I don't need anyone to tell me that I'm lucky my back is turned. As it is, both the man and the kid look to be blinded by Tor's Light. I stay crouched, though; this guy's the type that'll lunge forward in a rage, swinging out at anything he can hit. Several silent moments pass, during which it finally dawns on me that it truly is silent. There is no noise coming from the corridor and from inside the room, the only movement is that of the child Key, who begins again to struggle in his attacker's grip. But the man himself does not move. I turn to see if Tor's alright. He's slumped on the floor, pale and tired-looking, but conscious. For a brief second, I think I see a feathery after-image surrounding him. Funny the tricks light can play.

His hand flutters loosely, gesturing at the boy. Carefully, I approach the two; the man remains motionless. The child is trying desperately to pull his wrist out of the man's grasp, but the fingers seem to be as frozen as the rest of him. I look at the thug impassively for a moment; he's nothing I haven't seen before. And it's simple to do what I have always wanted to do to his kind. I glance back at Tor, but his eyes are steel as he regards the bastard, so no worries. I take my knife and slice him. Twice. The first to cut off his dick. The second across the stomach. He deserves to die slow. Then I break his fingers and pull the kid free. It's odd, though. He still doesn't move. The flesh is severed where I cut it, but it stays where it is. The fingers move gratingly when I pull on the broken bones.

"He shall move again when the time is come." The voice is odd and I whirl around, the kid's hand still in mine. Tor is the only one standing there, but his eyes have changed, turned smooth like hematite. The voice is his, but it has an odd, bell-like quality that is wholly unlike his usual smooth speech. He begins to speak again. "He hath been judged, and so hath he been punished."

I swallow. I wasn't not quite expecting this. But still... "I know you, don't I?" I ask.

He smiles and the room brightens. "We do know one another better than a mother doth her child, a husband, his wife. And yet now, in this time, we know one another not at all."

There is an answering pull of recognition somewhere deep within me, but I don't think I can deal with it. Not now. "I get the idea, but I don't think we have time for this right now," I point out.

"True," the Other replies. "'We are in the Realm whose Master is Time.' And to such I must submit." The Light seems to gather itself into the boy and the room becomes dim once more. Tor blinks and takes a step back. Sock flutters about him, obviously concerned. I watch him, but his eyes are only startled, not frightened or confused.

I turn to the kid, who's watching all of this with wide eyes. He, too, seems to have lost his fear. "Put some clothes on, kid," I tell him. "We're leaving this place." He nods and disappears into a closet nearby. "You okay?" I ask Tor. He nods.

"I think so. We had best go, correct?"

"Yeah. I don't know how long this little freezing thing of yours will last. And who you've frozen." The kid reappears, dressed in a thin vest and long skirt. I roll my eyes. "Tuck that skirt up so's you can run, kid. Tor, grab your bag. And let's go."

There's enough movement in the hallways to mask the unease. More people are frozen here, but it seems to be selective. The outsiders are the majority of the ones who cannot move, though some of the statues seem to be staff and masters. The Keys are being shepherded by the staff down the hall and into the stairway we planned to use. With a sigh, I sheathe my knife and haul the kid up, carrying him in one arm. My other hand takes Tor's. "I don't want to lose you two in this crush," I explain. "Come on."

I shoulder my way through the throng, noting vaguely the condition of our companions. Some are untouched, scared only. Others have been badly battered, the walking wounded helped by those still whole. My heart aches to see one boy, frail and beautiful as a butterfly's wing. Half his face and his entire forearm have been burned. The singed remains of opalescent white hair frames what remains. I can see the muscles in his face, taut, as he struggles not to cry in pain. Because the tears hurt like hell. Still, his companion cradles him close, with a gentleness and solicitude I envy.

We move quickly; no one wants to take the chance that the mob might begin to move again. At the bottom of the stairs, we find ourselves in the basement levels. The Keys are being guided into a doorway that was guarded by a heavy metal door, a solid slab of steel interlaced with various circuitry. I haul the three of us out of the tide, wanting to size up my options before committing myself.

"Well, you can fuck me silly!" A drawling voice sounds and I turn to see a young man approaching us. He's not terribly tall and he's very slender, which gives him an elvish look, as does the black hair half pulled back in the old Chinese fashion, which emphasizes his fine-boned face. Dressed in a black-and-gold embroidered tunic and pants, he's obviously one of the Palace staff. "I didn't think you'd make it out alive, White Magic Key," he continues, stopping just in front of us. "You seem to be enemy number one on this little party's shit list."

"I am afraid I do not know what you mean, Fan," Tor replies, as polite as if we were at a formal dinner.

"Oh, you don't, do you?" His voice is positively dripping with poison. "You can make it from your suite down to the basement, even with this weird frozen-time thing, and not notice that every single one of these bastards knows your name and what you fucking look like? Damn you, Toreador; you brought this on us!"

Tor looks like a child that has been slapped. Sock--whom I admit I had forgotten--flies angrily near the young man's face. "I beg to differ," I reply, my own voice matching Fan's tone for tone. "If they had wanted Tor alone, there are far easier ways of accomplishing that goal. The Palace was chosen as a target because of its high profile and relatively low security. I mean, good God, this is practically a massacre! You should pay more attention to the outside world, Fan. There is a lot more going on here and a lot more at stake than your worthless little life."

"It may be worthless," he grinds out, "but it happens to be my life and I damn well want to keep it! And I rather think that that's impossible with this high-and-mighty dumbass here endangering the lot of us! There may be more going on here, but the fact is that whatever else they're up to, they want his ass. And frankly, I think they're welcome to it."

I am about to retort when another man breaks in. Our conversation has apparently not gone unnoticed, though the majority of people choose whatever safety lies behind the door rather than stay to listen to us bitch at each other.

"Calm down, Fan," he says soothingly. "You're not helping the situation any." The bastard glares at the interloper--a handsome, true-black man--but remains silent as the man cocks an eyebrow at him. "However, I must admit Fan has a point."

Tor swallows. "Castor..." he whispers.

He holds up a hand. "Tor, we must face the facts. And one of them is that these people know exactly what you look like, down to the shoes on your feet. And they want you. For whatever reason, they want you. We don't know how long this temporary safety will last, but I don't want to bet on it staying in place forever. And when it falls, you're the one they'll be coming after. If you remain here, you will be a danger to us all, including yourself."

"You are saying I should leave, then." The boy has somehow regained his composure. He speaks calmly.

"Yes, I think you should. It is better to hide than to be killed in pointless battle."

"There are some who would disagree."

"True... but they're not the ones talking to you." Castor holds up a hand again, suddenly, for silence. He listens for a moment. "It's beginning again," he says, quickly. "We have no time. Give me Irin; I'll take care of him." Slightly dazed, I realize he's talking about the child. I hand the boy over. "Now, how were you going to get out of here?"

"The old tunnels. Can I get through the doors?" I ask, pulling my knife out from my boot.

"Key," Castor replies cryptically, but it's plain enough when he slaps a circuit key into my palm. The small silver cube is warm in my hand. "Lock it after you. And may Kannon smile on you."

"On all of us," I say, but both he and Fan have already turned away and are busy helping the other Keys. "Let's go," I continue. Tor nods silently. As we hurry towards the forgotten corner of the basement, we hear the echoes of the roaring sound that means the chaos is coming our way. I fumble with the key and the lock, but manage to get the damn thing open. We dart in and as we close the door behind us, we catch a glimpse of the tide as it rolls in.

Both of us--actually three of us, if you count Sock, clutching Tor's shoulder--race the first mile or two, unnerved by the sights and sounds, afraid of pursuit, afraid of the pitch blackness. I finally slow us down. I need to check the signs to make sure we're following the right line and Tor isn't up to this sort of strenuous exercise. Poor kid. He's been tripping over the ties in the tracks. I'm used to it; the stations and lines are the best places to have unobserved meetings. And there's never any light. Anything electric would show on the city's power grid. A fire would set off the heat sensors and their alarms. Only people and rats don't disturb the delicate binary balance of the city's safeguards.

So by the time a 'Sider is a teenager, s/he knows the subway lines by heart. You can feel a station by its large, echoing darkness. If you're lost, you feel for a sign on the wall, or on the floor below. They ain't in Braille, but the way they were painted leaves faint edges that you can feel--and decipher, if you know what you're doing and have a rough idea of where you are.

"We've got a ways to go yet," I say, my voice echoing weirdly. I squeeze his hand reassuringly. "Still, I know where we are and where we're going. Here, why don't you walk in the middle, where there ain't any tracks? Just hang on to my hand."

"Where are we?" Tor sounds pale, ghostly in the darkness.

"Hiro-o station. The Palace is in the Roppongi district. I know none of this really means anything to you, but I'm taking you to Ikebukuro. Should be far enough."

"Very well."

We walk on in the darkness, not speaking, just listening to the sounds of the rats scurrying in the darkness. I keep an ear out for the sounds of human rats as well. We have enough troubles without breaking in on a private meeting or finding a pocket of folks who know who Tor is. A short time later, we reach the next station on the line, Ebisu, which brings its own set of problems: we have to change lines. I climb nimbly onto the platform, but for Tor it's more difficult. He has no concept of how to climb and no muscles from being cooped up in those rooms.

I reach down in the darkness. "Take my hands." He grips them and I pull up. He's light, like a child almost. There's a muffled grunt. "You okay?" I ask.

"I am all right," he answers. "I simply grazed my nose on the concrete. At least, I assume it was concrete."

"Here, let me see." My fingers travel along his arm and shoulder. When they brush his neck, he gives another slight gasp. "That hurt?" I wouldn't have thought it would be, but if something had happened in the Palace...

"No." He sounds slightly strangled. "It is perfectly fine. My neck is just... a little sensitive. My reaction is normal."

"Normal, hmmm?" Not where I'm from, my lad. I trail my fingers down his neck again; his skin is softer than the silks he wears. Tor shudders slightly and I feel the touch of his own fingers on the back of my hand. I clasp it in mine and draw it down. He can't see the frown on my face, though he can probably hear it. "This ain't the Palace. I ain't your Master anymore, Tor."

"Then what are you?" His voice is low, and I can't tell his emotions.

"I dunno," I reply, nonchalant. "Friend? Enemy? Guide dog? How the hell should I know? And I damn well don't want to figure it out now. Just lemme check your nose and we can go."

"All right."

My fingers skitter across his face and I finally find the scraped nose. "Well, you ain't bleeding. It'll hurt for a bit, but it's okay."

"Thank you."

"Now grab hold of my tunic. I gotta find the damned stairs." The long fingers find my torso, then easily navigate around to the back, where they clutch long folds. I thank God I'm wearing thin-soled shoes and begin to feel around with my feet for the edge of the bumpy strip that marks the end of the platform. I start walking, reaching my arm out carefully to find the solid wall that marks the stairs. Fortunately, this station doesn't connect to anything else, so when I find it, I don't have to waste time searching for the carved markers that tell me where it goes. For us, it's up and out!

We blink a bit when we emerge, but there really isn't much light; it's night and the only light is from the buildings halfway to the sky. Not that it's much different during the day. A friend of mine told me that you could see stars at one time from the ground. I asked him what in the hell a star was.

The JR station's a little bit harder to find, since they sealed the thing and built over it, but in a small alley between two buildings, there's a large crack in the concrete. Most folks as don't live here think it's just a result of the last earthquake. I squeeze in first, then help Tor in after me. People have carved the walls with symbols; I follow them to the right direction. Once we're on the tracks, I grin. "We're home-free now," I tell Tor happily. "It'll be a bit of a walk, but we stay on this track until we're done."

"Where do we go from here, then?" he asks.

"Ikebukuro, like I said," I tell him impatiently. "Now let's get going. The only thing we're gonna do by standing here is attract the rats."

For one who's used to running around the city, it isn't much of a walk, but we're not even halfway before Tor begins to falter. "What's wrong?" I ask, stopping.

"It is nothing. I am fine."

"Fine, my ass. You're starting to trip all over the place and there ain't nothing there to trip on. Now, 'fess up."

"I am... not sure, Master. My feet are hurting in several places."

"Hell. You've probably got blisters. Well, I ain't ever tried it, but why don't you climb on my back and I'll carry you for a bit? Don't want the damned things breaking."

"Breaking?" Tor's voice rises slightly.

"It ain't the end of the world," I reply impatiently, "but there's a lot of crap down here that you don't want in an open wound. Now get on, will you?"

It's not so hard. Like I said, Tor's pretty damned light. And it's interesting to have a sort of human backpack. Still, it does get tiring after a bit. Tor's bundle is banging against my chest. And the damned kid's breathing on my cheek. It tickles like hell.

But we go on. I let him down for a bit and he leans on me while limping down the tunnel. Then up on my back again. I almost lose track of where we are. Still, we arrive at Ikebukuro more or less in one piece. I haul us out of the various cracks and crannies into the warm, humid night air.

"There isn't much to see, is there?" Tor looks around him with wide eyes.

"Nope. This is streetside, remember? There ain't anything here that anyone actually wants." I bend back a little to stretch and resettle my camera bag in a new spot on my shoulder.

"Where do we go from here?" He continues to look as though a car is going to magically appear and take him away.

"We?" I give Tor a look. "Look, my boy, I took you where I said I was going to. I got you out and safe. My job is done. Where you go from here is your lookout."

naze ni naze ni kagiri aru mono
yume wo uragiru no ka?
dou ka dou ka boku no hitomi no
taiyou ubawanaide yo
hakanakute kanashii utsukushikimono
sabaku ni kaerinasai Caravan SARAI
akai bara ni ochita ame no shizuku mo
itsuka wa toki wo koe ishizue ni

Why? Why? Why do mortal things
Betray their dreams?
Please, please don't steal
The sun from my eyes

Fleeting, unhappy, beautiful things
Return to the desert on the next caravan
The drops of rain falling on red roses
Also transcend time on the cornerstones
--"Mizu no Naka no Chiisana Taiyou" by Weiß Kreuz (Yuuki Hiro)

"... Where you go from here is your lookout..."

I... I suddenly feel very conscious of my clothes, torn and dirtied. My hair is a mess and I know without looking that the rest of me isn't any better. My hand strays to my head, brushing the strands back. But the only thing that feels real is the barest pressure on my shoulder where Sock has been perched this entire time. "Where--" My voice rises, cracks, "where shall I go, then?"

Master shrugs loosely, completely indifferent. "Wherever you want. You've got an entire city--an entire country--to choose from. You've got enough in that bundle to keep you for the next hundred years. It's entirely up to you." He is turning around. He is walking away. Leaving.

"Ma-- Pasha," I call after him. He turns back and I see him under the dim lights, his hair darkened, tumbled around his face like a black lion's mane. His face: angular, lean, hard, proud as the devil. His hands: large, callused, capable. A man as familiar to me as the face I see in the mirror. A man I know less of than a Master I see for only one night. I look away and speak. "I know," I whisper, ashamed. I have nothing to offer any more. No value. No knowledge. No purpose. No reason he should care whether I live or die.

They never do, you know. Marius? I think of him briefly. Perhaps. But it didn't matter. I knew then who I was and what I wanted. I had a purpose and I was fulfilled. But now? What do I have now? "Please."

I still have a little of my old pride, which keeps me on my feet as he walks back towards me. I can see the striations in his eyes, those fantastical purple eyes. I can see every faint line that marks those fingertips as his own. They blur suddenly, curiously. But then I feel them, drifting gently down the side of my face. They become damp and I realize that the moisture is from my own face. I raise my hand to my other cheek, but Pasha takes it in his own. "I have never cried before."

He lowers his hand from my face, then leans forward slightly. I feel the lightest pressure of a kiss at the corner of my eye. I can do no more than blink at him as he pulls away.

"Let's go home, Tor." I feel a smile form on my face, a wide smile that would never have been permitted to the White Magic Key.

"Yes," I answer. For now, there is nothing else to say.

sabita mujou ni hodasare ochiteyuku tenshitachi
kimi ga fureru yubisaki ni karen na hana ga umarete
kieteyuku kakotachi ga te o furu you ni
atatakai nukumori ni modoritai

From your rusted heartlessness, relent. O descending angels,
where you touch with a fingertip, a lovely flower is born.
I want to return to that pleasant warmth,
to wave a hand at the gradually-fading days that have gone.
--"Angelo" by ZAZEL (Koyasu Takehito)

~~~~~~~~~~

Osorenaide Ikite yukeru
Anata ga iru kara, ha...
Osorenaide Nigiri shimeta
Te o hanashi wa shinai kara

Donıt be afraid, you go on living
because I have you, ah
Donıt be afraid, Iıll hold you tightly
because I won't let your hand slip by
--"Ryoute Ippai" by Norihiro Tsuru (fr. Heroic Legend of Arislan)