Shrine of the Pegasus: Lord Eoin 16 July (10 Apr 2003) Eoin is tested by Pelles.

The mists part, only some of the way, to reveal a garden, and in its center is a statue of a winged horse rearing up; the rest of the surroundings are lost in the grey and shadows, under a moonlit sky.

The silence is broken by a loud crack. In an instant, the statue shatters, its pieces falling to the ground, the sad face of the pegasus looking blankly up at the sky.

A quiet, light voice comes from the mists. "A long time ago, a terrible thing happened."

After a pause, the voice continues, "A great tragedy befell Ariel. But what if that was not the end?"

A chill wind blows, stirring the bushes in the garden, and the mists that cling low to the ground. "But happy endings don't come easily. Not after something as terrible as that. Why should Ariel return? What could make that possible? It is not so simple as one might mend a broken toy.

"You must tell the rest of the story."

The silence waits.

A man wearing a cloak (or perhaps it's only a blanket) draped over his shoulders, with long dark hair and mild brown eyes, enters the garden. He steps forward, moving, hesitantly, toward the broken statue. Halfway there, he falters, then continues, shaking back his hair. He stops beside the broken face, and kneels, touching the cool marble. "Lady Ariel," he says, quietly. "I'm sorry."

The breeze stirs the mists in silence, carrying with it a wispy voice that says, "The past cannot be undone. That much of the story is already written."

He sinks further, resting his rear on his heels, his head forward now, looking at nothing in particular. "I know that," he says to the voice, sounding tired. "Let me think, please. This is important. Let me tell it.

"When John Harcourt broke the statuette, he did not understand what he had done. He was a young man full of anger, but careful anger. He never lashed out his parents, or his siblings, no matter how much his inner demons tormented him. But he couldn't stop himself with things.

"It's supposed to be safe to take your anger out on things. Things don't think or feel. Things can be rebuilt or repaired or replaced. Things aren't important. They're not people. They're just ... things. That's what they're supposed to be.

The man glances down at the statue, brushing his dark brown hair away from his forehead. "But you're not just a thing, Lady Ariel. John Harcourt never knew that, not until it was much too late. But Anastasia knew. Bryant knew. John did the unforgivable thing. And he did it ... without even knowing."

"Isn't that the worst part?" the young man asks the air, rhetorically. "If you're to do evil, true evil, oughtn't you at least have a good clue? That is why Lord Eoin came to hate Mirari, the world that tricked him, the world that trapped him, the world that lured him, unsuspecting, onto the path of utter destruction.

"Until we sit, you and I, Lady Ariel, and both of us ruined. But the story's not over yet." He rests his hands against his legs, looking down at the statue's face again. "I've heard, once, that happy endings are just a matter of stopping at the right place. So I just need to get to a better stopping place.

"If John Harcourt could do this great evil in utter ignorance, then it only stands to reason that great good can be done in ignorance, too." The man pauses. "It stands to Mirari-reason, anyway. Mirari isn't the most reasonable of places." He stands.

A breeze stirs again, its disturbance of the bushes the only sound to be heard. The voice does not respond.

Pacing, he continues. "John Harcourt could not fix what he'd broken, because his day lacked the tools, the ability. But fifty years is a long time in Ainigton, too, and they have better tools now. And John Harcourt kept her safe, for all that time. This little statuette, decades later, and her sad story, finds its way into new hands. The proprietor of a little fix-it shop is asked to repair the tiny pegasus. 'But why?' she asks of the one who gives it to her. 'It would be simpler to get another.'

"'I want this one. Please, won't you try?' comes the answer.

"So she tries. The shopkeeper hasn't the least idea why. But the voice that importuned her made it sound terribly important. So she tries.

"But this is just the Ainigton half of the story. What is happening in Mirari?

"In Mirari, Lord Eoin smote down the Lady Ariel when that brave creature tried to save her mistress, Lady Angelique of April, from the Destroyer's wrath. Lady Angelique was the greatest healer of her day, and she could bring the dead to life. But the damage to Ariel was too great, even for her. There was nothing to do, thought Lady Angelique, thought Lord Bram, thought her husband the Lord Protector, but to bury her and mourn. This they did.

"But in Mirari, just as in Ainigton, Lady Ariel's slayer was not unrepentant. Lord Eoin was not yet evil. The Rules did not yet bind him. And as John Harcourt would not allow the statuette to be discarded, Lord Eoin would not let Lady Ariel be buried and forgotten. In secret -- for he is the Warlock, the master of secrecy, of deception -- he went to her grave, and recovered the ruined body.

"Lord Eoin is no more a healer than John Harcourt. He had no hope of doing what his sister could not. Yet he tried."

The air seems to grow colder at this revelation.

"How he tried! Every corpse he raised, every ghost he conjured, every wraith, was the result of his research, his efforts to undo the terrible, terrible thing he had never meant to do. But he tried none of these experiments upon Ariel herself, for they were, all of them, failures. He wanted her life restored, not a shambling horror made of her corpse, nor the hollow words of a disembodied ghost. He wanted ... needed ... her forgiveness. To get that, she would need true, real, life - the one thing he could not provide."

The young man shivers, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm running out of time, aren't I? Please -- be patient. I'm not stopping yet. I haven't gotten there.

"Lord Eoin became bound by the Rules to his fate, doomed to be the Destroyer. But he did not forget the moment when he struck, when he became bound, when he did the unforgivable thing. In his dark, lonely heart, he still sought to undo it. To make it forgivable. So he took Lady Ariel's remains, and he placed an enchantment of stasis upon them, the most powerful that he knew. He locked them away where they'd be safe, and he continued his experiments, falling ever further away from any possibility of redemption.

"And back in Ainigton, a strange thing is happening. This shopkeeper is mending a broken statue, with all her heart in it, though she doesn't know why. With every effort and art she knows, she is mending this pitiful broken thing. She is making it whole again. She glues every piece, and she fills every crack, and makes replacements for what's shattered. She sands and polishes at every seam and edge. She paints it fresh, pure and white. She picks out the feathers on each pinion. Until the statuette is whole again, perfect.

"Deep inside Lord Eoin's abandoned keep, a miraculous thing occurs. Those almost forgotten remains of Lady Ariel are knitting themselves together inside his protective spell. Not because the spell was to reanimate her, or to call her spirit back, or to warp the nature of life and death ... but because it was designed to take care of what remained, and slowly, very slowly, it has."

The breeze picks up again, momentarily, then pauses, swirling the mists around the feet of the storyteller.

"But it's not that easy." The young man blows on his hands, then wraps his arms over his chest. "I know that. The story's not over yet.

"In Mirari, death is not as it is in Ainigton. Lady Angelique brought the dead back to life. Many of her descendents have the gift of healing, too. And in the young daughter of Queen Seraph and King Marc of Umbrecht, the healing gift is especially strong, strong as it has never been in any before. Not even Lady Angelique could match the talent of the little Princess Angel." Turning his back to the wind, he paces again, huddled in his cloak.

"This little princess ... " The young man falters, closing his eyes, then pushes on, struggling with words. "The Year's End does not come to know this Princess Angel until she exposes his latest efforts to gain the crown, to destroy this land that he loathes, that has caused him so much pain, that he has hurt so viciously in return. The crime he once did by mistake, he has since done a thousand-fold by intent. When Princess Angel thwarts him, he hates her, too, this smiling blond cherub that has undone Years of careful planning."

Agitated, the man turns, walking around the remains of the statue, taking pains not to step on any of the pieces. "He retreats, and strikes again with twin armies. He launches an assault upon Ainigton itself. But it's all for nothing: he has already lost this round. The Year's End is just too stubborn to admit it. At last, he is forced to admit defeat. His armies fail, and his efforts to change the Rules to his own liking are in vain. He retreats from the field, as ever, resigned to more long, empty Years of planning before he may try again.

"But this time is different. This time his enemies pursue him to his empty Keep: the dauntless Lord Explorer, the redoubtable Knight Redmane, the sweet Princes Angel, and all the rest. They've been there before, and they've nibbled away at his defenses. And, for the first time, the Year's End fears -- truly fears -- that there is no escape for him this time.

"He flees through the maze of his keep, throwing trap after trap into the path of his relentless pursuers, activating every defense he has, ransacking his fortress and his mind, in the hopes of discerning another place to hide, another base to which he might run, and lick his wounds, and rebuild.

"Inevitably, he comes to the deepest recesses of his keep. He goes into the vault where the remains of Lady Ariel have lain for fifty Years and more. The last of his Vyglari slow the advance of the heroes in hot pursuit of him. As he steps into the cool vault, he does not immediately recognize it. It's been so long. He lights the room with a spell, and is amazed, bewildered, to see the Lady Ariel resting, intact, upon her sepulchre.

"Princess Angel, being small and seeming harmless, has slipped past his Vyglari while her warrior friends contend with it. The Year's End is so rattled by the recent unusual events that he does not even think to attack her. Instead, he slips into the shadows and vanishes. He is still good at hiding, especially from a single little girl.

"The princess does not even seem to look for him. She gasps on seeing the pegasus. 'Oh! Lady Ariel!' she exclaims. 'However can this be?' She reaches out to the body, touched.

"Now the Year's End recovers some of his wits. He thinks to take the little girl hostage -- but there is no time. His last Vyglari is defeated, and the forces of light gather in the room. He stays hidden, hoping to slip out.

Another breeze stirs, but it seems merely incidental.

"The others marvel at the Lady Ariel, too. They warn Angel away from the body, telling her it is a trap, a trick. But she senses otherwise. 'No. She's real. She needs my help.' The princess climbs onto the sepulchre with the pegasus, who seems to be only sleeping. She takes her bag of herbs from her too-large purse, and sorts through them for the ones she needs. She lays them out before Ariel's muzzle, then wraps her little arms around the equine's neck. 'Please, Lady Ariel,' she says. 'We've all missed you so. Please, if you can, come back to us.'"

The storyteller cups his hands over his mouth and nose, breathing a little raggedly. "I could use a drink," he mutters, licking parched lips. "Not much more to go. Here goes." He gives a dry swallow. "The Lord Protector enters the room. He freezes, stiff-legged, at the sight of his long-dead wife. Then he advances upon her, and touches his muzzle to hers. He closes his eyes and shudders.

"Lady Ariel stirs.

"She lifts her white head from the cool marble of her resting place. She climbs to her feet, shaking out her pinioned wings. Amazed gasps fill the room, then shouts, and tears of joy and astonishment.

The man pauses again, giving another dry swallow. "Painted myself into a bit of a corner here, haven't I? When it comes right to it .... " He wipes his face on his sleeve. "I'm afraid. Almost there." After clearing his throat, he continues. "Lord Eoin is so stunned he forgets to maintain his invisibility. He cannot believe that what he had sought for so long, what he'd hoped for, is finally done."

The silence in the garden that prevails, in between the storyteller's words, seems almost ... anxious.

"All eyes are on Lady Ariel, not him. But she touches noses with her husband, and then she turns to the Destroyer. 'I remember everything,' she says, quietly. 'I know what you did to me. But I know, too, that you knew not what you did. Lord Eoin ... John ... I forgive you.'

"She steps down from the sepulchre. Everyone else is just now noticing the Year's End. He's motionless with shock, and so are they. She touches her nose to his face. 'I forgive you,' she says again.

"And fifty Years of hatred, of anger, of mindless rage against an uncaring universe are swept away. It's hate alone that has kept Lord Eoin going all these Years, hate and the need to be forgiven, forgiven for that one, that first, unforgivable thing.

The narrator has come to a stop beside the broken head of the statue, still speaking. "He touches her cheek. He whispers, 'I'm sorry,' in a fading voice. He looks into her blue eyes, and closes his own." The man falls to his knees, closing his own eyes, as he says, "He falls to his knees. 'I'm sorry.'" The young man reaches out with one trembling hand, as if to touch the statue's face, but he doesn't. "All the others in the room see that the Year's End seems fainter now, fading. 'I've won what I wanted to, all these Years, at last,' he whispers. 'I've triumphed.' Lady Ariel whickers gently. She noses at his shoulder, which has turned translucent, and her muzzle passes through it. 'Thank you,' he tells her. And then he is gone, to join his brother and sister, to, finally, rest."

For a long time after those words, the young man is silent, his hands falling to rest against his thighs as he kneels on the cool, misty ground. After a time, he brings the back of one hand to his face and wipes at his eyes.

A breeze tousles the young man's hair. "Thank you ... for your story," the voice whispers.

The man seems taken by surprise when the breeze and voice return. He gets to his feet, a little unsteadily. "I'm sorry, Lady Ariel." He digs around in his pockets until he produces a handkerchief. "It's the best I could do. I .... " He exhales, sounding exhausted. "Thank you," he whispers, then turns and walks out of the garden, as the mists close in once more upon it.

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