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Post by cheenie on Jan 3, 2006 7:57:38 GMT -5
Looking forward for more.
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Amie
Resistance Member
Posts: 32
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Post by Amie on Jan 3, 2006 9:25:24 GMT -5
Your wish is my command!! ;D CHAPTER 20 Geraint pulled himself up inch by inch, muscles straining as his fingers fought to find hand-holds on the smooth metal surfaces of the cruiser, the wind stinging his face as it whipped past him and knocked his breath away. Below him, the trees flew past in a dizzying green blur.
He dragged his body over the side at the back of the open-air passenger pit and rested momentarily on the floor with his back to a chair. The next moment, his shirt was grabbed and he was hauled roughly to his feet.
“You just don’t know when to leave it, do you?” Gareth shouted furiously at him.
“You killed Esther, you fucking psycho,” Geraint said through clenched teeth. “I promised myself I would hunt you down until I killed you.”
“Too bad I’m going to kill you first.”
Gareth drew his fist back and let it fly at Geraint, who grabbed his fist with his right hand and let loose with a head butt that dazed Gareth for a moment, followed by a sharp stab with the side of his hand at his neck. Gareth deflected successfully and once again they were engaged in a haze of powerful, deadly, close-quarter jabs and kicks, any of which could, at the very least, disable, or at the most kill, either one of them.
Suddenly, a massive jolt shook through the cruiser, and the floor tilted at a dangerous angle so that both of them stumbled down towards the side. They both managed to hang on before they could be thrown over the side.
Geraint looked towards the front of the cruiser and realized for the first time that no one was piloting the helm. “Who the hell is driving?” he shouted.
“It’s on auto-pilot!” Gareth shouted back. There was another loud shuddering as the bottom of the cruiser grazed another tree, making the transporter rock crazily like a child’s toy.
“You idiot, auto-pilots don’t fly around trees!”
“I had to come back and kill you!”
Geraint’s eyes widened as he looked ahead. That tree was coming up amazingly fast…
“Hang on!” he yelled, tightening his grip on the hand rail at the side of the cruiser.
The cruiser’s nose hit the tree straight on with a teeth-wrenching crash, causing the vehicle to stagger broadside and careen wildly out of control and flip completely upside down.
Geraint and Gareth now hung from the inverted cruiser, their bodies jerked through the air like two puppets in the hands of a maniacal puppeteer as they hung hundreds of feet above the rushing ground.
Ahead of them, the side of a mountain loomed ahead in the path of the out-of-control cruiser.
~~~~~~~~
Peter Stuart’s cruiser sped through the sky towards the north, following the signal that emitted from the beacon that had been activated in the missing cruiser. In two of the seats behind him were Preston and Miller.
The cruiser seemed to be heading towards Cincinnatus according to the beacon tracking screen, then seemed to slow down and swerve off course to follow a puzzling, slapdash route. Fortunately, it meant that they were able to catch up in just five mintues.
They were about a kilometer or so from the cruiser when they saw it -- and understood the reason for the haphazard zigzagging.
Upside down, with the figures of the two men hanging precariously from it, the cruiser was heading towards the steep mountain wall about 20 kilometers away and closing fast. Unless the cruiser was turned back, there was no way of avoiding it altogether.
Peter eased the accelerator forward and shouted over his shoulder to Preston and Miller, “I’m going to bring her under – get ready to catch them!”
Peter calculated that they had less than a minute left and expertly navigated the cruiser to the left and below of the other one, mindful not to get too close as the inverted cruiser not only zigzagged left and right but dipped treacherously up and down.
With arm and shoulder muscles burning from the simple effort of hanging on, the two brothers saw the other cruiser coming up fast under them. Then they looked back at the swiftly approaching mountain. The same thought was in their minds… would the cruiser make it to them in time without getting blown up itself?
They knew they would have to let go before the cruiser crashed into the mountain… the question was whether the other cruiser would be under them when they did.
Then there was no more time for deliberating – they had to let go now, perhaps plunging to their death hundreds of feet to the forest floor beneath -- or face certain death in the fireball that would ensue.
It all happened too quickly for rational thought. Peter cut the cruiser from the left, flying parallel to the mountain only a hundred meters away. The two men released their handholds at the same time and plunged in free fall to the ground below.
At this point he could only save one of his sons. Which one?
Peter did not think. He only knew.
With split-second timing, Peter had pushed the throttle to full speed and aimed the cruiser towards and under one of the falling men, scooping him up like a giant paw.
Preston and Miller caught him but the impact of his falling body sent all three of them sprawling on the floor of the cruiser as Peter directed the cruiser away from the mountain as swiftly as possible.
Even so, the massive red fireball that resulted from the impact of the cruiser against the mountain followed hard on the cruiser’s rear shield.[/font]
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Post by frivolity on Jan 3, 2006 11:52:31 GMT -5
wha.. wha... talk about a cliffhanger.... I wanna know what happens next ;D fabby stuff, Amie. ;D
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Post by Libby on Jan 4, 2006 7:48:40 GMT -5
*wipes sweat from forehead*
A cliffhanger indeed....or rather a cliff collision.
Had a clear picture of this in my mind whilst I was reading...and I know who I'd save!
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Post by aurianne on Jan 5, 2006 7:48:47 GMT -5
Oh.. Amie!
Please, Please....Please more!
*Auri can hardly wait... she is getting very inpatient although she is aware of the fact that patience is a virtue... she's considering on starting biting her nails.. it suppose to calm some nerves...no....she will bite on something else... on... do I dare say what?(Is CD around?)* ;D
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Post by Sasha on Jan 5, 2006 19:46:34 GMT -5
Oh.. Amie! Please, Please.... Please more! * Auri can hardly wait... she is getting very inpatient although she is aware of the fact that patience is a virtue... she's considering on starting biting her nails.. it suppose to calm some nerves...no....she will bite on something else... on... do I dare say what?(Is CD around?)* ;D You've got us begging Amie!!!! On bended knee!!!
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Amie
Resistance Member
Posts: 32
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Post by Amie on Jan 8, 2006 19:28:23 GMT -5
Chapter 21
Peter Stuart landed the cruiser gently on the grass.
By now, the clerics under Ashige Takase’s leadership had brought some semblance of order to the chaos. Bodies had been zipped up in body bags, and the wounded were being tended to. The body count for both sides had been tallied: twenty-two of Gareth’s clerics, including Argelander, who had been shot during the final gun battle, and seven clerics on the other side, including Kominsky and Salvadore from Sigma team.
The waiting had been more than Sara could stand. To distract herself, she had offered her help to the medics as they patched up the wounded clerics.
When the cruiser landed, she stood up and watched, fearing the worst. Her heart pounded in anxiety… then she saw four men climb out, not three… and Magnus was one of them.
“Magnus!”
She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. He was barely able to stand, so exhausted was he, but he had enough strength to wrap his arms around her and crush her to him as if he would never let her go.
“Geraint Stuart?”
It took a few seconds before either of them realized that several men in the uniforms of the Galactic Bureau of Enforcement had approached and surrounded them, guns pointed at Geraint.
Geraint lifted his head from where he had buried his face in her hair, and looked around him slowly. Then he released Sara and pulled her behind him, standing between her and the GBE officers.
“That’s me,” he said quietly. “What do you want?”
“You’re under arrest for crimes committed against the sovereignty of five worlds of the Galactic Union,” one of them, apparently the officer in charge, stated calmly. “Please raise your hands where we can see them.”
Geraint’s gaze flew to Peter Stuart’s.
His father’s face was set in grim lines. “We’ll straighten this out, son. I promise. I’m only asking you to go quietly.”
Geraint nodded, and for the third time that night, Geraint raised his hands slowly and allowed the GBE officers to handcuff his wrists behind his back. His eyes met Sara’s, who was taking in this newest development in dazed shock.
His smile was twisted. “We can’t seem to stop saying goodbye,” he said, in a feeble attempt at humor. Then he looked back at his father, then at Preston and Miller. “Take good care of them, will you?”
Then he was conducted into the GBE’s prisoner transport. Sara and the others watched as his manacles were secured to the wall of the holding compartment before the doors closed upon him.
The ten officers piled into the passenger compartment, and the transport lifted off the ground with a quiet roar and headed towards the north.
Sara stood frozen, unable to believe that she had lost him again. She was hardly aware of the hand that touched her arm.
“Miss DeCorvier, in the best interests of your father, Henry Cook and yourself, we will have to escort you to a safe location offworld.”
She turned slowly to look up into Peter Stuart’s face. She could see so much of Magnus in his father.
Pain and loss made her heart feel as if it were being torn in two.
“You’ll see him again,” Peter Stuart said quietly. “I promise you.”
Two weeks later
Preston, Miller and Stuart walked out of the GBE headquarters building onto the street where their cruiser was parked and climbed in. While Preston and Stuart sat in the back, Miller manned the controls and took the cruiser off to join the flow of Cincinnatus traffic.
Geraint Stuart had dressed himself in the clothes that Preston had brought from his own wardrobe, Geraint’s having been torn, bloody, and dirty, and consequently discarded for prison garb. His hair had been shorn close to the scalp as prison standards dictated, and he had taken the opportunity to shower and shave before leaving the confines of the prison.
“So how was your stay?” Miller said over his shoulder as he maneuvered the cruiser expertly through the stream of vehicles on the airways.
“Not bad. Learned a few things about prison life.”
“Did you, now?” Miller murmured in amusement.
Geraint grinned. “Actually, I suspect the GBE is glad to be rid of me… after I put the third inmate in hospital for picking a fight. They had to throw me into solitary for the past two days.”
Miller chuckled. “That’s our lad. You’d think the inmates would learn their lesson after the first one.”
Geraint looked from Miller to Preston. “So how did you do it?”
“A simple matter of matching fingerprints,” Preston said, shrugging. “Gareth got careless on one of his bank heists. And a woman had apparently saved one of his toiletry items… a toothbrush, of all things. Your father and the other councilmen made sure all items of evidence were catalogued and compared to both your fingerprints. Consequently, all witness statements had to be discarded as being unreliable.”
“Did you find his body?” Geraint asked quietly.
“We made an extensive search of the vicinity of the crash at the foot of the mountain,” Preston said. “No sign of the body. We assume he had been consumed in the blast, vaporized without a trace.”
Geraint nodded. “The DeCorviers and Henry? What of them?”
“Safe,” Preston replied gravely. “They’re under guard on one of their estates in another system.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have their address, would you?”
Preston hesitated. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to refrain from visiting them until we’ve sorted through this mess. We’re still looking for the other clerics, and we’re not entirely sure if the threat against Michel DeCorvier’s life is over, even though David Smith has been elected.”
“I see.” Geraint was silent for a few seconds. “So what are we doing about it?”
Preston opened his black metal briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers which he handed to Geraint. “Mission directives. We’ve set the rendezvous a few days from now.”
Geraint looked through the papers. “Did my father do these?” Preston’s silence made Geraint look up. “Or didn’t he?”
“The Council allowed your father to resign quietly, and he has exiled himself to an unknown location.”
Geraint closed his eyes. “My mother…”
“She’s with her family in Buenos Aires, waiting for you.”
~~~~~~~~
Amabel looked around at her former bedchamber. It had been converted into a dignitary guest suite, all traces of herself gone.
Which was at it should be…since the woman, Princess Amabel, no longer existed. There only remained Amabel Maximus.
She left the former royal residential quarters and made her way to the government offices on the other side of the palace, Max trailing after her on a leash. Although now almost fully grown, Max was not much bigger than when Gideon had brought him that night only a few months ago.
She had come to visit Navarre to do some errands, and had decided to tour the newly renovated palace. She had been unable to bring herself to return after the rebellion—until now, that is.
She found that she could look around at her former prison with serenity now, knowing that part of her life was done with forever.
After her tour, she visited Prime Minister Robert Dewinter in his offices, formerly the king’s private council chambers. After a short wait with his assistants, Amabel saw Robert exit the inner rooms and come towards her with arms oustretched.
“Amabel, what a pleasure to see you here!” he said, smiling. “And what brings you to Navarre, my dear?”
They embraced and kissed each other’s cheek. “Mostly shopping,” she said wryly, “Aunt Miranda had some appointments to keep so she couldn’t come. I thought I’d see if you were available to have lunch with me.”
“I think I might be able to fit you in the schedule,” he said, winking.
An hour later, they were sitting on an outdoor terrace overlooking the Bay of Vulcan, while white-jacketed stewards served them the courses.
Amabel glanced at the three black-coated men that hovered at a discreet distance from their table and said in a low voice, “Clerics?”
Robert nodded. “Your husband’s idea, of course. He insisted. How could I say no?”
Amabel made a face. “I have one too… he’s around here somewhere.” She twisted around, searching the terrace, and found the young black-coated cleric sitting quietly a few tables away, sipping a glass of what she assumed was a non-alcholic beverage. She waved, smiling. The cleric flushed slightly. Giggling, she turned back. “He hates it when I do that. They’re so serious, aren’t they?”
“They have to be,” Robert said gravely. “The business of death requires some seriousness, I would think.”
Amabel’s smile faded. “You haven’t heard anything from him?”
He shook his head regretfully. “No… if he hasn’t contacted you then he certainly wouldn’t contact me, would he?”
She gestured helplessly. “At least a short note to let me know he’s still alive!”
“I suspect he’s not used to having someone waiting for him,” Robert said soothingly. “And his mission does require some secrecy.”
Amabel sighed. “That’s what he told me before he left.”
“At any rate, the man is indestructible,” Robert said with conviction.
After lunch, Robert went back to his business of running an empire, while Amabel went back to the hotel where she was staying. She rested for a few hours, then packed up and had all her things taken down to the cruiser that awaited her at street level.
The journey back to Villion in the cruiser took a little over two hours over the ocean. In addition to being her bodyguard, Cleric Damien was also her pilot.
Her attempts at prying out the secret of the taciturn cleric’s connection to Gideon met with little success. He would not talk, and when he did, most of his answers were in monosyllables. Amabel suspected that Gideon, knowing his wife, had chosen him to be her bodyguard just for that quality alone.
The chateau on the island of Villion had always been too large for her… until she and Gideon had come and made it their playground. Now, with Gideon gone, the halls and chambers echoed forlornly, empty save for the servants gliding silent and ghost-like about their duties.
The bedroom was the only place Cleric Damien couldn’t enter, so with some relief she went directly there, Max trotting in her wake.
She had dinner in her sitting room and decided to make it an early night. Tomorrow, she had decided to make plans for an off-world trip, her first ever in her life.
Sleep didn’t come easily. Her body ached for Gideon, and his pillow made a rather poor substitute. Rolling and turning until she was twisted in the bedsheets, she had to be content with her most intimate memories of him until she finally drifted off to sleep…
Her dreams were haunted by Gideon… and that night, her dreams were even more vivid than usual. In her dream, Gideon had slipped into bed behind her, his hand stroking her thigh as he kissed her ear, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her neck… then his kisses and caresses became more demanding as he grasped her hip and pulled her back against him…
“Amabel…” he whispered hoarsely in her ear.
Amabel realized this was no dream. Crying out his name in joy, she twisted around and wrapped her arms around his neck… the next moment he ripped her flimsy nightgown off and discarded it on the floor by the bed… and she met his fierce urgency with her own as their bodies molded together feverishly, their overwhelming need for each other finding exquisite release as he took her...
Some time later, Amabel lay in the curve of his arm, her body curled against his side as he stared up at the ceiling with his other hand under his head.
Closer inspection had revealed that he had several skintac bandages on his chest and ribcage. Delicately, she traced around the edge of one of the nearly invisible, skin-like wound dressings on his chest.
“Does it hurt badly?” she said softly.
“No. They’re just grazes, and quite healed now.”
She frowned. “I thought gun kata enables you to avoid gunfire.”
“It does. I can statistically predict the geometric distribution and trajectory patterns of return fire of up to 253 non-cleric antagonists in a gun battle. I’m working my way up at the moment. In a cleric-to-cleric scenario, and depending on several factors -- including how many clerics are on my side and how many on theirs, how good we are and how good they are -- my odds become highly unpredictable. Unfortunately, the development of team gun kata is still in its infancy...” his voice trailed off.
“Fascinating,” she murmured sincerely. She was amazed how much she understood of his cleric-ese. “And how are you supposed to work your way up? Do you practice on real gunmen, or -- or -- dummies?”
“I have a computer simulator in one of my domiciles.” He turned his head to look at her. “Perhaps someday I’ll take you there and show you.”
“You can do that now that you’re home,” she pointed out. “Or, better yet, you can bring your simulator and install it in one of the rooms here.”
His silence rang alarm bells in her mind. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at him. “Well, can’t you?”
He took a lock of her long, wavy tresses and twirled it around his finger. “I’m only staying a few days, then I’m off again for mop-up operations.”
‘Mop-up?” Her shoulders sagged. “How long will it take?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “It might take a few months. We’ve run into--- complications.”
“A few months!” Amabel sat up abruptly, clutching the bedsheet to her chest. If the waiting was unbearable after 39 days of absence, what would a few months do to her? It struck her for the first time that this was exactly how military spouses felt when their husbands or wives went away to war.
Gideon was gazing at her intently. “I’m sorry, Amabel. I know you didn’t expect your husband to be away for most of our first year of marriage.”
“Well, no.” Amabel took a deep breath. “But then, you’re not like other husbands, are you, darling? And you did try to warn me.” She let the bedsheet fall around her hips and straddled him. “If you’ve only got a few days, then we mustn’t waste a minute of it.”
Gideon grinned and reached up for her.[/size]
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Arkaad V.
Sweeper
I feed the sense offense habit of SOBGs worldwide!!! Taste! Feel! Smell! Ahhhhhh.....The Balegasm!!!
Posts: 81
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Post by Arkaad V. on Jan 8, 2006 20:06:50 GMT -5
No, you must not waste a minute of it! heh heh heh heh ;D Great job Amie! Keep up the splendid work! ;D
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 8, 2006 20:16:01 GMT -5
Nicely done there Amie
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Post by cheenie on Jan 8, 2006 21:17:58 GMT -5
Well done Amie. Thanks.
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Post by Libby on Jan 9, 2006 3:53:26 GMT -5
Nice chapter Amie, ties a few things up, but... Hmmm... Looking forward to the next instalment...
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Amie
Resistance Member
Posts: 32
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Post by Amie on Jan 9, 2006 21:29:07 GMT -5
EPILOGUE
Eleven months after the operation at Auxerre
The island of T'arawat was blessed with that most desirable of climates-- bathed in soft, warm sunlight everyday, with light rains at night to water the mountain stream that flowed down into the springs in the villages at the foot of Ki'nori.
Fishing was the preferred livelihood on the island. Time seemed to stand still for the islanders… fishing was still done by hand-cast nets on ancient boats--perhaps a few modern engines here and there as a concession to the march of technology elsewhere on the planet – and the houses were simple affairs that stood on strong wooden pillars at the edge of the beaches. The islanders were a beautiful people, bronzed, lean and healthy, happy and content for the most part.
Tourists were usually rare in this part of the planet – only a few had discovered the beauty of the island and it's health-giving secrets in the hot springs – but whatever tourists showed up were warmly welcomed at the main island village.
And so it was with Geraint Stuart, who was gladly directed to his destination -- especially when he revealed who it was he looked for.
The walk along the beach was a revelation. For the first time in many years, Geraint felt strangely relaxed as his booted feet sank into the soft white sand, the sun beating down on his uncovered head in a kind of benign blessing.
He had never felt anything like it. No wonder the object of his search had chosen to hide himself away here.
He stopped. The directions had been the fifth house on columns after leaving the village.
And there he was.
His father was mending a fishing net, of all things. His head was covered with a straw hat, and he was sitting on an overturned boat on the edge of the water. He was dressed like an islander, in a simple shirt and jeans almost worn down at the knees.
His booted feet noiseless on the sand, Geraint approached slowly until he was ten feet away.
"Dad."
Peter Stuart stopped what he was doing and sat very still. Then his head came up to stare at the man who had come from halfway across the galaxy to find him.
"Gerry…" Peter's voice trailed off. He seemed to have lost his voice.
Geraint gestured at the boat. "I like the name of your boat--- Phaeton, son of the sun god Helios." He paused. "May I sit down?"
Geraint didn't wait for an answer and perched himself on the bottom of the boat next to his father. "Nice place," he commented conversationally.
Peter found his voice and put the net down on his lap. "You're looking very well," he said, studying his son's face. "Glad to see the past year's events haven't killed you off."
"You've heard about that, have you?" Geraint smiled faintly. "It's over now--for the most part."
"Preston and Miller?"
"Home finally, as well. Did you know that Preston was married?"
"No, I didn't," Peter said, astonished.
Geraint nodded with a sense of the comical. "Preston – married to a princess. Or a former princess, at any rate."
"I heard that Miller had pulled some strings to get you into the GBE in Valeria's former position and that you turned it down. Why did you?"
Geraint shrugged. "Self-employment suits me better--the freedom to set my own schedule, the freedom from politics, the freedom to pursue my own agendas."
Peter nodded. "Believe me, that career choice holds appeal to many clerics other than yourself." He paused. "And Sara? How is she?"
A shadow of pain flickered across Geraint's face, his silver-gray eyes darkening slightly.
"I believe she's well, from what I've heard," he said quietly. "I haven't seen her since that day in Auxerre." He paused. "I heard rumors that she's getting married next month to that doctor --- William Yarrow."
"I see." Peter didn't really. He licked dry lips and forced the words out. "And your mother? How is she doing?"
Geraint looked down at his clasped hands, then up again at his father. "Not the same since the divorce," he said, quietly. "She's withdrawn into herself."
A spasm of emotion appeared on Peter's face. "Can you blame her?" he said curtly.
Geraint shook his head. "No."
"Why did you come?" Peter said in a low voice.
"I came," Geraint said slowly, "because I had to know."
Peter's jaw worked for several moments. "Know what?"
"Why did you do it?"
Peter closed is eyes. "I've thought so often how I could explain it to you--if you ever wanted my explanation, that is. I do not make any excuses for myself. What I did was reprehensible--and I pay for my crimes ten times over every single day that I am alive."
"I know that living in exile can hold more torment than a death squad."
Peter's eyes snapped open and he stared at his son. "Then you understand the reason why I chose to impose this on myself."
Geraint nodded.
"How do I begin? It started when Dorian and I were students in the Tetragrammaton. He had always been the leader, you see. He had taken me under his wing and for that I had felt a loyalty towards him that grew with time. We went through the ranks together, then we went off to our military careers in the same army for several more years before Dorian decided he wanted to go back to the Tetragrammaton and become an instructor. I had to follow, of course… that was my lot with him, my weakness. I couldn't refuse him anything. Even when his criminal schemes spread and grew like an infection as far as Cincinnatus, I was helpless to stop him. So I did what was easiest… I followed."
Peter took a deep breath. "Now I believe that the one thing he wanted more than anything and the one thing he was denied gave birth to a hatred of me that he had tried to hide all these years. You see, he wanted Aurianne, your mother – but Aurianne had fallen in love with me, and I with her."
Geraint absorbed this information silently.
"As I look back, I can see he did his best to poison our family. The work had to come first, he said. My ambition was too weak, too insipid. So I would spend months on end separated from your mother, even after you two were born, on missions across the galaxy. And I regret now every moment that I was separated from her and you two."
"I believe that Gareth had always been Dorian's favorite, and it may have seemed that he was mine too-- when the fact was Dorian spent more time with Gareth than Gareth did with his own father. You see, Dorian had kept me so busy that I had so little time to be a father myself."
"When you two grew up, it was clear that Dorian would have less and less influence on you and that Gareth would be completely his for the molding. You were always stronger, more resistant to being manipulated. And that's why Dorian hated you almost as much as he hated me. When the time came to give the order to have you killed, I--I let him do it, too damned with weakness to protest. I believe I was at the end of myself at that point in time."
"Then something changed in me. Doubts began to gnaw at me… remorse and grief over your supposed death haunted my dreams until I could no longer sleep… I began to question myself and what Dorian was doing…"
"It was the beginning of the end. When I realized I had lost your mother too, I knew that I could no longer live with myself. I either had to end it, or die."
"Gerry, you have to know that I have no regrets whatsoever in saving you, and not Gareth," Peter said, his voice shaking with a powerful emotion. "I would make this choice over and over again, hard though it is. My only regret concerning my sons is that I was never the father that you and Gareth needed."
The silence that followed was punctuated only by the undulating wash of the ocean on the deserted beach. They sat like that for several minutes, allowing the gentle salt breeze to cool them.
"Dad," Geraint finally spoke, "There comes a time when even exile may end. Mom needs you."
Peter shook his head. "But has she forgiven me? And how can she? I would be the last person to ask for her forgiveness, because I sure as hell don't deserve it."
"Or perhaps it's just plain, damn pride," Geraint muttered. "You don't want to ask for her forgiveness because you're afraid she'll say no."
"Ah, so you know a lot about that, do you?" Peter's mouth twisted into a half smile. "When was the last time you tried to go see Sara?"
Geraint flushed slightly. "That's different," he said defensively. "She doesn't need what I have to offer her. I mean, hell, look at what we've done to her home -- it was so wrecked they decided not to rebuild it."
"There was more than one reason why they decided not to rebuild, and you know it," Peter pointed out.
"Maybe so," Geraint conceded.
"Perhaps it's time for both of us to admit that we're cowards when it comes to women," Peter said dryly. "Meanwhile, if you have time, you can stay for a few days and enjoy T'arawat. Maybe you can use the R&R, eh?"
Geraint looked at the boats and the nets hanging out to dry all down the beach. "What's there to do around here besides go fishing and swimming?"
Peter smiled. "That's about it, really. Tonight, you'll probably be treated to a feast by the villagers – and a few willing, nubile women for the night. That's what they did to me when I first came. Not a bad welcome package, eh?"
Geraint grinned reluctantly. "Dad, you surprise me. You call this exile, do you?"
Peter's smile faded a little. "It gets old after a while… if you're here long enough, time hangs heavily. Too much time for thinking. To these islanders, time means nothing."
So Geraint stayed for several weeks with his father and learned how to cast a fishing net just so, against the direction of the schools' movement. The blue water was so clear that he could see to the bottom. He would also swim for hours, diving from the rocks at the end of the cape, or snorkeling in the coral reef, or board and body surfing at high tide with the villagers and their children. At the end of the first week, he had become almost as bronzed as the islanders themselves.
Sometimes father and son sparred on the beach with sticks for practice, attracting and entertaining a cheering, appreciative crowd until the villagers took to begging them for more exhibitions, which they laughingly gave.
When there was nothing else to do, conversation was the activity of choice. As the Famirin sun sank towards the horizon, father and son took walks along the beach in the cool of the day, discussing everything from the Tetragrammaton to politics to their favorite galactic sports teams.
At night, as his father had predicted, Geraint was feasted not only on the first night, but every night thereafter.
(continued)
[/size]
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Amie
Resistance Member
Posts: 32
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Post by Amie on Jan 9, 2006 21:42:00 GMT -5
Epilogue continued
His father had been right… time meant nothing on the island. The days seemed to blend into each other, flying by until Geraint realized he had stayed almost a month.
Soon he would have to leave… the lazy days of leisure would have to end some time, or else he would become too soft to perform his next job.
He and his father had bonded more in the past month alone than they had in the past thirty-one years. Geraint felt a reluctance to leave his father, but knew that only Peter Stuart could make the decision to come back to the world that awaited him.
So, on his last day on the island, Geraint spent the afternoon surfing with several teenagers and children from the village. He had come to know them well and enjoyed their company while they had come to look upon him as a friend. Knowing that he would leave the next day, almost all of them had turned out to join in the horseplay in the shallow waters.
Geraint had just got done dunking a couple of mischievous boys who had been trying to scramble onto his shoulders, when he realized that there was a woman's figure on the beach, dressed in white, standing still and watching them.
She wasn't from the village, Geraint was sure… too pale to be one of the islander women. He wiped the salt water from his eyes and took a better look.
~~~~~~~~
Sara watched Geraint being attacked by eager, laughing children, watched as he laughed and tried to pry two of the boys who had attached themselves to him like two limpets. He managed to get them off and tossed them one after the other into the water, accompanied by their screams of delight.
It was the first time she had ever heard him laugh.
Sara's throat tightened, the familiar dull ache inside her sharpening unbearably as she saw him for the first time in a year.
She saw him go still as he caught sight of her. After a few moments, he spoke a few words to the children in their language, then he proceeded to wade slowly towards the shore.
Sara had a moment of panic. What am I doing here? The urge to run from that beach as fast as she could go was almost overwhelming.
Then she reminded herself why she came. She had enough of not knowing… once and for all, she would shake his hold on her and take her life back again. A word of rejection out of his lips, a look of indifference, and she would leave this place forever rid of him.
So she quelled the urge to run, and stood her ground.
He stopped three paces away from her. His eyes were even more intense and silvery than usual against his deeply tanned skin as he studied her slowly from head to foot.
Sara swallowed and tried not to give in to the compulsion to return his all-encompassing scrutiny. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black swim trunks. Beads of sea-water dripped from his wide, bare shoulders down his powerfully muscled chest and arms.
"Hello, Magnus," she said, relieved her voice didn't break. Inside, she was a wreck. She hadn't counted on the strength of her reactions at seeing him like this.
An expression she couldn't quite read flickered across his face. "You're the only one who still calls me Magnus. Or so Henry tells me."
Sara's eyes widened. "You keep in touch with Henry?"
Geraint nodded. "I gave him a PCC. I check in with him weekly."
" ‘Check in?'" she said slowly.
He looked around for a few moments before his eyes came to rest on her face again, almost reluctantly. "How did you find me?"
"Your father contacted me." She tried to hide her hurt and anger at the thought that he had kept in contact with Henry all this time, while he had sent her just that one message a year ago.
"I see."
She took a deep breath. "Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"
Geraint hesitated, then nodded. "This way."
He led her down the beach. Sara was aware of his every movement… of the tension between them as they walked silently side by side.
He reached one of the wooden houses on columns and let her precede him up the steps and through the doorway.
The house felt cool after the afternoon heat. The pungent smell of cedar permeated the air, mixed in with the sharp tang of salt-sea. The house itself was compact, spartanly and neatly furnished with the minimum amount of furniture. At the front, shaded by tall palm trees crowding around the house, a wide balcony overlooked the beach.
"Give me a minute while I get us something to drink," he murmured. He disappeared into a room which she assumed was the kitchen, and she wandered out on the balcony.
He came out on the balcony a few minutes later, a towel around his neck, and carrying two glasses of some whitish liquid.
"Coconut juice," he explained, handing her a glass.
"Thank you," she murmured.
The liquid was surprisingly cold, sweet and refreshing as it trickled down her throat. She didn't realize how thirsty she was until she had finished almost half the glass.
"Where is your father?" she asked, nervously twirling the glass between her hands.
Geraint had downed the entire contents of his glass in one swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fishing. On the other side of the island, with his fishing buddies. He'll be back just before sunset."
"Oh."
"Would you like to sit down?" he asked politely, gesturing to a cushioned wooden bench along one end of the balcony.
Sara moved to the bench and sank down gratefully. Instead of sitting down next to her, as she had dreaded he would, he leaned back against the balcony and carefully placed his glass on the balcony rail.
"Who brought you here?" he asked.
"Don't you know that too?" She couldn't help keeping the sarcasm out of her voice. "Henry must have told you about the cleric assigned to be my bodyguard. He's waiting for me at the village with the cruiser."
Geraint nodded. "Reinhold. Good man. So is the cleric assigned to your father."
Sara sighed. "It's been almost a year now since David Smith has been elected. We don't need bodyguards anymore, do we? You don't know how cramping it is to have someone follow you around all day long."
"We want to give it a few more months," he said quietly. "Just to be sure." He paused. "Is that why you came? To complain about your bodyguards?"
"No." Sara shifted her weight on the bench. Now that the time had come, she realized she was afraid of what she would hear… and that she still couldn't bear to hear it. "No. Actually, I wanted to ask you if you could come to my father's birthday party next week."
"Is it that time again?" he muttered.
She thought she saw a shadow pass across his face. "I'm planning on having a little memorial for Esther," she said quietly. "And Henry would love to have you there."
He was silent for a few moments, then he said, "In that case, I'd be happy to come. I've been wanting to visit Henry for some time now."
Just Henry? Sara wanted to say.
Why was she torturing herself like this? She stood up abruptly.
"I suppose I should go now," she said tightly.
"Why?" he said bluntly. "You just got here. And my father would be disappointed if you left without seeing him." He paused. "Stay for today, then you can leave in the morning. Ever learned how to surf?"
Sara had never been so tempted in her life. After a few moments of indecision, she came to the conclusion that she must be going mad.
"I didn't bring any swim things with me."
He smiled. "I'm sure one of the ladies from the village would be happy to lend you something."
So it was that Sara found herself an hour later in the ocean, dressed in a scanty top and sarong number, slathered in sunscreen at Geraint's insistence, and learning how to surf and surrounded by children charmed by the pretty newcomer.
Geraint had chosen a smooth, hand-made board for her, and for the first few times he surfed with her on the board, showing her how to catch and ride a wave. Perhaps Sara did cling to him rather shamelessly at first, but then the fun of the sport infected her, and she was eventually riding the waves by herself.
As they played in the shallows with the children, she learned a few of their names and a few phrases in T'arawat. She couldn't figure out what they were calling her until she asked Geraint. He grinned.
"They're calling you Venea, the goddess who came out of the sea."
He beckoned one of the teen boys over, and the boy came sheepishly. He lifted the boy's arm and showed her the tattoo on his forearm. Sara flushed. The tattoo depicted a graceful, naked woman rising out of the sea.
"Apparently, she's some sort of sex symbol around here," Geraint said blandly.
"That looks familiar," Sara muttered.
"Yes, it does," Geraint murmured. Sara couldn't mistake the look in his eyes as they swept over her, and her face burned.
"I mean, it looks like the painting by Boticelli, the Birth of Venus," she said hastily.
"I'm not surprised," Geraint said casually. "These are a loving, peaceful people, so it should make sense they're fans of the goddess of love and beauty. Their motto is ‘love today, live tomorrow.' They've taken the act of love to new levels of art."
"I'm sure," Sara said tartly. "And you'd know about that, wouldn't you? I saw the way those women in the village were looking at you."
"You noticed that, did you?" He pinned her with his silvery gaze.
"Gareth told me a few things about you…" she said, trailing off at the look in his eyes.
"And you believed him?" he said quietly.
"I--I don't know what to believe about you anymore," she said, shrugging helplessly.
Fortunately, one of the children chose to splash them at that moment, and the water frolics resumed -- to Sara's relief.
Dusk descended too quickly for Sara. The children scurried home for their suppers, while Sara and Geraint waded slowly towards the beach where Peter Stuart was waiting for them. Peter and Sara greeted each other warmly with an embrace.
"They've prepared a farewell feast for you, Gerry," he said, a glimmer of something that might have been amusement in his eyes as he looked from Sara to his son.
Sara's gaze flew to Geraint. "You're leaving too?"
He nodded. "Tomorrow."
"I see."
Still dripping wet, Sara had started shivering as the air had cooled considerably. Geraint picked up a large towel from the sand, shook it out, and draped it around her shoulders.
"Shall we?" Peter Stuart, smiling, gesturing towards the village.
Sara was taken aback. "I can't go like this."
"They won't mind," Geraint said, dryly. "Neither do I."
Sara blushed, wrapping the towel more closely around her. "I bet you don't."
But she followed them to the village square, where a large crowd had already gathered. Torches were lit all around the commons, and tables had been set, groaning under the weight of the food that had been set upon them. An island music band was playing surprisingly recognizable music with a rather primal rhythm.
The villagers plied Sara with food – consisting mostly of grilled fish, roasted pig, vegetables, fruit and sweet delicacies -- until she couldn't eat anymore. Next to her, Geraint devoured everything set in front of him, having worked up an enormous appetite during the afternoon. At another table, Peter and Reinhold were being similarly waited on.
Then they watched the entertainment prepared for them… fire-swallowing young men danced with flaming batons, then a native dance by young women no less scantily clad than Sara, a dance dedicated to the beloved Venea. Sara watched wide-eyed, the pulsing rhythm working its way through her bloodstream. Sometimes she could sense acutely when Geraint's gaze would turn to her, his eyes roaming reluctantly over her body. Sara was glad when the dance was over.
The feast went on into the night, and showed no signs of relenting until villagers started going home, sleepy but content.
As Sara, Geraint and Peter rose to go, the village leader approached Geraint and whispered something in his ear. Geraint shook his head with a smile and replied in the native language. The leader nodded, glancing at Sara, then grinned and said something else that made Geraint cough and Peter chuckle.
Reinhold was accommodated in one of the villager's homes, there being only three bedrooms in Peter Stuart's house. Then the three of them walked back down the beach in the light of the two half moons of the planet.
"What did he say to you?" Sara wanted to know.
"It was nothing," Geraint said dismissively.
"He said that he understood why Geraint had been holding back from his lovely daughters," Peter said with amusement. "He said that you --- "
"Dad!"
Peter Stuart raised his hands. "Just telling her what he said."
"She doesn't need to know," Geraint said curtly.
"Know what?" Sara demanded.
They had stopped at the foot of the steps of the house.
"Perhaps I'll let Gerry tell you himself." Peter yawned ostentatiously. "Well, better hit the sack. Good night."
He climbed up the steps and disappeared inside, leaving a strained silence as Geraint and Sara stared at each other.
"We have to talk, Magnus," Sara whispered.
"Yes, we do."
He took her arm and led her further down the beach until the line of houses ended, and they had reached the end of the cape where the forest covering the foothills of Ki'nori began, and the outcrop of rock jutted out into the sea.
He dropped down on the sand and pulled her down next to him. The beach was dimly lit by the half-moons, and a gentle breeze fanned them. Salt-air and a heavy floral scent from the forest mingled together into an intoxicating perfume.
"There's something about this island," Sara said uncertainly.
"I know." Geraint smiled, and Sara caught the glimmer of white teeth in the half darkness. "The villagers call it terpa--roughly translated, ‘the island magic.'"
"You clerics don't believe in that sort of thing, do you?" Sara teased.
"Logic and reason tell me that no such thing exists. But when we were playing in the ocean with the children and I heard your laughter, I felt something close to it."
"Did you?" she said softly.
"Yes." His finger trailed along the opening of the towel that she still kept around her shoulders. "You know, if I were William Yarrow, I wouldn't let you out of my sight. Who knows what sort of trouble you can get into."
"It's a good thing you're not William then," she said lightly, while her heart had started pounding heavily against her ribcage.
"That depends on how you feel about William," he murmured. "There were many times I've thought I would like to trade places with him."
"You have?" Sara felt that infernal melting sensation start to seep into every one of her limbs again. "Why?"
"Why? Why, because he gets to be with you everyday--and he shares your bed…"
"He does not," she retorted swiftly. "What makes you think that?"
"I merely assumed...you're getting married next month, aren't you?"
"Father would like me to. But I'm just foolish enough to wait for another man."
"Your father is wise," he said quietly. "You should listen to him."
"No, you can't mean that," she breathed. "I know you feel something for me, Magnus. Please don't try to deny it."
"But I'm not Magnus," he said gently. "That man--- the farmer you met on Theroux--that wasn't me. You've fallen in love with a man who doesn't exist."
"That's not true," she shook her head. "That was you… and at the same time I knew there was more to you than that… I've always known it. And today, I saw Magnus, but more than Magnus… I saw you."
There was a long silence broken only by the sounds of the forest behind them and the pounding of the surf on the shore.
"If you don't get up and go back to the house now," he said slowly, "we're going to do something we're both going to regret tomorrow morning."
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. Well, this fantasy/journey has come to an end, and I had fun every minute of it!! ;D Thank you all so much for your feedback and support, they really meant a lot to me and helped keep me going to the end! ;D
Arkaad V. has started a companion fic to my story called "Those Who Have Fallen," on her website. (Warning! Contains graphic sexual violence/rape, adult language(cussing) and murder. NC-17 rated material. Adults over 17 only.) Enjoy! ;D .
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Post by cheenie on Jan 10, 2006 1:15:18 GMT -5
Bittersweet came to my mind after finishing the story. Looking forward to Those Who Have Fallen. Thanks for a great read, Amie.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 10, 2006 7:58:31 GMT -5
*CLAPS* Nice Amie, very nice. Sad to see it come to an end, thanks for putting it up and doing it in the first place. Now I need to get off my ass and continue to update a few things of mine. I should be updating Wyrden/Akas and Whisper City today...which has already been updated once
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Post by Libby on Jan 10, 2006 9:32:34 GMT -5
I'm a sucker for 'happy endings'...
That was a really good read!
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Amie
Resistance Member
Posts: 32
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Post by Amie on Jan 10, 2006 11:13:02 GMT -5
Thank you, Cheenie, Wolf, and Libby, for such wonderful feedback! Yes it is rather sad for me to end this fun journey but it leaves me more time to read the other fan fiction I've been meaning to get to ( I will finally get to read some more of your Wyrden fiction, Wolf! ;D ) Creating this world was time and emotion consuming, so sadness is mingled with relief that I finally got to the end! ;D
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 10, 2006 17:54:44 GMT -5
I'll update Wyrden tomorrow -- but Whisper got a HUGE update today with some things that even old fans of my setting - won't know
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