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Chapter
One
Hitomi Kanzaki sighed as she finished tying the laces
of her tennis shoes. "Kanzaki!" the track coach shouted
over. "You're up!"
"Yeah, okay!" Hitomi called back. She got to her feet.
"I'm coming!" Yukari gave her a thumbs-up signal as she
jogged past her and Amano, and Hitomi grinned back. Amano,
now in college and the assistant track coach of Kita-Kamakura
High School, and Yukari had established a new relationship
that seemed to be working out. She was glad for them.
But it did make her miss Van. Hitomi walked over, trying
to push that thought from her mind, and took her place,
moving into her starting position. "On your marks!" yelled
the coach, "get set-GO!" The whistle screeched.
Hitomi surged out of the blocks, her body moving on instinct
more than any conscious thought, her feet carrying her
forward in reflex without her mind having to tell them
to move. She fell into the familiar pattern-one step,
then another-deep breath, deep breath-her world narrowed
to the extent of the track, the race, simply running.
The race was already halfway over when she saw it. A white
feather drifted across the sky in front of her. It swirled,
dancing in the air, twirling lazily, then floated away,
fluttering toward the ground. White light radiated out
of it, reaching for her, but faded right before it reached
her. The feather twirled once more, then disappeared,
and a familiar voice-Van's voice-echoed softly in the
air around her. "Hitomi."
Hitomi stopped stock still before she realized what she
was doing, barely even noticing that the other runners
passed her as she stood there. "Van," she whispered in
confusion. "Van?"
"Hitomi…."
"Kanzaki!" The coach shouted. "Kanzaki, what are you doing?"
Hitomi blinked, feeling suddenly as if she'd been doused
with cold water. "Uh," she said. "Sorry. I-um-I lost my
balance. I'm sorry."
"Okay. Just don't do it again." The coach sounded annoyed.
Hitomi swallowed hard and tried to push what had happened
from her mind. It must have been her imagination, that
was all.
But as she returned to the starting blocks, Hitomi wondered
why she had heard Van's voice. Had he called her again?
Or had she really just imagined it?
Icy chills wracked his body. Van Fanel shivered miserably
and huddled beneath the blankets. The slight movement
provoked a gasp of pain as agony shot up and down his
body, the searing pain radiating out from his back and
from between his shoulder blades. Van shivered again,
glad that he was finally alone. The advisors, the doctors,
the generals-all had finally gone and left him by himself.
That was better, Van thought. He didn't want them to see
their king as weak as he felt. With them gone, he could
finally relax and let himself give in to the pain and
exhaustion that had been trying to claim him for hours.
His head was a lead weight atop his neck, and he felt
as if he was freezing, even in the darkened royal quarters
that had always seemed so stuffy to him. Van lay on the
bed that had been too big even for Folken, made for someone
larger and taller than anyone he'd ever met, the bed where
they had brought him when he'd collapsed outside while
practicing. How long ago had that been now? He wasn't
even sure any longer. He sighed, wishing the room wasn't
spinning around him like a child's top, and closed his
eyes. It was always the worst after the others left, however
well-meaning they were. Well, the generals were well-meaning.
He was respected by them, they were fiercely loyal to
him-after all, he was a warrior like them. But the aristocrats…well,
they didn't like having a mere warrior, and a boy one
at that, for a king. Van felt like shaking his head, but
managed to stop himself before he actually did so and
caused himself even more pain. He'd been feeling so useless
for the last few months, and this illness that had stolen
his strength and consigned him to his bed seemed to be
the culmination of those feelings. Van had had to put
up a strong front for all of them. Now that they were
gone, he didn't have to anymore, not until the next time
they came, at least.
"Lord Van?" The hesitant, even frightened, voice sounded
so unlike Merle Van almost didn't recognize it for a moment.
He raised himself painfully up on one elbow to see the
cat-girl as she crossed the darkened room and set a tray
on the table by the side of the bed. "I-I brought you
something to eat, see?"
Van sank back down into the pillows, unable to hold himself
upright any longer against the weakness and pain. "Thanks,
Merle," he managed, trying hard to sound like his normal
self. He didn't want to worry her.
"Try to eat something, Lord Van," she begged. "I know
you don't want to, but you're never gonna have the strength
to get better if you don't eat."
Was this the time to tell her? Van wondered. No, that
would be too cruel. He'd wait. "I'll try if you want me
to, Merle," was all he said. By this point it didn't really
matter if he ate or not, if he accepted the worthless
medicines and treatments the doctors prescribed or not.
Van just let them fiddle with him. Why not, if it would
make them feel better? Being poked and prodded wasn't
pleasant, but it wasn't really a big deal to someone who
was dying. He would eat, too, for Merle's sake, because
she had always been so faithful. It was the least he could
do for her now.
"Oh, good." Merle sounded just a little happier. She took
his hand and squeezed it. Van decided not to mention that
her grip was so tight it hurt his fingers. "I'm waiting
for you to get better; okay, Lord Van?"
He should tell her, Van thought, but he found himself
saying something else instead. "Sure, Merle," he said.
"And don't worry. Just promise me that much."
Merle nodded and leaned forward, licking his cheek once,
then hurried off, the door closing behind her. Van winced
as the sound of its closing stabbed daggers of pain into
his aching head, then levered himself up slowly to reach
over and pick up the small bowl of honey-gruel of the
sort the cooks had been sending up for him for the past
few days. He'd lost track of how long it'd been. Van wouldn't
even have touched it if he hadn't promised Merle that
he'd try and eat something.
He managed to make it halfway through the disgusting sick-room
stuff before concluding that not only did it probably
not have any nutritional value whatsoever, finishing it
would be even worse than fighting Zaibach all over again.
He set the bowl back on the table, managed to take a few
sips of wine from the goblet that had accompanied it,
and lay back down. At least the wine helped a little.
Agony blossomed from his back outward as he did so, and
Van couldn't keep back a small groan as he turned onto
his side. It was all right; he didn't have to be strong
anymore. There was no one there to hear him or to see
his weakness. He was glad he was alone, he supposed. That
way he didn't have to worry about what anyone saw, what
anyone thought. Van was afraid that if anyone looked at
him now all they would see would be a scared teenaged
boy who didn't feel ready to die.
For he knew that he was dying. How could he not be? Every
day he felt himself weaken a little more, every day he
felt a little more of his strength disappear. The doctors
had informed him that they didn't know what was wrong
with him, but that they could do nothing, and that whatever
it was had weakened his body so severely already that
he had little chance of surviving, if any at all. Van
believed them-he could feel it, feel it in the searing
pain in his back, feel it in the cold waves traveling
up and down his body, in the way his body shook without
his permission, in the heaviness of his limbs and head,
the weariness that threatened to overwhelm him after nearly
every move he made. He had never felt like this before.
It just wasn't fair, Van thought more than a little wearily.
Perhaps it was just that he'd put so much stress on his
body during the war, and then afterward, trying to rebuild
Fanelia. He hadn't really had any time to rest in between.
Maybe it had been too much for him, going through so much
so fast, though he'd felt fine at the time. In spite of
everything, though, no matter what the reasons he came
up with, it still didn't seem fair. What had he done to
deserve this pain?
He was whining, Van thought with a sigh, and feeling sorry
for himself, and being stupid. He couldn't do anything
about it now, and since when had life been fair? Nothing
had been fair before. It hadn't been fair that his mother
or father had died, or that Valgas had been killed, or
Folken, or that the only woman he'd ever loved and would
ever love, even if he did survive, came from a different
world. Van was used to unfairness.
That didn't make it any easier.
Another surge of pain and chills. He was getting really
fatalistic, Van thought as he clenched his teeth and fists
and waited for the worst of it to pass, as it always did.
It had been getting worse lately, though…. What was the
use of thinking about it? For the first part of his illness,
Van had tried to concentrate on Fanelia, but as he grew
worse, it got harder. His kingdom was in good hands, Van
knew that. On days when he didn't feel quite so bad, he
still listened to reports from his advisors. Fanelia was
doing fine without his constant attention. He had chosen
competent advisors-after all, how could he not have, with
both Allen's and Dryden's help? He could stop worrying.
But that only freed Van's mind up to think about other
things, many of which he didn't want to think about. Well,
first of all, how alone he felt. He knew he secluded himself
to keep others from seeing him so weak and pathetic, but
sometimes, when the pain was bad and his head spun with
dizziness and nausea, Van admitted to himself that at
least part of the ache inside his heart was there from
loneliness. Merle was here with him, but he was so worried
about hurting her that he felt tense and uptight whenever
she was in the room with him. He needed someone to talk
to about this, someone who he could explain it to and
who would understand, but everyone else he had fought
alongside was in Asturia…or on the Mystic Moon, his treacherous
mind whispered…and in Van's condition it wasn't very likely
that he'd be going there any time soon. Going to either
of them.
Allen. He really needed to talk to Allen. They hadn't
always gotten along-actually, it could be said that was
a bit of an understatement-but Van knew Allen would understand,
noble knight and fellow warrior that he was. Van's hand
clenched into a fist in the covers surrounding him. Allen
would understand his need to make sure certain things
were taken care of after he was gone, and Van knew he
could count on him to get those things done.
Before he let himself go, he would have to find a way
to talk to Allen Schezar. Before he let himself go-Van
angrily found himself blinking back hot, shameful tears.
He didn't want to die! Why had this happened to him? It
was easy to be angry and resentful of this hand that fate
had dealt him, of many things. His mind returned to the
war, and Van wondered if this was some sick method Dornkirk
had found of getting his revenge. Some revenge. If it
was, then Dornkirk's plan was an effective one. Van was
suffering as much as the old emperor of Zaibach could
ever have hoped for. The young king just wished he understood
why this was happening. He hurt so much; it would
be easier to bear if he understood why. But no one could
tell him, not even the doctors who had sworn him oaths
of loyalty and service. Van didn't blame them, not really.
He just wished he knew what was going on. It was the same
as always. He couldn't fight an enemy he couldn't see,
an enemy who attacked when he least expected it as this
illness did. It was beating him, a cannier foe than Zaibach
had ever been, for he could find no way to fight back
against it. At least against Zaibach the methods of defense
had been clear.
The room seemed to float around him, faint and lightheaded
as he was. Van was beginning to feel as if his bones were
melting inside his skin, which was a frozen block of ice.
Every day the fever got worse, though there were brief
periods each day when it seemed to fade. His back was
a mass of shimmering agony. He was fading-sleep was beckoning.
Van could feel it now.
Van's hand came up and closed around the one thing, though
he wouldn't admit it, that really gave him comfort in
this dark storm of pain and fever-a small pink pendant
that had been given to him by the girl from the Mystic
Moon. It's been a whole year, Van thought, a
whole year apart from her. If only I could see her again-I'd
be happy if only I could see her again. I miss her…so
much….
Van didn't notice, for unconsciousness was dragging him
down into oblivion with its cruel, grasping claws and
his eyes were shut tight against the pain, but the pendant
he clenched so tightly in his hand was beginning to glow.
Hitomi…. The familiar voice, Van's voice, echoed
in Hitomi's room, and she awoke with a start. Nothing
met her eyes but her own prosaic ceiling. Maybe she had
imagined it.
Imagined Van's voice speaking to her out of the air twice
in the same day? She missed him, sure, but that was pushing
it a little. She was certain she'd heard him earlier.
It seemed equally likely that she could have heard him
now. Or equally unlikely, depending on your point of view.
Hitomi sighed and sat up, linking her arms around her
knees. If this was Van, and she was sure it was, positive
that she would recognize his voice anywhere, then she
was worried. Van wouldn't be calling her unless he had
a really good reason. She knew him, and knew what he considered
good reasons. Usually something involving danger was the
first criteria that came to mind, and a large degree of
danger. How could she not be worried? And how could she
let herself sit back and simply worry when she knew that
Van was in danger? How could Hitomi stand not being able
to help the one person she cared about above all others?
She unlinked her arms from around her legs and slid off
the bed, padding softly across the room to cross her arms
on the windowsill and stare out the window, sliding it
open with one hand as she did so. The night air was cool,
but carried with it a hint of unnatural chill that made
Hitomi shiver. Van, she thought despondently, Van,
I'm worried. Where are you? How are you doing? Is something
wrong?
I want to go back to Gaea. The thought dawned on
Hitomi suddenly, so suddenly it almost made her jump.
I don't care what's here for me if Van isn't all right.
I need to see him again; I need to see for myself that
he's okay. I won't be happy until I do. I need to
see Van!
And he needs to see me, or he wouldn't be calling me.
Hitomi sighed and turned away from the window. Needing
was one thing. Actually accomplishing was quite another.
But their longings had brought them together before. Maybe
it could do such a thing again, if she wanted it enough.
She already knew he was trying.
A sudden wave of pain from her back hit her, and the room
suddenly seemed to take on a life of its own, swirling
and twisting around her like a rebellious anaconda, only
becoming worse the more she tried to hold it still. Hitomi
only vaguely felt herself sliding to her knees, then to
the floor as the pain spread out from her back. Van,
she thought helplessly. Somehow she knew that what she
was feeling now was Van's pain. She had expected nothing
like this. Hitomi's hands trembled. This is Van's hurt,
Van's suffering. I was right; he is in trouble. I have
to go to him!
The pain faded, and Hitomi was kneeling on the floor,
her body shaking. She hadn't had such a clear sense of
Van, of anyone on Gaea-actually, of anything-since she'd
come back, but now she felt the presence of the young
king of Fanelia as strongly as if he'd been standing right
there in front of her. Actually, there did seem to be
something there in front of her, Hitomi noticed, squinting
to try and make it out more clearly. And then the image
started to coalesce in front of her, and then she was
sucked into the vision as she had been so many times before
with so many different visions.
She was standing in a room that looked almost familiar,
except that it was dark and gloomy, with thick drapes
pulled over the windows to block out the sun and a dim
fire burning in the fireplace, lighting up the stuffy
chamber. As she glanced around, Hitomi noticed the royal
crest of Fanelia on the double doors behind her. Fanelia?
Then was this-but no, it couldn't be, could it?
The room was sparsely furnished; there was only a bed
that looked far too large for any one person, and far
too elegant, with its fine, heavy-looking drapes and thick
covers, a simple table beside it, and a wooden chest shoved
up against the bed's end. A familiar sword lay across
the chest. Hitomi could feel her heart contract with a
sharp pain as she noticed the small figure lying on its
side beneath the heavy blankets. Dark hair fell, mussed
and tousled, in glossy black waves across the face, but
Hitomi would have recognized him anywhere. Van lay still
and deathly quiet, one hand lying slack on the pillow
beside him, the other held tight to his chest as if clasped
around something he didn't want to let go. He looked so
weak…her throat tightened up, and tears threatened to
sting at her eyes. "Van," Hitomi started, taking a step
forward despite herself. "Van-"
He stirred slightly, as if in dreams, and she could see
his lips form her name, but that was all.
Van disappeared, along with the room around her, and then
Hitomi was back in her own room, kneeling on the floor.
One of the tears that threatened at her eyes escaped her
hold, slipping down her face. Van was in trouble. He needed
her. She had to go to him; she had to. She was
going to. If she wished for it enough-
Van's voice echoed around her again. Hitomi? His
voice was soft and weak, even confused, but it seemed
to reverberate in the air itself. There was a sigh. Hitomi….
A single feather drifted down to settle on the floor in
front of her knees, white and shining with the inner light
that had always seemed to come from Van's feathers. Hitomi
reached down to touch it with trembling fingers.
The moment her hands touched the cool softness of the
feather, a pillar of light shot up around her. Hitomi
had just enough time to make a desperate grab for the
duffel bag on the foot of her bed before she was being
lifted out of her house. Her fingers closed on its rough
straps, and she let her breath out in relief.
Gaea. She was going back to Gaea. Van had called her,
and she had answered.
But why? Why had he called? What had her vision meant?
Was it something in the future, or was it something that
was currently taking place?
Oh, Van….
Hitomi woke up flat on her face in wet grass. She noticed
that she was cold, and that the damp of the grass beneath
her had already soaked through her pajamas in most places.
Hitomi pulled her hands and knees under her, then straightened
up with a sigh, looking around her. She was sitting in
the middle of what looked like a field on the outskirts
of a city she remembered well. Palas. So she was in Gaea,
after all.
Hitomi picked herself up, brushing grass off her pajamas.
This wasn't good-the clothes she was wearing could barely
pass for decent anymore. She knelt down to rifle through
her duffel bag and pulled out her track jacket, pulling
it on. It would attract attention, but oh, well. It was
better than nothing. Walking through the streets of Asturia's
capital city in a pajama top that became nearly transparent
when wet would be even more conspicuous. Hitomi dug her
sneakers out of the bag and pulled them on over her bare
feet, tying the laces quickly, then picked up her bag
and started into the city.
She couldn't help wondering, though, why she had appeared
here, outside Palas, and not in Fanelia. It was Van who
had called her, wasn't it? Why wouldn't she go to him?
It was his wishes along with hers that had brought her
here, wasn't it? So why Asturia? She had to admit, it
didn't make much sense.
Hitomi realized uneasily that she had just walked in to
a rather bad section of Palas, a section of the city she
had never seen before. She could see better parts of the
city beyond her, but this area-well, it had to be a slum.
There was just no other explanation. The buildings were
run down, the streets dirty and close in around her. The
entire place seemed dark and foreboding. Hitomi's fingers
tightened on the strap of her duffel bag. She'd better
hurry through here quickly. There was no telling what
might happen in a place like this.
Eyes darted over her from street corners and from inside
buildings. Hitomi shivered at the feeling of people staring
at her. The sooner she got out of there the better, she
thought vehemently. This place was starting to make her
very uncomfortable. She turned a corner, almost nervous
enough to break into a run now.
She almost ran into someone as she did so. Hitomi backed
up hurriedly, apologizing for her clumsiness. The person
she'd nearly bowled over was a small, weasel-like man
with squinting dark eyes. She didn't like the way those
eyes were looking at her, measuring her. Hitomi suddenly
felt quite uneasy. I need to get out of here, she
thought with sudden clarity. She turned to run.
A few more men came stepping out of the shadows as she
did so. Hitomi backed up instinctively at the looks on
their faces. "So," one of them sneered. "This must be
the girl from the Mystic Moon. She's here right on time,
just like the boss said she'd be."
"What-what are you talking about?" Hitomi faltered. Her
brain kicked into gear, and she decided she'd better just
try to bluff her way out of this. "I'm not the person
you're looking for. Really!"
The man she'd almost run into laughed from behind her.
"Yeah, right, lady. One look at the way you're dressed
gives that away."
Hitomi had to admit that he was probably right. "Well,"
she started, trying desperately to think of something
else to get her out of this mess, but she was still too
confused for her mind to function properly. How had someone
known she was going to be here, anyway? Not even Hitomi
had been planning to come back to Gaea. Whatever this
was, it sounded like trouble. "Uh-"
"Give it up, lady," one of the other ones said. "It's
better if you just come with us quietly."
No way, Hitomi's mind retorted. She'd come back
to Gaea to see Van. There was no way she was going to
let anyone keep her from doing that. "Leave me alone,"
she ordered.
Her words were having no effect. The thugs started to
advance on her. It was time to try something else. Hitomi
took a deep breath and dropped to her knees, her hand
reaching for one of the broken boards that littered the
street around her. She swung it in front of her, then
lunged to her feet and started running, not pausing long
enough to see how much damage her attack had done. She
could hear the men swearing and cursing behind her, but
she didn't look back, just kept running. Soon she'd be
to a better part of Asturia, like the marketplace. Surely
they wouldn't dare to attack her there, in the middle
of so many people. Then she could reach the palace. She
was pretty sure she remembered the way. Millerna could
find her some way to reach Fanelia, that Hitomi was sure
of. Maybe the princess could even tell her a little bit
about what was going on.
I should tell her, Hitomi thought breathlessly,
that someone needs to clean up these slums. This place
isn't exactly a pleasant part of Palas. She kept running,
ignoring the stares that her flying feet brought. She
had to get out of there, and that was all there was to
it.
By the time she had to stop running to catch her breath,
Hitomi had left the slum far behind. The area she found
herself in now was obviously of a much higher class. Hitomi
glanced around for either the marketplace or the palace,
the only two landmarks she could really be sure of. The
marketplace was to her right, and the palace sparkled
high overhead. Hitomi oriented herself, then started off
in the direction of the palace.
She tried not to draw any more attention to herself as
she walked than she already had, though she knew people
were staring at her because of her strange clothing. If
those thugs had been waiting for a girl from the Mystic
Moon to appear, it stood to reason that there might be
more of the same. Hitomi hoped she'd get a chance to tell
Millerna about what had happened. It didn't make any sense;
none of this did. She hoped at least a few of her old
friends would be at the palace and be able to explain
things to her, especially what, if anything, had happened
to Van. Maybe he was in Palas. Maybe that was why she'd
come here instead of being summoned to Fanelia. The thought
quickened Hitomi's steps.
Hitomi noticed as she walked through the streets that
Palas seemed to be thriving again. A lot of the houses
were newer than the others, but everything was rebuilt
and all the people looked happy. Except for that slum,
it was a beautiful city once again. She thought of Fanelia
and wondered if it looked like this now. She was sure
Van was a good king. He would have done an excellent job
rebuilding, she was certain of it.
She just wished she knew what was wrong. Hitomi sighed.
What could have happened? There were no signs of new war
in the streets of Palas, and Hitomi knew Fanelia and Asturia
shared a strong new alliance, so that couldn't be it.
But what? What could have made Van call for her? She still
couldn't figure it out.
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