An Act of Peace
prologue: first world

you never believed in destiny but it is here, isaac destiny is here

He stared blankly at the far wall, trying to shake the feeling that someone was whispering to him, just audibly. Every time he held still and tried to listen, the sound faded into a sort of white noise, but when he tried not to hear the words were just out of his reach. It had gone beyond annoying an hour ago; now he was getting ready to tear his own skull open with an ice pick.

“I leave the room for ten minutes to get ready and you start moping,” Maria teased, sitting down on the couch next to him. She fussily smoothed her skirt, setting her broom and witch hat to the side. “What’s the problem this time, Isaac?”

There was a telling question. What was it this time, exactly? He couldn’t pinpoint anything specific; just the usual feeling of being completely out of control and lost inside the routine of school, work, drinking, and sleep. But that wasn’t something he could say to Maria. She might hear, but she wouldn’t listen.

please hear me listen to me i need you only you, isaac you can’t escape this now

He shook his head, trying to banish the stranger thoughts and gestured to the kitty clock on the far wall. “It’s ten. Where the fuck is Kimmie?”

“She should be getting off work now,” Maria said, frowning at him. She trailed her hand along his sleeve, tugging lightly at the pink material. “You look silly, you know. A pink ninja?”

He pulled away, wishing desperately that they were already at the bar, getting massively drunk. “At least it’s more creative than a witch.”

every choice every chance every way you react adds up to it and you won’t say no, isaac i know you i remember you will do this thing

He winced and pressed his palms against his forehead. Maria said something about aspirin and left, but her perfume stayed: something flowery and chemical, stinging his nose.

“Here.” A glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol were shoved under his nose. Isaac glared at Maria half-heartedly and took the offering, shaking out two pills and gulping them down. He didn’t really think they’d do anything for impending insanity, but there was always a chance.

“You need to lighten up,” Maria said then, sitting down next to him and leaning in much too close. He looked down almost reflexively but she didn’t have anything to ogle. The CD player was skipping and he pushed past her to turn it off.

just a name just a name to give me purpose give me strength isaac

“You’re such an asshole,” she said, fixing her hat, which he had knocked askew. The idea of going out tonight and getting massively drunk with her suddenly seemed grotesque to Isaac. He took a deep breath and nearly gagged at the cloying scent of her perfume.

“I need some air,” he said. There was a tiny balcony leading off the kitchen that Maria’s fat calico cat was shut out on every time he was over. It didn’t help much; the whole apartment was covered in cat hair, according his allergies. A sneeze was already building in his nose as the cat ran inside, squeezing its remarkable bulk past his leg, which he’d stuck out in a half-hearted attempt to keep it outside. It didn’t matter; they’d be leaving soon enough and there was no way in hell he’d be staying the night.

i can give you anything

The apartment was on the third floor, looking out over the street and no further. Tall buildings loomed on all sides, making Isaac feel hemmed in and nearly desperate for escape. The phone rang, nagging and shrill, and Maria answered it with false cheer in her voice. He hated this place, he realized with sudden, aching clarity. No wonder he was hearing voices; he was going insane from the effort of getting through this shit every single day.

anything at all

“Isaac, come on!” Maria called from inside the house, sounding surprisingly far away. “We’re meeting Kimmie at the bar!”

if you want it just call me

He finally sneezed, trying to stifle it, and the sound that left his vocal chords was something like “kyu.”

by name… Kiu said softly. Ah.

Her voice was suddenly clear and purposeful, direct and loud within his mind. Warmth spilled out from the center of her being and enveloped him, reaching out even further and into his surroundings. The world was a whirl of lights: street lights, lamps spilling out their brightness through windows, stars somewhere far up and impersonal in the sky. They spiraled down together and Isaac went with them when they fell.

An Act of Peace
chapter one: second world, first meetings

He didn’t faint. He felt more like he was flying than falling, sliding down into some immeasurable darkness inside of himself, and then he was standing on the balcony again, but it was fading.

It’s all right, Kiu assured him. He could almost see her, nebulous white-gold glow, under his fading world and the bright one underneath it. His world was a clearing mist and that other place was becoming more solid, more real.

“What are you doing?” Isaac demanded. His voice, loosened within his throat, was real and suddenly his fear and confusion were as well. “What have you done?!”

He was standing in the slow realization of an old, simple temple. The doorway was small; he’d have to duck to step out onto the wide stone porch that was surrounded on three sides by steps. There were only a few of those and all were of white marble. The rest of the building would be made of the same.

Welcome home, Kiu said. Her voice in his mind was strangely childish and unsure; it had been strong and direct before. He could feel her testing his emotions, reaching along the trails of nerves and synapses in his brain like a thinking stream of sunlight. You’re… angry?

“Of course I’m fucking angry!” Isaac shouted. The emotion bloomed as he was fully insinuated in this new world, this new place, and the words couldn’t be stemmed for anything. “You kidnapped me! What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

He stumbled out of the temple, desperately hoping to see something that looked like home, but there were only trees, green and summer—full of leaves, stretching in every direction. The sky was bright blue and without a hint of clouds. The temple was just an empty room with no windows and no ceiling, completely foreign. He took them all in, the sight only reinforcing his rage.

“Where are we, Kiu?!”

You don’t have to yell, she said, tears thick in her voice. You shouldn’t be so mean to me. I did everything I could to get you here and you yell at me!

His blood ran cold. She didn’t just sound childish anymore; she felt childish. “Kiu? What—what’s happening?”

I’m starting over, she whispered, sounding both awed and afraid. Her presence was getting even younger, even fainter. Find Tyr. Tyr knows…

“Kiu!” he shouted, but she was sleeping somewhere deep inside his mind. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone.

He had a panic attack.

Eyes squeezed shut and breaths coming at a torturous, too-fast rate, Isaac sat down abruptly on the temple steps and curled almost into a ball, every muscle tensing and seizing up. The sound of his blood rushing filled his head, sparking a terrible migraine that left lights flashing behind his eyelids. His fists clenched and the nails drew blood but he didn’t feel the pain.

For an indeterminate length of time he sat, shaking in terror, but it finally relinquished its hold and Isaac uncurled, staring out into the world.

He still wasn’t back at Maria’s.

“Fuck,” he muttered, standing up slowly and trying to stretch out his cramped muscles, looking around with narrowed eyes. Trees, blue sky, and temple—all still there, and still so very real despite the fact that they couldn’t be. He had been at Maria’s apartment. They were going to meet Kimmie at the bar. It was Halloween.

Trees, blue sky, and temple.

The only explanation that Isaac could even think of was that perhaps he’d fallen asleep and was having the most lucid dream of his life. It was the only sane option. He was dreaming, and that was why he had distinct memories of speaking to an entity that was even now sleeping somewhere inside his brain.

So… how to wake up?

Feeling like an idiot, he pinched his arm, watching the red marks disappear quickly along his pale peach skin. The pain was momentary, but the rising panic when he didn’t wake took a bit longer to dispel. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, pushing the fear back. His muscles slowly relaxed, though his back was still tense, and he opened his eyes again.

Trees, blue sky, and temple. He unclenched his fists and whispered, “I’m still asleep. That’s all.”

The wind gusted softly and brought a soft, sweet smell of earth and warm grass with it. His knees buckled and Isaac went down, hyperventilating and feeling tears squeeze out of his eyes. He wasn’t dreaming and he wasn’t anywhere near Maria’s apartment. Something had happened, something impossible had happened, and he was here, in this place, all alone.

“Damn you, Kiu,” he gasped, although he didn’t know why he said it. His mind was whirling with thoughts that were secret to his consciousness. He couldn’t catch them or even slow them down.

What was he supposed to do?

As if in answer, the wind brought another gift: an echo of voices from somewhere in the tall leafy trees. Isaac wiped his cheeks free of tears and, feeling more like a child of ten than a man of twenty-one, looked to the forest with wide, hungry eyes.

And there they were: two robed and hooded people making their way slowly to the temple, speaking quietly and walking carefully amidst the leaves. Isaac stood up, watching them approach, and his breath hitched when they looked up from their conversation and saw him there on the temple steps.

And his heart lodged in his throat when the one on the right drew a sword.

Swords were something in movies. They were graceful or frightening by turns, but in reality…

In reality, a sword was a long sharp piece of metal held in a strong bronzed hand, the only bit visible of the mysterious person walking slowly to the temple. Isaac stood and backed up three steps, watching with wide eyes.

Thirty feet away, then twenty, and then ten, but still approaching. The figure stopped when it reached the steps and looked up at him, cold dark eyes meeting his own olive green.

“Kill him, Owen!” the other robed person called, fear and anger making her light, sweet voice harsh and grating. Isaac looked away from the young man’s fine-boned face and was immediately rushed, cold steel at his throat and those dark, dark eyes boring into his once again.

“Who are you?” Owen asked, his voice almost pleasant.

“Owen-“

“Be silent, Dew!” Owen shouted back, never looking away from Isaac. His voice lowered to a pleasant rumble once again. “Who are you, stranger?”

“I’m Isaac-“

He was thrown backwards, pushed so hard he nearly fell over, stumbling into the temple. Owen was right there, sword to his throat and eyes dark with rage. “Don’t play these games with me! Who would you serve?”

Isaac pressed himself further back against the wall, trying to put a little more distance between his throat and swift, messy death. Who would he serve? What was that supposed to mean? What could he say? “I… Kiu. I serve her.”

Owen’s eyes narrowed and he pressed closer, his voice lowering in volume but gaining menace. “You won’t change your tale… Isaac?”

“I won’t,” he whispered, fear making it hard to speak. But he had no other “tale” and couldn’t guess as to what would pass as a decent lie in this place.

“We won’t listen to this,” the girl said emotionlessly, holding something cold and round to his temple. Isaac hadn’t even noticed her walking up; of course, he’d been focused on the person who had been actively trying to kill him. But now it seemed that this girl, staring at him with blank gray eyes that were almost obscured by white-blonde bangs, was the threat.

Perhaps it was because they were somewhat hidden, but he was fairly sure he’d seen that she had no pupils.

“Don’t!” Owen said sharply, bringing his hand up quickly to grab the girl’s hand. He took a tiny silver ball, inlaid with red stones, from her and pocketed it quickly.

“I ordered you to kill him,” she said again. She blinked a few times and stared at Isaac again, as if seeing him for the first time. And she did, indeed, have pupils. “He’s a spy, isn’t he?”

The sword shook a little and Owen answered quietly. “I’m not certain.”

The girl’s face suddenly flared with anger and she spat at Owen, “What do you mean to say? That he truly is Isaac? He’s one of her spies, I say, and I order that he be put to death!”

“You are Isaac,” Owen said questioningly, looking at his prisoner. “Brought to this temple by Key?”

“Kiu,” Isaac corrected, his voice raspy. “Her name is Kiu.”

Yes.

The echo of the wind in the temple formed the word, whispering it over and over again and losing it in the echo. Owen drew back and Isaac breathed a quiet “thank you,” recognizing something in that almost-voice of the wind. It wasn’t Kiu; she was still sleeping, but it sounded almost like her.

“A trick,” the girl said unsteadily.

Owen shook his head, sheathing the sword and looking at Isaac with a strange exultation in his eyes. “No. This is fate, Dew. This is Isaac and he’s here, with us.”

Yes.

Isaac decided to just be grateful that he wasn’t going to be killed.

………

An Act of Peace
chapter two: second world, owen lyreling

Owen was broad in the shoulder, yes, but he was much skinnier than Isaac thought healthy. He’d taken off his robe and was kneeling, facing the doorway of the temple and holding his arms out. His face was turned up to the sky and his eyes were closed.

His shirt was white but stained and torn up in places, revealing to Isaac that his skin was either naturally dark or he spent a lot of time without a shirt on. That thought made Isaac shift uncomfortably. Watching Owen was producing the self-same effect, however.

“He’s praying,” Dew had said flatly when he’d questioned her. “He truly thinks you are Isaac.”

And there was another point. He was Isaac. That was his name. They had to be thinking of another Isaac, no matter what the wind had done earlier. Not that Isaac was going to say anything; he didn’t want to be killed and the second Dew could prove that he was unnecessary, he had a feeling he’d have a foot of steel shoved in his stomach.

Owen had been kneeling for quite some time now, an expression of pure serenity on his face. His hair was chin-length and blue-black, tangled in curls and sticking to his sweaty cheeks. Isaac turned away, feeling like a voyeur. How would he like it if someone was watching him pray at church—well, if he had a church, and if he ever prayed?

Impossible questions. Isaac shook his head and stared up at the sky, wondering when the puffy white clouds had started sailing in.

“And I’m still in pink,” he muttered at the sky, grievances piling up. He was still wearing the pink ninja costume, swathed head to toe in an outfit made from white sheets that had been run through the wash with a few red towels. He tugged at his own hair, wild brown strands hanging over the pink headband with a Care Bear patch sewn at the center.

Owen sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, seeming calm and intent. “Isaac, will you travel with us?”

Dew, who was standing just outside the temple door, sputtered loudly.

“Yes,” Isaac said immediately. These people were his only chance of survival, he knew, even if one of them wanted to see him dead twenty minutes ago.

“Yes,” Owen repeated, smiling strangely. Isaac’s skin prickled. “We should move, then.”

He stood up and left the temple, not bothering to see if Isaac was following. After a moment, Isaac did, only to have his arm caught by Dew as he stepped out the door. She hissed in his ear. “If you are a spy, remember this: I carry my own weapons as needed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Isaac whispered back.

Owen picked up his robe, looking at it critically. “Perhaps you ought to wear this, rather than… than what you have on.”

Isaac looked down at his clothes, feeling a sudden reluctance to change. “Why?”

“You don’t blend,” Dew said coldly. “Do you want to be targeted by less friendly people?”

“Leave the pink here,” Owen instructed, still holding out the robe. “When we stop at the manor, I’ll find you better clothing.”

Isaac took the robe silently and, after a moment’s confusion, walked back into the temple to change. He pulled his shirt off and was working on the drawstring of the pants when Owen said, “Those are strange. Why is there a string?”

Isaac swore and fell against the wall, glaring at Owen darkly. “Excuse me!”

Owen frowned, looking a bit confused. “Is there a problem?”

There were privacy issues here, Isaac realized grimly. He stepped out of the pants and, ignoring his impulse to snap at Owen, who was watching him curiously, he pulled the robe on. It smelled like toast and spice, Isaac thought, realizing a split second later that it was probably Owen’s scent he was breathing in.

“We are heading for Lyreling Manor and then on to the Crimson Pillars,” Owen said quietly, but with an underlying hint of challenge. He lifted his chin and looked at Isaac coolly. “Does Kiu have any thought on the matter?”

“She’s still sleeping,” Isaac said without thinking. “I’m supposed to find Tyr.”

Dew, peering in the doorway, gasped aloud and then hid. Isaac stared after her, a little shocked, but Owen was smiling in satisfaction.

“We should get moving,” he said again, voice and manner mild, “If we are to make it to the manor within the green moon.”

Isaac followed him wordlessly, out of the temple and down into the trees. Dew fell in step a ways behind him and he remembered her comment about weapons uneasily. They were following no discernible path, shoving through underbrush and tripping their way over large, gnarled roots.

“Follow closely,” Owen warned. “There are pits all throughout this place.”

Isaac grunted in reply and looked back at Dew, wondering if she had listened to the order and caught up.

She had, and she was watching him closely, keeping one hand in her pocket, drawing a great deal of attention to that which she kept concealed.

There was a rhythm to walking, easy to slip into and more than simply annoying to break. Isaac watched the ground, keeping only the barest of attention on what direction Owen was actually taking, and struggled to keep up the pace.

Farther into the forest, the sunlight dwindled considerably. The trees had gotten taller and the thick gray trunks were half-covered in shaggy moss. He remembered something about moss growing on the north side of trees and realized that he was letting his mind drift too far off-track. There was still the problem of finding out what he was doing here, what these people thought he was supposed to be, and most importantly, according to instinct, what was going on with Kiu.

He tried to call out to the sleeping force in his mind, but he couldn’t even manage to rouse the slightest bit of attention. The only thing that gave him any comfort at all was that Kiu wasn’t entirely gone or dwindling any further; she was present and stable in the deep part of his mind.

The ground beneath him, free of roots, suddenly gave way. A sudden, putrid stench invaded his nostrils. He had stepped in a—a body?!

“Shit!” Isaac fell backwards and kicked his foot wildly. The remains of the rib cage trapping him crumbled and insects scattered every which way, disappearing under the leaves of the forest floor—well, those that didn’t run under the robe and up his legs.

“Get up!” Owen shouted. It felt as if he were pulling Isaac’s arm out of its socket. The insects skittering along his legs fell, similarly fleeing under the cover of leaves, and Isaac retched helplessly. There was something liquid and awful on his foot, easing into his tennis shoe and soaking his sock.

“Didn’t he say there were pits?” Dew grabbed Isaac’s other arm and helped Owen to drag him backwards. Isaac got one last look at the grayish-green remains of skin: a hand lying forlorn in the midst of a thorn bush, as if it had been scrabbling to pull itself loose from the body condemned to dirt.

He was pushed down and Owen wrenched his shoe off, tearing off the sock and tossing it back in the shallow grave. He rubbed at Isaac’s foot with some leaves and then pulled him upright once again. “Follow me, do you understand?! Don’t step where there aren’t any roots; those are graves.”

“What-“ Isaac had to stop speaking to spit. He could almost taste the decay. “What happened?”

“War,” Dew said shortly, cold anger and a strangely distant sorrow on her face. “Ever since our god died. War.”

“We have no time for this,” Owen reminded them, shaking Isaac’s arm and reclaiming his attention. “Follow me this time! Don’t stray!”

“I will take a moment,” Dew said, turning back to the grave. Owen started to say something, but Dew lifted her hand and cut him off. “He was awakened. I should send him back to sleep.”

“You’re not instated yet,” Owen said sharply, but she wasn’t listening; was in fact standing over the open grave and holding her arms out, much like Owen had when praying. Isaac watched, a strange feeling taking hold of him.

It wasn’t Kiu, but his own sense of understanding. What Dew was attempting was well and good enough, he realized, but it was empty unless she had—had what?

“It’s a fine ceremony but it’s worthless as things stand!” Owen whispered harshly. “The goddess isn’t awake and she can’t invoke that power!”

“But, my dear servant,” she said in a clear, carrying voice, belying Isaac’s first thought that she had ignored Owen entirely, “We do have Isaac here, with us. It’s fate, as you said.”

She turned and smiled radiantly at them, as regal as a princess.

………