Date Begun: December 28th, 2001
Date Finished: January 2nd, 2002
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Clock With Silver Hands 1/1
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
http://www.demando.net/
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Each day, she rose from her deep, empty bed to touch her fingers against the cool hands of the clock. It was a silver time-piece, tall and gleaming in the dim fire-light. The face itself was glass, frosted over with little carved Roman numerals, held in place by four tiny figures that seemed to grow from the base. On bad days, the days when she was particularly lonely, she would move her fingers over the figures, naming them one by one. Her voice would be low, caressing the names of friends. Mercury, Venus, Mars, and Jupiter. Because Nemesis knew no sunrise or set, she simply checked the clock whenever she woke, which-- according to the clock-- was as irregular as love. Once she might rise at the height of harvest, the next in the deep of winter, a time of great destruction, or an age that saw the crystal spires of T0kyo rise to the heavens. It had taken her a long time to train herself not to think of time in terms of days, for out past the anchor of Pluto, time was fluid.
Turning from the clock, she caught a glimpse of herself in the glided mirror. The fire-- the only source of light in the room-- cast shades of gold upon her white tresses, so that she could almost see herself as she had been when she was young.
'In my old age', she thought, though she looked no older than tender sixteen, 'I am learning patience. Who would have imagined?' Shaking her head, she straightened her long, blood-red nightgown and moved to sit by the fire.
"Mother," though she had been anticipating Deneb's voice, it still gave her a little start. There were days he sounded so like his father, voice as smooth as Terra rain.
"Yes, Deneb?" she smiled down at where he'd hunched over the floor, his onyx knights and alabaster dragons momentarily forgotten.
"Is it time *yet*?" his impatience showed, both in his voice and his blue eyes. Absently, he swiped at the lock of white hair that fell in his face; a motion alien only because it so reminded her of someone she had known.
"Soon," she moved to the red-sculpted loveseat, picking up an abandoned sketch book. Her hand rummaged around in the cushions until she found a piece of charcoal, which she gripped tightly in her hand and moved absently against the paper.
"You always say that," Deneb complained, "Every single day you say that, Mother, and every single day nothing happens." He eyed the clock with suspicion, "Maybe it's broke."
"Broken," she corrected automatically, before looking on her son with a sad tilt to her lips, "I know the clock isn't broken, anyway. Trust me, others will come, and then things will definitely change. Besides, you should know better then to talk to your poor mother like..."
"Good morning, Mommy," Ametrine stood in the doorway, her tiny body seemingly engulfed by her large white nightgown. With her wide, sightless violet eyes and sunshine-touched-honey hair, she looked almost like a specter of the past, like so many that haunted the corridors of her Mother's sanctuary. The 'good morning' was ritual, the way it was used showed no comprehension of what it meant on Earth. The secluded lady smiled at her daughter-- habit, too, because Ametrine was blind.
"Did you sleep well, darling?" she asked.
"Hai, Mommy, very well. I had interesting dreams," Ametrine's face lit up as she felt along the walls, groping towards the sound of her mother's voice. Her movement was rather like one crossing a river on small stones, arms out to keep balance.
"You always get the interesting dreams," Deneb said petulantly, "I wish you would learn to share." Ametrine made a childish sound with her tongue, clearly expressing her opinion. Halfway across the floor, she came in contact with one of the knights Deneb had cast aside, and it sent her tumbling to the plush carpeting. Her mother reached out just in time, catching the child's chubby arm in her long, elegant hand, and pulled the little girl close.
"Gomen ne, imouto-chan," Deneb was at their side in an instant, "I shouldn't have left that out there."
"It's alright," the Lady soothed, pressing kisses into her daughter's hair.
"Onii-san, I didn't break it, did I? What was it, anyway?"
Deneb patted his sister's shoulder, "Nope, and it was one of my knights. He was dead already, though. The dragon ate him up-- chomp!" He crawled into his mother's lap as well, leaning over her shoulder to look at the half-finished drawing. "It's pretty, Mother. Who is it?"
The Lady moved a hand across paper, smearing a little black across the drawing's cheek. "Oh," she murmured, looking at the figure's long, watery hair and the mirror it clutched its breast, "Just someone I used to know."
"You're always drawing people you used to know," the boy slid from her lap and returned to his game, "Why don't you ever draw people you know now?" He must have realized how few those were, for his face colored. "I mean, Ametrine and me."
"You're feeling difficult today, aren't you?" his mother smiled indulgently. She climbed to her feet, a thumb-sucking Ametrine perched on one hip.
Deneb's eyes glinted devilishly, "Hai!"
"Well, I suppose I'll just go get dressed and leave you to your mischief, then."
"I don't know why you bother to get dressed if no body comes around!" he called as she moved out into the hallway.
"Deneb..."
* * * * *
On the eastern coast of what, in Demando's day, was called the province of Juzefine, there was a great structure set into the sea-side cliffs. It was an impressive accomplishment for any generation, for not only was the mysterious building completely underground, but its lone panel of great arched windows over-looked the poisonous waters of Nemesis. Some called it a palace, others said it was a graveyard, or a shrine of sorts. There was no record, during any era, of its construction; no mention of any occupants, or what its purpose was-- only hushed myths. As with Earth's distant past, Nemesis had only partial stories. A great queen had ordered it built to hold her corpse, but no one knew her name. A woman, spontaneously generated from the unpredictable depths of Nemesis, had found herself born there, and in turn bore her children to occupy it and all the planet. Across the ages, the place seemed to sing a low song of struggle and isolation, a message the Nemesisians understood only too well. In the last days of the Silver Millennium, it was called The Kuroi; during the tumultuous centuries after Demando's death, nomadic tribes gave it names intoning reverence, 'Our Place of Birth', 'The Mother's Womb'. When The Lady and her children occupied its myriad corridors and lived within its dark embrace, it had no name at all. At that time, there were no Nemesisians; no exiles banished by Queen Serenity, no religious heretics sent to join them eons later by King Endymion. Nemesis, the cradle of the Jakokuzuishou, was left to her acid waters, her odd crystalline plants, and the three sequestered in the palace on the shore.
* * * * *
"Once there was a white Prince,
Who lived by a yellow sea,
He saw a silver Queen,
And said 'bring her to me'!
One, two, three HOP!" Ametrine sang, bouncing carefully to the next step on the black marble stairway. She kept one hand on the banister and-- because the game called for clapping-- beat the other against her thigh. Her hair, twisted up in high pigtails and tied with ribbons, bounced along with her. Years of playing on the staircase took any uncertainty she normally had when moving around. Deneb had been forbidden to leave things on the steps, so the firm landscape never changed. She knew the spaces between levels without thinking, the number of rungs in the ornamental banister was engraved in her brain.
"All across the universe,
Stories by people who had seen,
The white prince and his,
Never-ever Queen,
Four, five, TURN!" Ametrine's skirts whirled one direction, then suddenly another as she halted. Completely still, she shouted, "Onii-san! You made me loose!"
"Quiet, imouto-chan. I'm right here," Deneb, who had been sitting on the bottom stair for some time, didn't even bother to question what had alerted his sister to his presence. She was very good at knowing things without being able to see. At least, he thought with a bit of a smirk, he'd never heard her yell at him when he wasn't there. "Anyway," he took a deep breath, resting his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees, "how can you loose against yourself?"
"I did," she said firmly. Deneb chose not to contradict her, even if he was older and therefore always right. Instead, he sighed loudly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
"That's a different song from yesterday," he pointed out. "Before you were singing about a circus."
"Hai, I was," Ametrine smiled towards his voice, pleased that he'd bothered to notice. "This is a new song for a new dream." She held out her hand vaguely, "Do you want to play?"
"No thanks," Deneb waved her hand away, though she felt only the stir of air, "I never understand the rules. Is this song about the dream you had last night?"
"Uh-uh..." Ametrine hopped the five steps to the landing, putting her hands out as she slid to sit next to her brother. He reached out and mussed her hair affectionately, "Tomorrow I'm going to make a game about the one I had last night."
"So what *did* you dream about last night?" Deneb shoved her lightly, "You kicked me, you know."
Ametrine shrugged apologetically, "I dreamed that I was born and then Mommy wrapped me in her pretty white hair, and it was warm and soft and nice like a blanket. Then this lady came-- well, not a lady, just a little older than you-- and she had a big sword shaped like.. like, um..." she cupped her hand in the shape of a crescent, lifting it so her brother was sure to see.
"It's called a scythe," he nodded proudly, "They use it in the books to cut wheat and stuff."
"Okay," Ametrine continued, "She had a scythe. Only she used it different. Anyway, the girl came with her scythe, and she was dressed all in purple and smelled like when you burn flowers. She shouted something like," the girl lowered her voice, trying to sound older, "'Death and Ribbons Revolution!'and cut Mommy's hair off with the scythe, and we all fell down."
"We?" Deneb frowned. Feeling particularly cynical, he added, "And I still don't understand how you know what colors everything was! You're blind!" He waved his hand in front of her face, as if to remind her.
"I'm not blind when I dream," she protested, "Besides, you tell me what colors feel and taste like, so it's a like a language. Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you that there were a lot of people tied in Mommy's hair. I think I saw Papa. But Mommy wrapped me in all of it, cause she loves me best."
"Does not," Deneb admonished, then in the next second asked, "How could you see Papa? You've never met him."
"I dunno, but neither have you." Ametrine stood suddenly, "Did you want something? I thought you were gonna stay in the big room and read." She tapped her delicate shoes a few times before going back to her game, though now she kept her singing to a whisper.
Deneb stretched, "I had a question to ask you. How old are you?"
"Onii-san, baka!" she giggled, "I'm five! Three, four, HOP!"
"I know *that*," he climbed to his feet, trying to follow his sister as she moved up and down the stairs, seemingly at random. "How do you *know* you're five?"
Ametrine stopped, "I've had five birthdays."
"Yeah, but we don't know what time it is here because of the stupid clock..."
"It's not stupid," the girl interrupted.
"Is too," Deneb muttered, "Anyway, we could have your birthday every long while and you might not notice."
Her hands landed on her hips, "I would so. Besides, don't I... look five?" The last bit was uncertain, and Ametrine peered at her brother with her unseeing eyes, waiting.
"I've never met anyone who's five," he replied philosophically, before switching tracks completely. "Let's go outside and play."
"We can't," Ametrine whispered, "Listen." The galleries and corridors of their home were always filled with unidentifiable echoes and the dull sound of air moving through empty places. It was a sound they were used to, like the distant crashing of the waves, until new sound was almost painfully obvious. Deneb's heart sunk as he heard the off-beat of deadly raindrops spattering against the roof above.
"Ug!" he shouted, kicking the marble banister. Ametrine did not move, used to the lightning-ferocity of her brother's nature. His surface might be calm and icy, but there was always *something* underneath. Mommy said that Deneb was a lot like Papa... maybe too much.
"We can find something else to do," she said after a while.
"Let's go exploring," Deneb suggested, rubbing at his foot for a moment. Grabbing hold of his sister's hand, he pulled her down the steps and towards a seemingly endless hallway. "You know," he added, "On Earth, you can actually go outside and play in the rain. It doesn't kill you."
"How would you know?" Ametrine was unimpressed.
"I read it in the books, imouto."
"That doesn't mean it's real. Maybe Earth is just a nice thought, like Cinderella."
"It is not! Mother came from Earth. She told me so."
That, of course, put the argument to rest.
* * * * *
The Lady of the House sat by the large windows, watching the rain and the sea collide. Long since finished dressing, she merely leaned back in the tall black rocking chair, pressing one delicate, bare foot against the floor. The rain ran down the windows, coloring the world with death, pooling on the windowsills to lie in wait. Beyond that lay the sea, and a tiny patch of beach visible through one window. She tried not to look that way, lest she see the tiny sand-flowers meet their doom. They weren't even real flowers, either, just intricate homes build by colonies of mineral worms.
'It doesn't matter,' she thought, closing her eyes, 'I have always wanted to build things, never take them down. This planet and I don't get along very well.' She laughed a little, because she would never let herself forget how to. It was her challenge, to create life and survive where life and survival were discouraged. Down the hall, she heard little Ametrine singing on the stairs, and her smile grew again. Her children were strange, growing like wildflowers on this planet, as if they didn't care. They loved her, she knew, but they were the ones who kissed her and left, off to play their games in the mammoth galleries. When she asked them if she might come too-- for she was still much a child herself-- they only smiled and--in the case of Ametrine-- petted her hair. Cradling her hands to her breasts, the Lady of the House sighed. She remembered her own mother, loving and seemingly oblivious, thinking now that perhaps the older woman had known something after all. How often had the dark-haired woman met her at the door, brown eyes filled with concern? There had been so many times when the concern was more than warranted. She had never understood that link until she'd borne little ones of her own. The love seemed wrapped up inside her, tied in knots around her ribs and heart, spooled in her fingers. Strange, how the presence of two of her darlings made her long for the missing one all the more. Looking down, she studied her hands-- the color of rose petals buried under snow. The right was plain, unmarred and waiting, but the left... Two rings on her finger; the first a pink, imperfect stone surrounded by diamonds, which she wore because she was the only one who remembered what it meant anymore. The second was a simple black band, the color of the void between the stars.
'Do you think that a woman- that a human only has room enough in their heart to love a single person?'
Momentarily, her hands clenched in the fabric of her dress, both rings flashing light like the eyes of those she loved-- watching.
"I did the right thing," she said, the touch of her teeth drawing blood from her lip. In the other room, she knew the clock was sitting on the mantle as it always did, marking things that could not be measured, waiting for a day that seemed like it might never come.
"I did the right thing."
* * * * *
"Onii-san, I'm scared."
There was movement, slight and defensive, from one side of the bed. Ametrine moved underneath the covers, hands feeling ahead until they came in contact with Deneb's back. She pushed roughly, "I'm scared, Onii-san! Wake *up*!"
"What?" the word was short and very tired. Sighing, Ametrine sat up under the thick blankets, haphazardly trying to pull them over her brother's head as well. It worked, and the space between them became a type of tent. Deneb rolled over, feeling behind himself for the edge of the bed.
"I had a nightmare and it's raining and I'm scared," Ametrine pressed closer, internally comforted by the sound of her brother's breathing. It was short and irregular now, different from his asleep-breathing. Long ago, she had learned that just because something the breathed didn't mean it was alive. After all, the house breathed all the time.
Deneb sighed, "Imouto-chan..." briefly, he poked his head out from under the covers to get a breath of fresh air, "it was just a nightmare."
"Nu-uh," she shook her head against the pillow, "It wasn't. Something's different."
"Imouto," he stressed the word, "go back to sleep."
"Don't contrapend to me!"
"That's condescend," he corrected in a bizarre parody of their mother. He moved, stretching his legs, before settling in. "Alright, I'll listen."
Ametrine's voice was so soft he almost didn't hear her over the roar of the rain, "Something is going to happen." Her brother started to say something, so she tried to put her hand over his mouth. She ended up shoving several fingers inside, but it still did the job. "Listen," she instructed. Deneb spit out her fingers, then held his breath-- listening. It wasn't quite understandable, more of a hearing beyond hearing, but he did sense something.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I don't know," Ametrine wiped her fingers on her nightgown, "I had a dream that the clock chimed and a lady came to visit us."
"The clock doesn't chime."
"I know." For a while, the only sounds was the storm above and the occasional pop of a log in the fire.
"Alright," Deneb sat up and tossed the covers aside in one quick motion, "maybe Mother will let us sleep in her room."
Deneb was a reader; he loved the thick, scarce volumes in the House library and knew them as friends. He didn't know how they had come to the library-- Mother herself was surprised at their presence-- but they gave him endless pleasure. Sometimes he would read aloud to Ametrine, but he preferred to soak in the words silently, letting the great tapestries form in his mind. Everything that happened in the books happened on Earth, so in Deneb's mind, the green planet was the center of the universe. Words like 'green', 'sun', 'blue', 'sweet' and 'apple' filled him with undeniable longing. He knew also, from the books, of fairy tales; enchanted princesses, witches and princes, talking doves and magic shoes. By the time he reached Ametrine's age, he had cast off much of his interest in them, but one thing remained: the image of Briar Rose. As Deneb guided his sister through the threshold of their mother's room, the images mixed. His mother, sleeping with her hands crossed over her breasts and her hair spread around her like a pool, *was* Briar Rose-- waiting, suspended, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
"Mommy..." Ametrine's voice was pitiful, but it failed to break the spell. She ran towards the bed with her hands outstretched, thrusting the shear crimson curtains aside and scrambling onto the mattress.
"Ame," Mother reached out, brining Ametrine into the cradle of her arms. Deneb hurried to join them, perhaps a little resentful that his sister was still small enough to be held like that. Mother fixed her eyes on him, blue touched with gold. "Is something the matter, dear?"
"Our room seemed weird," he shrugged in half-hearted explanation. Crawling over his mother's legs, he settled himself beside her in the large bed.
Ametrine pouted sleepily, "Can we sleep in here?"
"Of course," Mother smiled like a goddess, leaning over to kiss Deneb's cheek. Still holding Ametrine, Mother curled on one side and pulled the soft covers up around them. Deneb folded his hands for a pillow and closed his eyes, listening to Ametrine's little cooing breaths and Mother's soft whispering. He rolled flat on his back, arms out as he stared at the ceiling.
"Mother," he began, "did you really come from Earth? Ametrine says she doesn't think it exists. She says it's just pretend." Mother sat up and leaned against the pillows, eyeing Ametrine worriedly.
"Aren't you a little old too be that cynical?" she asked.
"Dunno what that means," Ametrine murmured, sticking her thumb in her mouth and pressing her nose against her mother's neck. Deneb didn't hear Mother sigh, but the movement of her shoulders gave it away.
"I'm not going to get any sleep tonight, am I?" she didn't sound upset, though. She settled herself in and yawned. "I am from Earth, sweetie," she ran her fingers through Ametrine's soft, thin hair, "it does exist."
Deneb laughed delightedly, "I told you so!" Crossing his arms over his chest, he smiled smugly. His sister merely gazed at him with narrowed eyes over her thumb.
"Leave your sister alone, Deneb," Mother said patiently.
"Sorry," he laid his head on her breast, resisting the urge to stick his own thumb in his mouth. Sleepily, he said, "I like Earth. I'm going to go there, someday, and eat apples," a thought hit like anger, "and if someone tries to stop me, boy will I make them sorry!" In an instant, Mother had moved out from underneath him, looking down at him with eyes that seemed made of tears. Her mouth was a thin, firm pink line, marring the perfection of her face.
"Do. Not. Say such things," her voice wasn't hard, but rather like a wave, powerful and natural. Even so, Deneb was startled to near-tears. His mother had yelled at him before-- mostly for teasing Ametrine or talking back-- but her eyes always seemed to say that she knew he didn't mean it. Now her gaze was full of suffering knowledge, she thought he meant it, and the thing that made it worse was that he *did*.
"Mommy," his voice was as small as Ametrine's as he reached out to touch his mother's arm, "I'm sorry."
"I forgive you," she cupped his cheek briefly. He could feel the metal and stone of her rings, warm because her hand was, "but you must promise me you won't think like that. Please." Drawing her hand away, she shivered.
"I won't," somehow, she knew he was lying. Then again, she didn't say anything, so maybe it was just his imagination. He'd never lied to her before.
"Mother," he kept his voice low, unsure as to whether or not the topic was welcome, "If you were born on Earth," (beautiful, priceless, precious Earth) "why did you leave?" There was an underlying question; why wasn't *I* born on Earth, Mother? Why do we live in this cold maze, with only the fires to keep us warm? Why are your eyes the only blue I ever see, why is the sky a filled with cold stars like the coming of winter? Mother stiffened visibly, bowing her head for a moment. When she spoke, Deneb didn't so much hear her words as see the profile of her lips moving.
"It's a very long, old story, darling," she said quietly. "I suppose you could say that my time on Earth is done, and that I have other things to do."
"Things that aren't on Earth?" he prompted.
"Yes," Mother look at him, a soft glance, but penetrating, "I have you two, so I'm not lonely for Earth. Earth is very Bright, and Nemesis is very Dark-- you have to have balance. That's why I choose your names..." The children perked up, just a little bit, having heard this fragment before, in other stories. It didn't lessen their enthusiasm, though.
"A sky name for me," Deneb began. Ametrine took her thumb out of her mouth long enough to remark;
"And a ground name for me!"
"Exactly," the sparkle was back in Mother's eyes. She reached out playfully, tickling Deneb's stomach. "Now, my two insomniacs, I think we should go to sleep."
"You won't let anything get us, will you, Mommy?" Amertine laid her head on the curve of mother's shoulder, while Deneb rested against her other side.
"Of course not, dear," Mother was stroking their hair, humming absently about loving the moon, and the moon loving her back. "I'll always protect you," she laughed a little, mostly at herself. The last thing Deneb heard before he fell into the arms of sleep was his mother's whisper.
"Without my precious ones, for whom would I fight?"
* * * * *
The long hand, sharp like the edge of a dark bird's wing, rested heavily over the calm before the storm; the short hand poised itself over harmony and plenty-- all of which would end soon. Dimly, she wondered if she could push the clock's hands to where ever she pleased. Shall we have a revolution today? How about the height of civilization at tea time, and a disaster for supper? Without thinking about it, she took a step back, intimidated by the possibilities. She traced of the figure sitting on the base.
"Is it time yet, Mother?"
"Soon."
"You're always saying that."
* * * * *
The children found themselves in the gallery, which was something of a surprise. They often wandered the corridors without aim; after all, only passages directly off the entrance chamber assured that you would get where you intended to go. Otherwise, a stairway or threshold might lead to an empty ballroom one day, and a small conservatory the next. Ametrine suggested that perhaps the House was trying to keep them from getting bored, but Deneb thought that was silly. He knew nothing of the House's labored breathing.
Aside from the entrance chamber, the gallery was the largest room in the House, and it was far better for hide and seek. Three levels suspended over one another, open to the center of the room, and guarded by railings were perfect for tag. The high empty spaces threw echoes each and every way. There were paintings too, but the children knew them all by heart.
"Ready or not, I'm coming to find you!" Ametrine called. Deneb always made her be 'it' first, convinced each time that he could find some way to outwit her blindness. He gave himself away so easily, though. She would hear him shift to find a more comfortable position, or catch a trace of his cold-star brother smell. She felt along the walls, marking her progress by the number of paintings she encountered. Here was the one with the smooth long frame (the outline of a woman cut into a powerful dragon, Deneb said) and this was the heavy ornate frame of gold (a woman cloaked in blue, gesturing with one pale hand towards the red doorway in the darkness). Ametrine smiled, knowing she was close to the second floor stairway. She paused, alerted by Deneb's soft cough. He was on the third floor, then. She crawled up the steps on all fours, dress dragging behind her, counting as she went. The door was closed at the top landing-- an obvious sign that he was there and trying to delay her. Tiny fingers fumbled along the doorframe before they connected with the knob, which she had to stand on her tiptoes to turn. As the door clicked shut behind her, she heard another sound. Soft clicks-- the kind high-heels made-- against the stone floor, the barest swish of long hair against bare legs, and the shift of something metal being held. The step was too heavy to be her mother's, the movement of the hair seemed more thick.
"You're not my mother," Ametrine said turning towards the footsteps.
"No," the voice was dark and rich, but obviously feminine, "I'm not." The stranger stopped before her, setting something on the ground, and Ametrine reached out. Whatever it was felt cold to the touch-- long, manipulated metal. Her hands moved fruitlessly in the air for a moment before she found an elegant gloved hand, which she tugged on gently. The stranger fell gracefully to a crouch before her, but moved no further. Boldly, Ametrine followed the arm to the curve of the shoulder, found a wide ribbon tied around the woman's neck. She touched the small disk suspended there.
"What color?" she asked, speaking in such a way that it wasn't really a question.
There was a smile in the woman's voice, "Red." Ametrine made a little 'hmm' sound, touched the woman's thin lips and cheeks that said she frowned more than she smiled. The eyes were shaped almonds, slanting upwards, with thick lashed.
Again, "What color."
"Red."
"Darker than the necklace?"
"Yes." The woman's hair was very long-- not as long as Mother's, Ametrine thought proudly-- and pulled up high away from her face.
"Color."
"Green."
"Hmm," Ametrine tried a haphazard braid before the stranger gently batted her hand away, "Your hair is very long. Soft, too."
"Thank you," a pause, "You look a lot like your mother." The woman stood, and Ametrine automatically tilted her face upward.
"Really?" she made her smile wide, "What's your name?"
"You can call me Puu, like your sister does."
Ametrine frowned, turning unseeing eyes towards the stranger, "I don't have a sister."
"So you don't," Puu said, taking the little girl's hand. "Where's your big brother?"
"Hiding," Ametrine took a deep breath and bellowed, "ONII-SAN!" Beside her, Puu stiffened and tightened her grip, but Ametrine didn't notice. Deneb stirred in his hiding place (probably near the far corner, Ametrine guessed), but stayed where he was. Annoyed, his sister continued, "I'm not trying to cheat, Onii-san. There's a woman here and she's not Mommy. She wants to see you so come on out."
Deneb lay flat against the small marble inlet, cheek against the stone, waiting his breath collect in little beads. Dimly, he heard his sister's voice-- low, commanding whispers. It only warned him to keep still, for Ametrine often conversed with paintings, carvings and anything with a vaguely human visage. Sometimes she talked only to the air. A predatory smile grew on Deneb's face; if she was going to give herself away by talking, then he was sure to win.
"ONII-SAN!" her voice was closer this time, and the young boy had to resist the urge to peek around the corner. Later, he'd be sure to give Ametrine a stern lecture on not cheating. As if she could read his mind, Ametrine called:
"I'm not trying to cheat, Onii-san. There's a woman here and she's not Mommy. She wants to see you so come on out." He slid quickly from his hiding place, legs dangling as he tried to gage the drop to the floor. Finally, he simply let go, landing on both feet.
"Who are you?" he asked the moment he rounded the corner. At first he only registered the blur of an unfamiliar form, but as he came to a stop before the stranger, the imposing glow of her garnet eyes and the determined set of her jaw served to put him on the defensive. She was tall-- taller than Mother, and though she continued to smile in his presence, the warmth had vanished from it entirely.
"This is Puu, Onii-san," Ametrine supplied, her hand resting softly in the stranger's own. Unconsciously, he straightened his back and stared the woman in the eye, a feat he only managed until he saw the cold glitter behind her pupils.
"Puu-san," he tried to make his voice s0und big, "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Deneb," Puu's smile was merely a show of her even white teeth, "I'm here to see your mother."
"You're not going to hurt her, are you?" his eyes traveled down the length of her jeweled staff, "I won't let you see her if you are. I'm supposed to protect her, since Papa's not around." For a moment, Puu almost looked taken aback, before her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"How very chivalrous of you," her tone was clipped, as if she was biting on the words, "As far as I'm concerned, Deneb, your father was not a very good protector. Quite the opposite, in fact." Puu turned on her heel, tossing the last bit over her shoulder, "Besides, your mother is capable of taking care of herself."
"Puu-san," Ametrine's voice seemed small, eager to soothe both parties, "I'll take you to see Mother now." The stairwell door clicked closed behind them, leaving Deneb to stare, surrounded by cryptic paintings that told the story of his past, which was-- of course-- the future.
* * * * *
The dark corridor took them to the vast, empty desert of the ballroom, where endless dark-winged angels tangled in the ceiling tile. For a while, Puu took the lead, Ametrine gripping the older woman's hand as though she was walking on water. At the other end of the room a wide door gaped like a mouth, and beyond it they found the small room clustered about the Lady of the House. By some unspoken agreement, Ametrine left Puu at the threshold, heading back down the hallway, her tiny child foot steps following her in the darkness. Puu leaned against the doorframe, watching the Lady of the House with silence that eventually gave her away.
"Sestuna-san!" delight raced along the Lady's words. Like a child, the woman gathered up her skirts and ran towards her guest, stopping breathless just a few steps away. The two women gaze on one another as if silently taking stock. 'How have the years changed you, my friend?' their eyes asked. Then, in one spontaneous movement, the Lady stepped forward to embrace Setsuna, clinging as a child does to her older sister. Setsuna's arms hung for a moment, as if all the things encased in the Lady's slender form were far too much to hold. Finally, her hands rose to pat the other woman's shoulders, and the two parted.
"I have missed you," the other whispered.
"You're just the same," Setsuna smiled, shaking her head.
"As are you!" exclaimed the Lady, taking hold of the soldier's hand. "Come in, please, come in."
Inside, the room seemed organic. The small love seat, round table and fire place grew from the floor, as did the mantle that housed a lone painting. On one side, the room was dominated by plants that clawed their way up to the ceiling, looking sick and deadly in the fire-light. Silence stretched between them, the solider and the queen, separated by eons and a grave difference of opinions.
"These aren't native, are they?" Setsuna inquired, moving to inspect the plants. From a distance they were as twisted as all things on Nemesis, but up close one could just glimpse the remains of their beauty. Soft petals lay against one another, blushing with a brown that was almost black, and the thorns turned inward, as if the flowers were bent on suicide.
"No," the Lady replied quietly, caressing one of the petals, "I wanted to bring something of Earth here, to remind me, but it hasn't worked. I tried to get them used to the climate, to the nutrients available-- but I don't have the touch. They don't even look like roses any more, do they?" At Setsuna's astonished glance, she continued, "No, they don't. They're something entirely different, now. Nemesis... Nemesis changes things. Do you think he'd be upset?"
"I don't think so," Setsuna replied as she and the Lady retreated towards the warmth of the fireplace. "Deneb is much like his father, ne?"
"Hai," the Lady said miserably, pressing her hands to her breast, "I say that every day. But Deneb is more like *he*," the way her tongue touched on the word was enough to know who she was talking about, "was before. Before the first death, I mean." Her eyes were kind and brimming with tears, "You were wrong, Sestuna-san. There was a lot of good in him." Sestuna turned towards the fire, gazing up at the portrait on the mantle. Somewhere in the Continuum, the engagement painting of Endymion and Serenity the Fourth survived, and this portrait was an odd inversion of it. The couple was ivory-- she the pale spread of a Lily's petal and he the harsh white of the sun on snow. Their eyes were the blue of a November sky and the violet of twilight respectively; the smile hiding behind their lips told of secret sweetness.
"I suggest you get rid of that," the solider said primly, "it could have grave consequences, should it be found."
"I will," the words seemed painful, and the Lady looked down at her hands. The left seemed suffocated-- double rings, double meanings, double lives. Almost to herself, she murmured, "Perhaps the Nemesisians should wear their wedding rings on the right hand." The comment was just something to fill the space, but the Angel of Time smiled knowingly.
"They do."
The Lady looked up, "Because..." At Setsuna's nod, she shook her head, "I don't know if I can do this. It's not fair! It's like pulling strings-- they're people, they should make their own choices!"
Setsuna placed a single gloved hand on the other woman's shoulder, "Your Highness, they'll need all the guidance they can get. You are the solider that draws everything together-- past and future, darkness and light."
"Someone told me that before," no more than a whisper, "The time is coming, right?"
The other nodded serenely, "I just wanted to tell you myself."
"Arigato," the Lady smiled tearfully. "It is so good to see you."
"As it is to see you," the Angel of Time lifted her lips fondly. "Good bye, my friend, and good luck!" The fire drew in on itself, plunging the room into shadow, and when it stretched to life again the soldier was gone.
* * * * *
Supper was served as the minute hand rested over turmoil and new ideology, with the hour hand touching traditions upheld. The Lady and her children ate in the room they began the day in, nibbling carefully on Nemesis' only semi-safe fruit. If it could be called a fruit, that is, for it grew in the hollow trunks of dark moon's sickly trees, red and shaped like a bleeding heart. One cooked it over an open flame, then pealed it to partake of the creamy center. It caused only minor stomach pains.
"Are you alright, Mommy?" Ametrine asked, dipping her small fingers into the fruit. Her free hand rested against her mother's arm, feeling the shuddering heartbeat and pained breath.
"Did Puu say something nasty to you?" Deneb asked, eyes narrowing in concern, "I didn't like her."
"I'm fine," the Lady smiled, "Just a little worried, I suppose. It'll be alright, though!" The last bit was chirped, and the children looked relieved. Outside, the deadly rain dashed itself against the wide windows, as if it was trying to break its way inside.
"Mommy," Ametrine began again, "I dreamed again last night. There was a beautiful princess, and she loved a prince-- um, a gold prince, not a white one. Anyway, to protect her prince, she ran herself through with a sword. When she came back, she and the prince were together again, but even though the prince loved her, he never took the sword out of her middle. She walked around like that, all the time."
Quietly, the Lady said, "Sounds like a story I once heard."
"*I* dreamed..." Deneb began loudly, a sound that died almost immediately. The House shook, the silverware jumped, but only for a moment. Afterwards, the three exiles reached out towards one another, hands and eyes searching, hugging their anticipation close.
* * * * *
The roar of the rain was the same as the roar of the blood in her ears, endless and powerful. She stood in her room, feeling naked despite the long crimson nightgown, her hair pulled from it's two waterfalls and held at her neck by a black ribbon. Black, she choose, because this was something like a funeral. Her hands gripped painfully at the canvas, holding it just in front of her so that she could see it back-lit by the fire. There was a bird-- she forgot what it was called, forgot where she had heard about it-- that was supposed to rise out of the ashes. She didn't think she would be able to do that, leave all of her old self behind, because the memories of her friends served to drive her on. Sadly, she gazed on the portrait; how alive it seemed with the light pouring through it! Drawing a deep breath, she took a step towards the fire, hands loosening their grip as though they were breaking. The painting fell to the flames, love and smiles and hair and eyes eaten away. With a low cry, she reached out as though to rescue it, then pulled her burnt fingers to her mouth. No evidence, now; the union was gone, wiped from time, known only in her secret heart and the bodies of her children.
The Lady of the House sank to her knees, and warmed herself by the fire.
* * * * *
Her hands were bleeding. Kanariya clawed her way up the slope in spite of them, feeling also the burn on her thigh and the cut on her ankle. 'Focus,' she told herself, 'focus' and grabbed for a small ledge, pulling her lithe body up. The baby tied to her back cried out in muted protest, and she tried to soothe it by shifting her weight. Her back was piled with the baby, a small pack of supplies, and a small package containing the remains of something precious. Settling on her knees, Kanariya adjusted the baby's make-shift sling, gritting her teeth against the discomfort. Then, turning, she tightened the rope around her hips and gave it a firm tug.
"Ready!" she called down, peering at the twenty-some anxious faces in the dry canal bellow. Relief flickered briefly among them, before their faces twisted once more to the mix of concern and agony. The faces of the damned, she thought dimly. She'd never believed in hell before, but Nemesis seemed a firm support.
The weight of the rope increased a hundred-fold, and she braced herself against the nearby rocks. The rope was slick with her own blood. Another pair of hands, also cut but still showing evidence of their delicate beauty, appeared on the ledge as another girl drug herself over.
"Come on," Kanariya urged, grabbing the Hitomi's wrists and pulling, "You can do it."
"How much longer, I don't know," the other girl said tiredly, moving to help the next person in turn. Her face was smudged with the dirt of this new world, her navy hair half-eaten by the rain and her clothing in tatters.
"We're almost there," Kanariya raised her eyes to the ledge that touched the sky. It seemed like a wall meeting the ceiling.
Hitomi's brown gaze was pleading, "I hope so. The others are tired too. They're afraid the rain is going to come again. They think should have stayed at the cave we found a while back."
"Are you kidding?" Kanariya's violet eyes showed disdain, "Did you see that place? It's on an incline-- every time it rains, the damn place floods. Staying there would have been suicide."
"They know that," a young man put in, "but it doesn't change anything. The mothers want to bury their dead."
"You think I don't want to?" she gestured to the blackened pouch tied about her neck. Her daughter's bones and ashes, eaten by death that fell from the sky. The seven people on the ledge turned towards her, eyes hungry and pained and desperate; Kanariya looked back at them with strange, stubborn fondness.
"We should have stayed at the ship," someone-- an old woman with the body of her son strapped to her back-- cried, "We should have stayed! The rain didn't eat the metal, we had food..."
Anger flared in Kanariya like black magic, "How long to you think the preserves would have lasted, huh? Between all of us, a week and nothing more. We would have been eating our dead, not burying them!" Her body shook, the baby cried, and she fisted her hands in the once-pink-and-flowered fabric of her torn dress. Nine people, ten, watched her wide-eyed. "We need to find a decent shelter, maybe something that approaches food on this Kami-forsaken rock. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to die here. Not now. Queen Serenity can sit on her sovereign little ass back home, thinking that she'd killed us without dirtying her hands. How long do think she's going to hold her kingdom up if she exiles everyone who doesn't follow tradition and stay in the God-damned lines? Her own daughter may well join us out here!" She paused, making eye contact with everyone around her. Twelve people, thirteen now. Drawing a breath, she continued, "Let her think she's solved all her problems. One of these days, her castle is gonna crumble and she'll land flat on her butt." A slight, vengeful smile played on Kanariya's lips, "And out here, we'll get a nice long laugh about it, believe you me." Perhaps her words weren't' flowery and polished, but they were sincere-- filled with the resentment each exile felt towards the moon that turned them away. Applause came as suddenly as a thunderstorm, breaking over Kanariya until she felt the weight of each and every person against her back. Biting her lip, she touched the inverted crescent on her forehead, vowing that she would keep these people alive. Preparing to climb again, she looked over her shoulder, "Besides, we got something they didn't plan on. We're free."
With that, she pulled herself up again, feeling the blood rushing her veins, alive in direct disobedience to the Lunar Crown. Her mother's heart still mourned and worried, her maiden's heart still bled, but she climbed the side of the canyon with purpose. Reaching the summit, she crawled over, curling over herself for a moment as though she was in prayer. Then, lifting her head, she saw a grand temple through the curtain of her white hair.
"Oh," she said, feeling her eyes sting, "Oh, thank you." She tugged on the rope again, lifting Hitomi up with a strength she didn't even know she possessed. "Look," she cried, "look!"
The other girl's voice was filled with wonder, like a child, "I don't believe it."
At the top of the canyon, with their fellow exiles climbing up behind them, Kanariya Blackmoon and Hitomi Ayakashi stood gazing on their Sanctuary.
* * * * *
The silver hands were in tandem, laying over one another like lovers. The Lady stood for a moment, stifling her cry with her hands. Three long, sweet chimes floated through the air, but she felt as though she could reach out and drink them, that they would slide like honey down her throat.
Breathlessly, a voice asked, "Is it time yet, Mother?"
She took the hands of her children, standing tall.
"Yes," she said, "now."
* * * * *
One of the little ones spotted them first-- the three small figures standing on the sea cliffs, looking as through they had been waiting a long time. The children-- the five or so that had survived-- began to run ahead, as though the strangers were a desert mirage. Their small legs soon tired though, and they dropped back behind Kanariya and Hitomi, letting their mothers, sisters and fathers hold they as they whispered in excitement.
"Who do you think they are?" Hitomi hissed fearfully.
Kanariya clutched her small knife in her hand, "I don't know, but we'll see. I thought there wasn't supposed to be anyone here in this hell-hole."
"There isn't," one of the men said, "Looks like Queen Serenity slipped up."
Kanariya merely nodded, eyes widening in surprise as they came close enough to truly see the strangers. The woman was tall and beautiful, somehow an expression of the agony that was Nemesis; the children merely seemed to be waiting. Aware that the others were hanging behind, Kanariya mounted the rocks and stood before the woman. Her eyes were the color of Terra's sky.
The Lady of the House smiled, bright like the sun. Like a maiden before her mother-in-law, she reached forward to grasp Kanariya's fists, and the other woman was so surprised that she dropped the knife. They stood there for a moment, staring at one another, before the Lady leaned forward. Much later, Holy texts would quote her as saying 'Behold thou children shall take back Earth' and 'your descendants shall conquer Only Home', but in reality she simply said;
"Your line will lead the exiles back to Earth."
"Who are you?" Kanariya asked.
"I have many names," the Lady touched the brooch on her dress and the world flared gold. She stood before Kanariya, her shocked children, and the exiles, clothed in a fuku of white and rainbow. A star bloomed on her forehead-- not a black glyph and not a gold moon. Staff in hand, she nodded to Kanariya and to the people bellow, opening her arms to embrace them all.
She cried, "The Silver Millennium may have cast you out, but I welcome you in!"
and the cheers were deafening. Hope stirred in the eyes of the people, who carried their dead and clutched at their children; children that bore the mark of the Jakokuzuishou and their parents longing for home. The Lady before them was salvation and her message would echo across the centuries.
She was Sailor Cosmos, the Solider who drew dark and light together.
The books never did get it right.