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.

Ch7.31 Revelations

How to make a universe in five easy steps:

One: Choose a dream. Any dream will do. An original or a copy, borrowed from your favorite author or some piece of inspired cinematography. Forests or ocean shores, a specific room, a cavern, a cloud, a plot of cosmos. Anything. Any place. See it in your mind. The materials, the sounds, the scents – that will be the body.

Two: Choose its function. Is it a sanctuary? An arena? A zoo? A place to sleep in? To be lost in? To keep others out? To welcome people in? To be hurt or hurt others? Pick carefully – that will be its mind.

Three: Define its boundaries. How big will it be? How solid? How much detail will you put into it? Material items? Living occupants? How much of it do you know? How much left to be discovered? Only imagination offers limits to a dream, no? – so draw its borders.

Four: Nurture it. Give it your own self. Guide it into becoming what you want it to be. There are no shortcuts here, no easy path. What you give is what it becomes. Give it love and it will be loving; be gentle and it will be kind. Give it fear and it will be a place of nightmares. Give it nothing…and it won’t grow – and that will be its heart.

Five: Now that all of that is sorted out, there is only the one step left. The most vital one. To give life to your dream. All dreams exist in potentiality, just a breath away from existence. They hover in nothingness, like patches of something that could be if only energy and time and effort were put into them. If only the right sort of circumstances were to gather together at the right moment. And it is up to you to pluck them from the Void and recognize what they could become – once you do, you have your seed.

And so it is that universes are built from back to front, from the end to the beginning. Many things are, if one were to look carefully. It is how we built the Insula, how we found it, floating away in the Nether Realms of the Void, filled with all these places who became our closest companions throughout the years.

But enough about us. We’ll leave the details for our unauthorized autobiographies, sometime. For now, we dive into the mind of a certain god of magic and look through his eyes as he busies himself with the seeds to three new pocket universes.

In his room, Dion has prepared the necessary glyphs and materials and ritual components for all three seeds but he is keeping two of them as projects for later. The components will hold a few hours. Actually, a few days if properly stored. He will take his time with those. The third is a bit more of a security requirement, something that Somrak’s current position as temporary station commanding officer frees Dion to do without weakening the Dei shifts terribly while Alma recovers from creating the Bunnies’ new apartments.

A conspiracy room. If they are going to keep plotting to break Guardia rules and embark on dangerous missions the world should not know about, they will definitely need one. The office at the station is becoming less and less a suitable option. So he is working on a detached reality with free entrance limited to himself, Alma and Sky. Possibly Somrak. With no risk of a Bunny or six suddenly walking into it at the wrong moment or deciding it is the perfect place to hang out. And certainly away from those treacherously long ears, always ready to capture bits of conversation if anyone forgets how sensitive they are. A place that can be sealed away in case of need and which has all the necessary anti-spying spells already weaved into it. With a secret entryway into the Bunnies’ new sanctum (to be kept strictly in the Dei’s sphere of knowledge for now). And, of course, with the portals of the Dei sanctums all opening directly into it.

It has been for awhile now that Dion has been considering the need to move the portal to his sanctum from the kitchen pantry. At first it was a simple enough, easy-access alternative but with the increasing activity in the bar and the growing need to be paranoid about safety, he has been looking for other portal placements. An easy enough choice would have been downstairs, by Alma’s sanctum. But that now belongs to the Bunnies. So another option is required and Dion has come up with this new arrangement. An antechamber connected to the bar by a single portal, which is under Dei control. And in that antechamber, the gods can have their own sanctums, connected to it by portals. Privacy, convenient proximity. And Alma can keep that portal set up to lead directly outside, to the breezeway. Hmm… definitely better to connect it to the new chamber, though.

And for now…he procrastinates in making her new sanctum possible. If she insists, of course, he will, but he is in no hurry. The truth is that the last few days sharing the master bedroom at the estate with Alma have been a pleasant and strange experience. Not just waking up together but dressing and getting ready together, sharing a closet and a bathroom, their amenities sitting side by side on the counter, their arms grazing each other as they combed their hair or brushed their teeth. Such a comfortable togetherness, in some ways deeper than mere physical intimacy. It had occurred to Dion not once or twice but many times that his parents had once done the same, shared the same room, the same morning rituals, for years, decades maybe. For a while even with baby Dion in their midst. Such new feelings and revelations…and he just wants to hold onto them.

And to Alma. Even if they did talk about the need for separate sanctums and veered off discussing the issue of moving in together, how bad could it be, if she gave up on a new sanctum and stayed here, with him? Do they really need to ever again sleep apart? To keep their belongings separate?

And yet, it is a bit of an intimidating change to contemplate. Moving in with someone is often referred to as an important step in a relationship, an unveiling of all secrets, of all mysteries regarding a beloved’s true nature. And it certainly feels like a big, risky step. Not from the point of view of what mysteries Alma might still hold but from the point of view of having his own open for scrutiny. Are there any quirks she doesn’t yet know about and which might make her take a step back in the relationship?

He shakes his head against these pointless, silly thoughts. After all they have been through together, weakened and vulnerable and hurt, they have already seen each other at their worst. It surely wouldn’t be something as small as a daily quirk that could pull them apart. Even though they have been together for less than a year…and just fully, officially so for a couple of weeks…

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! What they have has been forged to last. He is sure of it.

But he can’t help feeling a thrill in his stomach at how the conversation might go once he proposes the move.

A knock on the frame of the pantry door catches his attention and makes him rise from his desk chair to go open the portal and answer the door. Beyond it stand Cherry and Merri, each flanking an exhausted, ashen-skinned Alma.

Mana hangover, he thinks, looking at the goddess. Not entirely unexpected.

“Hey, hon!” Cherry pipes up, playful but with a note of worry on her low-hanging ears. “We found a hot chick wanderin’ around the premises and figured you’d know what to do with her.”

“Silly!” Merri scolds her, leaning forward to look at Cherry past Alma’s stomach and chest. To Dion, she says a little more restrained, “Mum’s got a bit of a headache startin’, dear. Can ye take care of her?”

“I’m fine…” Alma breathes, rolling her eyes at being spoken of as if she weren’t present. “Just a little strain from all the changes and I had forgotten I had to take all my things into storage. You two worry too much.”

Cherry pets Alma’s arm and looks up at the goddess, not making an effort to hide her concern. “We’re always gonna worry about you, if we see you almost fallin’ like you did.” She turns her pleading eyes to Dion. “She needs the kinda care we can’t help with, hon.”

He smiles at her, wanting to leave her reassured. “Don’t worry a bit. I’ll have her feeling better before you know it, ladies.”

At Alma’s raised eyebrow and look of mild annoyance, he replies with a silent invitation, reaching out to offer her his hand for support. The goddess looks at each of her daughters, tenderly stroking their heads, and then takes his hand, holding it just a little tighter than usual, tight enough to make him suspect her headache is a bit worse than she is letting the Bunnies know.

“Ooh! D’ye want us comin’ back wearin’ nurse uniforms?” Merri suggests as Dion helps Alma to sit on the edge of the bed.

He smiles. “As entertaining as that would be, she needs quiet.”

“Ah well, for the best. Seein’ as we dinnae have any nurse uniforms,” Merri notes. Her voice low and gentle, she adds, “Feel better, Mum…”

Alma smiles softly at her two eldest children. “Thank you, little ones. If you need anything for the rooms, just let me know.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. Just get well soon,” Cherry says, hesitating before leaving but eventually letting Merri guide her away.

Behind the Bunnies, the portal closes, leaving the gods alone in Dion’s comfortable, quiet sanctum, scented with soothing aromatic oils.

“I’m sorry about that,” Alma breathes, looking apologetic. “I didn’t want to interrupt your work, but they are stronger than they look.”

He chuckles quietly, stroking her hand with his fingers. “Especially Cherry, I know,” he replies, keeping his voice low and soft. “My work can wait. I suspected you’d need rest after making their rooms, anyway. So I was counting on a visit.”

“Did I have an appointment set without realizing it?” she jests, smiling.

“I know you’re usually the healer in these cases but this case, I think, is in my area of expertise,” he says, sitting a bit straighter and trying to look more dignified. “Now, let me examine you…”

She snorts but closes her eyes and obediently lowers her head, playing the part of a pleading patient even as her brow furrows a little, possibly from a wave of pain. His smile fades at the sight of her suffering and he cannot help but reach out and touch her cheek, stroking it gently. Her lips curl in pleasure and though she does not open her eyes, she leans into the caress, resting her head against his hand. He treasures the touch, lingering in it as he activates his magical senses and his eyes flare golden, examining the way mana flows in her body and how depleted she is.

“Yes, you overdid it all right…” he breathes, staying in the character of an expert healer, which becomes twice as hard when Alma opens her eyes and looks again at him, an eyebrow raised. “You need urgent treatment. Let’s get some mana into you.”

He leans forward, touching the underside of her chin with a fingertip. Already foreseeing where this is headed, she tilts her head up and to the right, welcoming his kiss, which Dion uses to transfer some of his mana directly into her. The sharing of his power colors the experience, giving it an added layer of pleasure that almost makes him forget to cut off the exchange before he becomes the one in need of mana.

As they break, her eyes flare golden for a moment while her body converts and absorbs his mana. “Isn’t there a rule against this type of treatment in your oath, Doctor?”

“My oath is, ‘An it hurt none, do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law,’” he replies, leaning closer for another kiss. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Though there is no mana transfer this time, the kiss stretches and trails into a series of shorter ones, until Dion nearly forgets what they were going on about before.

“Well, if this is my treatment, I’ll be getting sick a lot more often,” Alma notes, reminding him, already looking a little better. “And the dose? Repeat this every few hours?”

“Oh this is a revolutionary treatment, with no upper limit to the dose,” Dion tells her as if selling a miracle drug. “We can do it whenever we like with no harm. It is, however, highly addictive.”

She tilts her head, her expression one of fearful concern, almost shock. “For the patient or for the healer? I wouldn’t want to interfere with your important, life-saving work…”

She leans forward as she speaks, placing a hand on his chest and slowly kneeling on the bed like a cat pouncing in slow motion, apparently forgetful of her headache. Dion’s hand falls from her face to her side, stroking down the length of her ribcage, down her flank, her hip as she looms over him, looking at once predatorial and naif.

“Both, I’m afraid,” he breathes. “But I am willing to make the sacrifice…”

He turns and lies on his back, both of his arms wrapping around her, hands stroking her back and sides as their lips engage again in delicious communion. “Now…” he starts to say, only to be interrupted by another kiss. “Now pause–”

He holds her and rolls so that he is propped on one elbow and she is the one lying belly up, feeling guilty when she grimaces at a pang of pain. She looks up at him, questioning.

“Hold still just for a moment,” he asks her. “I want to take care of you.”

Again she obediently closes her eyes and awaits his ministrations in utmost trust. He resists the temptation to kiss her, understanding for once the long sermons his teachers use to give their students at the Academy of High Magic, warning them against the dangers of being distracted by lustful thoughts when trying to cast complicated spells. Or even simple ones… Concentrating, he touches her forehead with the tip of his index finger and carefully traces a little glimmering glyph, which glows brighter and brighter until it dissolves into nothingness. As it does so, Alma breathes a sigh of relief. Having been on the receiving end of this spell, Dion knows very well how it feels, how the spell seems to sink into the skin, bone, and brain like warm wax comfortably dripping relief into the mind. He removes his hand from Alma’s forehead.

“There… how does that feel?” he asks softly.

She smiles at him, opening her eyes. “Very good… I wish I’d known that trick before. It would have spared me a morning of pain when we first arrived here.”

“It’s one of those things that every sophomore at the Academy of Magic has learned from the older students,” Dion explains. “Most of them are mortals, of course, and they have a kind of illness from overusing their own life force if there’s not enough mana available from external sources. From what I’ve seen, it makes a god’s mana headache look like a sunny day in the park. That spell is a variant that the mortals came up with, works for gods.”

“Well, I’m glad they found a way to make it better,” she replies, turning on her side to snuggle closer to him. “Thank you. Maybe I can learn it sometime.” She pauses to take a deep breath. “They seemed to like it. Their new sanctum. Kori looked excited.”

Dion lowers himself to lie on his side and strokes her hair. “Maybe all they needed was some time to process the idea.”

“They all love you,” she tells him, her arm draped over his side. “But Kori…you have seen the anger he carries within. He’s not angry at you, really.”

He nods. “I know. And in a way I can understand. I’ve been that angry myself, without the benefit of a loving mother to hold me through it. I’m not hurt.”

And yet, he is, just a little. Just enough to want to do something about it. Though Alma has so far been careful to keep Dion from feeling stifled by the prospect of shouldering a burden of fatherhood toward the Bunnies if he keeps pursuing this relationship with her, the fact is that there is no way to dissociate the goddess from her offspring. They are all part of a single pack, and loving her, choosing to be with her, means accepting some sort of role with the Bunnies. So far, that has been mostly one of friendship, more closely so with the older Bunnies – except distant, still-suspicious Mayumi – and Tulip – though that one not necessarily by Dion’s efforts – less so with Kori, the active, ever-running-off teen, and Chime, who Dion is not sure can truly be close to anyone in a conventional way. But all in all, all seven Bunnies have never directly antagonized him or made him feel like a grain of sand in the fine clockwork of their close-knit family. And he finds himself growingly aware of how uncertain and unsettled his position is in the midst of all these people who come attached to the one he loves.

But he doesn’t want to worry Alma, not now that they have so much to focus on. He will find his own way to deal with it all. So for the moment, he veers away from that line of conversation. “This change will soon prove for the best when all those rooms are vacated upstairs. I’m sure Pavia and her sensitive ears must have become used to the peaceful quiet of staying above the bar. I hope she has earplugs, now that they’re back.”

For some reason, the mention of the Wolf demigoddess seems to leave Alma uneasy. With Tulip being such a fateful copy of the goddess, it is not unusual for Dion to imagine Alma with long, furred ears and, if she were to have them, he is sure that right now they would be hanging back against her skull. “Yes…though she has always been fine with chaos.” She looks down and breathes deeply before looking back at him. “Gwydion, there’s something you need to know…about Pavia.”

The serious tone, heavy with sadness, gives Dion pause. He cups her cheek in his hand and locks eyes with her, concerned. “Is she going to be a problem? Do you think she will blame you for the demotion and being forced to move here?”

Alma shakes her head, looking miserable. “No…she knew the risk and never even questioned the sanity of our actions. She’s a Wolf, after all. Loyalty is virtue to her people. Even after over fifteen years of separation.” She sighs. “But you should know that her loyalty is due to more than just friendship.”

He looks at her in silence for a moment, absorbing her words. Her tone, the tension in her muscles, the way her eyes look at him almost apologetically draw the full landscape of her words. Lovers. Alma and Pavia were lovers, somewhen in their past. He remembers the Wolf woman’s warning about Alma’s cold, hardened heart, when they first met, her certainty that Dion did not stand a chance with the death goddess. They make so much sense now…

Finding out that Alma has pursued romantic relationships with members of her own gender – and one so animalistic-looking too – does not bother Dion in the least. Tastes are a personal thing and he had often found himself amused by the way some humans are so disgusted by something he likes to think of as people simply eating the food they like most. And he himself has never let such a thing as gender get in the way of a seduction. But to know that this former romantic partner is here, in Three Rats, and may have carried the torch of that much older love than his own through the years is certainly troubling. Dion is still trying to make peace with the contradictory emotions between liking and trusting Somrak and being aware of how he feels about Alma (and how Alma feels about him), after all.

And now this. “Do you still have feelings for her?” he asks, voice low, cursing internally at realizing how stiff his body is.

She sighs at the question and again shakes her head. “I never really did.” She looks away, at a point above and beyond Dion’s left shoulder. “I don’t think I was even capable of feeling anything back then. Arion was suddenly gone, Cherry and Rosemary were in stasis, I had just left my father’s house–” she trails off, her lips curled in a self-deprecating grin. After a moment, she continues the explanation, “I was numb, I guess. Pavia was always a friend to me. Her company made me feel better. And even when I realized how deeply she loved me, I… I could never match it. That love. I think she knew – I know she knew. Her nose is too good to be fooled by words. But she didn’t care and I…I’m ashamed to admit that I used her. And when I was kicked out of my first station and away from her life, I was rather relieved at it.”

He listens, quiet. The relief he can’t help but feel at not having to bend to the force of his arrangement with Alma and accept Pavia as her lover is quickly overcome by the regret in Alma’s voice. She sounds ashamed, admitting to betraying her closest friend in a time of need. A friend who knew exactly what was going on but let the desires of her own heart distort what little affection Alma was giving into feeling much greater than it was. Hope is a terrible thing.

And yet, can Dion truly be disgusted by this confession? When has he felt such shame and guilt over any of his previous liaisons, even when he had lied? When he had spoken soft words of love just to reap the first, shallow blossoms of physical affection he could get his hands on? Can he judge, knowing he has done worse for far more ignoble reasons?

No. He can’t. “As someone who has used a great many people’s affection and desire to his own ends, I don’t blame you. You had better reason than I did, with what you were going through.” He strokes her cheek. “You’re not that person anymore.”

She smiles gratefully at him, leaning her head closer to touch her forehead to his. “What can I do? I don’t want to lie to her. I hoped that she would become attached to her mate but…I can tell her feelings have not changed. And I don’t want to lead her into some halfway thing to give her an illusion of love. Not again. I care for her, I love her but I’m not in love with her.”

He holds the back of her head, stroking her scalp with his thumb. “I think all you can do is be honest with her. It will hurt but…lies hurt more. I hope she can appreciate that and move on. I like her. She helped Sky and all of us with this sacrifice. If she has to stay indefinitely, then I hope she can feel comfortable and at home here.” He pulls away a little to kiss her forehead. “It might take awhile but if she loves you that much, she should accept your choices, right?”

“Right…” Alma says, still looking miserable. “For as much as you and I have our agreements, I don’t want her to expect me to be available and willing to be any more than a good friend. Or even to negotiate a place for her in my relationship with you. There’s just no room for that in my mind.”

He can’t help but smile. “I completely agree. Adding any more guests to this party is just ruining perfection.”

He leans closer to kiss her, gently holding her to him. As they break, he touches the tip of his nose to hers, smiling at the adorable, reflexive twitch of her nose at his touch. She still looks subdued and apologetic but at least now she is smiling and the sight of her curled lips brings a little glow of joy to his heart.

“Things just keep getting complicated for us, don’t they?” she breathes.

His smile falters a little but doesn’t completely fade. “Considering my past and all the ghosts in it, this might not be the end of our complications. I’m afraid I collected quite a few more than you through the years and some have a temper. Not to mention some of their family members…”

“Does this mean I should start carrying a wooden bat to fend them off?” She jests. “I imagine it might amount to quite the army…”

The suggestion makes him chuckle. “I think that sword of yours might be more dissuading than a bat but… Perhaps let me try talking to them before any attempts to knock them on the head. I don’t want you hurting your wrist over it.”

“Hmm… should I put some sort of property mark on you?” she suggests, grinning mischievously and raising her head a little to leave a couple of little kisses on his neck. “Maybe a bell around your neck? A little tag saying ‘Taken. If lost return to Alma’?”

“You could always scent-mark me,” he purrs in pleasure. “Though I’ll bet our more sensitive-nosed friends would claim you already have. Your scent must be all over me.”

He feels her cheek rise with a smile as it brushes against his, her mouth playfully nibbling on his earlobe as if the gods were puppies playing together. “I try but you have an unhealthy habit of bathing all too frequently. I can barely keep up with renewing the scents.”

He can’t help but break into laughter at that, rolling to lie on his back. “Why do you think I bathe so often? That way I can enjoy having you mark me all over again. And I can mark you.” Quicker than she can anticipate, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her down, holding her to him and rocking her from side to side, her legs still lying at an angle with his, her feet on the bed to his right. Her gasp at the sudden movement is almost a little squeal and she laughs as he nudges her head to curve back so he can cover her neck and face in kisses.

Eventually, she manages to reposition her legs so that they hug his hips and she props herself up on her hands and knees, looming over him. “Always the scoundrel…” she breathes, grinning. “Always looking for ways to lure me to your bed…”

He chuckles quietly at the pet name she hasn’t used in awhile, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair, which falls to the sides of his face like a curtain. “Can I help it that you spark my fantasies with each new revelation? Do you know how many Dei cadets fantasize about female Dei roommates engaging in…extracurricular activities in their rooms when the lights go out? And yet, you are the first I’ve ever met to actually do so.”

She waggles her eyebrows at him. “Studies say it is usually more frequent for male roommates to do it, in fact. Even though no one talks about it.” She leans down to whisper in his ear, “What about your roommate?”

“Oh, he went home after his first week,” he leans up to kiss her shoulder, placing his open hand on the small of her back and pressing down. “I had the room all to myself. So lonely, I was…”

“I’ll bet…” she breathes, tilting her head to kiss the angle of his jaw. “All those female cadets…” Another kiss. “Needing tutoring…”

“You should have been there…” he counters, cradling her head and tilting his own to brings his mouth closer to hers. “I would have been so much happier.”

She doesn’t reply. Silence stretches as their lips meet and engage and happily lose track of time. He feels her weight gently being lowered onto his chest and abdomen, her legs moving to lie between his. Gods, if they had been through the Academy together, entwined like this on those horrible, cheap bunk beds every night after lights out…

They would probably have failed the course even before the midterm exams.

“Is this my next treatment, already?” she asks, a little breathless as they part for a moment. “If it stays this intensive, I might be ready to make my new sanctum before the sun sets.”

What was intended as a joke sends a chill down his spine. New sanctum? No, no, no…

“Now don’t be so hasty,” he tells her, trying to downplay his unwillingness to see her go. “The seed for your sanctum isn’t ready yet and – you still need to rest.” He holds her and rolls with her so that they lie on their sides. “Just stay horizontal. Preferably with a warm, handsome body next to yours for best results.”

She looks at him, confused. “I was just joking. I know it would be dangerous to expend that much mana so soon. But my things are in a pile in my old sanctum. I’ll need to at least move them into one of the rooms upstairs. And Starfax needs a new haven. I’ll need to make my new sanctum soon.”

“Yes, but you are still drained. You definitely should stay here for observation,” he insists. “Overnight at least. And you can bring your things to this sanctum. Bring Starfax. I’ll make room for them. Stay a week. Stay forever. Forever would definitely be best. With me…”

He looks at her pleadingly after what is probably one of the clumsiest sort of proposals he has ever imagined he would utter in his whole life. And when she takes a moment to reply, her eyes looking into his, her lips in a tiny, almost sad smile, he nearly gets up and runs out to avoid the rejection he fears is coming. They love each other, they should be together. Why is she taking so long to reply?

“Are you sure you want this?” she asks. “What about the things we talked about? The need for a place to study, to practice our new magic? To have our energy flow without interference or distraction? Do you want to give up your own sanctum?”

“I…have thought about it,” he replies. “I loved sharing a room with you at the estate. And even this one…it doesn’t feel half as cozy and welcoming without you here. This to me is our bed. I don’t want to see you go to sleep elsewhere every night.”

Her smile broadens and she seems to melt a little at his words. She reaches to stroke his cheek. “I don’t want a sanctum to sleep alone there every night. Or even most nights. I love this sanctum. And this bed. And sleeping cuddled against you. I just wanted to make sure we’re not moving the cart in front of the horses.” She breathes deeply, nodding. “But I think there’s no harm in delaying making my new sanctum and giving this a try. Maybe until the trial is done and all that stress is past us?”

Dion’s heart swells with joy. It almost feels like he might burst with it, so overwhelming it is. He can’t speak. Words evade him. His reply to her comes out as a kiss, deep and breathtaking, enough to draw her essence into a play date with his own. He’s not sure if he’s lost the need to breathe altogether, for the kiss seems to stretch on forever before he finally releases her lips from his, his essence still reverberating with glowing traces of hers.

Alma opens her eyes and blinks, her usually slow breathing sounding a bit wheezy. “I’m going to assume that’s a yes.”

“Assume I am very, very happy,” he tells her. “And I promise you will have your sanctum if you decide you still need it. But don’t rush. You need to rest. And I need you.”

“Aawww…” She snuggles closer to him. “I might start redecorating. Take up the whole closet. Find your secret stash of magazines. Derail your studies. You’ll be throwing me out in a week.”

He snorts, kissing the tip of her nose. “Impossible…You will never find my magazines.”

“Oh!” She frowns, pulling the pillow from under her head and awkwardly wacking Dion’s head with it.

He laughs, amused and happy, and pulls his own pillow from under his head, replying in kind. “Pillow fight, huh? If this is how we’re starting your stay here, I don’t see how it could go wrong.”

Ch7.30 Revelations

There is a special in our hearts for places. Specific places, tied to specific memories. They often look bigger in our mind’s eye than they actually are. More colorful. They are rooms or intersections, clearings. A rocky outcrop by the seashore. A table at a favored restaurant. Places of calm, of safety, of joy. Of love. And sometimes the exact opposite.

And they are more than just places. They are the sum of all the times spent there, of all the people connected to them. Of every step. Of every smile. The place of a first kiss. The hospital where a loved one died. A childhood home. They are parts of us. Parts of the story we live to tell.

To the point where losing one of those places is as bad as losing a person. It is a fracturing event, a split between the person we were up to that point and the person who stands now, outside and away, deprived of that sanctuary. In our minds, places are forever. Pets will die, people will leave. Places…stone, cement, wood, steel. Made to last, to outlive us. Our favorite theater will always stand. Our childhood school will still be there for us to walk by, our child in hand, saying “That is where I went to school when I was your age.” But then one day they crumble or burn down and so does the dream. One day, we are standing outside the house that saw us grow and watching a family of strangers move in. One day, we are sitting in our old bed, in our old bedroom, and suddenly everything is so much smaller, so much emptier and more distant than we remembered. And that eternal, immortal place is gone. It is there, right there…but it’s gone.

Pets die, people leave, places are lost. Everything dies.

Even when all they do is change.

Alma sits cross-legged in the little pillow-filled comfortable alcove, the depression on her grassy bedroom floor, and looks around her, at a place she is about to lose. Her sanctum, her first home here, in Three Rats, is about to change, to stop being hers, to embrace a new existence as a sanctuary and stronghold for the Bunnies. Her wardrobe with her clothes has been emptied, her books no longer sit on their shelves. Starfax’s cage is about to be gone.

All in the setting of a new future the goddess is not quite sure exists. Why do it now, before the trial? To speed her recovery? To lay the ground for her children’s independence in case things go wrong? She is not sure she knows the answer. There is simply something in her that is pushing forward, as if time is running away and it is either now or never. As if the rest of her life won’t come unless she wraps up this bit of it. Since making the decision, she has reconsidered it numerous times, feeling guilty not over abandoning this sanctum – a place that to a god is like a part of jys essence materialized into a place – but over making her Bunnies feel guilty that they are driving her away from a place that is hers but theirs as well, as if making her pull away from them with the way they push too close to her. It’s nothing like that. But they will never understand, not with their communal urge to eliminate pain with proximity. And she feels guilty that, for so many reasons, she will never be like them, never think like them and never give, regardless of how much she gives, exactly what is right to them.

She sighs and shakes her head at her own thought. What is the point of operating based solely on the perception of others? The Bunnies will be safer sleeping in a sanctum of their own and if anyone is going to give up this memory-filled nook, it will be her, not them. They have given up too many things already. What room has she been so attached to in the last decades as they are to this one? The place where they slept for the first time together, all seven siblings and their mother. The place where they got to know each other, exchange stories, be held by a parent’s arms, most of them for the first time. The place where they are safe, where even the air rings with the same energy that was background to their lives in the Dreamlands as Alma carried them around with her. Where Kori and Chime found their names, their identity. Their home.

From her cage, Starfax watches the goddess, the bird’s quiet gaze following Alma’s movements with the calm of many years spent together. This will be yet another change for her as well, another moving to a new home to follow that bond of companionship. Many gods have a single sanctum tailored to their needs and whims, which they never quite grow out of, grow tired of. They transport their sanctum with them, merely changing the point where the portal to it opens to allow them entrance. Some will quite literally not even change the placement of a table or bed for over a hundred years. But not Alma. After leaving her childhood home and room, she has never again taken to a magical sanctum in a pocket universe, dwelling instead in normal – if the word normal can be applied to the kind of constructions available in the high-mana wards she has worked in – apartments, rigged with magical equipment, yes, but not in any way defying the laws of space and reality. Temporary things, like living off a suitcase for years. Even this sanctum she has created is only partially a pocket universe, more a distortion in the reality of the room that already existed – and which would return, unscathed, if she were ever to cancel the magic – to suit her purposes.

The thought of creating a pocket universe leaves her exhausted. Well, not creating, really. More like feeding, nurturing, shaping. She does not possess the power or knowledge to create a new reality from nothing. It takes a seed, a spark, so to speak, of somethingness and that Gwydion has been kind enough to offer to provide. From that seed, nurtured by Alma’s own energy and essence, a reality attuned to her and only her will grow and take shape.

A reality that might even reject any visitors, if she is not careful and allows it to become selfish and jealous. A sanctum is like a child which grows very fast, fed by the feelings in jys parent’s heart. Like an animal companion which mirrors jys human’s personality. So many things can go wrong. No wonder some gods and wizards make veritable fortunes by selling ready-made sanctums.

But before she can focus on that new sanctum, she must first reorganize this one. Her first priority is the Bunnies. Moving temporarily into a regular room like the ones above the bar is nothing new or shocking to her. Alma can wait to have a proper sanctum. But the need to do something to help her children feel safe is imperative.

Another deep breath, another look around her. Solemnly, she says goodbye to the place of her first night in Three Rats, her first nights with her children, of her healing of the Oracle’s Pearl and first time witnessing Starfax’s rebirth, of Saira’s long convalescence, of her healing of Somrak, of the breaking of her heart at the hands of Gwydion’s jealousy, of the healing of it by his fevered ramblings and his newly-healed regret. The place of so many things that changed her life. She mourns the loss of it as a tear rolls down her cheek and a smile blooms in her lips. Everything dies.

“Be good to them,” she whispers at the ether as she raises her wrist in a signal for Starfax to leave her cage and come closer. The phoenix flies toward the goddess and lands smoothly on Alma’s wrist, touching her cheek to Alma’s in greeting.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with me and endure this new move, old friend,” the goddess says, stroking the back of Starfax’s head. “These are days of uncertainty but, hopefully, it’s the last we’ll have to move for awhile.”

Hopefully…

Starfax lowers her head, raises it slowly. She stretches her wings and flaps them once. Twice. And takes off. Alma is alone.

Time to get to work. Just like on her first night here, she holds up a mana orb, full of thick, glittering liquid, and tries to visualize the final result she is looking for. In her mind’s eye, she imagines the doors to the new rooms, the interior of those rooms, the disappearance of the cage and fountain, the shortening of the bookshelves. In her mind, she sees it all. And then she makes it happen.

A spark of her mana releases the magical energy in the orb, making it overflow and spread in a thin sheet of golden light, like a flimsy wave that washes over the room and covers every surface, shining over grass, over stone, over wood and water and glass. Making the walls glimmer. Making the floor glow.

The room shrinks slightly, walls moving closer. The fountain with its statue of the girl holding the orb filled with the miniature oceanic environment that Sky gave Alma for Year’s End begins to dissolve, leaving only the globe floating midair. The bars of Starfax’s cage melt into nothingness, the plants and flowers in that nook turn to energy that Alma uses to draw the new limits of the pool, which will now allow the Bunnies to walk all around it as they find their way into their rooms. She also makes it shallower, no longer needing it to be deep enough for the tall goddess to soak in. The bed, she keeps, for when the Bunnies feel like sleeping together in a pile, but her wardrobe, vanity, workbench and mirror vanish into nothingness.

She contemplates keeping the alcove she sits in but decides against its current location. Beneath her, the floor rises, raising her with it as it becomes level with the rest of the flooring and the pillow-filled depression travels toward the wall behind her which curves into a concave nook. At her command, the seven tiny self-regenerating mana orbs attached to her earring fly away from her, toward four of the walls of the six-sided room. She often uses the orbs as points of focus for her magic and now they hover in six different points. Through them, Alma sends her own mana to reshape the walls, opening six different doors. Six doors to six rooms, not too big – the Bunnies seem to find large bedrooms disturbingly spacious, as became clear at Gwydion’s estate when they would often leave their assigned rooms to spend the night in groups of two or three in a single bedroom – but bigger than the ones they have now. A comfortable, spacious bed, a nice closet (extra-large in Rosemary’s case), a bathroom, lighting which mimics the one they have in their rooms with windows, upstairs. A small desk.

No decor. That will be up to the Bunnies. It will be their job and their pleasure to bring each room to match their own personality. Alma looks at the newly-formed doorways on the walls and wills doors appear. Doors which she equips with defensive spells that allow each room to be sealed off in case the sanctum is ever breached by an enemy. The door that leads outside of the sanctum receives the same treatment, a passkey which, when spoken, will turn this safe haven into a sealed off stronghold. She weaves the magic into the fabric of this reality, almost like a piece of her own conscience, a tiny artificial intelligence designed to be nurturing. Finally, she floats the now-empty mana orb all the way up to the ceiling, infusing it with light.

Done, she thinks to herself, breathing out in relief just as a mana headache begins to blossom above her left eye. Blasted mana hangovers… Such horrible things. Some will develop almost immediately after mana is drained. Some might take hours to come. Some take days to mature.

Alma rises unsteadily to her feet, wondering how mortal wizards manage to deal with them. It is not like they can be solved by simple medicine, like regular headaches. She makes sure Sky’s ocean orb is safely packed away with the rest of her things before opening the door. Carrying clothes and books outside can wait. It is time to reveal the new sanctum to her Bunnies.

“Cherry! Rosemary!” she calls. “Sage! Kori! Chime! Tulip! Come downstairs! It’s ready!”

The thundering gallop that issues down the stairs has nothing to do with the order in which she called the names. Tulip comes running, nearly hopping down two steps at a time. Kori follows, slower but apparently more excited with the idea of a brand-new room now that he has had some time to process it. Chime comes running as well, but his serene expression indicates more a desire to follow his siblings than any particular excitement at the prospect of these changes. Sage and Rosemary walk calmly down the steps, trailed by Cherry, whose expression is somewhat sorrowful and whose feet seem to require Rosemary’s constant cooing and encouragement to climb down the stairs.

One by one, they enter the room and Alma leans against a wall to allow them easy entrance and mask the tiredness and weakness that come from expending her mana in ways she is not used to. Other than Cherry and Rosemary’s bedroom, clearly built for two, the others are all up for picking and Tulip and Kori soon have theirs picked, based on the strangest things, like the placement of an obviously movable bed or the color of a wall that could easily be painted over. Chime seems to pick his from the way sounds from this main area travel into the bedrooms. Sage simply takes one of the two remaining rooms at random, his hand stroking the door of what will be Mayumi’s room by default as he walks by it. Rosemary is already piping cheers at the large closet in her room. And Cherry…

Cherry looks around the sanctum, now different from what it was but still similar enough to feel familiar, her ears dropped to half-mast. Her eyes linger on Alma’s things, piled up to be moved, and the Bunny looks at her mother with a guilty, apologetic gaze. As if she were casting Alma out.

Silly Bunny, Alma thinks to herself, stretching her arms to invite Cherry into her embrace. Not everything has to be your fault. Or your job to fix.

She holds Cherry, stroking her hair.

“Sorry, Mom,” the Bunny breathes against Alma’s chest.

And that is when the world starts spinning and Alma’s legs fail under her.

Ch7.28 Revelations

“Oof!” Merri’s foot comes down hard on the solid packed dirt, speckled with patches of grass, in the breezeway between the Burrow, their dear dear bar and beloved home, and Three Rats Station, Mum and Gwydion and Sage’s workplace. It’s like arriving at the end of a flight of stairs and thinking there is one more step down but no, there’s the floor, bam! Happens to her every time she goes through portals, always a little higher or lower than expected. But she’s holding Cherry’s hand and that keeps her steady, which is a good thing as otherwise the heavy suitcase in her other hand might’ve tipped Merri right over into a sprawling heap.

They are right behind Mum, and oh what a relief it is to be back in Three Rats! The scents of the ward may include the results of still-inadequate garbage collection and sewage treatment (though not as bad as it used to be) and the occasional cooling corpse (now that’s well down these days), but it also includes the smells of jacaranda blossoms and arroz e feijão cooking slowly in someone’s kitchen, and sambar lentil soup bubbling away in a big pot in the house next door. As she takes a deep breath, Merri closes her eyes, and she can smell something…ohhh, some kind of spicy curry is cooking in their own kitchen right now!

As Merri opens her eyes, Alma is looking back toward the portal. Cherry pulls Merri aside as the others come out, and Mum announces, “It’s all still in one piece.” Merri can’t help but giggle, but oh, poor Som! Still, the Bunny must admit she had been just a wee bit worried at what condition the place might be in. All that alcohol around a fire god?

“Come on,” Merri says, tugging at Cherry’s hand. “Let’s find out what smells so good!”

They rush past Alma and throw the door open, and oh! the Burrow, the Burrow, the lovely Burrow! The lush greenery and flowers of the plants, the lustrous old wood of the tables and the bar itself, that comfortable smell of a bar: beer and other alcohols from all across the Insula and even other worlds, plus the fresh living smell of the flowers and ferns and all, and whatever that dish is cooking in the kitchen, and oh, a whiff of tobacco, well not too bad and what’s a bar without a little tobacco scent as long as it’s not cloying and disgusting, and oh, Auntie Varah has been here! and Somrak and oh my goodness that smell isn’t Lexie, it’s some other cat, a big cat…and…and…

Merri’s eyes go wide as she feels Cherry’s grip on her hand tighten. Seated at one of the tables, partially hidden behind the hydrangeas, there’s a cop, Guardia Dei by the indigo shade of her uniform, and oh she smells like a hunter, a predator, oh my goodness…

A wolf.

Merri feels a thrill of a deep-buried prey-fear shiver from the backs of her calves as they tense to spring away, up her thighs to her tail, which puffs out, and along her spine to end up prickling the soft ruff of fur on her neck beneath her ginger hair. A wolf! At the same moment that she is feeling a primitive terror, she is marveling at the woman’s ears, which are just adorable, and the strong, high cheekbones on her dark-tanned face. And her eyes, oh her sharp-glancing golden eyes, fixing on the two Bunnies, and she thinks, Oh my dear ye’ve got the same thought we do, don’t ye, but from the other side? Somethin’ deep down inside ye wants to give chase, don’t it? And the thought of gettin’ chased through the woods and caught by the likes of ye, well, I cannae say it doesn’t appeal – eeee, look at that big puffy tail, oh I want to cuddle it!

She grins at the woman, who smiles back. Merri knows that, whoever this is, she’s likely to be at least as good as a Bunny at reading scents and subtle body language and all the rest that makes keeping secrets and telling lies so difficult. So it is like a shared joke, what’s passed between them, these instincts that their conscious minds can easily overcome, and Merri feels Cherry’s tension relax as she too understands that this is no enemy, that whoever this is, however sharp her teeth and big her eyes, this wolf is a friend, even family, for is not anyone who wears the uniform welcome here in the Burrow? They are Alma’s family, and that makes them a Guardia family, for sure and certain.

Merri sets her bag aside, leaning it against the wall, and walks straight up to the woman, holding out her hand. Well not exactly straight – there’s those hydrangeas with their lovely blue and purple masses of blossoms to dodge. “I’m so sorry we were nae here to welcome ye before…Sergeant, isn’t it? I’m Merri, and this here is Cherry, and it’s a pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”

The woman smiles back and shakes Merri’s hand. “It is, isn’t it? I’m Pavia. Nice to meet you.” Her gaze is intense, but only stays on Merri for a moment before flicking toward the door, eyes following ears.

“Ha! I like her,” Cherry says, smiling. “Hey there. You been here long? You want us to scare you up somethin’ to eat or drink?” She sniffs, looking toward the kitchen. “Though it smells like you already got somethin’ cookin’.”

Pavia shakes Cherry’s hand as well. “Not me, I don’t. But the way it sounded a minute ago, he was definitely trying to scare something into becoming edible.” Though she looks at Cherry as she speaks, her ears remain turned toward the door.

Cherry glances at the kitchen. “Somrak? Hope he ain’t doin’ anything weird to our kitchen.”

“Oh, Cherry, now what would he do?” She hasn’t taken her eyes off Pavia. She can hear the voices in the breezeway. Does she know Dion? A former girlfriend…oh dear. Or perhaps it’s Mum she knows? “Pardon my askin’ but are ye a wolf goddess?”

Pavia shrugs. Her self-deprecating smile sends a thrill through Merri. “Just a demi,” she says. “Part of the Wolf Clan–”

The door opens and Pavia stands, looking as if she’s utterly forgotten the Bunnies, terrified hope on her face and in her stance. Merri turns to follow her gaze and sees Alma at the door, frozen in shock, and Merri feels a sudden rush of empathy for her new acquaintance. Och, is there to be heartache? Poor dear…

After a slow heartbeat of paralysis, a smile spreads across Alma’s face. “Pavia? Pavia! What are you doing here?” She radiates joy at the sight of the wolf-sergeant, but Merri can tell there is a hint of worry. She steps out of the way just in time for Pavia to walk past her, tail wagging happily.

There is just an almost-unnoticeable moment of hesitation between the two, but then they embrace each other. Pavia laughs softly as she holds Alma, and murmurs, “Hey, I got asked to make sure Mr Torch-Man didn’t burn the place down.”

Merri looks over at Cherry and sees she’s reflecting back the same worries about the two. Aloud, though, Merri asks, “Cherry, did ye hear that? There’s a whole clan of ‘em! Maybe we should have a clan…”

The wheels that begin to spin in Merri’s head, of a world that has a place in it for Bunnies, of Bunny children, of old Bunnies, of Bunnies thinking of themselves as something more than just seven siblings, well it fairly makes her head swim. But before she can say anything more, a voice from the kitchen doorway sends her thoughts scattering like petals on the wind.

“And finally this place is going to get back to normal.” Somrak is leaning on the frame of the kitchen door, smiling, drying his hands on a towel. Cherry runs to him and he straightens up to catch her as she jumps up a little to give him a hug. She holds onto him tightly, and as Merri watches, smiling, Cherry touches her forehead to Somrak’s. He looks a little surprised but happy, and Cherry whispers to him in a voice that only a Bunny (or maybe one of the Wolf Clan) could catch from this distance, “How you doin’, hon?”

“Better,” he whispers back.

Cherry points up at the rooftop. “Later, huh?” Somrak nods, and grins as she gives him a kiss on the cheek, lets him go, and says aloud, “Now what the heck you makin’ in our kitchen?”

“Kaeng phet,” he says. “Or at least the closest I could come to it with local ingredients. Nice and spicy. You’ll love it.”

“Uh huh,” Cherry responds with false doubt. “Smells good… Is that coconut milk?” Her voice fades as she goes into the kitchen.

Somrak walks toward Alma, slipping an arm around Merri on the way and giving her a friendly squeeze. “She’s looking better,” he says to Merri in a low voice.

“She is, dear. We all are. Oh, it’s ever so good to be home.” She walks with him to where Alma is asking Pavia about her children.

“Oh, they’re fine,” Pavia is saying, looking over her shoulder at Merri. She sounds as if she doesn’t much want to talk about her own children. “And I guess these are your kids, huh? Cute.” There is a worried air about her, lurking behind her joy at being reunited with Alma. She is holding one of Alma’s hands, perhaps a little tightly.

“Two of them, yes. The others are…” Alma raises her voice a little with an accusing glance at Merri. “…outside dealing with all the extra luggage a certain Bunny brought along.”

Merri slumps in Somrak’s arm, dismayed. “It’s not all mine!” she insists. “Tulip brought back all them pinecones and shiny rocks! As if one pinecone don’t look like another…”

Just then, Kori and Chime enter from the breezeway, their arms full of silk blouses, gold-trimmed skirts, random socks, frilly undergarments, and some things Merri herself can’t identify right off, even though they are all her clothes. “Merri, two of your suitcases burst open!” Kori complains. “D and Geryon are trying to fly all your stuff upstairs!”

“Oh bother!” Merri slips free of Somrak and rushes up and takes a double armload of clothes from the boys. “I’m terribly sorry…thought those bags could take the strain…” Tottering, dropping articles of clothing along the way, barely able to see around them, she runs up the stairs to her room to open the window.

By the time she returns, the bed she shares with Cherry is heaped with clothes, only the most precious articles hung up to avoid further wrinkling, a smaller pile made of ones that got dirty when the bags burst outside, and of course a complete change of clothing from her travel outfit – a pea-green jacket over a dusty-rose blouse and a matching houndstooth skirt – for something more suited to work – a simple t-shirt and shorts, with the apron to add to it waiting in the kitchen, assuming Somrak hasn’t borrowed it at some point.

She finds that most everyone is seated and about to start digging in on Somrak’s reddish, vegetable-filled curry, which he is serving in large bowls alongside smaller ones filled with steaming fluffy rice. It smells divine! she thinks, and she rushes to join them, sitting in an empty chair just as Somrak ladles her bowl full of steaming liquid. He gives her a wink and continues with what he had been saying.

“He was this kid with one leg. It’s all in the reports, stuff he got up to. Let’s just say it was a pain in the…nether regions getting him locked away.”

Merri’s eyes go wide and she feels herself blush as she remembers the bottle in the wine cellar, the one that almost seemed to leap into her way, and fall, and release a little one-legged boy who disappeared, just before they left for the estate. Oh no…oh I simply forgot all about it! Strange things are always happening here and Mum and Dion seemed so fretful and goodness of course I wouldn’t have wanted to worry Cherry and then when they felt better well I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to make them feel worse again and oh my is this trouble my fault?

Pavia is chuckling at him as she takes a spoonful and glances at Alma. “Yeah, you’re in for some funny reading. Right, Sergeant Scorpionpants?” She pats Somrak’s back amicably as he goes past her to set down the nearly empty pot and sit at his own place.

“Scorpionpants?” Sage asks, mystified.

Somrak gives Pavia a weary look. “You really didn’t have to go into so much detail in your reports.”

“Ahh, come on… it ended up well and you even got to fraternize with the boss.” Pavia’s tail wags a little where it hangs from the back of the seat of her chair.

Somrak rolls his eyes. “Because that’s always so much fun.” To Alma, he says, “You’ll be glad to know we had some oversight. Or at least someone to be amused at our antics. I think your aunt is starting to like this place.”

Alma stops eating, spoon suspended halfway between bowl and mouth. She looks at Somrak with wide eyes. “Varah likes Three Rats? Oh no…she didn’t go on a rampage, did she?” She closes her eyes and sets down her spoon. “How many killed or otherwise horribly mutilated?”

Somrak shares a look with Pavia and then back at Alma, then, leaning forward, chin on hand, he asks slyly, “And just what sets her on these rampages? Just in case, you know, I ever want to send her on a rampage against someone I don’t like.”

Alma opens one eye and furrows her brow at him. “Nice try, Ponytail but you are not hearing it from me.” Her voice is a gruff imitation of the Fencer’s.

“Oooh, I got chills from that,” Somrak jokes, shivering his shoulders. “No rampages this time. And,” he adds proudly, “not one report of murder or maiming in the whole ward this past week, last I checked, which was…two hours ago. Well, there was a stabbing, but the guy will be fine, according to your doc.”

“It seems Three Rats did great without us,” Dion says after swallowing a mouthful of curry and rice. “I say we take another vacation. Maybe visit that oceanfront resort down in the Fifth Ring?”

“Ooh…I’ve never been to it. Sounds lovely,” Alma replies. “And we’re already packed, too.”

Merri gasps and squeals around a mouthful of delicious curry. Then she can see that Alma and Dion are just teasing. And Somrak shakes his head anyway. “The Subcommander left me with some orders you’d better read before you go off on any more adventures. But we can go over those after lunch.” Something not to be discussed in front of us, eh? Merri thinks. And Mum looks worried. Oh I do hate all these secrets, but I suppose it can’t be helped.

In a quick change of subjects amid the clatter of spoons on china and the chatter of the younger Bunnies, Somrak says, “Speaking of adventures, what did you get up to, aside from Merri buying out the Second Ring’s clothing shops?”

“Oh she didn’t buy them,” Alma says. “They were all waiting for her in a closet.”

“The clothing fairy was busy preparing our arrival, it seems,” Dion agrees.

Somrak looks confused. “The clothing fairy?”

“Grandmama,” Merri explains. “A lovely present to all of us.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky,” Somraks says. “But how come you were the only one who brought loads of clothes home?” He gives her a teasing look.

Cherry interrupts to answer. “She always loved havin’ her closets bustin’ with clothes. Like it ain’t a proper closet if you can shut the door all the way.” She rubs Merri’s knee to show her love. “We started out not really bein’ able to buy much in the way of clothes, and then when we had a successful bar, Mer just loved havin’ so many outfits to choose from. And her closets invaded mine and took ‘em over, ‘cause I never really needed all that much closet space.”

“Except for fallin’ in love with every leather jacket ye see,” Merri retorts, but she leans a little against Cherry, her bare arm pressing against Cherry’s warm skin.

“Oh, I do miss some of them…” Cherry says mournfully.

Dion says to Somrak, “This is about the extent of adventuring we got up to. Arguing about clothes. Gardening.”

“We did meet some dryads,” Cherry says. “They were great, after they figured out we didn’t want to damage their trees. It was real calm and relaxing.”

Somrak picks up on her wry smile. “Got to missing the excitement of Three Rats?”

Cherry grins. “Yeah…don’t want any of the new places startin’ up to take our loyal customers, either.”

“The estate is a lovely place to visit but moving there is not something any of us would want right now,” Alma says. She looks at Dion and takes his hand. “We’re fine where we are.”

“Yes,” he agrees, sharing a smile with her. “It’s a place to be taken in small doses.”

Merri glances at Pavia and sees that she is watching the two of them as if she is in pain. Pavia’s gaze flicks away and she catches Somrak looking at her in sympathy, and the Wolf Clan sergeant looks down at her food, her appetite apparently lost for the moment.

“Good to hear,” Somrak says, looking back at Alma and Dion. “I don’t know…you guys retiring to the country just doesn’t sound right.” He grimaces. “And every single person we talked to here asked when you’d be back.”

“‘Where are the usual Dei?’, they’d ask,” Pavia adds, trying to sound cheerful again. “‘They know what they’re doing.’”

Alma and Dion, unaware of the undercurrents of emotion flowing around them, look touched at the account.

“Hey, didn’t anybody ask when the bar’s opening again?” Cherry asks.

Somrak nods. “Some of them sounded quite worried.”

Geryon, dabbing at his beak with a napkin held in his semi-prehensile forepaw, comments, “The people of this ward have come to expect those who are capable of leaving on vacations are unlikely to return.”

“Then we’d better get the place up and running for the evening crowd!” Merri says. “Show them we’re back in Three Rats!”

“Yes, and then we can get to work,” Alma says. She sighs, looking over at Merri and Cherry. “You know, for a week there, I did have a kitchen.”

Cherry scoops the last of her curry into her mouth and swallows, then starts to get up to collect plates from those who are finished. “Mmm, well I’m just about ready to turn ours over to Sommy. But any time you want, Momma, you can borrow ours. You just gotta promise to make more chocolate mousse!”

Alma smiles and chuckles. “It’s a deal.”

Ch7.24 Revelations

“Frankly, I know I am no match for your white-haired goddess but you could at least try to disguise those yawns,” Geryon scolds Dion as they walk through the forest areas of the estate.

Most of the estate grounds are covered in woodland, with tall, ancient trees with thick solid trunks devotedly looked after by friendly dryads who nonetheless seem surprised to see people walking through the property. Dion can see them through the corner of his eye, peeking out of their trees and whispering gossip to each other in the rustling of the leaves. Even the great, elegant deer who roam freely in the property have been quietly approaching to watch the god and gryphon from afar, protected by the relative camouflage of bushes and hills. It is both an amusing and disturbing sensation of being watched.

“Hmm?” Dion mumbles, rousing from his reveries. “Oh sorry. I’ve just been up all night and lately I’ve been a bit slower on recovery.” He smiles apologetically at his friend. “You’re as interesting as ever, I assure you. Though you too look a bit deprived of sleep.”

Geryon snorts, tilting his head as he looks an accusation at Dion. “And whose fault is that, Mister Up All Night?”

“What?” the god cries, brows furrowed in shock. “How is your insomnia my fault?”

Geryon shakes his head, eyes locked on Dion’s. It will never stop being funny, how his neck and torso don’t quite seem to be in agreement as to when to move right or left. “I will give you a hint: the rooms here are not magically insulated.”

Realization dawns. “Oh…”

It is something Dion had frankly not considered before. With a pocket universe for a sanctum, his room is naturally insulated from other places, like the bar. So magic does not naturally flow from the bar to his room or vice versa unless Dion wills it so. Usually there isn’t much of it to exchange anyway. But the act of lovemaking between two gods is a powerful thing. Since souls and essences are involved, merging momentarily and then separating again, large amounts of energy are released into the immediate environment. Depending on the gods, this energy might even be extremely destructive. Or the exact opposite. Life could be drained away or created. Flames, electricity, floods, earthquakes. The passions of gods are well known to anyone who has ever had to explain why a mountain range suddenly appeared in his backyard.

And though making love to Alma does not include anything nearly as disruptive to the world in general as an earthquake (though the possibility of creating a new Bunny is disruptive enough on the long run), it still unleashes enough energy to keep the lights on in a mortal home for a good couple of weeks if it were to be harvested (which, of course, someone at the Academy of High Magic had once tried to do, only to find himself stuck with the bills for the wine, hotel room and performance fees of the more entrepreneurish couples). And in a house once inhabited only by a couple of gods and their mortal servants, there wouldn’t be a need per se to invest in keeping such energy limited to the master bedroom. Except that now there is another person highly sensitive to magic sleeping under the same roof: Geryon.

And the Bunnies…though mortal they are magically created creatures. Or rather, people. Could they have dimly felt it?

“The magic surges from your…activities kept waking me up,” the wizard-turned-gryphon says. “The first time, I thought we might be getting attacked!”

It is all Dion can do to stifle a chuckle. “I am sorry, my friend. I’ll look into it, I promise.”

They cross a shallow creek with stepping stones carefully laid down do serve as a makeshift path. Though there is constant flow of water, the top of the stones is dry and there is no moss on them. “Well, at least I know you are in a better mood than in the past few days.” Geryon grumbles. “All is well in paradise now?”

Dion takes a moment to reply. He knows what Geryon means by his question. “There is still a lot to worry about but… yes, paradise is idyllic again.” He can’t help but smile.

“Good. At least you will stop looking like a lovesick wretch,” Geryon replies, sounding to all the world as if the thought of a relationship were blasphemous. Drama queen.

Soon, they reach the perimeter of the grassy lawn that surrounds the main house. Not far to their left, the Bunnies are enjoying an afternoon in the sun, splashing in the pond (to the point of warfare in Kori and Tulip’s case) and lying on blankets to catch the warm sunlight. To the right, a bit closer to the trees, a wooden gazebo covered in flowing white panes of fabric that reflects most of the sunlight, filtering it to protect the person reclining on the soft mattress inside, offers an unimpeded view of the pond. A hint of blue peeking through the curtains indicates Alma is currently occupying the little artificial private nook.

Geryon barely looks at it, instead turning toward the pond. “And this concludes our woodland incursion. All is well, safe and lovely. And I am off to join the ladies.”

Dion nods. “And I will join another lady. Thank you for the company, Geryon. Until later.”

Geryon waves him off, already trotting away and speaking over his shoulder. “Yes, yes, just remember us poor sensitive creatures.”

Still shaking his head at Geryon’s taunting ways, Dion turns to his right and walks toward the gazebo, pulling the curtain away a little to reveal Alma reclining against a long pillow with a triangular profile, her legs covered by a translucent wraparound skirt, her torso dressed only in a simple bikini top to enjoy the sun that filters through. She has a book on her hand, one that Dion recognizes as a book she brought with her to read from her own library and that she closes as she notices him there, a little piece of red ribbon serving as a place marker.

She smiles welcomingly at him and he returns the smile. “Mind if I join you?”

“Only if you know the password,” she replies, her smile fading into concern as he climbs onto the mattress and scooches closer to her. “You are looking worse than you did last night.”

Dion raises his eyebrows in mock dismay. “I look worse? That implies I looked bad to begin with. I don’t think I like the way things are going for me.” He puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, kissing the side of her head as she nestles against him, book currently forgotten to the side. “How did breakfast with the Bunnies go? Did they let you sleep in after Geryon and I left for our walk?”

She nods, her left arm around his side. “They did. And then they prepared a number of food trays and surprised me with breakfast in bed for seven. It was all rather sweet. And you? Did you have bad dreams last night? Is that why you got up early?”

He shakes his head, stroking her back with his free arm. “I would have had to sleep to have bad dreams. After you fell asleep, my mind filled up with a million thoughts.”

The blissful aftermath of a night spent reclaiming that private, peaceful place of complete togetherness had seen both gods tired and exhilarated, happy in the relief of the bridging of the gaps between them and in the sweet anticipation of many more nights to come. But while Alma had eventually fallen asleep, her head laid gently on the pillow by Dion’s, her arm still draped over his side so comfortably that it felt like it had been molded to fit there, the god had not managed to fall asleep. As his senses allowed his notion of the room, of reality, to creep in, he had been reminded of his parents, of the secrets still being kept from him, of Sky still fighting to heal downslope, in Three Rats. Wasure’s treatment had stopped the worst of his memories from bothering him, which had been a blessing of its own. And Alma’s lulling breath, the sight of her peaceful face, the gentle glow of her pale, naked skin under the moonlight coming in through the window had been a balm for his mind. He had eventually fallen asleep, close to dawn (which comes late this far upslope and on this side of the mountain), but even so he hadn’t been able to catch more than a couple of hours of slumber before finding himself awake again, listening to Geryon’s quiet – as quiet as a heavy gryphon gets anyway – walking down the hallway. He had finally given up, gotten up and invited his friend for a morning walk in the woods.

“There is still so much to worry about…” Alma says quietly. “Even knowing we are being supported by a number of people, there is still so much uncertainty.” Her hand rises, reaching to stroke his cheek. “But you could have told me. Nudged me awake. I would have kept you company.”

He smiles at her touch, feeling it tingling pleasurably against his skin even though no magic is involved. He reaches up to hold her hand, turning it palm up to kiss her fingers, her palm, her wrist. “That would have been cruel. Besides, looking at your peaceful sleeping face helped calm my heart. You looked like you were having a nightmare at some point but it went away…when I whispered in your ear. And kissed your head.”

“My hero…” she purrs with a soft smile, stretching to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

His lips curl with pleasure at the caress. “Thank you. I love to watch you sleep.”

She snorts softly, just that quick, harsher exhalation that is a mark of humor in her. “I have once met a stalker who said exactly the same thing. About a girl who did not even know he existed.”

He considers this. “It does sound a bit creepy, doesn’t it? The language of romance isn’t always the most sane, come to think about it.”

“Well, it is sweet,” she assures him. “Very sweet. It might keep me up tonight, thinking you might be staring at me while I sleep but…” She laughs quietly at his expression of dismay. “I appreciate the gist of it.”

“Oh I would never deprive you of sleep over something like that,” he says, tracing the contours of her ear with his fingers. Her earring – her Clan mark – detracts from the natural beauty of her left ear but it also invites some playful fiddling with the fine chain that links the lily-shaped stud to her ear cartilage. And something about the metallic, unexpectedly iron-like taste of the silver rod with its little mana spheres attached adds to the experience of covering that earlobe in gentle kisses. “Though I will gladly agree to any plans of staying awake together. Sharing kisses and other pleasant things.”

“It would certainly be conducive to more pleasant thoughts,” Alma agrees, her fingernails grazing his scalp as she runs her fingers through his hair. “But then we would both be tired. We might return to Three Rats looking more exhausted than when we left.”

“That might leave people worried,” Dion reasons, straightening for a moment to remove his shirt before moving to lie down fully on the mattress, his head on the pillow. “Perhaps it’s best if we just make ourselves tired with some pleasant pre-sleep activity.”

She lies fully as well, propping herself up on one elbow, her fingers tracing little swirls on his pectorals. “And how would that work?”

“Well…” He smiles as much at the challenge as at the little kisses she leans down to deposit on his collarbone. “We could start with kissing. And then move to other caresses. Touching each other in pleasurable ways.”

He closes his eyes in indulgence of the gentle teasing of her lips grazing his left nipple as she leaves soft kisses here and there all over his chest. She is doing it on purpose, of course, making it tougher for him to answer her question, but he is content in failing that task to just enjoy the delightful feeling of her touch.

Still, she is not done with the game. “And then?”

“Then…” Dion breathes a little sigh as her kisses travel down his belly. “Then our essences come out to play and our souls start moving as one and I don’t know where you end and I begin. And it is all a moment of pure bliss.”

He can feel her lips curl against his side between kisses. She moves slowly, methodically, and the effect is half exquisite and half torture. He can feel his heart beginning to race with anticipation even though he is keeping his breathing deep and slow, under control.

Play. We want to play with our mate

Shh! I am enjoying this!

She wants us! She is calling to us

She wants me. And I am trying to enjoy–

“I wonder if that will help with our healing process,” her words call him back to reality just before she teases the skin of his throat with a gentle pinch of her teeth.

“Oh yes…” Dion murmurs. “It’s all the rage among healers. It boosts–” the right word evades him as she teases his throat again.” The, uhm… oh dear… the system that… fights diseases…” He can’t help but laugh helplessly at his fumbling. “I can’t think…”

Alma laughs as well, triumphant, and props herself up on an elbow, looming over him, her hair falling freely, like a curtain, to either side of his face. “And here I thought your smooth talking was foolproof.” She tilts her head, looking comically annoyed. “I’m going to ask for my money back.”

He opens his eyes wide in mock shock. “Have you been paying me this whole time? How much?” He chuckles quietly and reaches to cup her face, pulling her gently to him, to kiss her, soft and lingering. As they break and she pulls away a little, their eyes meet, locking in a gaze of shared adoration. “I would be your tongue-tied fool for free, my love. Just a lovestruck pilgrim come to worship at your altar.”

The sweet smile that curls her lips is like the rising of the dawning sun just after it breaks through the line of the horizon. And the look of affection and devotion she gives him is enough to make his heart jump in his chest. “It is a good thing I demand a sacrifice of kisses,” she replies, leaning closer for another kiss that stretches through seconds as if they were hours. “And that we can be together like this again. Wasure’s treatment doesn’t fix everything but… I’m glad it helped tearing down that wall between us. To be this relaxed with you again.”

The mention of their time apart – physically together but prevented from being at ease with each other, playful and complicit as they are now, as they have been in all their time together – brings a dark cloud to his thoughts. His smile fades. “I could have withstood a hundred more lashings of that whip. Could have been torn bit by bit. But to be able to hold each other but unable to share our souls, to connect with you…” He strokes her hair. “To be so close to you but feel you far away from me, that was killing me. That pain… I never want to feel it again. To part from you again…”

She nods, lying down, half on top of him, resting her head on his shoulder and leaning to touch the bridge of her nose against his neck. “It is a special kind of loneliness to have your soul pulled away from mine that way. They do fit so well together, don’t they? Our souls?”

“Like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” Dion whispers, cradling her against him.

She kisses his neck and is silent a moment before saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up and ruin the mood.”

He shakes his head slowly, holding her to him. “No… We both know it’s there, lurking. It’s not just going to go away overnight. But this way, we can hold on to each other and heal together. Just be together, the way we should always have been.”

“We have been through so much, haven’t we?” she asks, her soft breathing pressing her chest against his. “Our mothers were best friends, we should have been childhood companions. But we never met until a few months ago and now…now I have to remember it has only been a few months. With all the hardship and danger we’ve been through, I feel like I have known you since childhood. And I feel safe and comfortable knowing you with me.”

He holds her tightly. “I always feel safe with you. I don’t think I have ever felt this safe to just… to just feel. To weep. To hurt. To not worry about what anyone will think if I say something or do something that isn’t the expected. Or if I just don’t know what to say. I just…trust you. Like I have never trusted anyone other than myself. This is sacred to me. And that…monster! She tried to destroy it. Tried to undermine my trust. To poison it.” He breathes in deeply, letting the air out in a ragged exhalation as he blinks away tears. “But she couldn’t do it.”

She raises herself up to look at him and wipes away with her thumbs the tracks of the tears he has not managed to hold in. Her lips press gently against the corner of his left eye as she cups his right cheek in her hand. “She couldn’t. She won’t. We are stronger than that. Too strong for her to pull us apart.”

He nods as she leans to kiss him, welcoming her with the intense need of reassurance that this line of conversation and thinking always brings. Maybe Geryon is right in calling him a lovesick wretch. But with all that has happened, who could possibly blame Dion for being miserable and afraid and needing the support of the one he loves most? He looks up at her as the kiss ends, stroking a lock of hair away from her face. “We will find our way back to where we were before. No, we’ll be even better than before. And we’ll stay together, always. Life without you is not a life I would want to live.”

She smiles softly and kisses his forehead. “No one is going anywhere, my love. But look,” she pulls away a bit further and moves her hair to hang on one side, allowing a view of the gazebo and garden that before was hidden behind the image of her, “the sun is shining and we’re together in, by all accounts, a slice of paradise.” She lies down beside him.

He smiles and turns, lying on his side to face her. The warmth of the sun reaches the inside of the gazebo even if the light does not hit the gods fully, shaded as they are by the curtains. It feels pleasant and peaceful paired with the scents of the aromatic resins of the trees and the occasional songs of the birds. Though the birds are not singing now. Instead, the sounds of an argument come from the pond, followed by splashing. Kori and Tulip, as usual. The two siblings love each other as much as they love to pull on each other’s nerves, it seems. And now Merri’s voice, scolding the two younger Bunnies – and a gasp, a shriek. Dion and Alma crane their heads to see Kori and Tulip, temporary enemies turned allies, splashing away at Merri, watched by all the other Bunnies, who are laughing at the antics. Dion can’t help but chuckle at the scene.

“I think paradise is not without its little battles,” he says. “But for as long as they’re splash battles, I think we’re safe.” He turns his attention back to Alma. “I wasn’t sure at first. If having so many people here would be a good thing. I thought that maybe I would rather keep the house as it was. Empty. Untouched. Just go through it and then let it be. Like maybe my parents’ ghosts would come out of the walls to talk to me if I were here by myself. I mean, I knew I wanted you here, but I am glad they all came along. I think this house was made to be like this. Happy. Full of life. It wouldn’t have been the same to see it empty as a mausoleum.” He looks outside, toward the main building. “And it still has so many secrets…”

“Places are like people,” Alma says serenely. “They develop souls over time. They grow hearts that can break. And both you and this house have been through quite a lot in the last century and a half. I wouldn’t be surprised if it needs a little time to start talking. And that you need to be ready to listen.” She strokes his face, looking at him with certainty. “You will figure it all out in time. And for as long as you want me to, I will help in any way I can. Even if only to make sure you get some proper sleep.”

He smiles at her. “You help in so many more ways than that… You make me happy here, which I didn’t think I could be. And then again, you make me happy in general.” He kisses her cheek, softly.

“Maybe that is yet another sphere I didn’t know I had,” she jests, smiling.

“Oh, you certainly know how to turn mine from its violent nature to sensual playfulness,” he replies. “It starts begging to play at the sensing of you like a puppy at the sight of a ball.”

She raises an eyebrow at this. “You speak as if your sphere actually talks to you.”

“It…does,” he says hesitantly. “Mostly, it wants to attack enemies. Even calls me weakling sometimes. But it also wants to hold onto you or play with your essence. It realized and warned me about Nua possessing you even before I could tell you weren’t acting like yourself.” He feels slightly ashamed at this. Almost as if admitting that he cannot tell Alma apart from the lady selling flowers in the street corner.

But Alma doesn’t look hurt by it. Instead she tilts her head in curiosity. “That is… I have never met anyone who spoke of their sphere like that. I mean, they embody a whole assortment of special senses and urges and just…knowledge that somehow gods don’t remember acquiring. But I have never had any of my spheres talk to me.”

“Do you think there is something wrong with this one?” Dion asks fearfully. “Like…I may be possessed by some alien spirit passing as my sphere? It responds to my control…mostly. But for a long time before it was awake, I felt its presence inside me. I just…didn’t know what it was. It just felt like a dark and dangerous part of me that might come out and destroy everything around if I allowed it to. Part of the reason for my studying martial arts was that I felt like I needed to get it under control, somehow.”

Alma looks at him, her softly glowing eyes fixed on him in a way that makes him feel like some sort of examination is going on. Eventually, she shakes her head. “You are not possessed. I am pretty sure I would have detected it before but even looking for signs of another soul fragment having merged with yours…no, everything that is there belongs there, I’m certain. And we both know you have a very rare kind of sphere. There is no one else with the same one that we know of that we could turn to for answers but…maybe it is supposed to be like that. Maybe it is just supposed to warn you about danger and help you identify enemies. If so, then I am glad it speaks to you.” She chuckles. “And I am teensy bit envious that none of mine will talk to me.”

He chuckles as well. “It can be annoying. Imagine three of them, each yelling at you at the same time. It might get a bit crowded inside your head.” He falls silent, allowing himself to become lost in the swirling pearlescent blues and greens of her gaze. “Those eyes will be the death of me someday,” he finds himself saying. “I could just gaze into them forever and be content with it. Forget everything else.”

She looks at him softly, almost coy at the words. “To know you feel that way makes me more at ease with them.” She tilts her head. “So…I am your essence’s plaything?” she asks in mischievous tones.

“Oh, if it had its way, we would do nothing all day but let our essences scuffle and merge,” Dion replies, placing a hand on Alma’s shoulders and nudging her to lie down. “It only has to feel you closeby to rush at me and paw at the doors, trying to go out to meet you.” He kisses her shoulder, moving down to her chest. “And it is… very… protective of you. Uses the royal ‘we’…calls you…our mate.”

A little sigh of pleasure escapes her lips as her hands rest on his upper arms, their hold tightening at some of the more pleasurable caresses. “And what is it saying now?”

Dion listens, waiting for the merry words to form inside him.

Play! We play now! Our mate calls.

“It really wants to play,” Dion says, one hand undoing the simple knot currently tying Alma’s skirt to her hip as he moves up to cover the side of her face in kisses. “Says… you are calling… And I can feel it… trying to break away… escape.”

She turns her head to kiss his lips and he can feel, in a peripheral kind of way, the world turn darker beyond his eyelids while a sense of everlasting peace filled with an exotic mix of Spring flowers and whispers of tips of willow branches dipped in water floods his senses. The sign of Alma’s own essence, released, coming out to meet Dion’s and tease it into playing.

“I think… they talk…to each other,” she whispers in his ear.

His hand strokes her thigh as her leg flexes, his index finger tracing the sigil for a spell against her soft skin. At Dion’s command, the gauzy curtains surrounding the gazebo drape to completely obscure its occupants from external gazes, the fabric turning stiff, opaque from the outside in. Sounds coming from the outside become distant, with a muffled ring to them, while the ones originating from the inside are isolated from any passersby. Sadly, the effects of any surges in magic are not dampened by such a simple spell.

Oh well…

“It’s all a conspiracy,” Dion breathes.

“Is that a privacy spell you just traced on my leg?” Alma asks, her hands running down his back to the waist of his trousers.

“Have to love these high-mana environments,” Dion replies, unclasping the back of her bikini top. “They make it so easy…to make good memories.”

Ch7.20 Revelations

Merri warm in her arms. The morning sunlight soft on her eyelids. Cherry’s ears twitch to the sound of singing birds. For just a moment, she thinks, Those ain’t the right birds, but right on the heels of that thought comes, Oh right, we’re at Dion’s estate.

She leaves her eyes closed and remembers the birdsong in the different seasons of Three Rats, and the birdsong from their dream-life, when it was just her and Merri, just the two of them – well, there were some friends, some loved ones, but no one who was as close to them as the family they have now. Does she miss those days, that bar, that ward they lived in? No, not really. Not in any way that approaches the life they have now. She can barely remember the faces of those people, while the very thought of Tulip, of Kori, of Sage, of Alma, of Dion, of all of them, especially those far away like May and Sky, just invoking their names brings forth a detailed vision of smile and voice and smell and touch of warm skin and soft hair. For her, the dream life has largely faded. This life, here and now, is so precious to her that any idea of harm coming to any of them is enough to shorten her breath, make her heart race, and cast a gloom over every thought so that joy flees and nothing but fear fills her head.

Stop it, she tells herself, and she brings her breathing under control, as Wasure taught her. Now there’s a good guy if there ever was one. She hopes this will become easier, as he promised. She can hear his voice, not as if he really is there, but as if he’s been her mentor for many years, his voice guiding her, calming her, taking her through the steps. And she listens to those birds. Funny, they sound a bit like birds from a dream even before her dream-life, before she met Merri, but that is impossible, for she was born with Merri, she held Merri just like this in their mother’s womb. But just the same, birds of another world, an arid land with horses running under a wide sky–

Then Merri’s snore brings her back to reality. While Cherry fell momentarily back into sleep, the redhead shifted so she’s now lying on her back and snoring that soft, soft, adorable snore she does. Cherry’s eyes open, and her heart is filled with a love that she just wishes she could melt into, forget everything else and merge with. But no…because then she’d never see Merri’s freckled face again, never hear her snore, never hear her laugh. If they merged into one being, how could they kiss?

Time to stop being silly, she thinks. And carefully, though not that carefully because let’s face it, Merri sleeps like a moss-covered stone, Cherry wriggles her arm out from under and slips out of the bed, grabbing a nightdress off the corner and walking out into the hallway, slipping the dress on over her head and letting it fall to drape her body, more for warmth in this cool early morning than for modesty.

Her ears twitch this way and that without any notice on her part, but focusing on every little sound from the bedrooms. Kori and Chime are laughing quietly, Kori relating some weird dream he had. Geryon, no sound from his room, but Sage is stirring, just now getting out of bed. Nothing from Tulip, either. Cherry resists the urge to go look in on her. She’s just sleeping. She hasn’t been kidnapped by…deer or something!

The thought of Tulip being kidnapped by deer is ridiculous enough that Cherry at first doesn’t even notice the light blanket on the sofa, and the entwined shapes only partly covered by it. Aww, they slept down here! She pauses on the stairs and leans against the bannister, just taking a moment to look at Mom and Dion. Dion’s sun-kissed skin looks so dark compared to Mom’s, where his arm crosses protectively over her chest, her fingers interwoven with his. His black hair rises like night sky behind the moonlight-silver of hers.

So good together, the two of ‘em. Who would’ve thought it?

She hears the boys banging around now, and Tulip, apparently unmolested by gangs of tattooed ski-mask-sporting deer, is thumping from her room to theirs to see what they’re getting up to. Pretty soon even Mer’s gonna be sitting up and stretching. But so far Alma and Dion are blissfully asleep.

Cherry silently slips the rest of the way down the stairs and over to the sofa. Shame to wake them. They look so happy, so relaxed…haven’t seen them like this since…since Saira. The thought brings on dark clouds, but she can hear Wasure’s soft words to her last night, about how it’s right to mourn, how missing her is natural, but that over time it is the happy memories that will stick with her. And she knew all that already. Merri had told her that, and Sage too. Just somehow hearing it from that calm, gentle god made it sink in deeper.

Her anxiety is not gone, no, not by a long road. And vigilance…well, ain’t it her duty to help protect them? Especially with May not here. Sure, there’s Mom and Dion and Sky…well, not Sky, just now. He’s somewhere else – and that thought threatens to set off a whole train-wreck of worries because whatever’s happened to him, it’s even worse, way worse than what happened to Mom and Dion and Somrak, and they were just about killed, body and soul, and Saira did die, and so Sky must be…must be…oh mercy…

She shuts her eyes and listens to that memory-echo of Wasure, telling her to breathe, to focus on the breathing, just breathe, in…out…more slowly now in…

…out.

She opens her eyes, wipes them, then feels surprise that Mom and Dion are still asleep. I guess I didn’t scream, then. That’s good. Sky will be all right. Mom said so. He’ll be all right. And so will May, and they’ll both come home, and they’ll be happy together, and Cherry will hug them so hard they’ll both talk about that hug for years. You remember that time Cherry hugged us when we came home, sweetie? Heck yeah! I’ll tell you what, she cured my back pain that I hadn’t even developed yet!

So, yeah, shame to wake them but any minute now kiddies will be stampeding down the stairs and scaring the daylights out of them. So she bends down and whispers singsong in Alma’s ear, “Good mooooornin’…I can hear everyone else startin’ to stirrrrr…”

Alma’s nose twitches and she frowns a little, snuggling away from the voice, deeper into Dion’s arms. “Hmmm….” she protests wordlessly.

Cherry can’t help but giggle. That nose-twitch, so adorable, she thinks. Every time she sees it, she’s overcome with such a feeling of love for this mother who she has only known for less than a year, yet has known all her life. “Well okay, just wanted to warn you there’s gonna be a ruckus down here in a couple minutes, with them kiddies – eee!”

She squeaks as Dion’s arm reaches out and hooks around her supple waist, dragging her onto the sofa with them, and into the midst of their intertwined pile. Mom, too, rolls over so that Cherry is pinned, comfortable and laughing, between them. “Hey! Man, you can’t stop grabbin’ girls even in your sleep, can you?” She snuggles in with them, and the first thing Alma sees when she opens her eyes is Cherry’s smile.

“Hi…” Alma’s voice is lazy with slow-fading wisps of sleep. “How are you feeling?”

Cherry’s smile softens but doesn’t disappear, just tinted by a shade of sadness. “Not too bad,” she says. “Better. A lot better, really. But what about y’all? Did he…did Wasure help you?”

“Better,” Alma confirms, and turns her head a little to aim her affectionate smile at Dion. “Though I’m needing a post-vacation vacation.”

“We could go camping,” Dion mumbles, pursing his lips off-center to blow a spring-like lock of Cherry’s hair away from his eye. “A vacation inside a vacation.”

“Ooo! I like that!” Cherry whispers. “You two can have your own little tent!”

Alma stretches a little, shifting to let Cherry slip a little deeper onto the sofa between them, and off her arm. “Well, considering we can’t even stick to a bedroom…” Alma pauses, thoughtful, hesitant. Then she looks into Cherry’s eyes and says, “But that reminds me of something I’d like to talk to you about. Well, all of you.”

“Oh…” This sounds ominous. “You want me to go round ‘em up?”

“Not yet.” Alma takes a deep breath and strokes Cherry’s cheek with her index finger. “You know there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, yes?”

Cherry nods. Her mother’s touch brings a smile to her face, but she raises an eyebrow. “Course I do. But you got something to say you don’t really want to say, don’t you?”

Alma smiles back, but looks at Cherry seriously. “Well…first and foremost, you know you can talk to me about these concerns you have. I will listen and try to help.”

Cherry looks down, her face saddened. Her fingers play with the neckline of her nightgown. “I just didn’t wanna… You were lookin’ way worse off than us, and I just didn’t wanna add to that, y’know?” She feels Dion’s arm around her hold her a little closer, and bends her head a little to kiss his knuckle, thinking how much she’s come to love him.

Alma runs her fingers across the tight curls that fall across Cherry’s brow. “Hiding it from me doesn’t help either of us. And Gwydion and I were talking last night after Wasure left. We will see about ways to make you feel safer and keep an eye on everyone.” She gives Cherry a serious, almost-scolding look. “Though that does not mean stalking you seven or allowing any of you to keep the others on a leash. Understand? We have had enough of leashes.”

Cherry nods. “I know. Just…thought of one of the kiddies gettin’ hurt…or anyone.”

Dion kisses the top of her head. “I know… We will make things more secure. We want you to be able to stop worrying so much.”

“When we get back, I will enroll your younger siblings in Ewá’s school,” Alma tells her. “And they will need the freedom to come and go, even if we do accompany them the first few times. And they will need to feel we trust them enough to give them that freedom.”

“I get it,” Cherry says, miserable but trying not to sound like it. “I’ll give ‘em their space. Gonna be grittin’ my teeth and solvin’ math problems in my head a lot, I can tell. But you’re right.”

“We’ll find some charms they can use to call for help if anything happens,” Alma says. “And…regarding space…” She takes a deep breath and glances at Dion through the thicket of Cherry’s hair. “The good doctor tells me I need my own as well.”

Cherry nods, resigned. “He told me you guys’re gonna need some peace and quiet. We’ll try to be good about that…”

Alma takes a deep breath before continuing. “I know my sanctum feels as much like home as your own room above the bar. I don’t want to rob you of that. And…it is a much safer place than the room you have now. So…I have a plan but it will involve me moving out of the sanctum.”

Shock and dismay flood’s Cherry’s thoughts. “But…it’s your home!”

Alma shakes her head at Cherry’s expression and tries to reassure her. “No, you are not kicking me out. I don’t want you to feel guilty about it. I am simply thinking of your safety and of all our needs.”

“But where are you…?” Cherry blinks. “Ohhh…y’all are movin’ in together?”

Alma looks at Dion uncertainly as Cherry feels his chest lightly convulse with quiet laughter against her back. “Uhm…we did not get that far in the conversation, I think, before we fell asleep. But…”

Dion’s chuckle becomes louder. “It’s a good thing we talked to you first. Sort of a test run for all the conclusions that will be leapt to.”

Cherry gives his forearm a little slap. “Hey, don’t you be a meanie, mister…awww.” She breaks off as he gives her a kiss on the cheek.

“We do love being together but we need our own havens to safely practice our magic and rest sometimes, without interference from other energies,” Alma explains. “I have a new sphere to learn about and so does Gwydion. And trying to practice our separate arts in the same room at the same time might be a little…counterproductive.”

“Hmm, kinda like Chime playin’ some jazz while Tulip tries to sing show tunes?” Cherry isn’t sure this is a good metaphor, but she abandons it. “So you’re leavin’ the one you got now for us, and what…makin’ a new one?”

Alma smiles at her. “Maybe this is the part where we call everyone to discuss our plans.” She kisses Cherry’s forehead.

“Well I guess there’ll be some wailin’ and chest poundin’, but they’ll come around.” She wriggles so that she can sit up then gives first Alma, then Dion a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll go herd ‘em down here.” She hops free and dashes upstairs.

Waking Merri is the hardest, and yet once she is awake, her freckled face is, as usual, bright-eyed and perky-eared and almost annoyingly cheerful. By that time, everyone else is already downstairs, and Cherry is dressed in shorts and a sweater. As she’s buttoning the shorts, Merri gives her a hug from behind.

“Feelin’ a little better, dear heart?”

Cherry turns in her arms, and she cups Merri’s cheeks and looks into her eyes. “I know I’ve been a real pill sometimes lately. But I’m workin’ on it. You got the patience of a saint, I know, but baby, I just want you to know I ain’t takin’ that for granted. You’re everything to me.”

Merri’s cheeks dimple. “And so are ye to me, my love.” She pulls Cherry closer and gives her a long, lingering kiss that Cherry just lets herself become lost in, for just a minute. Her head is swimming when it breaks and Merri giggles. “Open yer eyes, Cherish! They’re waitin’ on us!”

Cherry does as commanded and sticks her tongue out at Merri for good measure. “Waitin’ on you, sleepyhead!”

She is about to exhort Merri to get a move on when she hears Alma and Dion’s voices in the hallway. They are exiting their bedroom – the bedroom that they haven’t been sleeping in – and are talking in low voices. Even after all this time, they can’t always seem to remember how good Bunny hearing is, which is so strange, since to Cherry it’s just…hearing.

“And now I wonder if anyone will assume we are getting married…” Alma sounds mildly annoyed but mostly amused.

“Probably Tulip,” Dion whispers, teasing. “She’ll be designing your dress by the end of the day.”

“You may have to agree to a gold-and-pink suit for the big day.”

“With ribbons and random pieces of plate armor, I expect,” Dion replies in a sardonic mutter, but then his voice suddenly becomes louder. “Ah, good morning!”

“Are we supposed to wait until the morning show becomes child appropriate or is this family meeting already in order?” Geryon asks, as he joins them in the hall.

“Oooh, we’re not the last!” Merri whispers to Cherry, who grabs her hand and says, “Let’s go or we will be!”

“And good morning to you too, Geryon,” Alma replies as the two Bunnies dash out of their room and down the stairs just ahead of the two gods and the gryphon.

Geryon pads down the stairs to join the Bunnies, hopping with the slightest of effort to take the sofa, where Merri and Cherry make room for him and give him good-morning kisses. Kori and Chime stop fighting over who gets to sit on the big comfy chair and just both take it, only slightly cramped, while Tulip stops tickling Sage on the floor as Alma and Gwydion return to the living room.

Alma looks over them all, reluctant to say what she needs to say. “So…shall we have breakfast first and talk over some nice, warm slices of cake or do you–” She looks at their faces and sighs. Despite the morning rambunctiousness, Cherry can see that everyone is worried about the coming announcement. She wishes Mom had let her tell everyone, to spare her this rough patch. Cherry realizes now that she could’ve told Merri what Wasure told her last night, but that had just slipped her mind.

Alma holds her hands out, palm down, as if trying to calm everyone’s fears from a distance. “No one is leaving, no one has done anything wrong. Gwydion and I just want to talk to you about making our lives a little safer and how we can all get back on our feet. All right?” She takes a seat on the divan, and Dion joins her, an arm around her waist.

“We’re not gaenta stay here, are we?” Merri asks. Geryon puts a wing over her in a gesture of reassurance.

“Do you want to stay here?” Alma asks, then looks across all of them. “Any of you?”

Kori snorts, twitching his hip to squash Chime against the arm of the chair. “No. It’s nice and all but…booooooooooring.”

“What do you mean, boring?” Tulip pops up from the floor. “We’ve been having loads of fun!”

Kori sinks down in the chair like all the bones in his body have turned to liquid, but he raises his youthfully muscled arms above his head to grab the back of the chair so that he doesn’t just turn into a puddle of boneless Bunny on the floor. “Yeah but…there’s like, no one around. Literally!”

“Well…that’s kinda true,” Tulip concedes as she casually steps to the divan and flops down beside Dion, leaning against him.

Cherry chuckles. Dion’s always gonna be her Prince Charmin’.

“T’would be a hard thing leavin’ Three Rats, what with our lovely home and friends and bar,” Merri adds, looking around at the high-ceilinged room, so comfortable and richly decorated. “Though this place is a very nice home away, ye ken.”

“Yes, I agree,” Alma says. “So let us try to make our home there a bit safer. We don’t want to leave yet either. And…you all know that lately some very bad things have happened. We are still recovering from those things. And to help the process…some changes will have to be made.”

Several pairs of ears go down at this. Although she can’t see most of her siblings’ tails, Cherry knows those have gone down as well. Tulip squirms across Dion to sit on Alma’s lap, and the goddess holds her near-identical youngest child, an image of an adolescent Alma plus long ears and fuzzy tail, and pets the white-haired girl’s ears.

“I know that when your grandmother was there and the demons attacked, Geryon took you all into Gwydion’s room,” she says. “We had asked him to do this because he has no power over my sanctum but he can cast magic on Gwydion’s, to make the door disappear and keep you safe. You all know my sanctum is very safe as well, yes?”

Most of the listeners nod.

“So, I am turning my sanctum into your own Bunny fortress,” Alma explains. “I am making it bigger and opening six rooms into it, one for each of you – except for a shared one for you two, of course.” She nods to Merri and Cherry.

“Oooh, neat!” Tulip looks up at Alma’s face. “So our rooms are gonna be opening into your room, Mom?”

Oh boy…here it comes, Cherry thinks as she sees the fretful expression Alma is wearing. The goddess pauses a moment before saying, “No. It will be your own sanctum. I will make a different one for me.”

Well that sure got everyone’s attention. Sage is the first one to speak, his handsome brow furrowed. “You will have your own sanctum? That we cannot…enter?”

“You can enter it…just not at your leisure,” Alma explains.

“But what if we wanna hang out with you or sleep in your bed at night?” Tulip asks, sounding half her age all of a sudden.

“Well, if I am there, you can knock on the door and ask and if I am not studying or practicing my magic or just in general need of some peace and quiet, I can tell you to come in,” Alma tells her.

Suddenly rigid with anger, Kori is standing, his fists clenched, glaring at Alma, and then at Dion. “You just want a new room just to hang out with your boyfriend! That’s why you’re moving out, isn’t it? That’s bogus! You’re picking him over us?!”

Chime, still lounging in the chair, is looking up at his older brother, gape-mouthed, and Merri cries, “Oh come now, Kori! After all Dion’s done for us? He’s family, dear!”

Dion looks dismayed, and Cherry’s heart goes out to him. It ain’t easy bein’ the boyfriend after Dad’s gone and disappeared. And what can he say? Out of pity, she is about to speak up for him, but holds back when she sees Alma nudge Tulip to let her stand and go over to Kori, taking his stiff shoulders.

“When have I ever done that?” Her voice is soft, halfway between hurt and scolding, but filled with love. “You are my child. You are all my children. No one comes before you. Even I myself come second. And…” She touches his jaw and with the slightest of pressure encourages him to look up at her. He looks angry, defensive, but she meets that with sorrowful affection. “I don’t want this to hurt you. I don’t want you to feel like I am pulling away from you. But why is it that the thought of having some time for myself has to feel like something wrong? I need this space. Not for Gwydion or anyone else, but for myself. Or else, why not just move in with him, have you considered that?”

Kori tears his eyes away from her and looks down, grumpy.

“You have your own space,” Alma presses. “Your own room. You have two rooms, your own and mine. And I have the five minutes a day when one or two or seven of you aren’t feeling like occupying the place or storming my bed.” She raises her eyebrow. “And I am usually working during those five minutes.”

“You’re our mom,” Kori insists. His voice is quiet, though, and Cherry can tell that Alma has convinced him already.

Alma nods and strokes his hair. “I am. Twenty-four hours a day, six days a week, ten months a year. Every year. From the moment you were born until forever. It doesn’t really change, no matter who is sharing my bed. And really, has Gwydion ever complained or made you feel like he doesn’t want you around?”

Kori lifts his gaze to look at Dion, then shakes his head. “No,” he admits.

In Alma’s absence, Tulip takes the opportunity to scooch back over and throw her arms around Dion’s chest. “He loves us. Don’t you, Dion?”

“I certainly do,” he says, putting an arm around her. To all of them, but mostly to Kori, he says, “You are all important to me, and I would never wish to make you unhappy or feel displaced.”

“You ain’t never done that, hon,” Cherry says, her voice warm. He looks at her gratefully, smiling.

“You’re still gonna be there for us, right?” Kori asks Alma quietly.

“Always,” she replies. “It’s just a room, Kori. It’s not like I am moving out of the house. My new sanctum will be right next door.”

Kori exhales deeply, then says, “All right…” and puts his arms around Alma’s waist. He just holds her for a moment, and she holds him back, kissing the top of his head. Then he looks around her at Dion. “Sorry, D. You’re… cool and all.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Kori.” Dion’s voice and his smile are soft.

“Do we get to pick designs for our rooms?” Tulip asks, growing excited. “I want pink! And…oh, curtains and–”

Geryon groans. “We should definitely get started with breakfast because this will take all day.”

Alma laughs a little in relief, turning toward the kitchen and keeping an arm around Kori’s shoulders. Everyone starts to rise and move toward the kitchen, but as they pass Dion, Kori slips from his mother’s arm and hugs Dion.

Surprised, but not hesitating to hold the teenager close, Gwydion asks, “What do you think? Can we still be friends?”

“Yeah…” Kori looks a bit awkward, not from the physical contact, but, Cherry realizes, from a desire to ask something of Dion. “So you…think you could show me some of those fighting moves you’re taking lessons for?”

Dion grins. “Only if you’ll teach me what Sergeant Machado is teaching you. It looks very different from what I know. And I see people practicing it all the time around Three Rats.”

Kori pulls back, smiling. “It’s not that hard when you got what it takes.” He flexes his bicep, sticking his tongue out as if in great effort, making Dion laugh at his antics. “Hey, maybe he’ll let you join a class sometime. You’re gonna have to get up pretty early, though.”

“Oh I think I can manage it. If he’s willing to teach me.” Dion stands and walks with Kori toward the kitchen.

“I’ll teach you the basics after breakfast,” Kori says, all excited. “Gonna beat your butt a few times.”

“Everything is hard at first,” Dion says. “But I warn you – I am a fast learner.” He ruffles Kori’s hair and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m faster than you.” He breaks away, speeding toward the kitchen, calling behind him, “And I’m gonna eat all the cake!”

Merri, her hand in Geryon’s feathers, looks back at Cherry, who is the only one still sitting in the living room. Cherry can see them all, just in this moment, see all of them in a single glance. Even, for just a second, through the prism of a tear, she sees May there at the edge, and Sky too.

And Saira.

“Cherry?”

Merri’s voice is concerned, and she almost turns back, but Cherry stands, wiping her cheek.

“Don’t you worry none, baby. I’m comin’.”

Ch7.19 Revelations

“Cherry, love…” Rosemary’s voice is low as she opens the bedroom door. “I’ve brought Wasure.”

Over the top of Rosemary’s curly head, in the light of the bedside lamp, Wasure can see another of Alma’s children lying on the bed, her back against thick pillows propped up against the headboard, a book in her hands, her body adorned by a comfortable flannel nightdress similar to her twin’s.

As Cherry takes off her reading glasses and sits up, Wasure reflects again on how different they are, for twins, and yet how similar. The Bunnies had sparked many questions which he did not think important enough to ask during dinner. They are not human, certainly, despite initial impressions. They are rather short and lightly built, but well within human norms. From a distance, he might have mistaken these two for teens, but from their faces and their confidence, they are clearly adult. Rosemary’s milky complexion is peppered with reddish-brown freckles, while Cherry’s skin is a warm, light brown. Her midnight-black hair is more tightly curled than Rosemary’s ginger, and her eyes are a rich burnt-umber rather than Rosemary’s bright green.

But they do share, along with all of Alma’s children, the tall, softly furred leporine ears, Cherry’s fur the same color as the hair on her head, redheaded Rosemary’s a russet that is close but not quite the same shade as her hair, both with delicate pink skin on the inside. While the rabbit ears he has seen worn by children playing dress-up appear to jut from the top of the skull, those of these mismatched twins arise from the sides of the head, near the same origin point as a human. There is also the short tail; though right now Rosemary’s is occulted by the nightdress, he can see it twitch beneath the flannel. Ears and tail both appear highly mobile and responsive to emotional state, and from what Wasure saw during dinner, they play a large role in communication between other members of their species. Or perhaps ‘family’ would be a better word, for Alma seems fully adept at reading that body language, and Gwydion and the gryphon Geryon also seem quite good at it as well.

The Bunnies’ eyes are large, but again not outside the range of human normality, nothing like the tarsier-huge eyes of a race of cave dwellers he aided after an earthquake killed half their community. He wonders if Cherry’s presbyopia is unique to her or a condition shared by all of Alma’s children. She seems rather young to be needing reading glasses.

“Hey, come on in and have a seat.” Cherry’s nervous voice is different from Rosemary’s, too, not just in timbre – a bit deeper than Rosemary’s high tone – but in accent and dialect, as if she had been born in another ward entirely. This is the case with Sage, as well, while the younger Bunnies, Wasure noticed, all seem to share a similar speech pattern, like that he heard on the streets of Three Rats.

Yet for all their differences, they are clearly family. Rosemary goes to sit on the bed beside Cherry, putting a protective arm around her. “Maybe he can help ye,” Rosemary says softly.

Cherry looks at her, sorrowfully, as if she is sad she is causing worry, and then up at Wasure as he approaches and sits on the other edge of the bed.

“Thanks…” During dinner, Cherry’s voice had been bright and witty, but almost running out of control, as if her energy sprang from anxiety. Now, no such mask attempts to hide the darkness within her breast.

“Rosemary says you are frightened.” His voice is gentle, warm, safe. “Your mother says you have been through some bad situations, and that you lost someone.”

Cherry nods, her locks of hair lightly bouncing. “We all been through tough times lately.” Her voice is breathy, only a little above a whisper, very much a contrast with the loud, joking Cherry of dinner. “But yeah, I uh…well, we all lost Saira. But I guess I was closest to her, out of all us Bunnies.”

The mention of that name brings into focus a memory fragment from Somrak, briefly glimpsed at the edges as Wasure dove deep into Somrak’s mind. As it was not part of the trauma he was seeking, and because Wasure had barely noticed it at the time, it had not been locked away. So now for a moment it flares in full, and there is Somrak stretched out on a rooftop, his back against a rough brick chimney, and there is Cherry curled against him. Somrak has one arm around her, and they are taking turns sharing a single shotglass, drinking bourbon from a bottle that rests against Somrak’s hip. There is nothing erotic about their physical contact. It is the shared comfort of two people who have lost someone dear to them. Wasure can feel Somrak’s pain and shame and sense of loss, and his surprised gratitude at Cherry’s forgiveness.

And that is all, just a moment from Somrak’s life. Exactly what Cherry may have forgiven him for, Wasure does not know. But he suspects that will come up in this session.

“Why don’t you tell me about it, Cherry?” Wasure reaches a hand out for her to take, if she wants.

She does so, then kisses Rosemary on the cheek, followed by an expectant look. Rosemary looks into her eyes and nods, with a sad smile. It is as if some telepathic message has passed between them, but Wasure knows that no magic was involved. The two simply have known each other so long, and have more tools at their command for communication than most mortals, that words are often unnecessary. Rosemary looks to Wasure and says, “I’ll let you two talk. I’ll come back in an hour to see if ye need coffee or anythin’.”

She rises and strokes one of Cherry’s ears, whispering, “It’ll be all right,” and pauses on her way out to touch Wasure’s shoulder. He puts his hand on hers and she holds it for a moment, giving him a smile, then slips from the room.

Cherry slides across the bed to sit closer to Wasure, at an acute angle, her legs stretched out behind his back, resting her back against the pillows but close enough to take his hand again. She takes a deep breath, her eyes watching his face. She opens her mouth, then her shoulders slump and she looks frustrated. “I don’t know where to start…”

“Why don’t you start with Saira?”

Wasure normally operates within the mind, but finding a way in can be difficult, and it helps to focus first. Mortal minds can be far easier to enter than gods’, but can also react with panic upon being invaded. By focusing on the foremost problem, by becoming comfortable with each other, the process can be greatly eased.

He can feel the sorrow flowing from her through their clasped hands. The Bunnies’ minds are quite open, with no training in concealment of feelings or thoughts. He could read hers with ease, without even trying, and he understands the worry that Alma and Dion have about telling the Bunnies anything regarding Sky’s true nature, or other information that must be kept confidential. Just as their sensitivity to body language and scent allows them insight into others’ feelings without their conscious attempt to uncover those feelings, so too do Bunnies have no defenses against a god or other creature with any degree of telepathic ability.

“Saira…got hurt,” Cherry says. “She saved Sage’s life. If it weren’t for her, he’d be gone.” Pain contorts her face, and she closes her eyes. “Heck, she saved all of us. Lent a hand anyway. She killed a bunch of real bad guys who were tryin’ to murder us. We didn’t really know her back then, but later, when Sky asked her to, she helped rescue Sage. You know Sky?” Wasure nods. “Well Saira got hurt, and it took her a long time to recover. Mom was healin’ her, but we all pitched in with helpin’ take care of her. She and me kinda clicked, though, and she didn’t like people seein’ her weak so…more and more she wanted me to be the one helpin’ her. So just one person would see her when she c-couldn’t…” Cherry stops for a moment, and wipes her left eye with her free hand. “When she couldn’t walk or bathe herself or stuff like that. She just hated bein’ helpless. I mean, who doesn’t? But she was just…”

Here Cherry smiles, her eyes bright. “She was amazin’! Jumpin’ across rooftops and shootin’ that crossbow like it was a part of her, fightin’ off demigods!” Cherry shakes her head in admiration. “I wish I coulda seen it. I seen some of it, first time we met her, and she did exercises sometimes, but mostly I just heard about it. So, y’know, for her just not bein’ able to do a backflip was really drivin’ her crazy.” Cherry’s smile has a dreamlike quality, as she remembers. “And she was so funny! She always made me laugh.” The smile fades. “But…she just couldn’t give up on the idea of killin’ everyone who had anything to do with killin’ her family. She didn’t give a damn about her own life. She just wanted revenge. I think that’s why she slipped away from us, back to the streets.”

“Because she was feeling too close to you?” Wasure asks.

Cherry nods. “Not just me, of course. The others too, and ‘specially Mom. We were turnin’ into a new family for her, and she couldn’t have that, could she?”

“It would get in the way of revenge,” Wasure agrees.

After a few seconds of silence, Cherry says, “Then she died. She…she got that revenge. But it killed her. She saved…well she saved a buncha people’s lives.” Wasure cannot help but hear Mom come from her surface thoughts, and possibly Dion as well, overlaid with some other names all slipping out of her mind at once. “So…I gotta tell myself it was worth it. It was.” Her voice quavers. “Course it was! She died savin’ lives. But she died.” First from one eye, then the other, tears spill over and roll down her cheeks. “Tellin’ myself it was worth it really don’t help all that much. She was a livin’, breathin’ person, and I just…I miss her.”

She moves, letting go of Wasure’s hand and putting her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest, as if he were an old friend. He is used to this. He holds her, not too tightly, but with sincere warmth. It is what she needs, and what he has to give. The other things he could do pale in comparison.

She continues talking. “Thing is, Saira was a hard-ass killer. She could take out a god! And even then, she died. And Sage, he almost died. And Chime almost died. And Merri…”

At this point Cherry can’t speak. She just cries, holding him. It takes her nearly a full minute to recover her voice. “…chain around her leg and she was screamin’ and bein’ dragged and I held on but I wasn’t…strong enough!” Sobs wrack her.

Wasure awakens his sphere and lets a mild calming wave emanate from him, smoothing the turbulent surface of her emotions. He could, if needed, immediately sedate her without any harm, but she needs this release. His magic allows her that, but does not let it spiral out of control, and after another minute or so, she is breathing more easily, and is leaning limply against him, holding on but mostly letting him hold her.

“And now…I just feel like any time, without any warnin’, any of us could just go poof.” She raises a fist and flicks her fingers out like an explosion. “Only it wouldn’t be poof. It’s be blood and pain and fear. Demons came to our bar. Demons, a whole pack of ‘em. They came to kill us, and if Grandma hadn’t been there they woulda. If somebody like Saira can’t survive…” She shakes her head.

“It is not surprising that you worry about everyone,” he says.

She sniffles. “What’s surprisin’ is that everybody else is just livin’ life like normal and lookin’ at me like there’s somethin’ wrong with me! Am I crazy?” She looks up at him, and then, in a much smaller voice, asks, “Am I?”

He looks into her eyes. “Trauma has its effect on the mind. It takes time to recover, and it takes different people differing lengths of time, and that has nothing to do with how ‘strong’ they might be. You have all suffered numerous traumas in a short span. I am frankly surprised that you are the only Bunny who is feeling this way. No, Cherry, you are not crazy. You are wounded. You will need time to heal. But you will heal.”

Still looking up at him, she asks, “Can you…heal me? Like Mom does when someone gets their body hurt?”

“What I can do,” he explains, “is take a terrible, poisonous memory and lock it away so it no longer harms you. But I do not think you have any memories like that. Perhaps the memory of Merri being pulled away from you. If you would like me to, I will put it away so that it no longer haunts you. I don’t think it would be a bad thing for that to be put away, but you will have to decide for yourself. Memories of Saira…there does not seem to be anything traumatic there, except for knowledge of her death. I cannot help with that.”

She sighs and looks down, but Wasure continues, “I can also teach you ways of coping with those memories, ways of holding them, honoring them, then turning your mind to better ones so that you can get on with your day. And I can show you ways to trust those around you to live through the day without your knowing where they are at all times. I can show you a path back to regaining your balance. Would you like me to do that?”

Cherry looks back up at him, and she nods.

“Then let us begin,” he says. “This will go faster if you will allow me into your mind. There, I can plant a memory of me telling you these things, one that you will be able to activate whenever you need it.”

Cherry tilts her head, one ear flopping down. “How’s that different from you tellin’ me all this and me just rememberin’ what you said?”

He smiles. “Good question. What I will be leaving behind is more than just a memory of this conversation. It won’t be me, but it will be something like an image of me, one that will, in a limited way, be able to reply to questions. You will be able to talk to it, if you need to, even shout at it, if that will let you release stress.” He pauses before asking, “Have you found yourself snapping at Merri, or anyone else?”

She looks ashamed. “Oh yeah…everybody’s figured out, tellin’ Cherry not to be so worried is a good way to get their heads bit off.”

“Perhaps this will help,” he says. “And I will be back to visit you, in Three Rats. Your mother will need a followup visit, and of course I will want to speak with you as well.”

“How’s she doin’?” Cherry asks, deeply concerned. “And Dion?”

“Better, I hope,” he says. “You will have to decide for yourself. But Cherry, listen. She will need quiet, time to contemplate the traumas she herself has endured. I think she has not been able to tell you about most of them. But just as a god can endure far more damage and pain than a mortal, so does a god carry around memories of far more pain.”

Cherry nods. “I know she’s been hurtin’. And all I wanna do, all any of us wanna do, is make that stop. But…all we can do is hold her and stuff like that. We ain’t like you.”

“Holding her is far from nothing,” he says. “But sometimes it is not the right thing. Sometimes she needs to be alone, and to know that she can be alone. It does not mean she does not love you, or appreciate your love for her.”

She considers what he is saying. “We hardly ever leave her alone. Feels like…like we’re bein’ mean to her if we do.”

“It is how you would feel,” he says.

“But she ain’t a Bunny.” Cherry sighs. “Well, I’ll talk to everyone, get ‘em on board. We’ll figure somethin’ out, and talk with her too.”

Wasure is pleased that Cherry managed to come up with exactly what he would have suggested. He turns toward her and takes both her hands. “Now…close your eyes, and let me in.”

Her cheeks still wet with tears, she smiles up at him. “Thank you.”

He returns her smile. “We’re not finished yet.”

“I know. I was just…somethin’ in my heart just needed to say that right then and there. You help a lot of people, don’t you?”

He nods. He feels warmth as he always does at such sincere gratitude from his patients. “I try.”

She chuckles, and closes her eyes. “Well, somehow I think I ain’t gonna mind havin’ a little piece of your voice in my head when I need it. Okay, Doc…” She takes a deep breath. “Come on in.”

Ch7.18 Revelations

A moment frozen in time. A grin of pleasure on a loved one’s face. Of sadistic, brutal, horrifying pleasure, feeding on love’s trust. On love’s pain. It hangs before Dion’s vision for just a second too long. Just a tiny moment, one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it things that should not mean that much in the grand scheme of time and space. But to him, it is as if it could last forever, twinkling at the forefront of his conscious self as it has been for the past days, haunting him and taunting him, corrupting the sweetest of his moments, the most peaceful of his hours.

The memory of Nua’s deeds in Alma’s body, of her malevolent smile, her cruel, dull eyes, her stale, dead scent, all curling against his chest and cutting his body and soul with that damned whip. Of another’s will behind his beloved’s face, hating him, hurting him, deceiving him. Robbing him of his hope.

It parades itself before his eyes, swiftly, maybe. Maybe swiftly to someone. But seemingly frozen in time for him. Lingering, refusing to go. Until it is, in fact, gone. Gone into whatever contraption Wasure has devised to store memories inside people’s heads. He sees it happen, the image, frozen, losing detail and contrast, blurring until the sneer on Alma’s face is no more than a hint of lips, like a child’s drawing fallen into a puddle. If he looks carefully, he can still see it there. He knows, it is there. But he does not want to see it, ever again. Whatever walls have risen in his mind to surround that memory, he veers away from them, tentatively feeling their edges and finding relief in their solidity. They would fall before his will. He can feel it. But all he wants is to forget.

Dion opens his eyes at the sound of a deep, choked groan of sorrow and pain. The kind of sound that comes deep from the recesses of the soul directly to the throat. His throat. His throat in his body, in the comfortable peace of his parent’s library, where a fire burns in the fireplace, spreading its warmth and the soft cadence of its comforting crackling to help him relax. Wasure sits before him, deeply tanned hands slipping free from Dion’s, chin sinking to the demigod’s chest.

Pain. Dion’s pain is now Wasure’s as well, shared as intimately as anyone can hope to share anything. Passed on like a poisoned token to be transported in a little box inside the demigod’s mind forever. Dion feels sorry for him even as he knows that, without the god’s deep emotional attachment to Alma and the others, the pain is at least duller for Wasure. And soon, it will be just one more horror in Wasure’s great collection.

But he gives this thoughts little more than a fraction of a second of his attention. Only enough time for the coolness of Alma’s arms around him to register, of the touch of her lips to the side of his head. Of her kind, loving words, whispered in his ear. Not their meaning, just the sound of her voice, soft and reassuring in his ear. The weight of her body on the sofa, right beside him. There, fully there, fully her. He glances at her, knowing her eyes will be gently glowing and exuding care. Her scent, lilac and willow complemented with the perfume he gave her for Year’s End, unmarred by mold and decay. Her coolness no colder than always.

He knows it. And he feels it. He trusts it to be so, for the first time since his torture. He believes.

And he leans against her, fully into her embrace, against her chest, his head on her shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her, hands clenched to her dress, biting back a sob. Maybe if he just fills his nostrils with her scent, just clings to the touch of her skin, the sound of her voice, maybe he won’t cry. He has been crying so much lately… At his pain, at his loss, at the dreadful isolation from the pillars which sustain his strength. At his impotence before…so many things. Too many things.

He feels her fingers running gently through his hair, caressing his scalp, following the contours of his ear, of his neck. The lulling, musical breath whispered from her lips. He feels so small…but so safe. So at ease to be weak even though he hates it. But he can’t help it. His body jerks with his sobbing, his face is drenched in his tears. And they just flow away, guided by her voice, replaced, little by little, by a heightened sensation of her hand stroking his cheek.

He finally starts making sense of her words, repeated maybe for the hundredth time. “It’s all right. It’s over now. You were so brave…Let it all out. I’m here with you. I love you.”

His hands tighten on her almost instinctively. His throat feels dry as a desert after a sandstorm, his voice cracked and almost inaudible when he tries to talk. “Oh my dar–” He coughs to clear his throat.

“Shh…” Alma gently soothes him. “It’s all right.”

He nods and sniffles away fresh tears, wanting to tell her so many things, to share his longing, his relief at being held by her and loved by her without restraints. Of having his trust, his faith restored into every touch, into every word. In the end, all he manages is a croaked, half-whispered, “I love you.”

He feels the gentle rise of her cheek against the skin of his forehead. “I know.”

She smiles at him as he straightens, wipes the tears off his cheeks with her thumbs. For a moment, he lets himself become lost in the swirling of colors of her soul-piercing eyes, silent, marveling at this gift the Fates have sent him and that no haunting memory can detract from now. A weak smile, slowly, hesitantly blooms on his lips like a gift for the both of them. And the kiss he cannot resist sharing with her, pure and free of all fear, is a longed-for moment of union, of their essences touching and holding each other in a sweet new beginning.

It sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine, awakening that part of him that was asleep for so long, the essence of his sphere, titanic and passionate, that Nua’s torture had sent to a recoiled slumber. Now, that great beast opens its eyes and raises its head, responding to Dion’s freed emotions and waiting with anticipation for permission to join the favorite playmate it has in Alma’s core. Dion does not give it the pleasure but smiles internally with the return of this close friend that announces his own return to wholeness.

It takes him a moment to return to the reality of the room. To Alma’s forehead pressed against his, to the sounds of the fireplace, to the shadow of Wasure standing by the window and looking outside, at the flickering stars and the three glowing pink moons typical of this time of year. Whatever the demigod must do to seal the horrible memories he has just absorbed, he must be doing it at the moment, his expression locked in blankness, eyes lost in the horizon. The Hell he must carry with him is…unimaginable to Dion.

To anyone, really. And perhaps it was because of that, at least in part, that relaxing enough to let the Wasure enter his psyche without being violently sent away had been so difficult. Not just because, as any god and, especially, any mage, Dion has walls upon walls built to protect his thoughts from foreign scrutiny or because of his unwillingness to share the pain he found so unbearable. But because he was afraid, mortally afraid that Wasure’s own memories would spill over and burden Dion’s mind even more. Especially the fresher ones, Alma’s memories, his torment seen and lived by her body. He would gladly share her pain but to see exactly how they tormented her, the things she hasn’t spoken of even when her suffering was at its worst, his own face seen through her eyes, contracted in the pain of being told she was gone… No. No matter how much logic dictated that Wasure knew what he was doing, Dion had been too afraid for the first few attempts at treatment.

And then fear had given way to frustration and exhaustion and Wasure had deemed it best to pause and rest for awhile before trying again. It had been almost dinner time by then and, though Wasure had offered to return the next day if need be, when Sage poked his head into the library and quietly offered to cook, Alma had used the opportunity to invite Wasure to dine with them. A bit of insistence (though not too much, Dion had noticed) and a formal introduction to all six of the Bunnies and Geryon had made Wasure finally decide to stay. For some reason, he seemed to find some solace in the presence of children and meeting Kori, Chime and Tulip had brought a light, different kind of smile to his lips.

Dion is still unsure how Alma managed to convince the demigod to make free use of a spare room and bath without offending Wasure. Still, Wasure had said yes, and, while he soaked in a warm bath, relaxing from what must have been accumulated weeks of walking and standing on his feet, a small bit of conspiracy had happened. With Kori and Sage’s help, the old, battered clothes and shoes Wasure had been wearing were removed from the room he was using and brought to Dion. It was just a little act of kindness, they all had reasoned, to try and restore his apparel but unfortunately a quick look through the worn-down fabric, the holed shoes held together by tape and padded inside with newspaper inserts, had revealed them to be beyond recovery. They had still cleaned them but, unwilling to accept defeat, Alma and Dion had taken a look through the god’s own closet and picked a nice suit, not too outstanding, not too glamorous for the simple kind of person Wasure seemed to be and a comfortable pair of shoes of the type Dion himself favored for walking the streets of Three Rats. A little spell to adjust the sizes according to the template of Wasure’s clothing and Kori and Sage had again been sent to the demigod’s room, this time sneaking in to place both old and new clothing on the bed. It would be Wasure’s choice to take or reject the gift.

And he had taken it, thanking them in quiet but heartfelt tones when he joined them again, just as Merri and Cherry were helping bring the last of the food to table, relieved as they were from the task of cooking for the duration of the vacation by Alma’s little conquest of the estate kitchen. He stills remembers the mixture of amusement and dismay when Alma announced that this was not their kitchen to monopolize. Which, from Dion’s point of view (and even Geryon’s), was a blessing, since it meant a sudden availability of non-vegetarian dishes (though of course the Bunnies were sentenced to require those) which, he had to admit, were not bad at all, considering how little Alma usually cooked.

Dinner had been one of those quietly loud affairs of a house full of people accustomed to eating together. The usual sharing of the day’s activities, requests to pass this or that plate, polite (and sometimes more direct) questions to Wasure. The normal cries and jokes as the younger Bunnies complained about each other and taunted each other, making the older Bunnies laugh or scold them. A strange normality. Or a sense of it. Dion had not been raised in it or lived with it for any longer than a few months, the months he has spent in Three Rats. He had seen it, of course, in his friends’ family homes, whenever people were relaxed enough and not too austere to demand silence and propriety at the table. But he had never really experienced it first hand as an integral part of that dynamic until weeks after arriving in Three Rats. And yet, it had come to feel right. Familiar. Normal.

And it had helped, in the end, to relax Dion. That household, chaotic calm of family. Seeing how much more at ease Alma was, how much lighter her expression looked after being treated. Watching Wasure interact with the Bunnies, exuding kindness and gladness to be welcome in their home. When dinner was done and the Bunnies had taken to their various nightly activities, Dion and Alma had once again returned to the library with Wasure and, this time, he had finally managed to let the demigod into his mind.

And is thankful for it though he can see the full weight of the burden lifted from his shoulders now weighing on Wasure’s.

The healer’s eyes finally blink back to focus on the windowpane before him. Or at least seem to. Dion cannot tell for sure if Wasure wasn’t at least marginally aware of his exchange with Alma and merely giving the couple some much-needed space for a moment.

Now he turns to them, looking at Alma. “Alma, have you decided whether you will need another session?”

Alma’s cool fingers wrap a little tighter around Dion’s hand where it rests on her leg. “I think… I can live with the memories that are left,” she says. “This pain is best not entirely forgotten. And even after some time to rest after my previous treatment, you look like you can use some rest yourself.”

“I believe I could,” Wasure agrees, his expression one of concern for his patient. “How do you feel? Do the locked memories feel fully sealed away? Sometimes there are fragments…”

Alma smiles softly, reassuringly at him. “I think it worked. I feel relieved. Better. But tired. The pain is not fully gone and…well, if you were aware of it while in my mind, you know it goes deeper than my psyche.” She trails off and pauses to breathe deeply and collect herself. “The really bad memories and the guilt of it all are gone and that is what matters. I’m sorry that you had to endure those things.”

Wasure smiles a ghost of a smile. “I am sorry you had to endure it again. But if it has brought you relief, I am happy. I wish I could say that I am used to this, but more than thirty years have not dulled it for me. Seeing the faces of those who I have helped, afterwards, is good way of making it worthwhile.”

“Would you let me do something for you in return?” Alma asks, tilting her head.

“More than you have already done?” He asks in reply touching his lapel. “I will feel bad for charging for my services.”

She chuckles and, after a glance at Dion, rises to walk toward the demigod. “Charge what you must. I know it will be put to good use. But you show signs of someone whose body is suffering from a chronic lack of rest. More than could be fixed by a simple bath and a warm meal. I dare say you are living with the complaints of several vital organs demanding your attention, already?”

He chuckles, looking a little self-conscious at having his lack of self-care pointed out. “I think that is a fair description of me. Will you be my healer now, Alma?”

Her voice is that gentle lull she uses to speak to people in need of being convinced or reassured. “Before your mind fails, let me take care of your body. Maybe Somrak hasn’t had the chance to advertise this skill of mine but he has tried it too.” She reaches to touch his collarbone and smiles a small smile as the energy in the room begins to change. “Free of charge.”

As a scent of flowers, a feeling of Spring days growing longer and a soft rustling of green leaves fills the room, Wasure lowers his head and closes his eyes in preparation, only smiling at Alma’s mention of Somrak, a smile that speaks of trust in her skills, perhaps from the memories of others.

“Thank you,” he says softly, ahead of the healing.

Dion watches the healing, seeing through his sense of magic how her energy gently flows into Wasure, tentative at first, scanning, learning what is normal and what is not, what must be healed, what must be cleansed, what seems like a congenital characteristic and what is definitely out of place. And then Wasure’s body tenses, his muscles contracting, his expression a mix of pain and relief. Then healing is slow and gentle to spare an overworked body but it is still a taxing thing and when it is done, Alma has to catch the demigod as he sways forward.

Dion stands from his seat on the sofa but does not intervene or move closer to help the goddess steady Wasure. The demigod is shorter than her and light-bodied and her arms, deceivingly slender, are strong enough to hold taller, heavier Dion. Wasure certainly poses no challenge. And Dion knows how pleasant it is to be held by her right after the end of that close connection that comes with healing, a sense of being held by someone who cares, who wants one to feel better. It is not something he would want to rob Wasure of. Fates know how little of it the demigod might know.

Wasure exhales a long breath before straightening, looking at her with a soft smile. “Thank you. I…ignore myself too much.”

She nods agreement. “You do.” Her tone is kind, non-judgemental as she warns him, “And as it is with your methods, so it is with mine. There is only so much I can do and all of it is only temporary if you fall into the same routine again.”

His smile turns a abashed and she straightens the lapels on the jacket that only a few hours ago had been sitting in Dion’s side of the closet, courtesy of Math and whomever had helped pick it. “But if and when you wish or need, there is a ward in the Fourth Ring called Three Rats. There you will find plenty of patients but also a place to stay and people to look after you for a change.”

“I only saw a little of it when I treated Somrak,” Wasure says, his smile broadening again. “But it feels like a place I would like to see again.” He pauses, and reaches into a trouser pocket to produce a card that he hands to Alma. “I should take my leave. Please contact me if you decide you need another session.”

She takes the card, nodding. “Thank you. And do come by for a visit one of these days. We’ll walk you to the door and…” She looks toward Dion for confirmation. “Portal you out?”

“It certainly won’t be a problem,” Dion agrees.

“Oh, I…left my transport waiting for the ride back,” Wasure says. “She must be grazing by the front lawn. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all,” Alma assures him as they walk toward the library door. “It’ll be a bit of help in getting the greenery back under control.”

They follow the hallway to the magically sealed entryway that allows no active spells to pass from here to the living portion of the house. And just as they emerge into the hallway that leads to the front door’s antechamber, a voice calls out softly from the other end of the hallway, which opens into the kitchen, “Um, ‘scuse me?”

If the overall cheery voice and accent weren’t enough to identify her, the blur of Merri’s red curls around her head is enough of a giveaway as she walks toward them.

“Yes, Rosemary?” Alma asks, turning to look at the Bunny.

The Bunny, wearing a demure flannel nightgown (which Dion is quite certain is not a usual part of her bedtime attire), looks unsure for a moment, but presses on, looking at Wasure. “Are ye goin’ home, Doctor? Only I was just…”

The demigod approaches her. “Do you wish to talk with me?”

She shakes her head. “Not me…” Her long ears lay back in a typical sign of sadness or distress as she sighs. “It’s Cherry. She cannae sleep. She’s worryin’ about everything all the time. Always wantin’ t’know where everyone is an’ takin’ such a fright if she cannae find ‘em.” Her chest hitches with another breath. “My poor dear one is scared all the time, an’ it’s just gettin’ worse.”

“Take me to her,” Wasure says, looking a question at Alma. “I will help, if I can.”

Alma nods, looking saddened herself. “All of the Bunnies have been through terribly frightening situations before and Cherry has lately suffered the loss of someone she held dear.” She sighs. “If you can help her, please spare no expense. And when you are done, we will be ready to see you home.”

Wasure nods to her and to Dion, looking grateful that he is allowed to help, and follows Merri upstairs, to the bedroom in which the twins sleep. Dion hears a knock and some soft whispering from Merri before she enters the room, most likely warning Cherry before Wasure is surprised with a scene of nudity he might need to lock in one of his little mental boxes.

As Dion and Alma watch them disappear from sight, the goddess slumps a little, looking dismayed. “And the prize for worst mother on the Insula goes to…” she murmurs.

“Not you,” Dion tells her with certainty, standing by her side, one arm reaching to stroke her back. “You are doing all you can. Giving them your love, and nurturing them even in very harsh conditions.”

“And getting the whole lot traumatized because danger keeps knocking on our door and I cannot tell them the whole truth without getting them into deep trouble,” Alma adds with a bitter sigh. She leans against his shoulder. “Can we just agree that this has been a very long day?”

He nods, wishing to know the magic words that might put an end to her self-recrimination. But none spring to mind. Perhaps because they don’t exist. “It certainly has been…” Turning, he puts his other arm around her and holds her, squeezing her gently to heighten the sensation of the embrace and sighing in pleasure and feeling so unafraid, so free to be affectionate with her. “I missed you. I mean, I still miss you but I feel you closer to me again.”

Alma holds him back, squeezing him in return and snuggling into his embrace as if it were a warm blanket against a cold night. “I do too. Maybe we can just stay like this for the rest of the night.” She pauses and for a moment that seems frozen in time, Dion suspects she may have fallen asleep. But after awhile, she speaks again, “I imagine that trying the master bedroom tonight would be too much of a strain for you. And for me as well.”

“Yes…” The mere thought of trying to sleep in his parents’ room tonight is overwhelming enough that he considers sleeping on the back lawn again. He looks around for alternatives. “Well, we have a perfectly good, spacious sofa here. For sitting now or even lying down once our guest leaves. Strategically close to the kitchen and the rest of that chocolate mousse you made earlier.”

She nods, cheek rubbing against his. “I’ll be fine wherever you are. And I could do with some chocolate mousse.”

“We could bring the big bowl…and two spoons,” he suggests, pulling away a little to share a mischievous smile with her.

She tilts her head, a tired but satisfied smile on her lips. “Stay up talking all night until we fall asleep in a sticky puddle of chocolate?”

He takes advantage of her tilted head and leans closer until her lips are a finger’s width away and the scent of her breath tickles his nostrils. “How does it sound?”

She nuzzles his cheek, each whispered word against his lips a little kiss of its own. “Like there is nowhere I’d rather be.”