Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Epilogue

The Olympus Springs Hotel, that evening...

"...and so, the sun sets on a truly incredible day, but still, there are few answers to the many questions being asked all over the world, now that international communications are starting to return to normal. One thing is clear, however, and that is that the mysterious 'zombies' have disappeared, as suddenly as they arrived, and this may be a world-wide phenomenon. We now go to Val Merrick, in our Los Angeles studio, hopefully with news on events apparently unfolding at Nellis Air Force base, near Las Vegas - Val...?"

Mariella brandished the remote control in the direction of the huge wall-mounted television in the sumptuous rooftop penthouse of the Olympus Springs Hotel, and defiantly stabbed the OFF button. "That's enough of that", she declared, letting the control device slip from her fingers onto the couch beside her. "Nothin' the news can say compares to actually being part of what actually happened..."

"At least you got to be involved", said Candice, her head slumping onto her shoulder now there was nothing to watch.

"Be grateful you weren't", advised Mariella. "It got real messy out there - we were lucky."

"At least I wouldn't have jumped out of a helicopter", chuckled her friend, recalling the adventures she had heard about several times already. "Were you insane? What if you hadn't been able to grab that street-light...?"

"I would have been particularly annoyed", a voice called from the bathroom. "All that effort, for nothing. I appreciate the distraction from work, but I don't appreciate wasting my time for anything."

In a swirl of rose-pink and sleek black, Mane-of-Night strolled out into the main living area, hair down and loose, knee-length satin dressing gown utterly failing to conceal the fact that she still wore her long, gleaming black vinyl boots...

"And does this 'work' require you to wear those boots all the time?", asked Candice. "Haven't seen you in anything else."

"Not the same pair, usually", replied the Mystalornan, "but I've been far too busy to change, or add to my wardrobe - unlike some..."

The sable-haired woman glanced down at the table between the two huge couches the girls shared between them, and the pile of expensive clothes from the hoard the pair had stolen the night before. "Guess you want me t' give all this back", muttered the girl. "I can't... well, change your mind by... y'know, lettin' y'have your pick of t'boots, or somethin'...?"

"You have nothing my size, as you know all too well", Mane-of-Night responded, coldly. "However... you did play an important part in preventing Mardul from tearing the city apart, and there should be some kind of reward for that. The shops that were so generous as to provide that reward in advance will very soon be getting their customers back, and sufficient profits to make them forget their stolen - I mean donated - goods."

"And what if I choose to let my good friend have, say, half my reward...?", Mariella asked meekly, nodding in Candice's direction.

Mane-of-Night raised her hands in disbelief, then shook her head in a gesture of exasperated surrender. "Do whatever you want", she sighed. "But this is the last time - do not break the law again, if you expect to receive my continuing assistance with your training. That life you leave behind, the moment you leave this world."

"Okay", murmured Mariella. "Your world, your rules - I watch my step, or someone steps on me. I already gotta taste of that, an' it didn't agree with me."

Mane-of-Night nodded, but it was a weary gesture, indicative of the ordeals the woman had gone through over the last few days, and which she had told the girls about before the news began. Despite being rushed from world to world, almost without respite, Mane-of-Night had still been polite enough to join the girls for their little reunion, and whilst Candice didn't quite realise it, Mariella deeply appreciated that expression of generosity.

"You... you don't have to stay here, with us, if ya don't wanna", Mariella told her saviour from the stars. "If all that happened here was a welcome break from your work, than that must be a job no-one could want to go back to. You deserve a rest."

"It's not a job I want", admitted Mane-of-Night, "but that duty is mine to fulfill, like it or not, and I will not let my people down. Things... things are going to get tough very soon, as you are very quickly going to discover."

A chair was waiting for her, but Mane-of-Night resisted the urge to sit. Instead, she politely excused herself, and made her way to the penthouse door, only to hesitate midway through turning the door-handle as Mariella reached out to her with her mind. ***Yes...?***, muttered the alien woman. ***Make it quick.***

***There... there's something I need to do, before we go***, Mariella told her. ***Something in Miami I have t'see - to help me make sense of all this. Now, I know it might sound weird...***

Mane-of-Night gave no outward sign that she was doing anything other than returning to her own hotel suite, as she let herself out into the corridor, and Mariella was glad that her teacher-to-be understood the value of discretion. ***I'll speak to The Traveller***, assured the Mystalornan, graciously not judging the girl for her request. ***Transport I can provide, but I can't promise that what you find will bring you any peace.***

***Never expected ya to***, Mariella replied. All of a sudden, she didn't feel much like having a good time, but the get-together with Candice was more for her friend than anyone else. Mariella had no idea when, or if, she would ever be coming back again.

An executive suite, one floor down...

"The Air Force are remaining understandably tight-lipped at present, Richard, but there have been several reports from the public of unidentified aircraft over the city - one of which members of the public have described as 'your classic flying saucer'. Air Force officials have had a long-standing policy of not counting such sightings as anything more than optical illusions or figments of the imagination..."

"That's pretty much the way it usually goes", warned The Traveller. "You risk your life for them, but the recognition is conspicuous by its absence."

Lee, spread out on a sofa, made a slightly stifled sound that would have been a full-blown laugh had Irinati not been fast asleep in a chair close by. "That's 'cause they haven't found it yet", declared the red-haired man, "but they will, soon enough."

The Traveller regarded Croxley with wary eyes. "What, dare I ask, have you done...?"

"All will be revealed, in the fullness of time", Lee told him, folding his arms defiantly. "Hold on - this looks like this might be it..."

"We have stories coming in from all over the world", said the Los Angeles news-anchor, with an image of a mountain range behind her, "but the strangest of all is much close to home, on the slopes of the Rockie Mountains..."

The Traveller leaned forward. "And this is what you mean by a 'test flight'?", he enquired, as the story unfolded, complete with aerial photographs. "Mister Croxley, you clearly can't be left on your own with anything nice, including a fully-operational starship..."

"You saw how they reacted when I told them about what happened on the platform", said Lee. "The bottom fell out of their world. Mariella's friend, Candice..."

The Traveller's heart still felt raw from the sting of sorrow he had experienced when the girl heard the news, and collapsed in tears into Mariella's arms. "And you feel the whole world should know", sighed the adventurer. "Rightly so - rightly so..."

The Dominion-born wanderer drew a deep, sighing breath, and turned away from the screen. "Of course, you do realise that there is now no way I can justify leaving you here, to perhaps carry out other acts of geological vandalism, Mister Croxley..."

"I won't deny I felt just a little bit resentful about being abandoned, but now I know that was never your intention", Lee responded. "The decision was taken out of your hands, by Fortain - but this time, now that I have the choice, I find that I don't have a choice. I'm going to stay. This world may not be the 'real' Earth, but it's my home, and I want to do all I can to help it get through this."

This was far from being a surprise for The Traveller. From the moment of their second meeting, he'd sensed that Lee had changed, grown, in that time, and the adventurer felt proud to have played a part in making a man out of the wild-haired youth...

At that moment, The Traveller received a telepathic message from Mane-of-Night, detailing Mariella's request to pay a brief visit to the girl's home city. The explorer acknowledged and agreed to the request without giving any outward indication that communication was taking place, then rose from his seat and stretched. "Been a busy day", he murmured, "and tomorrow looks like being more of the same. Time for me to retire..."

Lee glanced over at Irinati, who hadn't stirred the whole time. "She'll be all right, where she is", said The Traveller strolling over to the door of the suite's small office - a door that opened into the interior of The Endless Sunrise. "She knows where to find me."

Lee said "Good night" to the alien adventurer, and once The Traveller had disappeared into his incredible vessel, Croxley switched off the television, turned down the lights, and retreated into his own bedroom. He didn't expect to get much sleep - a whole lot of sleepless nights lay ahead, as the world picked itself up, and he stood ready to help dust it down and tend to its wounds. The Traveller's offer had promised adventure beyond imagination, that Lee did not doubt, but an adventure of an entirely different sort was about to begin, on his very doorstep - and that sounded like the real challenge...

Miami... the next morning.

In a quiet corner of an unassuming cemetary in suburban Miami, there stands a stone, an edifice of flawless marble in the form of a truncated obelisk, on top of which perches a dove, wings out-stretched, a stylised heart bursting from its chest - and on the monument are carved the words:

MARIELLA ANTONIA DA SILVA

22 MAY 1992
-
3 SEPTEMBER 2008

DEARLY LOVED

GREATLY MISSED

NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN

"Damn", murmurs an impressed, and moved Mariella, as we stand before the grave-stone marking the resting place of her natural body. "Stacey, girlfriend, this is a genuine work of art..."

I don't say anything - it's not my place, or the appropriate time. In any case, places such as this always make me feel so weak, and powerless, and as I try to shake off that feeling, I look down at the base of the memorial, where withered flowers and faded photographs have been left by her family and friends - and I don't feel any better.

"This", says Mariella, picking up one of the pictures, "is me and my man, Paulo. Hot, don'tcha think...?"

Her cheerful demeanour falls under a heavy cloud of realisation, and she returns the photograph to where she found it. "Oh crap", she whispers. "I... I guess he was the first to find me, after... well, y'know what I mean."

"I suppose that is one of the things that'll make the next step especially hard", I remark. "Not being able to go to him, comfort him - let him know everything will be all right..."

"I thought you were supposed to be convincin' me that it's best for me to get outta here", says the girl, surprised. She has a lightness of spirit that, whilst it can wax and wane, remains impossible to extinguish.

"The best place to be isn't always the right place", I tell her. "Just like Sentinel Station is where I have to be, and not where I want to be."

"And what's his name?", asks my companion, slyly, nudging me with her leather-jacketed elbow. "Now, don't you try and deny it! I can see it from here - there's a man in your life...!"

I share a thought of Glitterthorn with Mariella, and for one blissful moment, she's struck dumb. It is, however, just one moment, its end heralded by a childlike squeal. "He is so foxy!", she shrieks. "Damn, girl - how lucky are you?"

"Luckier than I have any right to be, I imagine", comes my answer, and I'm hoping she'll leave it at that... but I should know better.

"So, is that your thing, eh? Tall guys who dress up like girls...?"

"When you're one step down from the gods, you can dress any way you like", I respond, trying to sound as flighty and carefree as Mariella. "Get used to things like that - every world on which you set foot from now on will challenge your Earth-centred point of view, and you will..."

The first sign I get that something is wrong comes when Mariella's hand comes to rest on my arm, and grips it firmly enough to bruise me. The lively energy has drained from her face, and her eyes are pools of conflicting emotion; fear, and soul-aching sadness...

A single sound passes from her lips: "No..."

I glance over my shoulder, to whatever has pinned my companion's soul to the spot in such a heart-wrneching fashion. A group of people are approaching, the only others in the cemetary at this time: a tall, gruff-featured man, with a brawny arm around the shoulders of a shorter, more rotund male of greater years; three young women - two much like Mariella in features and age, another of oriental appearance - and finally, lingering at the back of the group, a man whose face I just saw, for the first time, as a faded photograph...

It's Paulo; Mariella's boyfriend. The girls I recognise too, from a wild party in a scrapyard, what feels like an eternity ago. On this very day, at this very time, Mariella's family have come to pay their respects, possibly for the first time since the bio-probes turned their lives upside down.

"Please", whispers Mariella. "Please tell me they can't... they won't see us..."

"The psionic cloak is still in place", I assure her, softly. "They can't register our presence, in any way, or hear us. We... we can go, if you want..."

"N-no", mumbles Mariella, pressing close against me, leaning her head against my shoulder. "Not... not just yet."

We step aside, unheard, unseen, silent witnesses to the act of love and remembrance of the da Silva family, and "The Bloody Doves". Whatever troubles there once were between them, they are set aside, and forgotten here - Mariella has told me much about her big brother Mano; protective, yet prone to explosive rages, about Mariella's choice of company, and the arguments she used to have with her father about having a relationship with a man five years her elder. The old flowers are cleared away, and replaced by Anna Vardes and Connie Cruz, whilst the artist Stacey Onizuka removes one of the photos, and puts in its place a beautifully-drawn portrait of the four friends, heat-sealed in protective plastic...

Last of all, Paulo kneels at the grave-side, resting his forehead against the finely-veined stone. Tears fall from his eyes onto the grass, under which the mortal remains of his love are laid to rest - and I can feel Mariella fighting the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder, a move that will shatter the psychic illusion I am maintaining...

...but Mano's strong, weathered hand beats her to it, and Mariella can only bury her face in my chest, and cry her synthetic heart out. It's the very least I can do to put an arm around her, comfort her, but I do have an alterior motive - I don't want her to see me cry, too.

Paulo gets to his feet again, kissing the dove sculpture as he rises, then I feel Mariella starting to pull away from me, away from the graveside. I let her go, and she walks briskly away, flicking the tears from her eyes as she goes, never looking back. She only stops when she goes through the gates of a stately family mausoleum, and two strides later runs into the balcony railing on the external access platform inside the The Endless Sunrise.

"Are you all right?", asks Irinati, meekly.

I know what Mariella feels like saying - "I died, I just had to turn my back on my family and friends, perhaps forever - how 'all right' d'you think I am?" - but she doesn't turn those thoughts into words, for despite its apparent power, anger won't rewrite the past. "Just... just... let's go", she says instead. "Please."

The Traveller looks to me to give the word, and I nod in return. He descends to the control deck at the heart of the vessel, with Irinati not far behind him, but I stay at the balcony rail with Mariella until the crushing weight starts to lift from her heart. "I never - I never thought I'd see Paulo and Mano like that - y'know, not threatin' t'pound on each other", Mariella says eventually, sniffing back the last of her tears. "Not in a million years, and it took me dyin' t'make it happen..."

I don't know how to respond to that. I wish I could deliver some jewel of wisdom that would make the girl snap out of that kind of thinking - but instead, I find myself in debt to The Traveller, as he steps out onto the platform below, and calls up to us. "We're ready to leave", he informs us, "but I thought we might make a small detour before we break orbit. There's something I'd rather like to see - and I think you too might want to see as well. Especially you, Miss da Silva."

We join the others in the ship's control hub, just as the stained-glass outer hull of The Endless Sunrise is starting to rotate, but instead of detaching completely from Mariella's birth-world to venture into the interdimensional, we actually remain partly materialised in her native universe as the ship turns sharply west, skimming unseen and undetected over open countryside. After a couple of minutes, we turn more to the north, and a range of mountains starts to rise from the rugged landscape. "Guess those must be the Rockie Mountains", says Mariella. "Not exactly what I'd call a big deal, to be honest..."

The Endless Sunrise suddenly gains altitude, quite effortlessly, and the hull of the ship becomes transparent under our feet, causing both Mariella and Irinati to squeal in alarm. "Is this supposed to be some kind of idiotic joke?", I ask The Traveller, sharply. "If so, it isn't working!"

"No joke", he assures us. "Keep watching..."

Suddenly, an unnaturally regular shape sweeps past below us, straight lines gouged across the face of the wilderness, then another, and another. "Are... are those letters?", gasps Mariella. "They can't be. T... H... A - man, this is insane...!"

"No, it's a message to the world", corrects The Traveller. "It reads 'Thank you Bert', in letters half a mile high, burned fifty feet deep in the slopes of one of the biggest mountain ranges on this, or any other Earth. All courtesy of Lee Croxley."

"The guy who told us how Bert died?", queries Mariella. "He said he was going to make sure the world remembered him - but this... this is somethin' else."

"'Somethin' else' is my speciality", declares The Traveller, hands moving to a different set of controls, and the world starts to melt away beneath us. "Now, let me show you just what that means..."

"Sara... Sara, I'm coming. Not long now..."

"Mister Fortain...?"

Durash Fortain sat up sharply, the sudden motion catching his human circulatory system by surrpise, and making his head spin. There was a surge of nausea, but the banelorn gulped down air to stop himself from vomiting. "Wh-what...?", he spluttered, looking from side to side but finding no source for the man's voice, in the darkness. "Who...?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten so quickly", said the voice, calm, slightly arrogant, and chillingly alien.

"You", growled the artist, then his heart sank. "Oh, Ancestors of The Banelorn-Dur'aashe, please tell me I don't owe my life to..."

"We'll come to who is owed what, and by whom, all in good time", interrupted the voice, arrogance growing. "First things first - how do you feel?"

"Nauseous", snapped Fortain. "But given present company, that shouldn't be much of a surprise."

The voice sounded quite unmoved by the attempted insult. "It was a rather hurried teleport, and not without difficulty, even for me", it revealed. "There are, it appears, side-effects."

"Side-effects?", growled the banelorn. Explain."

A faint light blinked into being above Fortain's head, and the air in front of his face started to solidify, becoming opaque, then shiny - shiny enough to permit a reflection. "See for yourself."

Fortain gazed into the mirror - the face that looked back was mostly his, but the nose was bizarrely smeared to one side, and one eye... one eye was a swirling pool of glowing green, oily fluid.

The eye of a bio-probe.

"N-no...!", he gasped, swatting the floating mirror aside. "No!"

"I had to allow for some... fusion", said the voice, its source moving closer, allowing the overhead light to gleam on metal, and lacquered leather. "It was that, or leave you to die, and I wasn't about to give up on securing your unique talents..."

"Damn you", spat Fortain. "You'll get nothing from me!"

"Really?", responded the voice in the dark, with menace replacing haughtiness. "Then it seems I have wasted my time - and I do not like wasting time, not when events are moving so swiftly."

"Events?"

"Nothing we can do can possibly influence the outcome", the voice told him, suddenly sounding a lot less confrontational, "but there will be plenty of... opportunities when the dust clears, whoever wins. It is my intention to capitalise on those opportunities - and you can benefit from them, if you chose to assist me."

"What sort of assistance would you be requiring?", asked Fortain. His outrage was quickly giving way to curiosity, and perhaps hope.

"I am looking for something", said the voice, the light glinting on metal revealing more and more of the features of a metal mask, in the shape of a narrow, serpent-like head, with long, graceful horns. "A place, known only to those who have heard of it as 'Red Spires'. Find it for me, Mister Fortain, and there is every possibility that you will also find a cure for your current condition."

"You hardly showed yourself to be trustworthy when last we met", observed Fortain. "You very nearly destroyed my work..."

"...as did you, just before I was compelled to intervene, and rescue you", the voice intervened. "Such... irrational actions are hardly indicative of someone who might have any claim to the title 'trustworthy'. Trust in this, Fortain of Durash - your current physiological predicament will be paradise compared to what you can expect to suffer for betraying Reignstorm."

The dragon's-face mask leaned in closer to Fortain, lunging fully into the growing light from above. "Very well", murmured the banelorn, eyes narrowing against the dazzling light reflecting off the metal. "When do we begin...?"

"We already have", said Reignstorm, proudly. "The Multiverse just doesn't know it yet."

Stacey Onizuka woke up in a cold sweat, heart outracing a rave club drum-machine. She had had strange dreams before, and sometimes even welcomed them as inspiration for her art, but the dream she had just escaped from was somehow more haunting, more troubling, than anything she had ever known before...

In the bathroom, Stacey plunged her face into a sink full of cold water, but that didn't help much. Her heart was slowing, that much was true, but the unease remained - unlike other dreams, so much of it had survived waking, and stayed ingrained in her memory. The girl had been in her room, cowering under the sheets, and there had been someone else in the room with her - a woman with a soft, yet

"Have you ever wondered, Stacey Onizuka, just where do you come from?", the stranger had purred. "The land of your fore-fathers does not exist on this world, so how can you possibly have come to be...?"

Stacey sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, wiping cold water from her face. "This is bullshit", she muttered to herself, leaning on her knees, lowering her head almost as though she was about to faint. "I'm just... just all tense about visiting Mari's grave - yeah, that's it. Just a little freak-out... that's all."

After about half an hour, Stacey felt as though she could at least try to get back to sleep, even though the dream was still firmly wedged in her mind. "Let me help you", the strangely reassuring voice had said. "Look to the west, and see with unfettered eyes, my dear - let The Lady In White guide you..."

Stacey laughed to herself as she switched on the bedroom light. The Lady In White... she sounded like some cheap cartoon character, the product of an imagination far outclassed by her own...

It was then that imagination and reality collided with such force that it left Stacey reeling, not knowing any more what was real, and what was fantasy. Fastened to the headboard of the girl's bed was something that had not been there when she first went to sleep - a white rose, secured in place by a length of white ribbon...

Posted at 23:56 on 22.11.2009


~ o O o ~


Previously...
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Epilogue - 22.11.2009
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 16 - 21.11.2009
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 15 - 19.11.2009
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 14 - 17.11.2009
Interlude: Another Mosaic Of Soon-To-Be... - 15.11.2009