Pattern

[El Nuevo Diestro]

WhoareyouWhyareyouWhatareyougoingtodo.....

Diego squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thoughts to stop. They did, after a moment. He punched a tree in frustration; it was something he hadn't expected, hadn't prepared for. And most certainly never mentioned to anyone.

It made sense, though. Putting on the mask had without doubt saved his life. But with no training, no preperation, it had been shattering. Was it possible he was, in some metaphysical sense, crippled now?

He had been unable to be an individual; finally, through grueling effort, training, sacrifice, he had reached the great milestone. The pieces of what had been broken had been welded together. How well they had been welded apparently remained to be seen. It was obvious that it was not seamless. With the souls of the Diestros about him at all times, their voices with him at all times, it had been like being in a crowded, brightly lit room constantly. And now, by "winning", he was forced to learn how to be alone in the dark again. There was an undeniable thrill, but so much uncertainty, and the temptation was often great to again withdraw into the mask. Victory wasn't always what it was cracked up to be.

But that was his pattern, it seemed. Patterns, the Diestros had taught him, were important. People, events, they had the tendency to slide into patterns. Spot them, and you spot your advantage. And he was beginning to see the pattern of himself.

He'd lived by putting on the mask; he'd been shattered by it.

He managed to escape the vicious in-fighting over him in Spain, but only by exile to a strange, foreign place.

He'd found Kelly; that had been like a wildfire. Too much like a wildfire....

He'd found Sam. A comforting port during the worst of a storm. But...but then....

He'd won, and the mask was off. He could rediscover who he was, what he liked. What quiet was, what it was to do what felt good for no other reason than it felt good was again. But at the same time, his own psyche, perhaps his soul, seemed....altered, in the mask's absence.

For every joy, accompanying pain.

For every handshake, a knife in the ribs.

For every blessing, a bullet in the face.

That was his pattern.

Diego shook his head. He was focusing too much on the problem; he needed to start focusing on some sort of solution, or at least a course of action. How do you break a pattern when you're broken? Well, perhaps broken was too strong, but he found he didn't fully recognize the person that he was. Did he never slouch because he'd learned not to over time, or was he now recreated into someone who didn't slouch? Had concern over his school uniform's appearance been instilled into him, or externally embedded? Could the old Diego, the "real" Diego, have measured up? The Diego who had spent 15 years as merely one of the younger cousins? Or had he measured up only because the pieces of what he had been had been changed into something that could?

Even the Diestros had no answers; none had had this happen to them, been pulled apart and sewn back together under the influence of the mask. He would have to find out for himself.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

He'd never told anybody; he wasn't sure anyone would believe him. Worse, he didn't like what they might think if they did believe him. It was true, though. He liked this place in the city, liked coming here. It was one of his favorite places to go.

There were plenty of reasons why, and Diego often reassured himself of them. Things made sense here. There was little ambiguity in this place; one certainly knew where one stood. His sense of purpose shone brighter and clearer here than any lighthouse ever had, calling to him. Plus, while other places might test the limits of his combat ability to greater extremes, this place let him test his mind and soul in completely different ways, to completely different extremes. And, of course, Diego could let loose here in a way he could almost nowhere else.

To wit, he stabbed straight and true into the occular socket of the foe in front of him with his rapier. With cold, calm precision, he drew his parrying dagger across their throat, incidentally severing both carotid artery and jugular vein, before kicking them away as they crumpled. For the next foe he launched into a more complicated series, striking at one weak spot after another; a slashed tendon here, a muscle seperated from a bone there, an artery sliced lengthwise on this limb while a vital organ was pierced in the trunk. The next was likewise dissassembled, while a fourth was dispatched with the same surgical exactness and briefness as the first. These four were but the last of a small mob who he had bit by bit cut apart with no restraint.

Though he was currently unmasked, he knew the Diestros would approve. The sword had been one of mankind's premier weapons of war for millenia. For incalculable peoples and generations out of mind, it had been the premier weapon, and none could doubt the mystique which even now swords refused to surrender in the human consciousness. From the first moment it had become distinct from the knife, a sword's purpose had been to cause grevious harm to other human beings. The sword in its many incarnations was superb at this purpose. But rare indeed in this day and age was the opportunity to practice its potential to full lethality, and rarer still those who could still wield a sword in earnest.

Diego gazed across the rocky soil, and was content with his practice for the moment. The vicinity had been cleared of all that moved. He turned on his heel, and walked towards the crypt nestled within Moth Cemetary, deep in the black heart of Dark Astoria, the bodies of the dispatched zombies unmoving behind him.

As he entered, it was as if a warm blanket wrapped around him. He briefly wondered if other people would feel the same, or if entering this resting place would merely be another morbid act to them. This place, however, was a tomb dedicated to fallen of the Rikti War, and had been made hallowed ground with a strength, faith, and tenacity that had managed to resist all the corrupting influence of Dark Astoria's palpable malevolence. No living dead, no horrific spirits, or other corruption of the natural state wandered amidst the columns, statues, and porticos of this sanctuary. In a zone where even the Hospital felt oppressive and unsafe despite the drones keeping constant watch, this tomb was truly an island in a sea of blackest magic and seething undeath. From here, Diego could look out, and know beyond doubt that he was right, that the Diestros were right: this was the result of magic let loose without restraint or care, without morality or forethought. Where was the place where magic unleashed had created paradise? Croatoa? The Shard? Diego snorted in contempt.

He pulled out his comm device and looked at it. It had been off for a while now. He could turn it on. Check who was about, talk and find out what was happening, what had been happening since he had bit by bit segragated himself. Break his current cycle of school, school activities, training, prayer, bed, and training. He looked out at the dour landscape, and put his comm away. Instead, he performed the new trick he had learned; for all his discipline, he had been unable to resist showing it off. A little, anyway. It would probably get old, or at least routine, eventually. For now, though, he still got a kick out of it. He focused inward, found the core of himself, and then the part of himself inextricably tied, soul to souls, to the Order, to the Diestros. To his family. He tugged at the link, infused his willpower into the act, and the mask appeared. Diego barely suppressed a grin. He could call almost anything to him that resided in the great trunk that now sat in his room, the one which housed so much of what he now was.

I'll turn the comm on some other day, Diego thought. Another day of meditation, prayer, and training with the mask on won't hurt anything, after all. As he felt the voices speak their welcome to his awareness of them, Diego idly thought, In another day. Maybe two. No one'll even notice I'm not around. Just another couple, maybe a few days....

[El Nuevo Diestro]

He oscillated between exultation and horror. Mostly, he was terribly confused. He had virtually given up, had not even thought about it in light of more recent events. But it seemed that just when you gave up looking for something, that's when you found it. He found the Seer he had previously sought when someone had snuck a Reading into his locker. And it was Aura. To find out something like that at a place like Pocket D! But that was just the beginning....

Is there any doubt? Any chance for misinterpretation of the event?

"It is possible...she...she's Aura. But I dont...it didn't seem that way. Not the way she said this, the way...."

We know how they can be, how that is. Fret not for words of description. So she foresaw not only marraige, but children? Four children?

"Ye-yes, Diestro. A girl, and a boy, and a boy, and a girl....that's what she said."

I know it is hard to process, but you must keep in mind what that means. Not only for you, but for us. For the line. For the fam-

"I know. Of course I know, Diestro."

Yes. Well. This is not an easy matter. We have discussed, and will no doubt continue to discuss. You have much to think upon, and feelings to search in this matter. What are her thoughts?

"I don't....I haven't talked to her. I don't even know what to say to a girl who Saw a future where we're married and have children and she's Aura and..."

Steady. Steady. One step. See if you can scout some information; perhaps from another who was there, perhaps from friends she may have spoken to. And, sooner preferably, you must talk to her.

"I know." Diego only half-succeeded at not sounding sullen.

If it helps, think not on the matter of that specifically. Her Sight can guide you to truer, greater dangers, threats large and small, obstacles in your way but out of view. Guide you on your destiny. That is the only thing you need work out. For the rest, it would be best discover where you both stand....but that will doubtless develop as it will. Perform your duty as best you can and trust the rest to the Lord. For now, anyway.

"I....I will see, Diestros. I will try. I will do my best."

Remember the prayer. Say the prayer. O my Lord Jesus! Teach me to be generous; teach me to serve Thee as Thou deservest.....

"...to give, and not count the cost; to fight, and not heed the wounds; to toil, and not ask for rest; to labor, seeking no reward, save that of knowing that I do Thy will. Amen."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"You OK? You wanna grab a step and get more comfortable or somethin'?" Diego managed to keep from wincing at the question. He knew his nervousness was written all over him, and she was just trying to get him to relax a little, but sitting down when he was tense was rarely something he could manage, even with the mask off. He tended to fidget so bad a teacher had once made him stand up while taking a test. That memory was doubly comforting; that had happened back home, in Spain. That had the dual effect of reminding him of home, and reassuring him that it was a habit he had had since long before he first donned the mask. It was something truly 'him'.

"Ah...no gracias..." he managed to get out, desperately trying to think of how to start the conversation.

"Alright..." Vesper replied nonchalantly. She was the only other student Diego actually knew that had been there when Aura had begun Seeing, and following the Diestros' advise, he had sought her ought to get more perspective on it. Plus, she had stayed after Diego had made a rather hasty exit. It was obvious he'd caught her during a "patrol", but felt completely natural even though he still had his pristine school uniform on while she had on her patrol gear. At any rate, their location on the steps leading to police headquarters in Kings Row probably accounted for the lack of much attention they were getting. Certainly, much more colorful characters than they traveled to and from the headquarters of the PPD.

Diego sighed, trying to find some sort of smooth way into the subject, before finally giving up and just blurting,"You hear what I hear, sí? She say....ah, she was...Seeing. With capitol 'S', sí?"

"Capitol 'S'? I dunno. I guess? I gathered it was kinda... OK, yeah, that might be a good way to put it. It was somethin' unusual, that's for sure."

So at least he knew he hadn't concocted the whole thing in his head, or made a mountain out of a girl's idle wishing. Now he had to figure out if there was anything he'd missed. "Es she say anything after I, ah, left?"

"She seemed kinda confused. She didn't remember sayin' some of what she said," Vesper said, then smirked slightly. "She doesn't think you're gonna wanna talk to her ever again."

A whole series of emotions went through him. Embarassment, guilt (he couldn't honestly say, even to himself, even knowing what a Seer meant to the Diestros, that the thought hadn't briefly crossed his mind), sympathy for how Aura must feel, conviction for what he had to do. "That no will happen....I have to talk to her again." But when and how? he thought That will be the tricky part. First, though, he had to finish getting what information he could. "Hmm. No remember? Like...do you remember what es she no remember?"

"Yeah, she didn't remember the four kids part. Any part of it. We had to tell 'bout the girl, boy, boy, girl thing, too." Vesper paused, pondering the question more. "That's the part that really stands out..."

To hear someone else say the contents of Aura's Vision somehow made it seem even more real; Diego couldn't suppress an odd shiver as Vesper repeated that part of it. "Ah.....ok....." he managed to haltingly get out in responce.

"I think pretty much all the parts where she was forseein' somethin' were all kinda blurry," Vesper concluded, just as an odd heaviness in the air, a strange almost audible hush, seemed to fall over everything. Before either could say anything more, odd alarms began blaring from Police Headquarters, and a warning in strangely serene machine-tone came over the comm.

In a city where the strange and surreal were everyday occurence, a message bizzare enough to make any take notice was sounded. The dead were rising, and attacking the living. Diego decided mask-less training to put into effect all his practice against the undead was called for, and unslung his ever-present weapons case from his back, reaching for the rapier and parrying dagger inside after unlatching it. Vesper was obviously also not in the mood to run for cover and prepared herself as the first wave of living death shambled at them.

A few spewed some sort of caustic fluid which splattered everywhere, before finally closing into melee range. He heard Vesper mutter "Now, that's just rude!", as combat was launched in earnest. Being limited to just one point of view was something he was having to relearn, though his awareness and reflexes retained their finely-honed edge. As others began to gather into a group in front of the steps for mutual defense, he had a brief second to notice Vesper's lissome movements as she engaged the limping, almost stumbling corpses. Diego's conscious mind registered for a second the almost sweetly sharp contrast between her effortless grace and dexterity and the bruttish, jerky lumbering of her opponents before he lost himself in the give and take of the crowded combat.

It was, in retrospect, as routine as an attack from such twisted and heart-sickening opponents could be. "Safety in numbers", that's what everyone said was the best responce to this type of thing, and a populace perpetually leery under the ever-present cloud of unexpected Rikti attack was uniquely able to handle and repel the loathsome hordes. The zombies fell, and they fell, and finally, no corpse was left moving.

As everyone began to disperse, Diego and Vesper found a quiet corner in which to resume the conversation, picking it up almost exactly where they had left off.

"...I think the stuff she was forseein' was the stuff she was havin' a hard time with," Vesper was saying. "She pretty much forgot all of it."

"Ah....so she no know what she say, until you tell her?" Diego asked.

"Pretty much. Then she was surprised she said all of it," Vesper replied.

Diego frowned in thought at that. "Hmm. No ve lo que ve...." he said, almost without realizing it. She doesn't see what she sees...

"Say what? I dunno what that means..."

Diego managed to keep from blushing as he said "Ah? Essorry...eh, es nothing. She no...ah....say anything else she no remember, did she?"

"I don't think so? She said she was gonna go hide somewhere and concentrate on her fourth chakra for somethin' like forever." Suddenly, though, another thought struck her. "Oh! Somethin' about you get to name all of 'em."

Diego blinked in surprise. "Name all of them?"

"Yeah, somethin' like... How did she put it...?" Vesper said as she tried to recall the words as near as she could. "You got a lotta family names that need homes? Somethin' like that. She totally forgot that part, too."

The implications of that struck him like thunder, and he stood in surprised shock for a moment, barely managing to croak out an "Ah."

"Course she also said not everythin' she sees actually happens. She said the farther away it is the less stable it is."

"Oh sí?" It was, at least, an improvement over 'ah', but Diego was lost in the racing thoughts and hammering in his chest. Right up, at least, until Vesper pointed out that Aura's sweet, cheerful greeting had sung out over the comm, and they could go find her right at that moment.

Diego wasn't sure afterwards, aside from a frazzled but heartfelt thank you, what exactly he said in responce to that, but he was sure it included a panicked goodbye and rapid get-away. He made a mental note to ask forgiveness for lying, or at least flustered rudeness, at his next confession. Things were certainly much clearer now....and exponentially more complicated.


((With another great big thank you to Vesper for rp'ing that. And yes, the zombies attacked right smack in the middle; I couldn't bring myself to leave it out. Stupid awesome zombiepocalypse.))

[El Nuevo Diestro]

He had run into her by accident really, teamed on the spur of the moment. Yet they had fought side by side well, and that counted for much with Diego. She even had held her own, for all her misgivings, against zombie hordes who had still shown no end in sight. Now, however, they had paused, and turned to other, deeper topics related to a greater fight than some shambling hordes.

"So that's it?" she asked. "That's your life now? Nothing YOU want to do, just the legacy?" It was an understandable question, really. Especially in light of who she was. She wasn't the first to ask it, either, but as they said, it's all in the timing.

"I....I DO want to live legacy. I will no let Diestros down. But..."

"But?" she asked, a searching look in her eyes.

Diego sighed. "I no even know who I es, let alone if es something else I want do."

She pounced on that. "So try something new. Something the legacy or whatever didn't tell you to do."

As if just like that, he could figure everything out. Diego snorted at the thought. "Es no so easy."

She was unphased, her fiery spirit undampened. "Make it that easy! Come on, man. Go to a party! Sneak into the movies!" A sly look crossed her face. "Go to some dive bar just to 'listen to the band.'" The band was obviously not the reason to figure out a way into a bar.

Diego himself was doubtful....and said as much. She quickly got frustrated, but Diego was not one to back down easily either.

"So just do esstupid esstuff just to be contrary?" That got an unexpected reaction.

"I do stupid stuff because soon I won't be able to. I got a legacy of my own to deal with. And it sucks beyond belief." There was emotion there, a genuine streak of determined humanity like a vein of gold gliterring through bedrock, hinting at depths of more precious metal below.

Diego was unsure how to handle it. But more, he was curious. "You es have legacy? Y, why es suck?"

When Bethany answered, it was half to herself. "Yeah. I got a legacy. My grandparents are capes. My parents are capes. It's in our blood. Literally." She looked at him. "It sucks because that stupid legacy screws with my metabolism. It's not bad yet but soon. Soon anything....foreign. Anything that doesn't belong in a human body, just won't effect me." The standard defiant anger returned to her voice. "Alcohol, nicotine, ANYTHING that produces a high like that. THAT'S why I'm living it up now. I don't have a choice." The challenge, daring him to disagree, was unspoken but present.

Diego had no mind to disagree. She was locked into a future by virtue of birth. Trapped. Locked in unbreakable chains due to blood, the core part of her that longed for freedom continually drove itself to test any limits and chafe at the slightest restriction. It was simular enough that understanding struck Diego profoundly, though the particulars of their situations varied considerably.

Both would forever have their personal lives bound by their heritage, though she by birth and he by tragedy. She would be denied choices, pleasures, perhaps vices that others were free to enjoy. He would have to bow any personal choices to the practical dictates of his duties; he could make no decision that didn't affect the entire course of his family's history and so was forced to sacrifice his own wants to the greater need. And then he thought about Aura. Would not even his future wife be really his choice? Is that why both times he had risked his emotions with a girl so far it had ended badly? Was he just living out a script, any freedom of choice nothing but an illusion, and a thin one at that? Oh yes. There was enough simularity for Diego to well understand Bethany's willful wildness.

"That es...." Diego vainly sought words to convey what he felt, but the understanding he had reached was on an emotional level, and he could barely form the thoughts adequately, let alone translate them into english. "Bueno, sorry. That es very difficult."

Bethany, for her part, seemed to sense his own sincerity and responded, "Yeah. I don't want to wake up one morning and wonder what if. I'd rather have it now and always remember that feeling than never have it at all."

Diego briefly felt a stab of jealousy; his duty would not crash down on him at some undisclosed future date. His duty was now, every action judged by one Diestro or another for its effect upon the legacy. And now, with a Vision of destiny fulfilled over his head, he felt more duty bound than ever, making the siren lure of outright rebellion sweeter even though he knew he could never just abandon his role. Moreover...enjoy the moment, for tomorrow duty comes is not something he was hearing for the first time. Over the generations, more than one Diestro had found that view appealing. "Ya veo.....that es....make sense."

"Yeah, well...there's me...in a nutshell. Sorry if I pissed you off."

Diego shook his head. "Si vas a quemar, quema como Sol no vela."

Bethany's brows knitted together. "...huh?"

Diego screwed his face up in thought, trying to get it translated right; it was always very easy to mistranslate a metaphoric phrase and loose all meaning. "If you is have to burn, be Sun not candle."

"Nice. I like that."

"There was Diestro say something like that once....he es think like you, some, I think...."

"I tend to like that way of thinking. It's fun. You should try it."

"Sí, I notice. Of course..." Diego paused, considering whether he should complete the sentence. He did. "...you es easy to notice."

"Not a wilting violet." A pleased smirk crept across her face.

Diego grinned in responce. "You es wilter of violets."

"Yeah, well... gotta filter out the weak ones."

"Claro claro, señorita. I remember."

"So what do think, Zorro? You up for a dive bar tonight? I could use a bit of unwinding after today." He spotted the searching look behind the off the cuff question, the casual stance, the assured expression. He shouldn't. There were any number of reasons why he shouldn't and he could think of several off the top of his head, though alcohol was not one of them, at least not personally or with the Diestros; 16 had been more than old enough to drink in Spain since time immemorial, and he had already learned moderation in the area. That still left a laundry list of reasons not to.

He looked again at Bethany, determined for freedom, charting her own admittedly erratic and trouble-filled course for its own sake. And then he looked again, not as a young Diestro, not as a Knight of the Order, not even as a student in good standing of Saint Joseph's School not wanting to risk his success. He looked at her as a 16 year old male.

He was in.

((And many thanks to Bethany on this one!))

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Diego hadn't neccesarily intended to remain masked the whole night. Still there were always reasons to keep the voices of the Diestros close. Plus as safe as Pocket D always prided itself on being, it never hurt having enhanced awareness considering the nature of the....people who often went there.

And it had paid off. He'd have disliked the boy from Bloodvine's personality off the bat regardless. But his sentiment had been confirmed by that familiar tingling at the back of his neck, that otherwise unidentifiable feeling of clenching dread that meant the presence of inherent magic of the sort the Diestros had had to watch out for for generations.

He'd done his best to ignore it, though. It was, for the moment, enough to catalogue and observe the potential threat. Even as the boy had fawned over Mieri, and she in return, Diego had bitten his tongue and focused on his own affairs. But the boy had then turned his attention on Aura, and worse, Aura had eaten it right up. There are limits. There are always limits.

The night had wound down and people were starting to make their departures. The Bloodvine boy was already gone, though not soon enough. The damage had been done. Diego watched with a unseen frown as Aura sighed breathlessly.

"I bet he kisses like a panther," Aura remarked, out of nowhere. The stars were practically dancing in her eyes and the look on her face probably meant fantasies spinning in her head. She was still staring towards the door where the boy had disappeared. "All hot and dangerous."

The words struck Diego like a bucket of ice water. He didn't know if it was the natural defensive instinct that Spyros had aroused, or if it was because he felt almost unwillingly protective towards the girl. Her Vision had linked them and he at least felt it. He realised suddenly that in the midst of other worries, he had no idea who Aura was. How could she say something like that?

On her way out, Jessiy chortled. "Whoa Aura...down girl!" Nearby, Joni seemed about ready to melt away at the very thought. Alex was already snickering, apparently not surprised by the outburst. But Diego couldn't, wouldn't, just let it go. He felt compelled to point it out.

"Panthers es also can rip out throats."

For her part, Aura shrugged. "But they kiss like it's worth doing." She sighed again, her expression soft.

If Diego had thought about it, he would have realised he was losing composure quickly, completely out of proportion. But then, that was the point; Diego wasn't thinking. Aura was managing to get him to react from pure, unfiltered emotion. "You es some kind of expert?" he replied incredulously.

And Aura nodded. "I am very good at kissing, it's a lot of fun. It's a lot like dancing, only the music is beautiful just in your head." She'd risen to the bait and was not about to be outdone. "And Mieri is really lucky to have a friend like that to practice with."

At that Mieri blushed, while Diego noticed that Alex's face seemed to twist in what might have been distaste. Mieri interjected or objected (it was hard to say), "I am not in the habit of kissing Spyros these days." Alex seemed to relax at the other girl's confession but it was secondary, something noticed and then filed away for later reflection. Diego was focused on Aura who had changed into something strange right in front of his eyes.

"Diablo, en serio? What es...why...can you no...."

Aura just furrowed her brows together, obviously not following Diego's stumbled words. "But I just said I can. And I do. Often. And boy, would I like to do it with him."

Mind racing a mile a minute, Diego could barely line up his thoughts coherently in his native language. Trying to translate and make sense in english seemed like quantum physics, and the effort on top of everything else finally brought him to the end of his rope. "Carajo, odio éste idioma, nunca puedo decir lo que quiero! El grita peligroso y ustedes creen que es atractivo y no algo evitar!" He waved a hand in frustration, resorting to something understood by everyone watching.

"... Wow." That, at least, brought a pause from Aura, who looked taken aback at the vehemence. The few girls still watching started to clump together as the tension rose. The emotion behind the exclamation was clear, was even if the words themselves were not. "In english, gosh. I am not very good at French yet and I don't understand Spanish at all."

"I no want english, esstupid language esstupid people esspeak," Diego retorted, all composure lost. "Estupidos y ciegos!"

"Gee thanks, Diego." That was Alex but it was Aura who drew herself up, her own temper obviously rising and determined to match him. It was like watching a kitten turn into a tiger.

"I happen to like kissing! Its one of my favorite things to do with a boy and Spyros was really nice and I bet he really does kiss like a panther! You're being awful medieval, you know. And I am not stupid. My name is Aura, not 'stupid english'."

Alex sighed, and Mieri shifted uncomfortably as the argument continued. Joni, meanwhile, was practically cowering in place as their voices started to rise.

"Medieval?!"

"Medieval!" Aura stomped her foot for emphasis. "Stuck in the dark ages!"

"Just because an idea is old doesn't mean it should be abandoned... and calling someone stupid is a poor way of convicing someone of something," Alex threw in from the side, probably trying to be a voice of reason. Unfortunately, it was far too late for reason.

"Dios ayudame, dame fuerza, Maria y los Santos! Just because someone es manners no mean they es 'nice'! Danger es most danger when no look like danger!" How could she not understand? The boy was bad, evil magic had swirled around him all night, Diego could all but smell it. Just because he hadn't done anything....

Over the roaring in his ears, Diego heard Mieri asking Alex what was going on.

"Besides, I don't know why you're so upset!" Aura said, raising her voice higher and higher, starting to out-distance all the background noise of Pocket D. "It's not like he up and offered to kiss me. He's busy with Mieri, being 'good friends' and all. So I might have to wait my turn but still, he noticed me. And what's wrong with danger? I like adventures!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Diego saw Alex lean back to Mieri. Her lips moved with the word and a Diestro from somewhere translated it as subtext. He filed it, this was no time to be distracted. Mieri's color turned pink, her hand rising to play with the golden locket around her neck. Was she trying not to react to this? Did Aura even know what she'd just said?

"Diablo que niña, what you mean "he" notice you?!" As if Diego ignored her! He never ignored her! He couldn't have even if he wanted to. But if she wanted notice...well, Diego was masked, and a mere thought brought knowledge he didn't normally possess to the tip of his tongue. Like knowledge of Tarot cards. "En any rate, es big difference between adventure y walk blind off cliff! You should know picture of walk blind off cliff, sí? Es there no card with that picture?"

It struck home, and Aura jerked back, then glared furiously, her cheeks warm. "It's called The Fool. A life choice, made blind. One you'll never get because you wouldn't take a chance on anything even if it walked up and bit you!" Diego got a grim, bitter smile at that, but Aura wasn't done. Her fists were clenched at her sides. "Always trying to do the right thing, Diego! Always wanting to make the right choice, stack everything your way! Well, it doesn't work like that!"

Mieri must have caught something, a thread hidden among many others. "Maybe try kissing instead of biting, Aura..." she said.

Diego wasn't listening. "Oh sí, Aura?! You think so?!"

And Mercy Strike stamped her foot again. This close, Diego could see the sudden sparkle of what had to be furious tears on surprisingly dark eyelashes. Joni had moved close enough Alex that the two of them nearly shared a single profile in his peripheral vision. "I know so! 'See for me, Aura, do what I can't'? Why? Because you can't bear not to know what's going to happen. You have to know everything, have to be prepared for everything! Well, you don't know me! And you don't own me yet!" The cry went right to his heart like an arrow. "If you want a kiss, you can stand in line behind Spyros!"

That did it. Diego was not really listening anymore, he wasn't even seeing. Everything seemed trapped in a dark, red haze. "If I no take chances, I would no be en this situation!" His answering fury mounted. That she would say such a thing! "I would no jump into beams of energy y bullets y weapons with only reflex protect me! I would no have put on mask, y be broken right now! I would no have go surf en winter y catch pneumonia..." Diego's voice caught in his throat, but he kept going. "I would no have had pneumonia when family es all take trip, and I would have die with them! Like I should have!"

Mieri moved her hand to her mouth. Alex expression was indistinct but Joni seemed surprised and clung to Alex, seeking more comfort. Aura, though, was having none of it. She was spitfire and claws, her eyes flashing with more than just emotion. It was an unnerving sight, or would have been if he wasn't trying so hard to master this, drive his point home. If he even remembered what the point was. "Well, you're not dead! Stop acting like you think you are."

"I es dead," Diego intoned in a flat, vicious voice. "Es only matter of time until I find out how. Until then, I have duty."

"I think maybe this isn't the place I should be," he heard Mieri whisper. She'd probably reached the limit of what she could stand of the emotional maelstrom. Diego wasn't sure how much more he could take either. He was lost in a swirl of darker thoughts, a part of him floating outside himself, looking at himself among the souls of the Diestros who were currently watching over him. How would he handle this, another in a series of required actions. The souls of deceased who had lived their lives, performed their duties, and passed on the task to the next generation on through the march of centuries. He couldn't lose the only Seer he knew of, it couldn't be allowed to happen. He struggled to reign his temper back in.

"Maybe I end up Duelist, or Adventurer, or maybe I esstay Youngling." He left it unsaid that there was but one way to stay a Youngling; he doubted anyone there knew enough to catch it anyway. "I no know. But until I find out, I can no afford fail." He tried to make her understand, to see it his way. "THAT es why I need you help, Aura."

The words had far from their intended effect. Her back stiffened and her fingers curled hard in fists. She was actually shaking. "I am not ... I am not your duty. I don't want to be the thing you need because duty says so. And I won't See for you, until you see me." She paused, and greater, deeper emotion crept into her voice. "Me. Aura. Spyros saw me. And I'm not waiting for you. Be medieval for somebody else."

"I....you....." Diego again struggled to regain coherence at that declaration, but just like that it was too late. Aura stalked off, shaking with ill-concealed and ill-handled anger. As she left, Diego could do nothing but growl with pure, heartfelt frustration.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

She’s gone you’ve failed too late what are you going to do your mission forsworn…

He had to focus, tune it out, bring it under control even after all control had long been lost. He wouldn’t have thought it would have been so easy to lose himself the way he had. Not even with the constant irritation of magic pricking at his senses.

Why? He generally felt compelled to warn others when he saw danger. But the intensity of what he’d felt. How carried away he’d gotten. The last thing he’d wanted was to make her mad at him, or be mean to her. But he hadn’t known what to say, couldn’t make her understand, and it was so very important….

Why? There were short answers, of course. Simple reasons. Logical explanations, even. But none of it really explained what had happened, or why he had acted and reacted the way he had. Why he had felt like he had felt.

A part of him knew he should evaluate more closely just how he felt towards Aura. What he felt towards Aura, and to what extent. What she meant, what she represented. Possibly even, however low a priority, what he wanted; that one was tricky. There was what he was supposed to want, what he thought he wanted, what he shouldn’t want…

“I am very good at kissing,” she had said. “It's a lot of fun.” He shook his head, as if the thought could be physically removed. Why had she kept saying things like that? And to say them about that other boy, as if it meant nothing that he had been standing right there. Yet why had it made him angry? What did it matter what she liked or didn't like?

Diego viciously cut that train of thought off. He instinctively knew it led to places he didn’t want to go. Maybe even wasn’t ready to go, or was afraid he wasn’t ready to go. Or, perhaps most terrifying of all, places that once visited, he might not be able to leave behind again.

He told himself it didn’t matter. Duty dictated he seek the Seer’s aid. Though he didn’t admit it to himself, it was a thought he could cling to like a shield, keeping deeper, darker, and even embarrassing ones at bay for now. More importantly, it was a reason to seek out Aura again, do his best to make amends.

He couldn’t leave things as they were.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

The three bandied their words back and forth, as had they so often of late. "This all is academic, of course. We cannot make a choice for him in this; it is Coded so. You must agree this is a decision for the living."

"Certainly, but we can always advise; that is likewise Coded."

"Of course. But you must consider the possibility that we could simply complicate matters to no end."

"Would you rather he keep squandering his time with a nobody from nowhere, scared of her own shadow? Breed meekness into the line?"

"You are guilty of excessive hyperbole. At any rate, she is the first one that's shown the slightest signs of lady-like gentleness or properly reserved and modest behavior."

"Hyperbole? It is truth. She is beneath a mouse. A mouse will come out of its hole and at least have impact upon your pantry. She is a nothing, of no means or significance, from nowhere."

"Yet she did seem to spark more appropriate responses in him. He actually refrained from wearing naked armor or those rags the guttersnipe gave him."

"There is merit in that. And frankly, meekness is probably preferable to scatterbrained irrationality. Honestly, I can understand the desire to acquire the Sight for our line, and the destiny which that Vision showed was compelling. But is that glimmer worth a closer tie to some tumbledown rag-child of a Seer?"

"That is, if he even decides to resolve his emotions regarding the scatterbrained Seer he's found."

"There is the third option. For myself, I don't feel that discarding the child of a heroic legacy is called for, despite the deplorable behavior she exhibits."

"Do you jest? For one, whatever its current stature, this 'legacy' is but three meager generations. And as for that behavior..."

"Those three generations give her the closest thing to breeding amongst these meager pickings."

"I don't, in fact, care what her breeding might be in this instance. She will drag him down into the mud to satisfy her own selfish impulses."

"At any rate, even if it did breed in either the mouse's meekness or the Seer's scatterbrain, at least we could be sure the rest would come from our line, where as with that slattern..."

"And let me point out there is always danger in going contrary to Seers. Long experience has brought this fact into stark contrast. Plus, it has been nearly three-quarters of a century since last we have even had access to one. To toss that out for some admittedly significant idiosyncrasies seems a waste as well as foolhardy."

"And yet..."

These Diestros had not actually initiated what they termed a formal conclave; as such, others could approach their discussion unannounced. However, it was the last thing they were expecting. They were used to the position of deference their status as faction leaders granted them. Not all, however, felt bound to the formal customs of the factions; not all had joined factions.

One such now approached, after having appeared on the meeting ground. Though the conversation paused, it was clear that the newcomer had heard at least part of the previous exchanges. The newcomer took up a position not quite within the loose circle the faction representatives had formed.

"This is unexpected. I have not seen you manifest in quite a while. Should we assume you wish to address the situation at hand?"

Raven-black tresses were tossed over a bare shoulder, and a hip cocked as a long-fingered hand rested upon it; the stance was slightly off in the manner of one used to the weight of a blade. Shining green eyes regarded the gathering of leaders from Adventurers, Blackshirts, Duelists; the eyes were undaunted. "Why yes. This is a matter which, if it is going to be discussed, needs my particular expertise."

"Oh?" El Augosto was clearly not convinced, nor impressed.

A cold smile replied him. "Oh yes. It would not be the first time my voice has carried greater weight when this matter has come up in the past. In fact, more than one Old One has expressed similar opinion. And I have talked with an Adventurer or two, perhaps a few Spies, who seem to agree with the point of view I wish to share as well."

Sol and Colibrí exchanged glances; even they had not seen this coming. They were unprepared, and so rather than respond, they waited to see what the newcomer might say next. They had no doubt Augosto would provide fodder for further conversation; and so he did. "And what might this point of view of yours be, to have such admirable support?"

"Why, the boy needs more...shall we say....seasoning? He is much too inexperienced in this area and he needs to acquire it, time constraints be damned."

"Now listen here, wom-"

The eyes became bright green flame as a voice gone suddenly sharp interrupted Augosto before he could go further. "Diestra. Or, if you wish to be less formal, La Hermana will do. I have earned both, and you will not do me disrespect by addressing me as any less."

"It is odd for you to speak of respect when you..."

"Let it be, Augosto." Sol had no intention of seeing the conversation degenerate. "She may have a point, if delivered overly dramaticly. So then. You wish your voice to be heard in this matter. Do you care to elaborate on your statement?"

"Yes. Yes I do. Thank you." Sol subtly stiffened as the voice carried not gratittude, but the tone of one assured they would receive no less. "Right now, in these matters, he is a boy, however old he is or progressed his training might be. Knight or not, he is dreadfully inexperienced in this area, and relying on him to make any lasting choices in these circumstances will be disastrous."

"And you wish to solve this how, exactly?"

"We must advise him not to make a judgement. Not on anything long term. Not until such time as he has learned the lessons he will need to make a proper choice."

"And when might this be?"

"Who knows. But in the meantime, he needs to continue to seek out experience. Learn about himself, what he wants. How to navigate the highs and lows. He needs to fall in and out of love, earn more broken hearts and perhaps even break them. How to be comfortable as himself, and as part of a couple. Him being an inadequate husband is just as bad as choosing an inadequate wife. I should know; my brother, as much as I cared for him, was the former and did the latter. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"There is something to that, but the fact remains an heir is of utmost importance. If something should happen while he remains without one..."

La Hermana turned a thoughtful expression on Colibrí, a wisp of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Well, I don't recall saying that he wasn't allowed to produce an heir while avoiding permanent attachments." A laugh like bells greeted the incredulous looks she received in response.

"Oh come now. You three are hardly blushing schoolboys and there are no Monks here. As I recall your penchant for dalliance rather saved an untenable situation, Augosto. And don't think I'm unaware of the mathematics behind your first, Sol de España. Whatever he may have been, he was definitely not a premature birth, which means...." She clucked her tongue. "España's whitest White Knight, too. Who knows how many hearts were broken and potential alliances discarded when you actually took that gitana of yours for a bride."

"Enough." Colibrí was not about to let her score easy victory with unanswered hits upon unprotected targets. "You yourself were hardly a viable candidate for the nunnery, Hermana. You were oft known for being nearly as bad as this slattern he's found."

"I don't know about that, but perhaps we are digressing." Though marginally chastised, she remained undaunted. "What say you three as to my thoughts?"

Looks were exchanged.

"We will discuss further. There is merit, I think we must all admit. Come. Let us conclave."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Why haven't I done this sooner? Diego thought. He leaned back in his chair and stared at it. Every line, every color, resonated inside him. "I have forgot myself," he said. The words were for his own ears; there was no one else around and he was unmasked.

He reached out, and traced the outline of the shield with an index finger. It almost gave him a shiver. A simple shield, a basic symbol, especially compared to those which were housed upon it. But that basic simplicity was the foundation for everything else, the inner core so often overlooked but which made everything else possible. "Earn in battle. Earn in blood," he recited, old lessons ringing in his memory.

It was a small bit of trivia that had stuck in his head despite its best efforts. It had sunk in, perhaps leaving an impression too subtle to notice. He didn't even remember where exactly he had heard it, but it didn't matter; he brought it to mind, contemplated it, rolled it around. Earliest written record of Galicia, of home, was from the Romans. They note two things about the people: they are warlike, and they dance. A pleased grin crept across Diego's features. Before a battle, they used their shields as drums, beating spears against them to keep the beat while they sang and danced.

He leaned back in his chair. "No mucho have change. I fight. I dance." Now Diego looked at the face of the shield itself. It was quartered, divided into four sections. Each section bearing different symbols, each telling different stories. Upper left was Compostelaro; it was first. Next came the upper right; that was Ortíz. It was followed by the lower left, for Tabuada, and last came the lower right for de León.

"First, dragón and esstar. Earn in warfare against Moros en conquest of Portugal. Second, lion and roses. From Asturias itself, last kingdom of Christians remain en Iberia, and from where reconquer of entire peninsula back from Moros began. Very old. Third, pallets oro on gules, from Galicia, also earn from wars against Moros. Four, crowned lion púrpura for Kingdom of León, one of major kingdoms carve out of lands retake from Moros.”

One last symbol remained on the shield itself, at the central intersection of the four quarters. A red lion’s head, roaring. Below the shield, a motto on a scroll, in latin: Iunctura Cognatus.

“All symbols earned en war. Tittles, earned through combat. Position earned with esstrength of arms. Noble of España.” Diego pushed his chair back and stood. He touched the helm bearing a coronet on top of the shield. “Vizconde de Tristevega. Señor de Dos Montes. Señor de Marca Sanguinolenta. Escudero de Castillo Cienluces. Gran Caballero del la Orden Sagrada del León Rojo.”

Diego picks up the copy of his coat-of-arms, giving one last, long look before placing it back in his trunk. I will be what I am. No less. A quick flare of anger welled up. I will not listen to those who want me to be less. A determined glint came over his eyes then, a small fond smile on his face. I will think of a shy smile. Of dark, hooded eyes opening wide, and full lips, and long ears perked up in surprised. There is more than one reason to want to be a noble knight. The maiden in her tower of fear...Joni. I look in her eyes and I want to be that. For her. For me.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

There was a time when the right man with a good sword could conquer the world. For centuries, millenia, it was true.

Now, girls can flip buses and boys can throw lightning bolts. It is all around me. I hate it. We all have our wounds here, crosses to bear. We wear them like our school uniforms, making the best of what the Lord gave. But they got power to shake the world. I have a sword. Duty. And can see their souls. See how incredible, special, they all are from the inside out.

How can I not hate them all, even just a little, even the ones I like?

There are times, I feel closer to the boy with deer antlers or girl with flourescent eyes, than the others who are registered. It is hard to feel sympathy for the blockbusters, powerhouses. Really, I'm so very sorry you can crack the world like an egg with the power in your hand? No. But in the end, the truth is, I'm not either kind. Not really. I'm more, and less, more or less.

Because there was a time a man with a sword could conquer the world, and it has not been forgotten. That's why the Diestros, why we, never abandoned it. Everyone alive is here because their ancestors respected the power of the sword. Those who did not respect it died on it, culled like bad grapes from a vintage. Generation after generation, those who knew the power of a sword lived, those who forgot it did not. So it was bred into mankind, bone deep, soul deep, the power of the sword. All it takes is the flash of naked steel, sleek and beautiful and awful, and they remember.

So maybe the time is gone when a man with a sword could conquer the world, but with will and training, he can challenge it. Fight it. Change it. That is what they, my family, have done. That. That is what I have to do. What I will do until it will kill me, just like all of them. And oh so very few in their beds. But it doesn't matter. Until then, I will prove it. The power of the sword and the person behind it, and everyone will remember.

From the company around me I stand alone. But We stand Bonded. The Lion Roars.

En Ferro Veritas!

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Gunfire is always a touch tricky. Luckily people are people. Details flow into my awareness, my senses expanded. The tension of their muscles, their stance, the arc as they bring up their weapons. I am not where they begin to shoot; any strikes will be so minor as to be negligible. Nothing I haven't had before.

Staccato thunder barks out, filling my ears, as they begin pulling triggers. Closing the distance quickly with rapid, unpredictable hops, I let fly with a weapon old as combat, old as time. Fear. Intimidation. As I thought, they were vulnerable to it. Their weapons tremble in their fingers, unused, and I begin.

A fast slash cuts tendons; there will be no more pulls of that trigger. He takes off at a run, howling. He may find his courage later, but for now I worry about more immediate things. Like his compatriot, struggling to compose himself through the threads of dread I've laced into his soul. I take the tiniest moment to observe, detached, the mathematical shapes of the combat before me. His neck is exposed to a forward compass high stroke, and options flit across my consciousness.

My blade is almost more an older cut-and-thrust sword than true rapier; it is no saber, but slashing is very much viable. But a decapitation stroke is too much, and even a slit throat slower than I'd like. A thrust is much faster, more precise, direct. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. I move my arm forward, the blade just the extension of my will to harm. I decide on carotid, and a spray of red replies, spilling from the artery I've pierced. I could have gone for jugular, or windpipe, or even pierced the spinal cord. So many targets, all close together, in the neck. His life dims, and I take a moment to watch his soul detach, fade. I wonder if I'm curious about it because my own soul's fate will be so different...

Onward deeper in, and two more are by the entrance to a corridor. They may as well have posted signs telling me where I need to go and saved themselves the trouble. My footfalls less than a cat's whisper, my form masked as it were by their susceptability to the command not to notice me, I am already among them. They swing their firearms towards me but my swords are already much too far in motion for them to have any hope of saving themselves from harm. The first of them fires wild, missing without my even needing to alter my path. They'd most likely always relied on the power of a gun and neglected the man behind it, leaving them pitiful things compared to the focused and deadly drive behind my blades.

A punctured arm, a deep gash across the torso, and the point of my dagger biting deep into him and the shock drops him while my rapier deflects his compatriot's clumsy attempt to club me with the butt of his weapon. Oh so sad, really, but I've had my playtime already and am not in the mood anymore. I unleash a rapid flurry, a series of thrusts and sweeping strokes leaving him a bloody mess and raising a fine, pink haze.

Entering the corridor, I step from carpet onto bare flooring, walls likewise losing a veneer of civility for an impression of strength. The lighting becomes harsh fluorescent, dispelling shadows. There are more cameras covering this area of the building; I idly wonder if any of this will find its way on local media, or if it will be lost in the larger flow of events, great and small. An idle musing as I float ever onward, knowing where the last of them will be: the vault itself. As I reach it, I am not disappointed.

A leader of sorts and several of his cronies hover around it. It only takes a quick glance at how they clutch their rapid-fire guns protectively to know these are not any more skilled than the ones I've left behind me, staining the carpet. I sigh inwardly, knowing they should just give up, knowing they won't. Again I am among them before they realize it, again they scramble as pain and steel explodes in their midst. Frenzied whorls and irregular shapes materialize as I wreck havoc from within their loose grouping, and I dance the circle round and round through them. The wet thunk as my sword moves through one and into another is counterposed by the sharp bite of gunfire. I'm mildly surprised they don't cut each other down as they attempt to bring me into their life of fire. Their leader shouts orders, trying to turn panicked mob into organized force again. Oh, that won't do. I wish I could look in his eyes as the light of life winks out, but there's too many for that kind of luxury. I console myself by twisting my dagger in his innards; he falls in howling pain, and I know he'll be at it a while. It also serves to help unnerve the others, assited by the incessant splatter of their blood on each other as I spin. The air is heavy with the coppery smell of it. It brings a smile to my face as I methodically dispatch the rest.

I put my blades away, watch my footing on the now-damp flooring. The vault is no barrier to me. The room houses a great variety of items, but senses greater than greed let me locate the one I sought quickly. It is in a locked cage within the greater vault, but this is no more a barrier that the outer door or those who stood in my way. All too easily I have what I came for, slightly amused at how easy it was to acquire from the evidence vault of the police. A relatively low quality weapon, but one with a slight crust of dried blood. His blood. I touch it, focusing my soul on the Bond...blood to blood...oh yes, there he is, deep within his hiding hole, the school surrounded by hallowed ground. Of course. But with this blood...with this...

I cry out in astonishment as a shock courses through me, accompanied by bright light and the sound of....bells? I stare accusingly at the weapon which carries a slight piece of him, but I realize almost instantly that it is not that. So, he has found some sort of mago, or vicario, or visir to place some sort of guardian magics, has he? I clench my fists, thinking for a moment, then grab what I came for and am gone.

*********************

Diego jerks awake in bed, soaked in cold sweat. Something tickles his memory, like a dream already forgotten but refusing to go away. A calm peace soon settles over him, though, and he lays down again. He wont even remember he'd woken up by the time his alarm goes off in the morning.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Spot the pattern. There is pain laced in mine. Mostly, it has been my own, though it is inevitable for that to change. But unless I see the pattern for what it is, I remain trapped. We remain trapped. Minotaurs, imprisoned in labyrinths not of our own construction though no less real, while we bring harm to those who wander in.

From within, the labyrinthine pattern is walls and openings, doors and corridors. But if I can climb the wall, see it from above, the pattern is revealed, the way out made manifest. I have to climb the wall in front of me though I don’t want to. Rough-hewn, covered in vines bristling with thorns. Pain is laced in the pattern.

I do what I can. I harden myself. I become El Diestro, everything except my next action falling away. My hands grip vine and stone. Brambles and rock shards dig into my hands. I won’t be able to dawdle; blood will make things slippery, and eventually numbness will impair my ability to climb, find purchase. (Even before everything, she had been able to lighten my heavy heart. She was sweetness and joy, dancing and laughter and smiles. I’d always been drawn to smiles.)

I don’t get that far before vines become more fragile, less able to bear my weight. Almost as if to spite me. I can’t rule that out. One vine comes off in my hands almost entirely. My toes scramble to find the slightest jut in the stone to rest on as I desperately try to lean forward, lean into the wall, willing myself to stay on. I do, for now. (And then it happened. Is there a chance it was my fault? Have I inflicted this all on her? I’d told her my ancestors had hunted Seers…that was true, all true, too true. But it was not the whole truth…)

There is a slight tilt to the wall in my favor, but as I can’t rely on vines to bear me at all, I scramble from fingertip hold to fingertip hold, pausing to make sure my feet are under me before the next move. Fingertip, fingertip, toe. Move. Weak though the vines may be, their spines still manage to dig into flesh, and I’m sure my hands have lost several layers of skin to the wall. (…there were times when those Diestros who didn’t wish to be slaves to destiny, who feared the Seers or the words they gave them, had tried to flee, or to ignore. Catastrophe, every time. It had failed, every time. We have been pulled to them, they have drawn us in, at least as often as we have hunted.)

The pain won’t stop me, though. I can’t let it, I can’t let the pattern swing me around again, crash down on me and those around me time and again. I can only draw on my own strength in this, unlike so many tests in the past. But the Mask, my ancestors, aren’t there to succeed for me. They’re there so I can learn to succeed. I can’t fail here, like I couldn’t fail on the grey plane, when the confrontation had occurred. I have to know the way to egress; does it lead where I want to go? Will that path prove more painful than the current entrapment before I find my way loose? Too late for those thoughts, those questions, too late by half, and I keep climbing. (Nothing could break her loose from my thoughts. Even feelings for others couldn’t eclipse her light from my mind. That’s real, I can’t deny. I tried to deny. I tried to ignore it. I tried to wash it out with others, and that was real too. They are real. But it wasn’t, couldn’t be enough, my fate isn’t mine, not anymore. I tried anyway, callous and heartless as that makes me. Ignoble, unchivalric, base, cruel, but I was scared, am scared, why did destiny have to come, why me, ay why…)

The lip of the wall is within reach, but I slip as I reach, sliding, rock like sandpaper and knives, vines needles and daggers. I stop before I drop too far. As I knew they would, my hands begin to disobey me. They can only be pushed so far or so hard. Oh Good Lord Above, please, let it be long enough. Let me have the strength. I’m trying, fighting, really I am. (But that being true, what could I do? What can I do?)

Careful, ay, careful. Let this ridge hold, just a moment. Shoulders strained, one hand clawed and gripping hard enough to push through the numbness into another tier of pain. I reach again, willing the wall to give, to let me up. The lip is there, I feel it, I pull and pull. Up I go, other hand desperately over it now, my feet completely without grip and it all rests on my upper body, and whatever endurance I may have left. Pull up, swing my leg over. The top. Victory. I roll over onto my back. Exertion and delayed reaction wash over me in waves. Finally, I sit, then kneel. I look out, and there they lie. Pattern and path.

Stone walls heavy with age, solid with the weight of centuries. Here and there, a passage vine-choked into impassibility, or a newer wall of naked stone thrown up. The forks of choices made, choices not made, yet to be made or made repeatedly, spiraling in on themselves and driving ever deeper into the heart of the structure.

I can’t deny it anymore. That I can’t do. To do that would lead me back to the middle, through a dark archway of pain imposing in its presence. The path the other way isn’t free of pain, and the end destination hazy and too far to see. I can’t See. But the alternative was no real alternative. I had to talk to the Diestros. I had to talk to Joni, and recriminations tore at me at the thought of what that would be like. She deserved better than to have wandered into a minotaur’s labyrinth. And I had to face Aura.

Aura and I. Explore it, and know it, or it would come for me or her and tear everything around us apart of its own volition. And though the thought wasn’t guilt free, for cold streamers of shame and regret wound through it, I knew finally. Really, for real knew. Totally knew. I was looking forward to this. The path into the hazy, unseen distance would lead to a new pattern with its own walls and pitfalls. But she can see. She can light the way. I want her to light my way.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Farewell to the Flesh

Of course Aura's mom wouldn't let her go; she kept a close eye, tight reins, on her, and a Carnival celebration was apparently out of the question. Technically, Aura wasn't even supposed to be dating me. I wondered when that would even change. Not that I was really eager to have to meet her, but that day would have to come, and maybe it would help...maybe. Anyway, its not like dating me was all that easy either.

Anyway, it left me no real reason to want to go. Last year had been different. This year...well, spending it with those who would revel tonight and then the next day sacrifice nothing, had and would proudly proclaim non-catholisism...ugh. I avoided most celebrations for the same reason, especially Pocket D. It was just not worth the constant trigering of my danger and magic senses.

I wandered around Talos; got a gyro to eat, went down to the boardwalk and got a milkshake. I watched the sea for a while. Not exactly sinful pleasures, but an ok start. I thought about heading out to Jules' place; Sam would have off tonight but it was still usually worth the trip. But then, maybe Jules would have off too, and that would leave him in charge. Nevermind.

What did that leave? Not much, not much. I went back to the dorms, got my suit, and went to a place I could swim for a while. That was good. Gliding through the water, the weightless feeling of floating, diving down until the pressure in my ears and the burning in my lungs forced me back up. I loved it all, always had, but finally left reluctantly.

I ignored the secular celebrations, not to mention celebrants, best I could and headed to my room in the dorms. Not the best day ever, but there had been many worse. I wondered idly how many of those celebrants would bother to go to Ash Wednesday Mass at the Chapel. I'll see for myself, I know. I sighed to myself. I would receive the blessing, and with the holy ashes on my skin, don the Mask for the forty days of the season of Lent. I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Tnk Tnk Tnk Tnk Tnk. The thin metallic sound rang out, lending cadence to the shuffle of footsteps, the staccato of measured breathing, and the occasional grunt which interposed itself into the conversation.

“She dressed up like a man?” Diego asked.

“She was slim, and had always been a tomboy. Swore better than…ngh…better than I could, from spending time around the sailors of her father’s ships,” replied Trotamundos.

“So when her father agreed to your engagement, she snuck away as a man on a ship?”

Tnktnktnk Tnk Tnk. The blows were soft, the defenses barely touched the opposing blade. Probe and block, searching and testing the others’ skill, the quirks of their style.

“Exactly. I was still a squire at that point, but I knew I had to go find her. Her father expected me to bring her back. Plus, it’s not like we hadn’t…known each other. I had to ask her why she did it, even if I failed at everything else.”

“How long did that take?” It never even occurred to Diego to ask if he had succeeded. That answer seemed foregone.

“A while.”

Tnk Tnk Tnk Tnk Tnk.

“I caught up to her in Puerto Rico, but she got away when she tricked some locals into thinking I was a Royal Tax Collector. By the time they stopped impeding my every step…to say nothing of what they did to my room at the inn…she’d fallen in with some smugglers and ended up in Tortuga.”

“Ha! Nnn…close…so you caught her in Tortuga?”

“No…in Tortuga she didn’t need tricks to get folks against me. Her French was flawless, mine was rusty and sounded like a Spaniard speaking French. So the French buccaneers got her away on a ship to Port Royal and I had two duels and a tavern brawl.”


Tnktnk Tnk Tnktnk Tnk. Now greater force was applied, strength and endurance coming into play, with quick changes in direction testing reflexes. They each begin to circle each other. The pace is still measured, however.

“Port…Port Royal? Where is that?”

“Is? It is at the bottom of the Caribbean, and for its wickedness it deserved every inch of that fate. But it was the capital of Jamaica.”

“Oh! So then, was your English better than your French? What happened there?”

“She caught me.”

Tnk Tnktnk Tnk Tnk. Now things began in earnest. TnkTnkTnkTnkTnk. Wicked thrust flows into blinding riposte. Steps patter quicker on the solid surface of the dueling ground, feet turning and sliding across with as much grace as any dance and more than most.

“Cau—Ah! Caught you?”

“I finally caught up to her. I had no English, but I had one thing more important, more effective than her quick wit.”

Diego spun around a clever feint, but smiled a small smile at his family’s sense of the dramatic, which he realizes has apparently been in the line quite a while. He knows the story will not continue until he asks, so he asks. “What is that?”

“Gold. Even in the lowest pirate slum hole of the Caribbean, no one turned away Spanish gold. I bribed my way to her. She pretended defeat, and contrition, told me what I wanted to hear, did what I had wanted her to do. That morning, I woke to find she left me bound to the bed while she was on a ship headed to Panama.”

Whatever Diego’s reaction to that may have been was lost as he saw an opening and rushed Trotamundos, attempting to body-check. Trotamundos, though surprised, was able to dive out of the way in time. As Diego thrust to keep the pressure on after his unconventional maneuver, Trotamundos replied with one of his own. Grabbing hold of his own cape in his left hand, he swirled it up and into Diego’s face, causing him to jerk his head back and blink. Trotamundos then jabbed quickly with own rapier, making Diego to bring his own blade back to block. The move was a trick, however, and now it was Diego desperately backpedaling as Trotamundos swirled his cape around his arm, threatening to entangle it.

Tnktnktnktnktnktnktnktnk. Both swordsmen spun now, towards and away, clockwise and counterclockwise, minds desperately calculating angles and arcs as feet hopped, revolved, glided in steps no less smooth for their urgency. Blades clashed again and again, trying to slide past, trying to batter an opening, trying to disarm the foe. Finally, though, stalemate reared its head, and both paused, swords held point to point at shoulder level.

“I…I didn’t think anyone actually used the cape techniques.”

“You’d be surprised what works in a tavern brawl, let alone an impromptu duel.”

“So, what happened in Panama?” Diego finally asked, breathing slightly heavier and mind still desperately working for the next angle.

“Nothing. By the time I got there, she had gone north overland, and gotten passage on one of the galleons travelling to Manila, in the Philippines. By the time I got there, she was headed to India. I didn’t actually catch up until she ran into trouble at a trader’s port in Africa.”

“Did you finally catch her there?”

Tnk tnk tnk tnk. They began again, probing lightly.

“Yes. I….the confrontation started as just an argument. Then, well, she turned out to be almost better with her fists than I was. I suppose she had to be to have gotten so far.”

Diego beat off a sudden flurry from Trotamundos. “Ah, yeah. Then what happened?”

“Then...we…we ended up together. It…we spent the next four days together. The four best I would ever know. After that, we found a local priest, and then sent word we were finally together back to Spain.”

“That’s…wow.”

“That is how it is sometimes. So what about yours?”

Tnktnk Tnktnk Tnktnk Tnktnk Tnktnk. Swords began flashing again in renewed vigor. Trotamundos started adding sudden flourishes, a spin here, a twirled blade there. Diego reacted warily, unwilling to overextend despite the opportunities afforded.

“What about my what?”

“Your girl. The Seer? You are with her now?”

“I…” A flourish became unexpected attack, taking advantage of surprise. “Yes, I am. Why?”

“I just didn’t think you’d have ended up as a Seer’s back when we fought together in the Conflict. “

TnkTnkTnkTnkTnkTnkTnk

“I didn’t either?”

“Well, granted. But…you knew before you admitted it, before you acted on it.”

“I don’t….I was confused. I didn’t know anything. I still don’t, really. I was just trying to do the right thing, or the best thing I could. I…I haven’t done very well. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have kept causing problems.”

“You always kept her close. You knew to do that.”

“True…” Diego’s sword began to flag as the hesitancy in his voice rose.

“You felt the pull, even if it wasn’t the only one. You were lost, Diego, and the more you couldn’t find your way free, the more you were pulled to someone who could be a light to chart a course.”

“I…don’t…”

“Have to rely on your instincts more, Diego. In the end, they are generally true.”

“I guess…maybe…?”

Tnk Tnktnk Tnk TNK. Flourishes now did not leave openings, but allowed Trotamundos to strike from multiple angles and unexpected directions. Diego tried to raise a stronger defense and shield himself in his blades.

“See, there you go trying to outthink it. It doesn’t go so well. Sometimes even worrying about doing the right thing will steer you wrong. Do what you feel.”

“Like…ah!..like what?”

“I don’t know what you feel, Diego. That’s for you. But you know what?”

“What is that?”

“As a start, you could always just go and give her a kiss. It couldn’t hurt.”

TnkTnkTnk Thunk.

“Touché.”



“Diego. Diego!”

His head jerks up.

“Geez, if you’re just going to stand there starting off into space, why are you even hanging out here?”

Jarred, trying to reacquire his bearings, Diego turned his masked stare on to his fellow students. Then he simply shrugged and wordlessly walked away.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

A las 10:43 am local, el hombre conocido en España y el mundo como el Nuevo Diestro murio salvando habitantes de un pequeño municipio en el sur de Italia. El municipio fue sitio de un siniestro incendio que ya habia destruido un gran area del campo alrededor. No hay palabra en porque el Nuevo Diestro estaba en esa area, or porque peleo tan duro en opuesto del fuego. "¡Era un angel!" exclamo una vecina.

El Nuevo Diesto, cuyo nombre era Vizconde Diego Fernando San Juan Compostelaro y Ortiz Tabuada de Leon, esta sobrevivido por sus dos hijas y tres hijos, y por un nieto. Corren rumores de que por la primera vez en siglos, España tendra una Diestra, algo que solo ha pasado dos veces antes. Todavia no hay palabra en que manera sera su funeral, o que honores Italia intende a darle por su sacrificio. De qualquier manera, el municipio llamado Cupertino lo tienen en sus corazones. "Jamas lo olvidaremos," dijo el alcalde. "Jamas."