Cause and Effect (14 Feb 2002) Tom, Rachel and Simon discuss the relationship between Ainigton and Mirari.

Campfire by Bandit's Point
Almost disappointingly, the woods are quiet with no signs of the bandits for which the hill trail was named. The trees are normal-sized, though after the Golden Woods, they seem like frosted miniatures. Bandit's Point itself is a slope of ground rising up to a rocky outcropping that overlooks what was once a valley of grass and trees, but now seems desolate. At night, starlight reflects strangely off of the icicles formed off of the rocks.

From one of two tents pitched in the snow, a young woman scrambles out, clothing disarrayed and sleep-rumpled, cradling a cocked and loaded crossbow in her right arm. "Thomas?" she calls out, glancing around the site worriedly. "Simon?"

Sir Lefallon peers closely at his sword, turning it to catch the firelight so that he can see the metal is untarnished -- not something he would have expected -- then lowers it and looks up at Thomas silently. His face is troubled.

Thomas doesn't answer right away. He gathers himself and shakily forces himself up from where he collapsed. His sword is sheathed and he takes a breath. "We're in the tent," Thomas calls out at last, sounding weary. He then looks toward Sir Lefallon, the firelight highlighting how haggard and tired he is, beyond the norm of just a long day of travel.

A moment later, a pale hand draws back the tent flap, and Rachel's anxious face glances inside. She holds the crossbow, pointed at the ground, in her free hand. "I dreamed I heard a fight, but could not move or see who was fighting. Are you all right?" she asks.

"That was no dream," Thomas replies. "Things have gotten -- worse." He tosses his sword to the side. "Jack sent a calling card."

"What?" Rachel asks, a question, not an exclamation. She takes another look around the tent, frowning in concentration as she sees nothing out of place other than the drawn swords. "What happened?"

Sir Lefallon puts his sword back in its sheath and sits tailor-fashion, making room for Rachel to come join them. "I only awoke a little while ago, so I missed some of whatever awoke Thomas, milady," he says apologetically.

Thomas takes a slow breath, then looks at the fire. "He's playing games with me. He wants to hurt me -- and he has," Thomas says. "I think I understand what happened all those years ago. He didn't destroy me because he wanted me to bear witness to him destroying all I knew and cared about." He slowly looks back to Rachel and says, voice cracking slightly, "He sent Randall to kill me, Rachel. He's enslaved the soul of my old friend."

The fae girl inhales sharply. She fully enters the tent and seals the flap behind her, then sits cross-legged on the tent floor. She draws the quarrel out of her crossbow, looking down at it as she does so. A fall of black hair hides her face, but it cannot conceal the quaver in her voice. "A -- a wraith, Thomas?"

"Yes," comes the soft reply.

Rachel folds her hands over the unloaded weapon. "What -- what happened to him? To it?"

"Sir Lefallon struck him down. He begged me to kill him, I didn't have the heart to strike the blow," Thomas admits. He sits down and looks at his hands. "I'll have to face him again. He is not gone permanently."

Sir Lefallon looks shaken. "He was no ordinary ghost. He had strength, and ... he bled. Until he vanished."

The girl unwinds the crank of her crossbow slowly, releasing the tension on the string. "I ... I wish I could say I did not believe it, Thomas. Was there aught else?"

"He had tried to draw me off alone, but I would not go. Something seemed wrong," Thomas says, thinking back on it and shaking slightly. "And when I looked into his eyes -- I knew. The Destroyer already had him."

"The travels will get much harder from here on out. Jack knows for certain I have returned now. And, he knows where we are," Thomas then says. "I have no choice, I must continue on; to free my friend if nothing else. You two, the choice of which you do now is up to you. I would understand if you wished to turn back."

"No, Lord Thomas," Rachel lifts her face to look into his eyes, her own face pale, but no less determined. "We have been down this path before. I will not leave you. I doubt not that Simon feels the same."

Sir Lefallon nods. "Aye, you've no need to fear that I'd turn from your side. It's not in me to abandon a friend even were not this a quest for the good of Mirari," he assures Thomas.

Thomas nods. He then says, "Then be prepared to have your emotions assaulted as we go. For me it's been Elyssa and now Randall. Somehow, I suspect Oberia will be next. Should you have any regrets, expect them to be used against you. It's one of Eoin's -- Jack's ways."

"Eoin?" Rachel asks, querulously. She clasps her hands more tightly together, but whatever doubts or fears she might have at the explorer's words, she keep them to herself.

"'Lord Eoin of January,' some information Agatha sent. It solidified my suspicions and gave me another of his names. 'Lord Eion,' or should I say, John Harcourt. His identity as John I learned from Lady Cherise."

"John ... Harcourt?" The fae girl brushes her hair back from her face, watching Tom. "Then -- you think the Destroyer is connected with that family, too. Like Lord Bram, and Lady Angelique."

"And to Ryan Jordan -- King Riordan," Thomas says with a nod. "He was Bram's and Angelique's brother, and according to Lady Cherise, hated Mirari. Even your legends speak of that -- his anger at Riordan being chosen King over him."

"The Year's End has always wanted the throne," Rachel agrees, quietly. "But -- who is this Lady Cherise of whom you speak? I do not recall us meeting such a noble."

"Lady Cherise lives in the mortal realm now. She was the founder of House February," Thomas replies. "In the mortal realm, she is my grandmother. I have learned much from her about the early days."

The young woman gasps. "Your grandmother? But -- how can that be? The founder of House February? But -- surely -- that makes no sense." Rachel places a hand against her forehead, shaking her head. "I do not understand how such a thing could be."

"I do not claim to understand it all. I only know what I have learned," comes Tom's reply. "Even you have said time flows differently in this world and the mortal realm. With her information, I know when the beginning of the lands of Mirari was, based on the timeline of the mortal realm. I also know why the tradition has always been that a King rules for only one Year. But, I've probably said too much already."

"Too much for what?" Rachel sets her mouth in a line, looking between Tom and Simon. "Am I not to be trusted? How much are you keeping from me, Lord Explorer, and may I at least know the reason why?"

"Because I fear what I have learned could threaten the foundations of this world, Rachel," Thomas replies softly as he watches her. "It has nothing to do with trust; I do trust you. Consider this: How would the nobles of Mirari feel that some of their ancestors yet live, but only in another world? How would they feel learning that a King doesn't have to rule only a Year, but that it was only so because of something that happened in the mortal realm?"

"I swore I'd find the answer one day. Now that I have, I'm sorry I did," Thomas says ruefully.

"The mortal realm does not control us," Rachel says, stubbornly. "We are separate realms. The Rule of a Year has always been true -- that can't be something invented by your mortal grandmother. That -- that can't be true..." She trails off. "Can it?"

"What about the Grail, then?" Thomas says sadly. "The Rule of a Year was invented by King Riordan, because Ryan Jordan had to move from Ainigton -- one year after he was crowned. The mortal realm and this one are tied tightly together. One affects the other."

"But -- King Riordan -- he was the greatest king Mirari ever knew," Rachel looks stunned, uncertain what to say or even think. "Does that mean ... that King Riordan is still alive, too? In the mortal realm?"

"It's quite possible he is. I had intended to follow up on that when I returned there," Thomas replies, then adds, "if I returned there. Bram and Angelique, alas, are no longer alive."

This reminder brings Rachel back to their present predicament. She looks at the floor of the tent, then says, "The Harcourts are all dead. That is why the manor was abandoned, because there were no heirs. All of them. That means John, too. If the Destroyer is John, how can he yet live?"

"And how can I have been reborn in the mortal realm, and have vanished here?" Thomas inquires. "Consider this: If a soul can obviously travel one way, why not the other?"

"I do not understand any of this, Thomas," the young woman admits. "It seems against everything I believe in. And yet ... I was sent to Ainigton because Lord October knew there was a connection there, between you and the others, and Mirari. There was always something about you ... but I did not think it would be like this."

Thomas' eyebrow goes up. "Always something about me?" he inquires. "And I do not pretend to understand all of it. I am only stating what I have uncovered. Not all the puzzle pieces are in place. Not yet."

"You, Rebecca, Agatha, Alice, and even Simon," she says. "When first Lord October's crows took interest in you, we thought that it was Rebecca, more than any of the others. But as soon as I played the first ... game ... I knew that there had to be something more. A power within you. Inside all of you...." She stares at her hands.

"So, is that why the Ryland took items that belonged to us?" Thomas asks.

Rachel nods. "Yes. We wanted to study them, to understand you. To tap at that ... power." She exhales. "Now, perhaps, we have." She pushes her hands through her hair at the sides of her head, holding it back from her face. "It's like the Destroyer. I do not want to believe. But it does not matter. Some things are true whether you believe them or not."

"Well, you see why I was loathe to reveal what I knew. It's not a simple truth, nor an easy one," Thomas says. The boy then shrugs and adds, "What this does give us, though, is the power to stop the Destroyer, permanently. People always accepted that he would return. Why? Because it was just the way things were. We can change that. I suspect if we wished, we could even call a Siege and travel between the worlds at whim, in fact."

Sir Lefallon looks amazed. "How would such a grand feat be possible?"

"We believe we can't, so ... we can't. Believe we can and it may become true," Thomas replies. "That's the best I can offer. I do not understand all yet."

"Then -- maybe we should try it," Rachel suggests. She seems briefly surprised by her own boldness, but presses on. "If it's what you believe that makes the difference then -- well -- why not try to change something?"

"Well, I don't want to leave this world, not yet. But change something -- sure. Do you have any ideas on something you'd like to change, then?" Thomas asks.

"Many!" Rachel says, with a half-laugh. "I would like to see the King returned to Mirari, and not have to give up his throne. I would like the Winter to end and Spring to finally come. I would like the Destroyer to be gone, or to never have existed, or to be a children's tale like I always thought he was before." She smiles. "But perhaps we should start with something simpler."

Sir Lefallon brightens. "A little less snow around here, perhaps? I think that I have seen enough of it to be content to live in Elysia's eternal spring thereafter."

Thomas actually laughs at that, looking a bit more at ease. "Quite, Rachel. We have to walk before we can run, eh?" Thomas replies, then looks at Sir Lefallon. "Well, we could try that. I, for one, would prefer an autumn day to this cold. A sanctuary amongst the snow, perhaps?"

The fey girl agrees, still smiling. Her expression sobers as she reflects. "Perhaps. Lord Explorer, do you remember what we should find, along this path that we take to Icejaw Pit?"

"The journal of Lord Bram? It was lost in that area. Or am I forgetting something further?" Thomas asks. "There are many places along the way to the pit, Rachel."

"No ... that's ... that's rather my point, Thomas. Wouldn't it be easier to believe in something if you didn't already know what was true? Maybe you could ... decide something about the road. A tree we would find. A people we'd encounter. Something you don't know. But maybe, you could believe it." The fey girl looks increasingly uncertain as she gets to the end of her idea, and she bites her lip.

"Well, I have already done that to some extent, with the Grail at Hawksmoor," Thomas admits, looking at Sir Lefallon. He rubs his chin, thinking. "Ah, that's a possibility," he says.

Sir Lefallon nods thoughtfully. "Perhaps a nice warm inn? With friends?"

Rachel mouths a silent "Oh," looking between the two young men.

"Maybe Oberia could be running the inn, having tired of the adventurous and turbulent life of a Hawk," Rachel offers, warming to the task.

Thomas smirks at that. "No, that would not be like Oberia to be just a simple innkeeper. But, I do believe she would possibly be living on the edges on the Wild Lands, in a small town. A crossroads for trading with the people who dwell there. She was a translator, and in such a place her services would be needed. Yes. I believe we will find a small trading town on the way. A place we can stop and rest in warmth and share a story or two with an old friend. A calm before the storm, as it were."

"All right, then." The raven-haired woman looks at Simon, her expression mixed between trepidation and excitement. "A trading post at a crossroads, where people of different lands will meet, and those of the Wilds bringing their materials in exchange for the finished goods of the East. That ... sounds reasonable. Doesn't it?"

Sir Lefallon nods, accepting the story instantly. "There's much trade out in the Wild Lands, and many strange peoples with goods unknown in Mirari. Sooner or later, if one sits long enough in a trade town, the whole world will pass by one's eyes, it's said." He smiles a bit, and then it fades. "But the Destroyer's sentries ... will not they too be numerous in such a town, watching for word of strange travelers?"

"Perfectly reasonable. I believe it to be past Caer Bannuac, about half-way to the Bridge of Sorrows. A very central place," Thomas agrees.

"And it must be -- relatively new. Founded within the last fourteen Years," Rachel interjects. "That's why it isn't on your map. Perhaps it's Oberia's talents which have helped make it a prosperous place, even in this stark countryside."

"Indeed, Rachel. Perhaps she founded it after learning of Randall's death, after giving up her search for his remains," Thomas says with a nod. He then turns toward Sir Lefallon and says, "The servants of the Destroyer are creatures of death, Sir Lefallon. They do not blend so well, or for very long, with normal folk. They couldn't remain a strong presence in the town. The best he could do is offer money to people for information. I would not worry much about that."

Sir Lefallon nods thoughtfully again. "Of course! He had spoken of being taken prisoner. When she went to look, his body would not have been there, though I warrant that Randall must have given a good accounting for himself."

"But the Destroyer himself is a master of illusion," Rachel says, breaking from their fantasizing to add a serious note. "We must not forget that. He is the greatest of deceivers."

"He was taken by trolls, Sir Lefallon. They would have gone this way to return to the mountains with their prize. Oberia would have known that and followed. Perhaps she found a grave along the way she mistook for Randall's and settled there. Perhaps Randall's sword acting as a grave marker." He then nods to Rachel, saying, "He is, yes. He could be there, under yet another guise. Now that he knows for certain I am back, he may come looking. Hm."

Sir Lefallon frowns. "I am minded as well, we have what would draw the attention of those possessed of special sight very quickly. I will not abandon you, milord, but I would not place you in danger, either. Should we consider returning to Hawksmoor long enough to place it in special care there, before continuing on?" He looks at Thomas for his decision on the matter.

"No. I would prefer to keep it within my sight. If it concern you so, why don't we return it to where you found it? Caer Bannuac. We are going to pass near it, after all. What place could be safer for it than that?" Thomas offers.

"But remember, not all Randall told us will be true," Thomas then adds. "That may not have attracted him at all."

Sir Lefallon pauses. "It may be that once it is returned, we will not find it again so easily. Or it may be that we need not fear. I cannot say, milord."

Rachel glances curiously between the two men as they engage in what seems to her to be an odd discussion -- then she gasps. "The wraith spoke of the Grail?" she surmises.

"For now, let us just retain it then. Once we know more, we can better decide," Thomas replies, then nods to Rachel. "Yes, he did. Not by name, but of an object that he could sense. He may not have known what it was."

The young knight nods soberly.

"But if the wraith knows of it, then surely he will tell his master." Rachel's expression turns troubled. "Dare we risk bringing such a gift into his lands?"

"Yes. It may prove a useful weapon against him. Or perhaps useful in freeing Randall from his grip," Thomas replies firmly. "He'll have to go over my corpse to get it."

"Mine first," Sir Lefallon says with the tiniest of grins.

"The Grail is a gift from the Lord," Rachel says, quietly. "It is not a weapon -- is it?"

"Small corpse," Tom retorts, then laughs. "No, it is not a weapon," Thomas then says to Rachel, "It is hope and life: two things the Destroyer despises. Such may act as a weapon against him."

Sir Lefallon looks innocent. "Well, every little bit counts."

The raven-haired fey's clouded features do not clear, but she lowers her eyes. "We go on, then. To Icejaw."

"Beyond Icejaw," Thomas adds. Then in a softer voice, he says to Rachel, "We cannot worry over the ifs and buts of the unknown. We go on, and learn. Like I said, should things appear too dangerous, we return it to Bannuac where it would be protected by Pelles. Perhaps we should even seek the wisdom of Pelles before we leave for the crossroads town."

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