s tender pride pulls him briefly away from his fretting for his wife. Still, his eyes helplessly drift to Somrak’s brown hand holding Alma’s pale one. “Ahem, are you quite done with laundry, Sergeant? Perhaps you should help your partner dry off?” His attempts to keep jealousy from his voice are unsuccessful.

“Have to do this slowly and carefully, Senator, or this outfit might shrink,” Somrak says, trying to sound very serious. “As pretty as that might look, she might find it hard to move if another group of assassins asks us to dance. But…how does that feel, Inspector? Dry enough?”

Alma, used to Somrak’s flirtations, wriggles her shoulders and touches her choli, the bodice of her sari. It is dry and toasty warm. “I think so. Thank you, Sergeant. Now, what do you mean, another group of assassins?”

Gwydion replies, “We were attacked before. At the local Guardia station. Thankfully, no one was harmed in the process.” He is looking at Alma again in wonder and shock at the sound of her voice. “I didn’t really believe what the, um, other Tuma-Sukai said before. Not in my heart. But the way you are taking command with these sergeants…”

“Rather than demanding respect for your station,” Somrak adds, his sardonic grin more pronounced, as he steps back.

As much as she agrees with Somrak, Alma shoots him a narrowed glance. “Nor did I believe this Sergeant’s claims,” Alma says, pointing at Sky. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be harsh before. And…my condolences on your uncle’s demise. I know how attached Gwydion is to Math, I can only imagine what a loss it must be. In my world, Math has become dear to me, as well.”

The Senator’s grief is obvious. “He was like a father to us, a grandfather to the children. It all feels like a horrible nightmare.”

“The Commander regarded Archon Math with great respect,” Sky says. 

“They butted heads sometimes,” Somrak adds. “But what can you expect. The Archon was good for the Guardia. Great coffee, too.” His voice is not mocking at all. 

“The Commander will butt heads with a standing wall if he feels it’s in his way,” Alma says. “And where is he? The Commander? And my aunt, for that matter? I doubt they would allow all this to happen while they watch from the sidelines.”

Sky and Somrak share a look. “Your aunt?” Somrak asks.

Alma smiles a little, relishing the reveal. “Subcommander Varah, in my world. The Fencer.”

Gwydion shakes his head. “That dreadful goddess…”

Somrak’s eyes are wide. “Well…that explains a few things.”

Sky blinks, but merely says, “Since assassins have attacked here, this ward obviously isn’t the safe little hideaway the Commander thought. Somebody has intercepted the information.”

“Then we ought to be going random, throw them off the scent, go anywhere the mole in the Commander’s office won’t know about,” Somrak points out. 

“No,” says Sky. “This Alma has information the Commander needs now. And more than information.”

Somrak looks surprised and hopeful. “You found the God Striker thing?”

Alma reaches into a pocket and shows the weapon, weighty and solid in her palm. “Yes. It doesn’t look very threatening now but once it is recharged, it will be powerful enough to destroy even an Archon. And we need someone like the Commander to recharge it.”

Somrak sighs. “Fine, but…there is a mole. We need to go in, ready for that.”

“I…remember Somrak mentioning a traitor in the ranks of the ‘Off-Blues’,” Alma says. “But I am not sure who it is or who she works for. Only that she is female and has a partner. I am sorry but he could not disclose any more.”

“That he was even revealing that much – should this not be confidential information?” the Senator asks.

“It should be, yes,” Alma agrees. “He should not have told me. But he was being healed at the time. It is not uncommon for people to experience confusion in those moments.”

“I know this. My wife is a very talented healer.” He looks at Somrak as if he might amorously pounce on Alma at any moment, a look that Somrak receives with apparent amusement.

“Your wife has many talents, Senator,” Alma replies, hearing her aunt’s growl in her voice. “If she is allowed to shine, she might even outshine you before you know it.”

The tense moment is broken by a cry from the baby. Cherish says, “Um, he must be hungry. What about food? For him?”

Alma feels the beginnings of panic. “What do you mean…food for him? Did you not – oh…”

“The baby is still suckling,” Dion explains. “And…now he does not have his mother to feed him.” He looks sick with worry and goes to take the baby from Cherish’s arms.

“And he just polished off the last of the stored breast-milk,” the Bunny says as she hands him over. “We grabbed a few bottles on the way out when the Sergeants came to get us, but he’s a hungry little darling.” She nods toward their luggage not far from the fire. Alma can see an empty bottle with a preservation sigil on it, to keep the stored milk fresh.

“Why hasn’t his mother been feeding him directly? Or replenishing her stores?” Alma asks.

May says, “Well she was. But, uh, Sergeant Sky had her looking for the magical item. And so we fed Nari the last bottle not long ago.”

Gwydion’s attempts to cheer the baby are not working, and the cries are growing more demanding. Cherry says, “It was really only about a quarter of a bottle.” Her ears sag against the back of her head in worry.

“No dry formula?” Sky asks.

Cherish shakes her head. “You two were rushing us so much…”

“Oh dear,” Gwydion rocks the baby a little. “What are we going to do until your mother gets back, little Nari?”

Alma hesitates, then goes to the Senator. “Give him to me. I have an idea.” At Gwydion’s hesitant expression, she adds, “I am still a Life goddess. Besides, none of the Bunnies was born after a natural pregnancy, right? So the only way your Alma could have nursed them would have been to use magic to…activate lactation. She has to have done it before, and if she could do it, I’m sure I can. These things are not beyond a goddess’ control. Just…let me try. It is the easiest solution to this problem.”

The Senator looks alarmed. “But, um, here? With…” He tilts his head toward Sky and Somrak.

Alma smirks. “Somehow I think they’ve seen it before. But I will step away a little, beyond any curious looks that might never have seen a female breast before.” And she does, moving to a little hallway, turning away from them, bearing a breast and letting the baby suckle on it, her control over her own body urging her glands to produce milk in response, the milk to flow into the ducts, to the nipple. She grimaces and taps the baby’s lip. “I know you’re hungry but I am new at this. No biting.”

Will he accept her? Will he latch on? Any fears are quickly allayed as the hungry infant takes her nipple, peacefully, eagerly suckling, undisturbed by any possible differences in taste, while Alma enjoys the pleasant release of hormones, the sensation of peace and closeness to the little child. “You are truly adorable, did you know that?” she whispers to the baby, looking at him, studying his face. “So similar to him…”

She glances back to see Cherish standing quietly nearby, a little behind, holding a towel, waiting to be noticed – how very unlike her own brash daughter. Still, her smile is much the same, warm and broad and bright. “He burps up sometimes – you’d better have this.” She offers the towel, and arranges it on Alma’s shoulder. “Hey little Nari!” The baby’s eyes open and he looks up at his big sister. The corner of his mouth curls in a smile even as he suckles. Cherish giggles, then says to Alma, “This is pretty strange, isn’t it?”

“It is. And I don’t know what is stranger, really, looking at you three and seeing all the similarities and all the differences to my own children, or breastfeeding a godling child when I have none.” She shrugs, gently. “This part is not all that uncommon to gods. Your father could have breastfed him, too.”

Cherish laughs. “I would’ve paid to see that!” She becomes more still and quiet for a moment. “You must be missing them. But, you know…we’ll take care of you, while you’re here. Don’t worry.”

Alma reaches to stroke Cherish’s ears, then her cheek, which the Bunny responds to much as Cherry would have, by leaning into the touch, as sensual as a kitten. “Thank you,” Alma says. “I am missing them, yes. But I am here to take care of you and help you back to safety. We will find a way to do that and I will soon be on my way so that you can have your mother back.” She leans down conspiratorially and whispers. “I can tell your father can’t wait to be rid of me.”

Cherry looks a little sad at that. “We do want her back. But he’s just worried sick is all. And just because we want her back, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be making you feel welcome here!” She brightens. “I wish we could meet them! Especially the ones younger than us. Boy Bunnies…goodness!”

Alma shifts Nari in her arms a little, prompting an annoyed grunt from the babe, but she is only reaching for and then removing her elaborately asymmetrical Guardia badge. “No, don’t grab that, little Nari,” she admonishes. “There’s a pin that will prick you.” She hands it over to Cherish, sliding her finger over a little, inconspicuous bobble hanging from a loop on the pin, starting the projection of glowing images, sculptures in light, of special moments from her own memories, that appear for a short time, and are them replaced by another. She keeps a few dozen of her favorite moments there. “There. Their images will show up eventually.” Indeed, while the first image is one of Gwydion smiling rakishly, the second is of Merri and Cherry laughing helplessly together over some silly thing.

Cherish gasps, looking at the glowing picture in wonder. “Oh, can I show the others? They’ll love this!” Her voice is high and excited.

As Cherry rushes away and gleeful exclamations echo in the chamber, Nari finishes his meal and Alma raises him to her shoulder, whispering encouragement to him and she pats his back gently. Tuma-Sukai approaches, a soft, faint smile on his stoic features that makes him resemble more strongly the Sky she knows. “Somrak and I have been talking. We’ve agreed on how to try to find the Commander. It involves a visit to the off-blues headquarters, though.”

“Do I need to be blindfolded?” Alma asks. “Or just promise I will not disclose the location in the future?”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out later. He thinks he knows who the mole is. But he isn’t willing to bring the Senator and the mortals and a baby into the middle of what could erupt into a fight, and of course neither am I. So just briefly, they have to stay here, and we will come back for them. But we have a prisoner we can take along. Somrak says that your Sky told him you helped her, once.”

“Saira…yes. I helped her, and she helped me. She helped save the Bunnies’ lives. And then she saved all of us, and gave her own life in the process.” Alma sighs, feeling heavy despite the sweetness of nursing. “Well, can we at least leave the local Popula here to guard the tunnels? This place is a maze. It will make it difficult enough for anyone to locate them easily.” Alma says, then looks at the baby. “After I replenish this little one’s milk reserves, I guess. Hopefully, the good Senator won’t think it all too sour for his baby’s lips.” She shakes her head in disbelief at the whole thing, then turns to the baby. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you someone to hold you while I make sure you won’t go hungry again. Oh, you are a strong little fellow, gripping my fingers like that – not the hair. Not the hair…thank you.”

Ch7.60 Revelations

“Try to escape, try to hurt anybody in this group, and you will spend hours wishing I had cut your throat, nice and clean.”

Sky listens to Somrak’s warning to Saira and interrupts before Somrak is tempted to describe the effects of turning a mortal into a living torch. Not only would it be disturbing to everyone else, Sky fears it would wipe out any chance of Saira changing sides, especially considering how her gang, her adoptive family, died. 

The likelihood of her turning against Nekh is already near zero, but a slim chance is better than none.

“Let’s get going. Corporal Machado, I want you up front with me. I know the way but you were born and raised here. You might know how to get us out of a tight spot. Constables Lamore and Kaur, take the flanks and stick close to the Senator and his family. Somrak in the rear with Saira.”

“Sergeant,” Gwydion begins to say, “I do not see why we are bringing this–”

Somrak cuts him off. “It’s either bring her along or kill her. We can’t leave her behind because she’ll talk to the next crew that comes looking for us. And the big guy says she doesn’t die. So she doesn’t die. Until she gives us a reason to change that decision.”

Sky adds, making eye contact with Gwydion and Alma, and each of the Bunnies in turn. “There will be time for questions after we arrive, and I will give you answers. For now, Senator, Lady, we must move swift and silent. Keep your family close together and follow the orders of your Guardia protectors. Your lives depend on that.” His gaze lingers for a moment on Mayumi, who returns it, looking nervous but determined not to show it. So that her mother’s hands will be free for healing, May has Gwyeu nestled in a carrier sling against her belly and chest, and the sight of her holding a baby sends his mind places that it really should not be going right now. He closes his eyes and, on opening them, deliberately focuses on Saira. “Please, do not force Somrak to do something I would very much regret. Because no matter how much I regret, I will not question his judgement in this matter.”

Saira, for once, does not have a brash quip to demonstrate how very unimpressed she is. She just glowers at Sky, shackled and sullen, still in her bright-yellow prison garb. Her clothing and weapons are all being brought along, but she will have no access to them.

Sky looks up at the thickening clouds. He suspects it will rain soon. He wishes he could claim to be scouting ahead, go around a corner, and sprout wings. With no stars or moon, with the nearly abandoned ward lacking in lights to reflect off the low-lying clouds, he would be nearly impossible to spot from the ground. But with Saira along, he knows the best way to keep her in line is to make it obvious that escape is impossible. Splitting off their forces will not do that.

The stealthy move to the Grotto is tense but with little incident. Sky’s mind flashes back to the time he, Alma, Dion, and Machado were escorting the Bunnies through a cordon of Dukaine-subordinate gangs to try to get them to safety. That had not gone smoothly at all, but it had many of the same people involved. Now, though, Lady Alma and Senator Gwydion are all but useless, and Saira, rather than helping, is a danger to them. At least there are no younger Bunnies to worry about running off in panic. Though he would not want to see their reaction if they encountered an ambush. They are keeping themselves together now, but the Merri, Cherry, and Mayumi Sky knows had not grown up so coddled. They were ready to lay down their lives for their younger siblings if need be, and they had at least a vague idea of what that meant. Sky hopes that these three never have to find out how they will do in the same situation.

Fortunately, nothing of the sort arises. They reach the Grotto, finding that the enchantment that lets them into the caves without getting soaked and pounded by the waterfall is still active. Sky leads them deep into a chamber away from the entrance, and away from the Chamber of the Pearl, the one which Pak has been using for training back in Sky’s world. It is one that is unlikely to have been explored by the forces that killed Doria and took the Pearl, and therefore it could give them a little more time if the warning spells he and Somrak placed along the entrance tunnel are tripped.

Sky explains all this to them and helps get them started on settling in. But after a short while he approaches his primary charges. Gwydion and the Bunnies are unpacking their meager belongings, while Alma is sitting on one of the stone benches, burping the baby after nursing him. “Lady Alma, Senator Gwydion. I need to speak with you both. Away from other ears, I’m afraid.”

The Senator looks at him, worry etching his tired face. Then, keeping his eye on Sky, he says to the Bunnies, “Children, stay here, please. We will be right back.”

Alma hands Cherry the baby. “Take care of your brother, my little one. We will not be gone for long.”

Sky leads them through the twisty, tight passage, a glowing ball of water bobbing along with them to provide a blue-green light, speaking to them in a low voice. “We only have enough water for two days, and while I can create water, I am sorry to say it is sea water. The water of this ward is tainted. However, it is possible that this pool I am taking you to is not. At least, I did not feel the effects of the corruption brought on by the damaged Pearl when I passed through it.”

“Passed through?” Gwydion asks. But Alma nearly interrupts him, asking, “Do you mean the pool from my vision, Sergeant? Is that why I dreamt of it? Because it will allow us to hide here?”

“Possibly,” Sky says. “But there is more to it than that.” 

Gwydion starts to ask, “Pool? Vision?” but Sky holds up his hand. His eye is caught by a blue glow ahead. Alma gasps behind him, and Gwydion hisses, “What is that?”

A voice whispers in their minds, “Help her.”

“A memory,” Sky says, heavy with sorrow. “She was the Oracle’s priestess. And my friend. Those who took the Pearl also took the Oracle, and murdered Doria. At least that is my working theory.”

“The poor dear girl.” Alma lets go of Gwydion’s hand and moves past him and Sky to approach the barely visible phantom. The memory-ghost brightens as Alma nears her, becoming more solid as well, and when Alma reaches out a hand to her, what is left of Doria reaches out a hand and takes Alma’s.

At Alma’s touch, Doria briefly looks as real as if she were truly alive and standing before them. She smiles with relief and joy, and looks at all three of them in gratitude. Then she fades, dissipating into nothingness. Any sense of her existence is gone.

Alma sways a little, as if she has just woken from a dream. Sky breathes out, realizing he had been holding his breath, and steps forward, placing a hand on her back to steady her. But Gwydion, with a cry of “My lamb!” pushes past him and takes her in his arms. He glares accusingly at Sky. “Why did you let her do that? She could have been hurt!” He turns to shower her with words of comfort.

“Lady Alma?” Sky asks. “Are you all right?”

“Yes…yes I am fine.” Alma looks up at Gwydion. “It is all right, my prince. I have not drawn upon my Death sphere in a very long time, but I can still do it. And she was nothing more than a memory, as the Sergeant said. But I saw…what she saw.” She straightens and looks at Sky. “The Pearl, the Oracle…I saw them. I saw them taken. A man of great evil was there, directing them. Doria whispered his name to me: ‘Margrave’.”

Sky feels a chill wash over him, and sees Alma’s eyes widen at his expression. “You know that name, Sergeant?”

Sky nods. “It confirms my theory. Margrave is Archon Nekh’s lieutenant. He is a diabolist. His soul has been sold to a Prince of Hell in return for great power. And…he tortured me. Or I should say, a being he summoned from Hell did so.”

“How awful,” Gwydion says, pale. He puts his hands on Alma’s shoulders. “Then does this confirm that Nekh is behind all that has happened these past few days?”

“Not enough to hold up in court,” Sky says, “but enough for us to start planning. Before we can do that…I have more to tell you.” He gestures ahead of them and sends his light-globe hovering ahead down the passage. “The pool is just ahead. Let us proceed, and I will explain.”

He takes the lead again and they soon enter the chamber together. The pool, as when he left it about twenty hours before, is quiescent. He walks up to the edge and squats, touching the water to determine that, yes, it is not tainted. He looks over his shoulder at them. “This is what I found when I came here a few hours ago. I’m not sure what it is, but I believe it to be a gateway to another world. One almost identical to this one, but different in profound ways.”

Alma squeezes her husband’s arm a little, her hand resting on his forearm. The Senator says, “That is good news, if slightly disturbing. Are you proposing we flee to this other world, Sergeant?”

Sky rises and faces them, and shakes his head. “I do not think that is possible. It seems to function on an exchange basis. If you went through, your counterpart, say a Gwydion who had joined the Guardia and has become a well-respected Sergeant, would have to be ready, in this chamber on the other side. You would switch places. If he was not ready, I imagine you’d do nothing but get wet. And if he was and you did exchange places, then that Dion would be stuck here, confused and worried for his family back home.”

“If this is so, then why bring us here? Are you just trying to play charades while your…partner raises his voice to us at every perceived mistake we make?” The Senator keeps his voice level though it is clearly strained, trying to be dignified but too tired and frightened to succeed. 

Sky keeps his voice gentle. “Somrak’s only concern is keeping all of you alive, a job he is highly skilled at. But it would be easier if you both recognize the extraordinary circumstances we are in now. You must forget your stations and rights to respect. You are our most precious objects in this universe right now. Protecting you is of far more importance than your egos.” He lets that sink in a moment. Then when the Senator opens his mouth again, Sky cuts him off. “But this is no charade. I brought you here because I have gone through this pool, and I most likely will again, soon. And I have knowledge from that which I must impart to you.”

Alma gasps, gripping Gwydion’s arm tighter. “So that…that is what you found from my dream?”

Gwydion looks at her, confused. “What dream? My little lamb, you have mentioned this twice now, and each time something has preempted my questions, but please tell me, what are you talking about?”

Alma looks down, embarrassed and miserable, seeming almost to shrink before Sky’s eyes. “I…I had a very ominous dream about these caves and I asked the Sergeant to investigate. It said we would find what we need to be safe again here.”

“But…my dear, why did you not tell me about this?” Gwydion sounds stunned that she kept this to herself.

“Well, I…I did not want to add to your worries. You might think I was falling ill with some divinatory fever. And…” She pauses, something building up inside her, something that comes out in a near-squeak. “I feared you would just discard it!”

Sky can hear the frustration in her voice, built up not over the course of this night but for decades, the frustration of being ‘protected’, of being ‘shielded’, of being ‘cherished’ – but not being listened to. Gwydion, however, does not seem to notice it. “Oh, my delicate flower…” the Senator murmurs as he embraces her. “But are you feeling well?”

She nods, her voice a little muffled against his shoulder. “I am, my prince. Just frightened.”

“I am just worried,” Gwydion says, petting her hair. “And you have used your Death sphere…you know how dangerous that is for your fragile health.”

Sky does his best to keep his feelings from reaching his face. It is almost grotesque, seeing these two people who were, at some point in their lives, the same as his dearest friends. Surely they were born from the same parents as the Dion and Alma he knows, and at least for a short time grew up in the same way. But somewhere along the line, they took a turn in their development. To think that his Alma, his Dion, could become such milksops… And yet, he reminds himself, if the Dion and Alma of his world have the potential to become this, then this Senator and Lady have, somewhere deep within, the potential to find their strength. 

“She was right to tell me,” Sky says. “I think the knowledge I carry could help with your survival, and perhaps with rebuilding after this is all over. I believe you may be playing a large role in that.”

“And what knowledge is that?” Gwydion asks, still consoling Alma.

Sky takes a deep breath. Here we go, he thinks. “First, I must apologize for being…deceptive. You see, I am not the Tuma-Sukai you sent here, Lady Alma. I am the one from the other side, from that other world which, I surmise, diverged from this one decades ago. The Tuma-Sukai who was assigned to protect you has, I believe, changed places with me, and I assume he is there now, hopefully not causing too much trouble.”

The couple are both silent, staring at him, Gwydion blinking incredulously, Alma’s eyes wide with fascination over her husband’s bicep. Finally she whispers, “Another world…a copy of this one but with a divergence in history… Is that why you were acting strangely when we were attacked?” 

Sky nods. “Forgive my familiarity, but in my world, I know both of you. I have known you for nearly a year, now, and indeed, we are very close. It seems Fate brought us together there, and is once again doing so here. Over there, you both recently risked your lives, along with Somrak, to rescue me from a dire fate – the torture I mentioned, at the behest of this Margrave.”

“Oh my…” Alma breathes. “We risked our lives…for you? And with Somrak?”

“With all due respect, I do not see how this is possible. Was this situation something of a political nature?” Gwydion pulls Alma closer, as if to protect her from the clearly insane Sky. “I can barely imagine how we would have met if it were not for this horrible ordeal we are in.”

Sky, by force of will, does not sigh, at least not physically. “Our coming together was considerably less traumatic, in that world. We were all three transferred to the newly expanded Three Rats Guardia Station. My Dion and Alma were promoted to Sergeant to ease the sting of the hardship posting, while I was, for a time, Inspector.” He grins slightly. “We didn’t much like each other at first. But we’ve become a team. More than that – a family. We’ve been through a great deal together.”

“Sergeant? Of the Guardia?” Alma goes almost sheet-white – as pale as the complexion of the Alma that Sky knows. “Oh no, no, no. I abhor violence. I can barely stand the sight of blood.”

Gwydion’s expression drips with doubt. “With our standing in society, I truly do not see why either of us would ever become Guardia, of all fates.” 

Sky almost laughs, thinking that his Dion’s uncle, the Archon Math, must have said something similar when he learned that Dion had joined the Guardia. To Alma, he says, “Your counterpart told me of grueling training sessions with her aunt, known as the Fencer. That Alma very nearly gave up, but she stuck with it, and it gave her the strength to leave her father’s home and join the Guardia.”

“Fencer?” Alma blinks, then seems to understand. “Oh, Aunt Varah. I only took one or two classes before I gave up. They were really not for me. Besides, I had my gallant knight protecting me at all times.” She looks up adoringly at Gwydion.

“We left Senator Death’s house when we became engaged. My uncle took us in.” Gwydion looks down, thoughtful, holding Alma’s hands. “Do you mean that in this other reality, we both took those classes, then? And that is how we became Guardia?”

Realization blooms as pieces click into place. Sky breathes out, “Ah… How old were you when you were taken in by the Death Clan, Senator? Was it immediately after your parents’ disappearance?”

Now it is Gwydion’s turn to look pale, the mention of his parents unsettling him. “I assume so, yes. I was rather young. I do not remember those days very well.”

Sky nods in comprehension. “In my world, young Dion was taken in by his uncle Math and raised by him. Dion never knew Alma until less than a year ago. From what I understand, Dion’s relationship with his uncle was often fraught. In the end, Dion joined the Guardia to escape the political life.”

“That is so horrible…” Alma sighs. “I cannot imagine a life without my beloved Dion. He is my soulmate. Our counterparts…are they together now? Engaged, maybe?”

“Ah, well…perhaps eventually.” Sky cannot help but smile. “They are very much in love, though, but I think marriage is something of a ‘maybe someday’ possibility. But I would say that ‘soulmates’ is an accurate description of them. It seems the Fates want you two together, in whatever world you find yourselves, even if it takes many years to bring about.” He smiles to see the pleasure those words bring to both of them. They may be annoying, he thinks, but they are still Alma and Gwydion.

“And children?” Alma asks, her voice hopeful. “They want children, yes?”

Sky tries to be cautious, but can see no reason to lie. “Well, things are very unsettled just now. We averted a major civil war, but the situation is just calming down. And Alma has her hands full sometimes with her Bunnies.” He winces slightly at the obvious next question. 

Which comes immediately. “What do you mean, her Bunnies?” Gwydion asks. “She had them alone?”

“Not…exactly.” Maybe I should have just held that back after all. “She had them before she met Dion.”

The Senator looks at Alma as if expecting an explanation, but she looks back just as confused. “And you believe this knowledge is important to help keep us safe, Sergeant?”

“What is important is that, in that world, Nekh is dead, and your uncle is alive.” Sky’s voice assumes a sympathetic tone. “And please allow me to offer my sincere condolences. I know the Archon Math. He is well-loved by his nephew and a good many more people, and I am sure your uncle was as well, Senator.”

“He was so good to us.” Alma’s voice hitches and tears fill her eyes. “And he adored the children. He was so tender to them.”

“He certainly did not deserve this betrayal by Archon Nekh. My uncle was nothing but a good, decent old god.” Gwydion’s grief is heartfelt.

Sky’s keeps his general opinion about Archons – that whatever face an Archon might show to loved ones, no god can reach those lofty heights without being a ruthless, amoral player of the riskiest of games – to himself. “In my world, Archon Math arranged things so that Nekh would extend his hand too far, setting him up for a fall. The plan was, I think, to destroy Nekh’s power base and force him to become a secret scion of House Math, but…things went further. Nekh had his soul ripped from him, after being shattered by a weapon known as a God Striker. And this God Striker was found in these very same caves. And it was found by my Alma.”

“Your Alma?” Senator Gwydion looks at him quizzically.

Sky smirks and shakes his head at the jealousy. Just like my Dion, mistaking the love of friendship for romantic infatuation. “The God Striker is another thing I wanted to ask you about. It is also called the Deus Percussorem. Have you ever heard of any such thing?” They shake their heads. “Well, that would have been too easy, I suppose. But in my world, Nekh’s men also attacked the Oracle and stole the Pearl. In doing so, they left the God Striker behind, at the bottom of a pool, as if it wanted us to find it. It is possible that may have happened again, so it could be somewhere in here. So we need to start checking pools. There are quite a few, I’m afraid, but I don’t plan to sleep until it is time for me to attempt to exchange places with the other Tuma-Suka again, in less than twenty hours.”

“Excuse me…” Like a schoolgirl embarrassed to ask for permission to go to the bathroom, Alma raises her hand. “I believe you said someone ripped Archon Nekh’s soul out of his body? I may not have studied my Father’s Clan lore extensively but I know that what you are describing is an unspeakable crime. It would merit nothing short of being banished to Hell.”

Sky looks at her, quiet, for a moment. The more I tell them of what their counterparts are capable of, the more I risk sounding insane. But this could very well be important for them to know. It could save their lives. “It very nearly came to that. But an argument was put forth that, not only was it self defense and defense of others, but it was also a very convenient disposal of one of the vilest criminals the Insula has seen. And with Archon Math’s help, a bargain was struck.” He nods at Gwydion. “The wielder of the God Striker was set free, to serve the Guardia wherever he preferred,” and he nods at Alma, “while the one who had killed Nekh was sentenced to stay in Three Rats until further notice. With her family of Bunnies.”

“Bunnies? Then–” Dion looks at Alma, his mouth agape. “Impossible…”

“The dashing Sergeant who had wielded the God Striker decided to stay with her in the end,” Sky confirms for them. “I do not believe he regrets it one bit.”

“You mean…?” Alma’s eyes are wide in astonishment. “Oh, this is sounding like something out of a myth! Are you saying that we killed Nekh in this world of yours?”

“You did, together.” He remembers coming into the room just after it happened, Dion stunned but comforting Tulip, the youngest Bunny, the one who had fulfilled the prophecy by dropping the God Striker next to Dion at just the right moment. And Alma in a state of shock, Nekh’s burnt and smoking body before her. I held her, told her it would be all right. And I am grateful every day that that did not turn out to be a lie. 

“I hope this does not mean you intend us to play out their story, Sergeant.” Dion says. “Such a violent effort would surely mean my wife’s death. She has never harvested a soul in her life.” 

Sky nods. “I realize that the two of you have grown up along a different path. You have other strengths, and other skills that may well prove more useful than combat and magic. But the God Striker could turn the tide of battle. Perhaps this world’s Sky or Somrak are meant to wield it. Perhaps someone else. But you should know that anything the Alma and Dion of my world can do, it is something that exists within you as a potentiality. That strength, that ruthlessness – you can be capable of it, if you want it badly enough.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Sergeant.” Gwydion seems shaken by the implications, however. “So what do you need us to do?”

“We need to search for the God Striker. It could be in a pool, or it could be elsewhere. If it is here at all. Fortunately, I know these caverns well, having lived in them for months. Somrak can keep watch over you while Alma and I search.” He looks at Alma. “She is the one who found it before. It is possible the Fates only want her to find it. And I hesitate to have everyone searching, in case someone were to fall into a pool or something.”

“But…but I do not even know what it looks like!” Alma squeaks.

“I have a feeling that you will know it when you see it,” Sky says. “In our world it looked a bit like a cestus…uh, a sort of large set of brass knuckles. It could be in a different form here, though.”

“Well…if you are certain…” Alma sounds unsure, but then her mouth firms up in determination. “I… I will try to help.”

“Are you sure, my dearest?” Dion looks worried. “Perhaps I should go along with you.”

Alma hesitates, looking as if her momentary resolve is about to evaporate, but then says, resolute, “No. It is all right. The children might worry if we were both to leave them for long. Sergeant Tuma-Sukai will look after me, will you not?”

“With my life,” he says. “You, all of you, are under my protection every bit as much as you are under that of this world’s Tuma-Sukai. Until such time that I am sent back to my home, I shall take on his task without reservation.”

“Very well, then.” Dion turns to Alma, taking her hands again. “Just…be careful, my flower. I do not know what would happen to me if I were ever to lose you.”

“I promise I will be careful.” Alma puts her arms around him and holds him tightly. “I never want that to happen. Never.”

Ch7.55 Revelations

After leaving the Grotto, Sky notices how quiet Three Rats is. The ward has always had numerous empty buildings due to the twisted, fused nature of many of them, resulting from the merger of two chunks of Reality into one ward. But those buildings that were lived in were packed full of lively, boisterous people. Even now at, he would guess from the stars, two in the morning, there should be shady characters on street corners, partygoers on their way home, gangsters and cops patrolling and nodding to each other in uneasy detente as they pass. Even if the ward is sensing that something big is about to go down – the average Three Rats dweller having an amazing nose for the smell of trouble brewing – he should have been able to hear the small sounds of families hunkering down, plaintive children’s voices asking why they had to be quiet followed by shushes. 

But there is nothing but empty streets and empty homes. Quite a bit of vandalizing as well. Windows that look like the ragged-toothed jaws of beasts, and doors hanging from one hinge, discarded loot on the doorsteps. A few, very few homes look lived in.

Sky approaches Three Rats Station only to find it abandoned as well. In fact, there is no sign it has ever been used as a Guardia station. He enters by pulling aside a rusty corrugated-steel panel placed over the gaping doorway and discovers nothing but a shell of a warehouse with signs of someone having squatted there for a few days, leaving behind empty cans and water bottles. The squatter left three days ago, by Sky’s estimation of the stink in the corner, which the resident has used for a toilet. There is no sign that the interior walls of the station had been ripped out, either. Where Sky’s office had been, there are no scrapes or nail holes or anything to show that his office has ever been built.

Out back, the Burrow, Merri and Cherry’s bar and home to all the Bunnies, and to Alma and Dion as well, is also abandoned. The sign he gave them for Year’s End is missing. And the two screw hooks he put in himself to hang the sign from…gone. Never there, really. No holes. Inside he finds that yes, it is a bar, but that was the case before the Bunnies had arrived, an old former bar that they took over and made into a new one. There are no bottles to be found, no glasses, no dishes. Nothing left behind. No indication that these things had been taken away.

He does find something, though. A newspaper left behind, fallen behind the bar. He picks it up and sees the date of several months ago. From the yellowing of the paper he would say it was several months old, not years. A spark of hope begins to kindle as he starts to think that he has not disappeared for years after all. Yet the mystery of the empty ward remains. He leans against the bar, pondering.

This station was never a station, and the bar was never the Burrow. Bunnies have never lived here. He’s never been Inspector here. The Pearl has been stolen, but perhaps not twice. Perhaps only once, at the same time it was stolen in his memory. Only he and Alma and Gwydion had not been here to get it back and return it. And Doria, instead of being injured, had been killed.

Time travel to the past is forbidden by the Fates, powers greater than the greatest gods. Any being who attempts it meets a horrible end instead. And the newspaper shows he has not travelled into the past.

He forms a theory. He thinks it over again, then again, and can discover no flaws in his reasoning. It is still a mystery, what has happened, but the reality of the current situation is becoming clear.

And he remembers that Three Rats had, until just before his arrival, another Guardia station. A smaller one over near the border with Little Falls, back in the direction he’s just come from, not far from the Grotto. Machado and the other Guardia Popula had moved from there to here as the station was being expanded, when Sky had become the new Inspector. It seems that move never happened. Which means the old station could possibly still be occupied.

And thus he is now approaching the old station. He can see it at the end of an unusually straight stretch of road, and yes, there is a faint light within showing through the windows. It is only one story high, just a small block of brick and masonry. His heart beats faster. He wants to rush there, find someone he knows, perhaps Machado or Kaur or Lamore, someone who may never have met him but who can tell him something.

But he freezes. He is uncertain why at first. Then he sees something that does not belong. A bump at the top of a three-story building that looks down on the little station. He stands very still. The bump moves. And something else comes up from the shadow, a complex shape. A crossbow, being brought up and laid upon the edge of the rooftop. The head of the crossbowman – for the bump is a person’s head – shifts again, and Sky sees a shoulder to go with it. Whoever it is is taking aim at one of the windows of the station.

Sky slips into the shadows. Has he been seen? How many of them are there? Where are they. 

He transforms. His skin, naturally dark, is still too visible in his human form, and shirtless as he is, too exposed. He may be far larger as a devil, but he is made for night stealth, not only with red-black skin but with an ability to cloak himself in shadows that cannot be seen through even by most forms of magic. He considers the quietest way to gain the heights. Flight, he decides, it the best route.

He retreats a block back the way he came and turns down a cross street, and with a powerful leap of his long, hoofed legs launches into the air. He flaps heavily to rise above the buildings, mostly two to four stories tall in this neighborhood, then glides quietly on leathery wings, dark-adapted eyes piercing the night. He is careful of the light from the one crescent moon that hangs near the horizon, making sure not to occlude it from the direction of the station.

He spots the crossbowman first, crouched at a balustrade on the roof of the building. And there is another, on a balcony. Another at street level, at the corner of a building. All three are holding crossbows, all three tense, predatory, ready to go. A barely noticeable shadow slinks down and leaps onto a first floor balcony. It raises something to its mouth, and Sky hears a quiet, momentary whistle. Two more shadows detach themselves from nearby buildings and head for the back door of the Guardia station. The one at the corner and two others advance in a diagonal line from a nearby building, headed for the front door. One of them looks like a human battle ram, so bulky and tall is he.

Eight. He counts eight. Too many to take out without bloodshed. Too many to shout, “Guardia! You are under arrest! Drop your weapons!” Not when they’re about to launch their kill mission. He’ll have to attack full force, no warning. And with no weapons…he’ll have to use his natural ones. He flexes his talons. 

And there, they’re moving fast. He moves faster. 

First the rooftop crossbowman. Glide, then swoop. At the last moment the sniper senses something behind him. He starts to turn, trying to bring the bow around, but too late. Sky flies just above him, both arms hanging down, palms forward, talons curved. A horrible, brief tug of flesh and cloth tearing, and Sky’s target grunts, flipping off the rooftop in a gout of blood that arcs through the air. He hits the ground just before Sky, wings folded to dive then snapping out to decelerate, lands with a heavy thud just behind another of the assassins, whom he blinds with a cloud of darkness. The darkness dissipates just as a bolt flies through it from the sniper on the balcony, but Sky is gone, leaving only a twitching body in a rapidly growing pool of blood. But the big guy doesn’t stop – he’s hitting the door, smashing it in with a huge crash and shatter of glass. A shadow swells from darkness and leaps upon him, swallows him, then the huge attacker is flying through the air, all the way across the street to land like a sack of wet oatmeal, skidding a bodylength before stopping. A crossbow bolt, again from the balcony, goes through the moving, ink-in-water shadow and hits the brick of the station, sticking into it. 

The shadow fades in dissipating tendrils, and is gone, with no sign of Sky.

There is a smashing of a glass window. A scream, as a figure slips into the station through the opening. Three high-pitched voices, screaming almost in harmony. They sound familiar to Sky, but the circumstances bring no pleasure at the possible recognition. The screams suddenly increase in volume, another female voice adding to them, and at least one male scream of agony joining in. Impact, then again, and another lesser crash as a body enveloped in flame is knocked back out the window through which he entered. Sky palms his skull, greasy with boiling fat and flesh, and yanks him the rest of the way out, swinging the burning, struggling man and hurling him to impact the oversized thug who is trying to stand, knocking him down again and setting his shirt afire.

Sky hears an astonished curse and looks up to see the balcony sniper, frozen in the act of reloading across the street and two floors up. He is staring at Sky, who, having forgotten to wreathe himself in darkness, was illuminated by the flaming now-corpse. Sky knows what the sniper has seen: a creature the size of an aurochs, but long and bipedal, wolfish jaws, huge dragonish wings and a dragon’s tail. And an aura that just screams Hellspawn. Devil, demon, the sniper will not know or care. He sees Sky staring and drops his crossbow off the edge of the balcony and it clatters to the street. He turns, bashes into the frame of the balcony door, staggers, and runs into interior of the building.

Five, Sky counts. Two snipers, one dead one running. The three in front, two dead one struggling to put his clothes out. Got the two round back and the leader to deal with.

Another scream within. A cold female voice, telling them to shut up.

Sky slips around the back, rapidly reverting to human form. He is big for a human but he moves like a cat when he needs to, light and silent. He is glad for his bare feet, so heavily calloused from this stolen form’s shoeless childhood that even small pieces of glass do not bother him. He sees the rear door, forced open, a shape in the doorway. Another member of the strike team, left there to watch, but looking the wrong way at the moment. Sky is on him as he turns, no talons or teeth now but just a pair of big, strong hands. One seizes the man’s crossbow, clenching the foregrip and pinning the bolt against the flight groove so that it cannot be fired. The other hand is around the man’s throat. Sky looks into the man’s eyes as he squeezes both hands as hard as he can. The eyes bug out. Sky feel the larynx collapse, the vertebrae pop as they separate. There is a slight splintering of the crossbow. Sky lowers both to the ground man and weapon to the ground, silent.

He enters the station’s kitchen. Through the door to the main room, he can see the leader, cloaked, holding someone. Holding a knife to someone’s throat. Hostage. Beyond her, in the lit room…

Somrak is the first he makes out. Somrak standing crouched, ready, one of his long knives in one hand, the bunched up shirt of an attacker in the other. The attacker is dead or unconscious. Somrak took him down, so Sky assumes dead. The knife is red and slick with blood. 

Sky cannot see the whole room from here, but he sees Gwydion, looking terrified, his arms protectively around two frightened Bunnies, Mayumi and Rosemary. And just behind his shoulder is Cherry, holding a bundle that squirms. A sound like a cat’s scream suddenly erupts from it. No, not a cat. A baby.

“Lower that hand, Matchstick!” the cloaked figure demands. “I start feeling hot, the lady here is getting her throat slit with an ichor-laced blade.”

The voice freezes Sky in his tracks as he creeps closer. He knows the voice instantly. Only its owner is dead. 

Somrak lets the body fall to leave his other hand free, but he lowers both that hand and the one holding the blade. “You’ll never get out of here alive, assassin. Unless you give up now.” He is not looking at Sky. His eyes stay focused on the one he calls ‘assassin.’ But Sky knows that Somrak must be able to see his heat signature in the shadows of the kitchen.

Alma’s voice, choked by an arm across her throat, terrified, begs, “Please! What – what have I ever done to you?” Sky can now see her feet encased in tiny, delicate shoes, in front of the assassin’s flexible boots. The rest of both assassin and captive are still hidden by the cloak.

Alma’s voice but…different. Had he ever heard Alma beg? For anything?

“Nothing, hon, but I do need to make a living. Now stop squirming.” The hostage-taker takes a step back, keeping Alma off-balance, dragging her toward the kitchen and escape. “And you stop mumbling! If I hear one magic word, she’s dead.” This last makes Dion freeze, eyes wide, horrified.

Sky stays where he is, not breathing, willing himself to be unnoticeable. Not here, not here, there is nobody here. He learned the technique so very long ago from a native scout when Sky was training the mortal’s people how to use repeating firearms, and in return he was trained to be even sneakier than he was. He stands so she will be in the doorframe when her back touches his chest. But he knows who this is. Her voice is harsher than he’s ever heard it except when she was killing Margrave, and being killed in turn by minor demons biting and tearing her. He knows how deadly she is. He knows she could kill Alma if he is not very careful.

That is why he does not wait for her to step on his foot, or for her back to touch his chest. He stops wondering why Alma is begging instead of casually disarming Saira, for thought Saira is deadly, she is no Guardia Dei who was trained by the Fencer. He just reaches a hand around Saira’s hood with the speed of a rattlesnake and grabs, intending to seize the assassin’s hand. But even he is not quite fast enough. Instead of her hand, he feels the sharp edge of the blade slicing the skin of his fingers. He does not hesitate, gripping the blade with all his strength. He ignores the sting of the razor edge cutting through muscle to the bones, instead happy his little finger has caught the handguard. She won’t be able to simply pull the blade out of his grasp. 

He holds on as she grunts and tries to pull it free. He holds on even though he feels that she was not lying about the highly illegal demon-ichor poison that is coating the blade. This much entering a god’s bloodstream would have brought the god to his knees, potentially with death to follow. For Sky is merely hurts, like fire burning through his veins and up his wrist and forearm. He is, after all, a being of Hell. His own bloodstream is, essentially, this very poison in a less-concentrated form.

His other hand grabs the back of Saira’s cloak, yanking her back, hard. As she was doing to Alma, keeping her off-balance so she could not easily try to fight back, Sky shakes Saira like a terrier with a rat, and steps back into the darkness of the kitchen. She lets go of Alma, who falls with a thud to the floor, landing on her derrière, undignified but free. 

Sky knows Saira will have another weapon in her free hand in a heartbeat. He makes no attempt to stop her, instead bringing his right arm around her throat. He is still holding her blade, but she lets go as she realizes she cannot extract it from his grasp, nor does she have the strength to stop him from applying a choke. She tries to slip free, but he has her, pulling her from the floor, holding his right forearm with his left hand. She kicks his legs, trying to break a knee. She tries to wriggle away. She pulls another blade and stabs it into his forearm.

None of it helps. While it is true that a highly trained smaller opponent can easily overcome brute strength, when the stronger opponent is almost as fast and is just as highly trained with ten times as many years of experience, and when sharp kicks to the knee and fingers slashed to the bone and demon-ichor poison and a dagger in the forearm all amount to little more than scratches and bites from a cat, the result is inevitable. Saira is one of the best, but she is mortal, and Sky is already constricting the flow of blood to her brain as his forearm and bicep press against her carotid arteries. She does considerable damage to him in the five seconds she has before she blacks out. But she goes limp nonetheless.

There is a moment of silence. Sky releases his choke hold and makes sure Saira is still breathing. But then as if a chip falls, screaming starts. Shockingly, it is not a Bunny, but Alma filling the station with terrified screams. Sky drops Saira faster than he should, regretting the thud of her unconscious body on the wooden floor, but nearly panicking. His first thought is that one of the Bunnies or Dion or someone was just killed by the sniper that ran away, but no…from the kitchen he can see that Alma, clutching at her chest, is scrambling to her feet and rushing into Dion’s arms, holding him like a stone in a raging stream, sobbing. Though they too look shaken, though they too have tears in their eyes, Merri and May are comforting her, as if she were the child and they the mothers. Sky catches Cherry looking at her weeping mother and sighing in mild exasperation. He thinks she almost rolls her eyes.

“It’s all right, my little lamb. It’s all right.” Dion, patting Alma’s back, looks up from where he sits to ask Somrak, “What-what happened, Sergeant?”

Somrak, who is keeping his eyes on the kitchen, watching Sky’s body heat in the shadows, says, “Well, my partner was on the job, after all.”

Sky looks at his right hand, the one that Saira’s knife cut deep into. The demon-ichor rages within, though he is metabolizing it. But the fingers are talons, the skin red-black up to his elbow. He cannot walk out there. His left forearm has a dagger still sticking out of it. He carefully extracts it and tosses it into the kitchen sink, wincing at the loud clatter that cuts off Alma’s screams, leaving only sniffles. 

Lovely. “There are two more. One has fled. Perhaps the other as well.” His voice is frighteningly deep, monstrous. He grimaces at how everyone in the main room leans away from the dark kitchen door, eyes widening. Everyone except Somrak, who narrows his eyes in concern. 

Sky squats and pushes Saira’s unconscious body from the kitchen into the light. “I will…” He clears his throat, struggling to get it to return to what he thinks of as normal. “I will hunt them. Stay here. Disarm this one and put her in a cell. Be careful – she’s very good. She will have many hidden weapons and tools. But do not kill her, whatever you do.”

And with that, Sky goes out the door, ignoring Somrak’s protest.

神兎神兎神兎神兎神兎神兎

About fifteen minutes later, Sky returns. He notes that five bodies, one of them burnt, are stacked neatly in the alley behind the station. Somrak or the Popula must have gone out and fetched them. Sky approves. A station surrounded by bodies is rather conspicuous. 

He does not have the other two with him. The big one was easy enough to catch up with. He turned out to be a minor demigod of strength of somesuch, and his blows could have been deadly to Sky if any had landed. Sky punched him hard in the side of his bullet-head and discovered that he did not have any special resistance to damage. The skull crushed, the unfortunate demigod collapsed like a cheap building in an earthquake, never to move again.

And the other had seen Sky’s true form. Sky found the sniper cowering in an alleyway and asked him a few questions, which the assassin begged to answer. What Sky learned fit logically with the hypothesis he had formed. He considered the possibilities of keeping the man prisoner, but he knew they would have to move quickly and that there would be no facilities for locking him up where they would go.

Death was quick and almost painless.

In the dark kitchen again, he watches the main room of the station. Machado is there, talking to Kaur. Dion is sitting on a sofa, his arm around Alma. Protective. Alma holds the baby, calmer, whispering and cooing. Merri is next to her, fussing with the baby’s blanket, and Cherry is leaning over the back of the sofa, making funny faces at the infant. 

Sky notices that Alma’s eyes are the beautiful blue that they were when he met her. They have not been transformed into strange pupil-less pearlescence. He shudders at the memory which flashes into his mind, of Nua the Necromancer torturing innocent mortals to death just to break his will, mortals she had reshaped to appear to be Alma, Dion, and Saira. Nua had not known that Alma had become the Spinner, and in so doing that her eyes had changed.

But here, now, this fits with everything else. This is Alma. It is no trick.

But she is not his Alma.

He looks past the little family, who look so much like his family, and he sees Somrak, looking at him in the shadows again, having sensed his return. Somrak with the scar across his handsome face, his mouth pulled into a slight permanent smirk by it. The scar not erased by Lyria’s healing. And next to Somrak is Mayumi, also watching him. Her ears are perked forward – naturally she heard him moving around in there. Her face is just as beautiful as his Mayumi’s. But…it is different. She looks younger, softer. She doesn’t look like someone who would ever be interested in joining the Guardia. More like Mayumi’s party-loving, beach-going twin.

He considers the blood on his arms and elsewhere. The Bunnies will be disturbed by the smell, and everyone else by the sight. He turns to the sink and begins washing himself off.

He hears the sound of a footstep behind him and most of the light from the station is blocked. Glancing back, Sky sees Somrak leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Lose your uniform?”

Sky continues wiping down his chest and limbs with a wet rag that is turning red with blood. “I had an…encounter. The threat is neutralized. How’s the prisoner?”

Somrak just watches him for a moment, but then says, “Locked up nice and tight, stripped down to her undies. I let the Popula woman, Lamore, do the cavity search. She’s watching her now. Prisoner was coming around when I left them a couple minutes ago.”

Sky drops the rag in the sink and walks to the door, pausing as Somrak does not move aside. The fire god looks Sky up and down. “That was some scouting jaunt,” he says with a low, accusatory voice. “You slaughter most of an assassination team and you seem to know the only surviving member personally. You show up here in nothing but a pair of tights. And…you’ve lost weight, partner. You’re thinner than I’ve ever seen you.”

Sky takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out. “I’ll explain when I’m certain what’s happened.” He talks low but adds, “The Bunnies can hear every word we’re saying.”

Somrak rolls his eyes up toward the stars above. “Of course they can. Don’t take too long with that explanation, pal. You know I don’t like being kept in the dark.” He straightens and moves to let Sky through.

Sky looks around the room. Everyone is looking at him. Alma looks as if she wants to say something, while Gwydion looks…intimidated? And like Mayumi, he looks soft, more literally so. Alma as well. And despite the baby in her arms, Alma looks like she is barely out of her teens, while Dion seems almost patriarchal – a little heavier, a little more…dad-like. The way Cherry hangs over his shoulder carries not the slightest hint of flirtatiousness, and Dion reaches up to take her hand, to comfort her in the face of the looming, shirtless, barefoot, scary-voiced killing machine standing before them all. Mayumi moves to sit by Dion, leaning against him in a daughterly way that Sky could hardly imagine her doing with anyone except Alma.

Sky looks over at Machado and Kaur. The uniforms are the same. Sergeant – no, it’s Corporal Edison Machado, according to his pips, who looks no different, though he hasn’t shaved his head or cheeks in a couple of days, resulting in a shadow of black stubble peppered with grey on his pate and lower face, except for a large bald spot on the crown. With yet another shock, Sky notices that Aliyah has shorter hair, only to her mid-back. The Constable-sometimes-Corporal Aliyah Kaur he knows does not cut her hair, in keeping with her family’s Sikh faith, and it is braided in a queue the end of which taps against the backs of her knees as she walks. There is not much of her faith that she holds to, but apparently this Aliyah does not hold to that rule.

Alma, Gwydion, Machado, Kaur – these are all his officers. Well, not anymore, not since he was tortured. But depending on the Commander’s decisions, perhaps one day again. And all of them and the Bunnies and Somrak, they are all family. But no, only Somrak knows him here. All the rest are wary of him.

“Sergeant Machado, I’ll speak to the prisoner now,” Sky says. “And…I don’t know what kind of stores you have, but if you happen to have any clothing that might fit me, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Machado nods after a moment. “Sure, Sergeant. I think there might be a shirt, at least.”

Sky nods at him and Aliyah, then goes toward the holding cells. Alma, as if suddenly coming to a decision, a determined look on her face, abruptly stands, surprising everyone with her on the station sofa. She scurries over to Sky as he places his hand on the door to the cells. Partially obscured by a tall filing cabinet, she whispers to him, “Sergeant? I… May I have a word with you?”

He looks down at her, taking in her lace-trimmed silken blouse that manages to be demure and at the same time reveal the cleavage of her full, motherly breasts. He is not certain, but he thinks she is a little shorter than his Alma. His eyes focus for a moment on the baby, which smiles with plump cheeks at him. “Yes, of course. What is it, Alma?”

She looks a little scandalized at his words, not in the humorous way her mother Lyria pretends to be scandalized, but truly so. Then in a shaky voice that is trying to be brave, she whispers, “I know I asked you for a big favor, Sergeant, but I do not believe it merits such intimacy of speech between us.”

He blinks at her, his face still, to hide the surprising flash of hurt at her objection. “Forgive me…Lady Alma. The recent violence has shaken me. Are you all right, by the way? Were you at all hurt?”

She shakes her head, looking subdued now that their social boundaries have been reestablished. “No. I was just…shaken. It was the first time someone held me at knifepoint. But I am all right. Thank you. For saving my life.”

“I hope I shall never have to do it again,” he says, “but I will gladly do it a thousand times if necessity requires it. Now, this favor you asked of me…” He trails off, hoping she will fill in the blanks about some favor he has only just now heard of.

“Yes. I did not want to ask about it in front of my husband and your partner – forgive me but he has been so ill-tempered with us since you both were assigned to protect us. I was afraid you would somehow get in trouble for it.” She looks expectant, almost pleading. “Did you find it? The Grotto?”

He pauses, his mind racing with how best to reply. “Yes. Yes, I found it. And…a pool. A pool that glimmered, and was filled with swirling colors. Is that what you expected?”

She nods, her breath quickening. “That is what my dream showed me! Did you find the answers there for how we may be saved?”

He thinks furiously, his hypothesis further bolstered by this, and starting to see more implications that come crashing down on him like the Grotto’s waterfall. “Perhaps. I…I’m still trying to understand it all. You had a dream, you say? Was there anyone else in this dream?” He sees her look of confusion. “It’s just…I was hit, in the fighting. On the head. Things are a little muddled.”

Her eyes widen in concern. “Oh you poor soul! And your hand is wounded as well!” She shifts the baby to her left arm and takes his hand, pulling him to a desk chair. “Here, come and sit down for a moment. I will take care of those wounds before you go speak to that dreadful assassin character.”

Sky sits, glad that the chair has no arms. From the picture of a bearded father and smiling mother on the desk, he knows it is Constable Kaur’s. “Thank you. I…I could hold the baby,” he offers, realizing he wants to and hoping she will let him. “What is his name?”

“Gwyeu,” she says with a voice filled with love. She looks just a little nervous, but she leans forward and carefully hands him over, and Sky holds him with tenderness, his face overcome with an expression of bliss as he smiles at the child. He almost doesn’t hear her as she asks, “Is he not the sweetest, most adorable baby you have ever seen? Looks like a miniature version of his father.” She strokes the baby’s nose, looking as if her heart is melting before she perches on the edge of the desk and takes Sky’s hand. “Now, this may hurt a little before it starts feeling better.”

His hand closes around hers. The flesh has mostly knitted back together from his own healing. His ability to transform himself has come with an unexpected benefit: the divine self-healing that nearly all gods have seems faster than before, as if the newfound ability to control his body includes repairing it. But the muscles will still take time to regain full strength without help. He unconsciously squeezes her hand before noticing that he’s doing it, forgetting, as he makes amusing faces at the baby, that this is not the Alma he knows.

“You seem to have a way with children,” Alma notes, as she suffuses Sky with preliminary healing energy, scanning his whole body for wounds. “Do you have any of your own?”

“Long ago,” he says in a soft voice. “I haven’t held a godling this young in…years. A few years.” Not since a mission to retrieve an infant stolen by a malevolent fae. But she would not want to hear about that – it had been dark and bloody. “He is indeed adorable.”

Alma smiles at his words, but then frowns. “You were hurt in more places than just this hand. And…the scars.” Although actual scars, like that on Somrak’s face, are rare in gods, still traces can remain of healed wounds, recent or terrible, that leave shadows on the flesh and spirit. Alma starts healing him, her magic pouring into him, and he is surprised, for in this she is stronger and somehow more self-assured, more efficient at healing. Closer to her mother Lyria’s level of expertise. But this also makes the healing hit him harder and faster before the relief comes. He closes his eyes at the intensity of it, but he does not allow the baby to be disturbed at all.

“There. All done,” Alma says. “Such horrible poison… I wonder how they even find such terrible substances in nature.”

He opens his eyes, his breathing a little faster than before. The demon ichor, of course, was almost gone from his system. “Yes, well, that is something I will ask our prisoner about. Such poisons are very much prohibited.” He pauses. “Now, I don’t think you mentioned…was there anyone else in your dream?”

Her energies, softer, wash through his body again, checking for anything needing healing that she might have missed. “No, just a voice. Feminine. Pleasant. Old perhaps.” Alma looks at him, helpless. “I worry that I may have done nothing but waste your time and put you and ourselves in danger by asking you to go. But it felt so ominous… I had never had such dreams before.”

“Well, you mustn’t think it was useless,” he says, mulling over her words. The Oracle? Is that who she heard? He himself had been sent a message by Nevieve in the past, telling him where Alma, Dion, and the Bunnies were and that they needed help. “If I had not been sent out, I would not have noticed the team of assassins. They could have succeeded, otherwise. In a sense, your prophecy has already come true.”

Alma gasps in shock, which almost makes him laugh. In such dramatic gasping, she sounds distinctly like Merri. But before she can say more, Gwydion comes around the filing cabinet. He looks almost suspicious. It is an expression Sky has seen before, on the Gwydion he knows, who was, for a time, jealous of the friendship Sky and Alma shared, thinking it carried a romantic element. “My dear? I was looking all over for you. You mustn’t disappear like that. The children were worried.”

Sky knows it is Gwydion who is worried, and that ‘looking all over’ is ridiculous in this tiny station. “She was healing me…Lord Gwydion,” Sky says, assuming that if Alma goes by Lady then Gwydion must have an appropriately equal appellation. “And a most impressive healer she is.” He gently hands the baby back to Alma. “I thank you, Lady Alma. Now I had better interrogate our prisoner.”

“You will speak to this…mercenary? But she nearly killed my wife just now!” Dion looks confused an expression that seems comfortable on his face. “Why would she even bother to speak to you when she was obviously sent to kill us all?”

Sky stands up and shrugs. “People often open up to me,” he says. “I just have one of those faces, I suppose.” He nods toward both of them, then turns and opens the door to the holding cells, and ducks through, careful not to bash his skull on the doorframe.