Acissey's heart burned with a fury. She'd fallen, curled up and cramped into the same fetal position in which her son had once been, back when innocence seemed eternal and ignorance was truly bliss. She'd not known what happened and in her tiny, limited view of the world she'd believed this was the witch's punishment. She wasn’t so very wrong and yet she'd believed she was the only one who'd suffered.

Naught was she so sorry for how she'd felt, but she'd learned now to give the witch her due. Ciroc was indeed a child born to twin mothers, no less than if each found a way to bring him about all on their own. Never had she thought the witch possessed a drop of mercy or love, but she was alive and that could not but be a mercy. She still breathed because of love, her love and the witch's.

All the world was a blur of pain but within it she could see a new miracle being birthed; Ciroc had indeed been pulled from death's door. Though his panic and pain seemed no less than her own, he was now conscious. He curled into his own ball of agony as well he should. He'd been reborn and that was never a pleasant process as she well knew.

She wished ever for her focus to remain upon her son, but the world was in a panic. All around her she saw death and pain as if far more than just her son had been reborn. Death and pain never rang to the tone of anything good. Yet they did now. This was far from her own thought; that much she knew. This much she'd been told assumingly by the witch who, though she knew not how, had orchestrated this most recent of events and likely most everything else.

As it had always been known when something strange happened it was attested to the witch. This was always in reference to something bad, or otherwise evil, but now she knew better. The witch knew well how to love and only good things could come from love. So she wasn’t a being of pure wickedness, but there was little to convince Acissey evil hadn't consumed nearly all of her. It was a simple formula . . . one good thing had the power to change all else. Take that away and a demon was born.

Ciroc had forever been an integral part of the witch. Acissey had simply refused to see it till now. Sharing him wasn’t only mandatory, but it could help to bring about a new era, for none knew better than her how utterly corruptible the Council had become. As had everyone who valued life, she'd simply kept quiet about all such things. Not now though. Not ever again.

The Council was finished. Indeed, Acissey could see two more of the customary yellow robed men lying dead. That direction of the beach was positively littered with them. The burning wrenched her attention back and forth among them; so many, and yet she couldn't bring herself to focus on a single one, much less count them to be sure. Where was the last of them? Where was Rethon, the man who had ever so temporarily saved them all?

She knew Rethon. She knew them all. She hadn't been much more than cordial to any of them. She knew something of what they hid and suspected they'd far deeper, darker secrets that were best kept that way. Suffice to say she knew what they were capable of. Out of them all, down to the last, Rethon was the most honorable. She wasn't exactly sure that was saying much in such company, but there it was and she was grateful that she couldn't find him.

Naturally, that didn't mean much. Through the squinting pain and the agonizing screams emanating from all over the beach all she could really make out were the robes. Face down or not, at this distance she'd not been able to make out a single face. Nor, being curled deeper and deeper within the blood soaked sand, had she the proper vantage point to even count them all. Still! She must focus! Lest the pain best her and drag her down to the depths, SHE MUST FOCUS!

Saying it did not make it so. She didn’t know why she'd not simply focused on her son. Why wouldn't she? Suddenly she knew . . . guilt. It was devouring her. She knew so much of this was her fault. She'd known the moment she'd seen Ciroc dragged up on the beach by a little girl. The blood was everywhere even then. If that was so, how could there be more now? Still there was and it covered her. It was in essence a reversal. When he was first born there was a great pain and her blood had covered him. Now it seemed it was her turn for both, though the pain, that was hers on both occasions.

As then to now she did so suffer. Even as she silently mouthed the word ”Sorry”, the tears found new passages past wrinkles that seemed to protrude from her face only moments earlier. Her mouth grimaced at the realization. A solitary hair had fallen across her battered face and then another. Then her eyes swam with the multitude of them. They were all, every last one, white.

# # #

What of the end of it all? A new dawn for Lagoon? Was such a thing even possible? Was change possible? The moment Rethon's blade sliced through Achon's neck he'd felt paralyzed by fear. This was already a creeping thing. With every yellow robe that fell a nail was thrust through his temple and yet, one was also removed.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

At the joining a bond was formed, a mental bond. It connected them all. It hadn’t made everything known. In a house of endless secrets such a thing was never allowed, but it did let all know when one was in danger and certainly when one had died. It was not a pleasant thing, but it was a freeing thing . . . at least for the likes of him. As a Council member there’d always been responsibility and high expectations, however, the constant murmurings and other such secrets piled high a burden after only a few months. He'd not been privy to these things for his low status within the ranking, but even down through the years he was seen for what he was . . . a man of morals. Such men weren’t to be trusted within the Council.

Since the beginning he'd only ever wanted what was best for the people of Lagoon. This was burdensome enough when the warriors came forth to be chosen for battle. Each Council member chose a man in turn. Who exactly was he supposed to pick? Who was the best warrior? Who was the best telepath? Who did he loathe the most? Who was the vilest of men? Who beat their wives and treated their children like dogs? Who indeed? These criteria were just as valid as anything else, for he was most assuredly sending each and every one to their deaths far from home. To date he'd not witnessed a single one return and he'd done this twice; tearing men from their families.

Beyond this he felt he was the only one who’d wanted what was best for anyone other than himself, or perhaps his family. As such he was ostracized and detested. An eye, mental or otherwise, was always upon him. The law, as if they'd ever cared, stated that he'd broken no decree and so could not be justly punished. However, outside the law, which was where all other Council members flourished, he'd considered himself lucky to survive each day. After all, they'd taken him under their wings upon the simple pretense that they could change him. They’d yet to do that and would now never get another chance.

Rethon had seen the last two Council members fall as he was falling. He'd believed himself as dead as they, but such was not the case. He writhed in pain, while they hadn't moved a muscle. They were gone and he was the last. The beach was filled with turmoil. Others had fallen. He felt each as a personal loss. It was his job to look after them. He'd failed on so many counts, but what exactly could he have done against such odds? The mind shear culled the herd and in so doing brought low the pride of Lagoon.

Who remained to carry on? He did. Unbelievably he did. So though his brain felt riddled with each lost “brother” and his heart burnt to a cinder, he forced himself up. He must help those who remained. At the first step he fell again and this time he knew better than to try. He seemed stricken by the same curse that befell them all. They must now help themselves.

# # #

Days seemed to pass in this moment of joy. Though a thousand years of guilt had crippled Diote, she remained the only living person on the whole of Lagoon who'd not been either killed or stricken with a debilitating pain. This was bar Ciroc himself, but he'd been burdened with his own pain and likely wouldn’t have survived more. Yet he lived! He breathed! He spoke! And . . . he suffered so.

Diote swore from that moment on ever to heed his call. Though all manner of turmoil surrounded them both, they were all each other saw. In a world filled with blood and pain, nothing else mattered. Time remained for all the rest. This was a moment all their own and would ever be. Then pain or no, Diote leaned forward and embraced her love and kissed him for the first time and deeply so.

# # #

Ciroc's was a pain forgotten. It ebbed and throbbed, but he bore it down. His lungs seemed to burn with the death that was nearly his, but he bade it wait. Diote was upon him and that was all that mattered in a world filled with death.

They seemed to remain there for eons. An embrace so sweet, only Mother Sea could know. As the world collided with chaos they eventually let through a solitary voice. They'd both looked down to see his mother. Had she always been there, lying and trembling? Had her hair ever been so pristinely white? Something new had happened here, but something new was happening everywhere. This didn’t seem so utterly shocking. From her a barely audible word seemed to reverberate within both their minds . . . help.

Their eyes followed hers to an unsteady finger pointed at the eternal tide. It shook wide with pain and at times seemed to peak at the lowest of the twin suns, but past the pain ridden shore, out upon the empty horizon something neared. It was not so small anymore and bobbed upon the tide with waves that grew exponentially. The clouds now bore a grayish tint and swelled as they joined one another. The winds had picked up and then they knew . . . atop all the chaos, all hell was about to break loose.

# # #

The winds had nearly forced Mrageden free of the tear-hut. Past his wife's screams and the thunder that bore down upon them they'd reached land, yet a drenched and battered sort as the rains beat down all the eye could see. Still, they'd come home. A deepening sorrow overtook them, but there was nothing for it. The tempest held sway over them and that had been sent by the witch. They now must do her bidding as escape was no longer in sight.

Neither heard another word within their minds. Raef wasn’t gifted and Mrageden wasn’t gifted to any degree that should matter. Still, the din nearly rose above that of the storm once they were thrust upon the beach. The first sight gave bid to chaos, but beyond this two children stood before them, rain ridden and wind torn. An utter solitude overcame them both as if naught a hint of evil had ever touched them. These seemed immune to the tempest and the damnation that had befallen all of Lagoon.

The girl held forth a hand and said, "Welcome home."

END