Chapter One: Japan

 

 

            Gwyn woke up feeling ill.  That’s right, she thought.  Today is Tueday.

            She rolled her head sideways and glanced at the clock.  Past seven.  Slowly, she got ready for school: showered, dressed and brushed her hair.  Her green barrettes were missing again, so she wore the orange ones, and pulled on her bright red sneakers.  Then she yawned, and sighed and left her room for breakfast.  Her mother was ironing a suit in the living room and never looked up as she walked by.  Gwyn went into the kitchen and poured herself a bowl of Cheerios.  There was never anything else: boring family, boring cereal.  Even as a child that was it: Cheerios.  Or toast.  And for dinner, chicken and potatoes, beef and potatoes, macaroni and cheese.  Gwyn sighed again, and ate quickly.

            On her way out of the house, her mother called to her.  “I don’t want you coming home late from school again.”

            Gwyn stopped at the door, toast halfway to her mouth. “When was I late?”

            “You’re always late!  I don’t want you wasting time hanging around school.  I want you home by 3:15!”

            “It a half-hour walk!”

            “Only at your pace.  Be back, or I swear I’ll—“

            She was out the door before her mother finished.  As she walked to school. she stared down at her shoes, passing over the concrete.  Every day was the same.  One day I’ll run, she told herself.  One day I’ll run, and never come home.

 

 

            Half a world away, it was night.

            In one part of the Tokyo, a girl named Bunny was dreaming of a future: a white castle and a little girl clutching a ball in her hands.  Not far away, a young man was awake, staring at the moon and thinking of the past.

            Two friends talked on the phone, about boys they liked and when they would go shopping, and neither of them mentioned the fear they would lose the chance.  Makoto smiled sadly into the mirror, and Mina scratched her cat behind the ears.

            Two young women sat in the living room.  One, who wore her hair short and dressed like a man, read the paper.  The other, hair tied back, played her violin.  A young girl—about twelve—slept on the couch and dreamed...of nothing.

            Another girl was up late, updating her computer and thinking about school.  Ami wished she had more time to study, or maybe go on a date.  It was too hard to do both when she was always waiting for danger.  She glanced to her dresser, where a blue pen lay, silent.  The symbol of Mercury gleamed at the top.

            A long, dark-haired girl sat before a fire, also waiting, but with her eyes closed.  Her name was Rei.  She had a feeling something was coming, a feeling she should be ready.  she opened her eyes, and saw a symbol fading into the fire—distorted, obscure.  She didn’t know what it meant.

            Still in Tokyo, another girl waited.  She sat on the top of Tokyo Tower, legs dangling over the roof.  Her dress was strange—alien, one might call it.  It flowed around her like silk, only smoother, cleaner.  On her back, she wore a sword, long and jagged along the blade.  Her skin was pale and her hair dark and her eyes glowed golden, like a bird’s.  Silent, she stared into the city, watching the lights flicker on and off, the cars move through the metropolis.

            She tilted her head to the side and looked at the horizon.  “Is it almost time, Gwyn?  Are you restless yet?”

                       

       

           

            They sat in neat rows of five, each of the desks the exact same distance apart. A woman that was neither young nor old stood in front of the white dry-erase board and was scribbling near-illegible notes on it with a brown marker while droning on in a slightly nasal, monotone voice about a theorem she’d known since grade school.  A few paid attention, most pretended to, and the remainder stared out the windows at nothing in particular.

            Gwyn glanced at the small wall clock. 2:57. Would the day never be over? She looked down at her open notebook at a page covered with a fairly even mix of Algebra II notes and aimless spirals and drawings of imaginary supervillains and weapon designs.  Some of them were very bizzare, but they just came to her. Idly, she finished the scrollwork on the giant lathe and started work on a crossbow.

            Riiiing!

            Gwyn snapped her notebook shut and shoved both it and her pen into her satchel. That was it. Another day, another five homework assignments. She sighed as she made her way out of the suddenly suffocating classroom, down the hall to the stairwell, around the couple who couldn’t have waited two more minutes until they were in the parking lot to start making out, down the stairs, out the doors, under the marble arch, and away from the crowds of students. Gwyn shook her head. Halfway through the first nine-weeks of school and nothing to show for it save the reappearance of her writing callus and perpetually tense shoulder and back muscles from hauling that satchel around. Ah, yes. The charms of the sophomore year were never-ending.  Gwyn hummed tunelessly as she walked down the street toward her house. It was something to do. She had long since gotten used to doing things alone, but that didn’t necessarily prevent boredom. She looked down at her feet as she walked. With each step, the hem of her long black skirt fluttered from the motion of her feet. She ran to make it go faster.  Faster, faster.  She felt for a second as if she might run forever, gaining speed, until she ran over the ocean, or lifted into the air.

            Then she ran straight into something very solid.  Gwyn hit the pavement with a grunt and looked up, an apology forming on her lips. The words never got any farther than that, though. A rather scantily clad and masculinely built woman with pitch black skin and bleach blond hair stared down at her. “And they say I’m weird,” she muttered under her breath.

            The large woman gave a feral grin displaying pointed, yellow teeth. Gwyn took a reflexive step back. The woman raised a hand and the world flashed white, then faded to black. 

 

 

            In Tokyo, the sun was rising, and eight girls dreamed.  Bunny dreamed of the future, Makoto of the past.  Ami dreamed of her parents and Minako of her destiny.  One dreamed only of the fire, and a symbol swirling into darkness.  Haruka dreamed of a childhood home, Michiru of a forgotten love.  Hotaru still dreamed of nothing.

            Mamoru dreamed of a garden with pear trees, and two girls picking strawberries.

            The girl with golden eyes was watching the sky.  “I’m coming for you, Gwyn,” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest.  “Are you ready?”

           

 

            It was difficult to say whether it was the loud, ear-piercing creak! As the door swung shut or the less-than-gentle introduction to the stone floor that woke Gwyn up first. Regardless, neither made her feel much better. She curled into a ball and held her head in her hands. Every part of her body throbbed, and she felt as if she maintained only a fingernail grip on keeping her lunch down. With a pathetic sigh, she rolled onto her back, flung one arm over her eyes and rested the other across her belly, and slipped silently into the familiar comfort of sleep.

            Gwyn was suddenly and unceremoniously awoken by a large quantity of rather cold water being tossed on her. She sat up with a gasp and glared at everything in general as she tried to find whoever had dumped the water on her. She found him soon enough. He loomed almost directly over her, tall and large and imposing with flaming red hair and gleaming eyes.

            “So,” he began in a deep, curiously soft voice. “You’re her, huh?”

            She glared defiantly at the man. “Unless there’s another girl in here that I didn’t know about,” she snapped petulantly.

            He reached down with a large hand, took her roughly by the arm, and jerked her to her feet. His other hand took her by the chin and held her like that for his inspection. “Well, you certainly do look that part,” he chuckled.

“Come on, then, cupcake, the captain’s waiting.”

            “Cupcake?!”

            The man led her out the door and down the hall at a fairly fast clip. Gwyn protested the entire way, squirming in his grip and hurling threats and insults at him, all of which he merely laughed off. Opening a door seemingly at random, the man dragged Gwyn inside. He saluted the man in grey waiting for them there. The Grey Man saluted back and smirked at Gwyn. “This is her?”

            The man holding her arm smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

            “Certainly is young.”

            “Sir.”

            “That could be useful.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Gwyn sighed in exasperation. “You know, you could actually wait until you were behind my back to talk about me.”

            The Grey Man looked at her in amused surprise. “What a fiery temper.  Very well.  Leave us.”

            The orange-haired man let go of her arm, saluted one more time, and left. Gwyn wanted to rub some feeling back into her arm, but from the look in the other man’s eye she thought that would give him some measure of pleasure from that show of weakness, so she didn’t. She watched him back instead, as if she was only passively curious about him. He had barely two inches on Gwyn, his dark hair grayed around his aristocratic face. “Who are you?”

            He chuckled. “You may call me ‘sir.’”

            Gwyn raised a brow. “I may.”

            The man’s face hardened. “Your impulance was amusing at first, but it will stop now. Sit down.”

            Gwyn found herself obeying meekly. An unreasonable fear welled up inside of her as the man placed a hand on either side of her head and lifted her face. His eyes bored into hers. “And now, little girl, you will tell me everything I want to know.”

 

 

            The cell had been welcome by the time the man had finished with her. He’d asked her questions, and like a child she’d answered them guilelessly. When her answers hadn’t pleased him, he’d hit her. Most of her answers hadn’t pleased him. She little regretted her return to the dank darkness of the little stone room.  Gwyn could only imagine how she must look. Her left eye felt swollen. Her lip was split and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. It hurt to breathe deeply. She just generally hurt. Someone had left some food and water for her. She drank but ignored the food for fear of it coming back up if she did eat it.

            Gwyn curled up into a little ball and slept. Slept and dreamed. She dreamed of a bright place full of gold and of a sweet heat that protected and consumed.

            She woke up slowly, unwilling to leave the warmth of the dream, but eventually reality won over. Her eyes opened and she saw the red haired man once more standing over her. “You again.”

            He crossed his arms. “On your feet, darlin’. The Captain wants another word with you.”

            Something snapped inside of Gwyn. She got to her feet and stood up straight. She was a decently tall girl – five feet, six inches barefoot – and from her new vantage point, the man didn’t look quite so imposing. She tossed her head to remove some hair that had fallen in her face, and stared at him.  “No,” she said.

            That seemed to confuse him for a moment. “Excuse me?”

            Gwyn swallowed, but it did nothing to prevent the hot rage from swelling inside of her. “I said no. I’m not going.”

            He smirked. “You don’t have a choice, angel.”

            She blinked. “I always have a choice.”

            “What a terrible line,” he smirked.  “Well, we’ve had our fun, now come with me quietly or things will go even worse for you.”

            Gwyn shook her head. “I won’t go.” A small part of her mind, way in the back, jumped up and down, waved colorful flags, and screamed at her to shut up while she was still standing. She pointedly ignored it. The man couldn’t frighten her. He couldn’t force her to do anything. She had a power he couldn’t stop, a power she didn’t understand, herself. It frightened her and strengthened her at the same time.

            The man’s eyes widened fractionally. He reached out to grab her arm, but as soon as his hand closed around her, he let out a surprised yelp and jerked back. Gwyn was already moving. Her hand came back and she delivered a vicious open-handed slap to the side of his face that whipped his head around. As she’d expected, it left an angry red mark on his cheek, although the blistering skin was a surprise.

            The man snarled and lunged for her. This time, her body listened to that small part of her mind – which had now begun to yell “Run! Run! Run!” – and she bolted out the door. She heard the man giving chase, hurling curses and orders for her to stop. She ignored him and charged on.

            It didn’t take too much longer for her long skirt to tangle in her legs. Normally, it wouldn’t have been too much of a crisis, but a slick spot chose that moment to appear under her foot. She went down, hard, first landing on a stone bench, thoroughly knocking the wind out of her, and then rolling off to land on her back on the rough hewn stone floor. As she rolled off the bench, her skirt got caught on an edge and the sound of ripping fabric filled the air.

She rolled, coughed, and spit out a mouthful of blood. Adrenaline got her standing again in less than a second.

            Swearing viciously in every language she knew, she finished the job the bench edge had begun and ripped the bottom part of her skirt off. It was now almost indecently short with a vertical rip in front of her left thigh rising almost to the skirt’s waist. She continued running, not paying attention to where she was going, really, just as long as she was going up. She felt heat surging through her. Sounds of pursuit intensified. She swore some more.

            Through a door, up some steps, down a hallway, dodge a monster, quick glance behind, turn a corner –

Where am I? Is that their breathing or mine? – up more stairs, turn a corner, dead end, turn around, vault a padded bench – What did I do? Why did they want me? – up a ramped hallway, turn a corner, quick glance behind, pick up the pace – How do I get out of this place? Who are these people? – avoid the voices.

            The heat was fading. Gwyn gasped painfully and held her ribs. She kept running. Her foot caught on a rug that had suddenly appeared under her feet. She went down again, this time catching herself on her hands and knees. She got back up, a bit slower this time, and kept running. She was vaguely aware that rug-burn wasn’t supposed to bleed, but quickly dismissed the blood trickling down her right leg. Her vision began to blur. She blinked and it cleared for a moment before fuzzing again. Now why would it do that? Ah, yes. Tears did that. But she wasn’t crying. Was she?

            Gwyn didn’t notice when the carpeted hallway turned into a sidewalk – maybe when she’d gone through the dark hole? – but she became painfully aware of it when her right knee gave out and she skidded about a foot on her shoulder. She laid there for a moment, just trying to breathe. It didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. With no small effort, she pushed herself up and got unsteadily to her feet. She stumbled over to the corner to look at the street signs. Maybe she could find her way to a police station. Yeah, that’d be good. She looked up at the sign and blinked. She must have been more tired than she’d thought. Couldn’t even read the street signs. She stood on her toes and squinted.

            What the crap?!

            Okay, this was officially a bad day. First, she’d had to go to school, then she got mugged by some freak of nature, tossed in a dungeon, interrogated, threatened, beat-up, and now the street signs were in Japanese! What a dirty trick, changing the signs like that! What some people wouldn’t do!

            Gwyn shook her head and gave up on the street signs. She walked around and looked for any familiar landmarks. Well, it seemed as though all of the signs had been replaced with Japanese. Based on this, she could only draw two conclusions. 1) Someone very powerful had decided to play a rather mean-spirited joke on her or 2) she was in Japan. She serious doubted the former, not because she had no enemies, but because they would never bother. And she seriously doubted the latter since she hadn’t been gone long enough to even get to Japan, much less have been kept here for as long as she had been. So, given that, Gwyn concluded that she was stark, raving mad. But was she really insane since she knew she was insane? She sighed.

            This was most vexing.

            But there, a house on top of a hill. And a lot of steps. Gwyn looked up.

            Not quite dawn. Light in the windows. People. Help. Up the stairs. Handrail. Breathe. Wince. Don’t think. Up the stairs.

            Gwyn got to the last step and sat down. Her body simply refused to function any more. She cradled her head, which had begun to throb, in her arms and closed her eyes. She heard voices. Had those guys finally caught up to her? She lifted her head. No, a black-haired girl a little older than she in what Gwyn assumed was traditional garb was shouting into the house. In Japanese.

            Well, don’t that beat all? She actually was in Japan.

            The girl knelt next to her and asked her questions. Of course, Gwyn couldn’t understand anything she was saying but couldn’t quite find the strength or the breath to tell her this. She just let her head drop against her arm and closed her eyes. Her last thought was of the black-haired girl and how nice she was to try to help her. If only she’d stop talking so she could get some sleep...Sleep....