EL-HAZARD : MORTAL ENGINES

                        by Alan Harnum

        Chapter Nine - You Who Will Come to the Surface
           
El-Hazard is a copyright of AIC/Pioneer LDC.  This story, 
however, belongs to me, and I request that you don't publicly
post or archive it without my permission.

This copy of the story is from my centralized fanfiction archive
at http://www.thekeep.org/~harnums/fanfic.  I can be reached by
e-mail at harnums@thekeep.org

* * *
     
     "That's why things might become awkward."
     
     Makoto puzzled over the statement, trying to get some hint
from Miz's voice or posture as to the actual meaning of it.  
Should he probe further, try to get Miz to tell him clearly and
succintly what she meant about Shayla?  It wasn't the kind of
action he was normally comfortable with, but... just what did Miz
mean by "awkward", anyway?  

     He started to speak before he'd decided exactly what to 
say, something he did not do frequently; then, a voice raised 
loud enough to shake the deck above from the cabin below 
silenced whatever he would have said.

     "What are you _doing_?  Get off me!"
     
     Following in its wake, a high and petulant wail of, "But
Shayla..."

     "Oh dear God," Miz muttered wearily.  "Makoto, get down 
there and sort out whatever the problem is before she burns a
hole in the boat, will you?"

     Resignedly, Makoto hurried belowdecks to play peacemaker.
He probably shouldn't have left Alielle sleeping in Shayla's lap;
then again, trying to move her would have just ended in a scene
comparable to this.

     In the claustrophobic cabin, Shayla was looming over a
cringing Alielle.  Spectral pink flames haloed the priestess's
head and rippled along her limbs; Alielle was hunched in one
corner of the cabin, eyes wide, hands held up as though in
supplication.

     "But Shayla-Shayla, I get so lonely when I have to fall
asleep alone... I'm not used to that."

     "It doesn't mean you can go to sleep in my damn lap, you
little nympho!"

     "But--"
     
     At the foot of Afura's bed, Ura raised her head and meowed
plaintively.  "Big noise!"

     Shayla whirled on the cat as if at a new threat in battle.
"This little trollop--"

     "Trollop!" Alielle exclaimed, in a tone of deepest offense.
     
     "--used my lap as a _pillow_ the whole night, and you know
what she said to me when I woke up--"

     "I am not a trollop!  Do you think trollops can speak six
different--"

     "--'Good morning, Shayla.  Did you enjoy our night 
together?', that's what she--"

     Makoto held up his hand.  "Umm..."
     
     "Ahh!  What's goin' on?  Enemies?  Where?  I'll smash 'em!"
Fujisawa leapt to his feet, tripped over them, and fell down on
his head.  "Ow."

     "--does a trollop know all thirty-seven positions from 
the--"

     "--and then she tried to--"
     
     "Ow.  What's going..."
     
     Makoto rang the axe-like head of the Power-Key Staff off one
wall with a reverberating gunshot sound.  "Hey!"

     Everyone paused, and he suddenly became--to his discomfort--
the focus of attention.     

     "I know it's a little cramped in here, but can't we all get
along?  Shayla, you should't get so upset over such a little 
thing.  Alielle, you know that, err... behaviour annoys Shayla."
     
     Shayla's angry glow faded a little.  She turned to Makoto.
"I..."

     "And we were supposed to let Afura rest," Makoto chided.
     
     The young priestess stared at her feet.
     
     "Actually," Afura said from within the tight coccoon of 
bedsheets, "I was almost able to ignore it until you banged on
the hull.  Now I have a headache."

     Ura hopped off the bed and crossed the floor to rub against
Makoto's legs, purring happily.  Makoto bent down with a sigh and
scratched her ears.

     Seeming glad that Makoto's focus was no longer on her, 
Shayla knelt down by the bed and spoke softly to Afura.  "How you
feeling?"

     A tousled head emerged from amidst the sheets, and Afura
blinked wearily.  The bruises on her face looked even uglier this
morning than they had yesterday.  "I hurt all over, but other 
than that, I'm fine."

     "Want some help getting up on deck?" inquired Shayla.
     
     Afura waved the offer away with one pale hand.  "I can do it
myself."

     Wounded, Shayla replied, "I was just offering."
     
     In contrast to the clamour of moments earlier, uncomfortable
and loaded silence had fallen over the small cabin.  Makoto bent
down and gathered Ura into his arms; the cat rumbled 
appreciatively as he stroked her head.  

     "Alielle, Fujisawa-sensei, why don't you take the supplies 
up on deck and get breakfast started?" he suggested.  

     Fujisawa yawned, stretched, scratched himself, then rubbed
his head.  "Sounds good."  He snagged a pallet of supplies 
one-handed from the stack in the corner and swung it casually at
his side as he left the cabin.  Alielle, after throwing a hurt
glance at Shayla--who took no notice of it--hurried after him.

     Tucking Ura between one arm and his shoulder, Makoto 
followed them, Shayla and Afura's voice trailing after him as he
went up.

     "Are you sure you don't want my help?"
     
     "I said I didn't."
     
     Back up on deck, Alielle and Fujisawa-sensei were laying 
down a picnic cloth for a breakfast of cold meats, cheeses and 
breads.  Ura slid out of Makoto's arms and sniffed at an
orange-tinged pate.  "Smells funny."

     "It's a delicacy," Alielle said.  "Try some."
     
     Ura nipped at it, and made a face.  "Tastes funnier."
     
     Realizing how hungry he was, Makoto sat down and crossed his
legs.  He surveyed the food, and was about to pick up a pastry 
when the creaking of the stairs made him look away.  Afura was
coming up from below, closely followed by Shayla; it was quite
obvious from her posture that Shayla was ready to move in an
instant to support her comrade if she stumbled.  The look on 
Afura's face made it clear that she considered the attention not
only unnecessary, but possibly even insulting.

     Makoto munched on the slightly stale pastry in contemplative
silence, as Afura slowly settled herself to the deck.  Shayla
moved as if to help her sit; Afura glared, and the motion died 
almost before it was born.

     The others talked idly around him.  Makoto didn't pay much
attention, although he did note that Alielle was making a pointed
effort to ignore Shayla; he also noted that Shayla didn't 
especially seem to care.
     
     He relaxed his body, opened his mind, and probed out.  A
dull metallic taste filled his mouth; distantly, Mardruk lay in
sleep akin to death.  Reaching out for Lethiaphan made him feel
tainted, but he did it anyway; let his mind spread out to 
encompass the beyondness of space, to forge a link spanning the
vast gulf between the Self and the Other...

     After an eternity compressed within two heartbeats, he 
opened his eyes.

     "Miz," he called.  "Come over here."
     
     At the helm, Miz looked back questioningly.  Then, she eased
the boat to a slow drift, and walked over to where the others are
breakfasting.  "Yes?"

     "Yeah, Makoto, what is it?" Shayla asked between mouthfuls.
     
     "Lethiaphan has stopped moving," he said.  His tongue 
moistened his dry lips.  "We're going to catch up with them in
a little less than an hour."

     A dry smile curved on Afura's bruised face.  "Then we'd best
get prepared."     

***

     The angel was garbed all in white, and held a sword that
flamed balefully.  With a curled finger and a teasing smile, she
beckoned him towards her.  He ran through the whispering black
grass that swayed in unison with the wind, but never came any
closer.

     "Fool," she whispered, and with two quick cuts severed her
own wings.  They fell to the grass and began to burn, and blood
black as the grass fountained from the wounds.  The blood hung in 
mid-air like a pair of rippling curtains, and then reformed into
black bat-wings.  They flapped once, and the pale destroyer swept
upward into the heavens.
     
     "No!  Wait!"
     
     Suddenly, his foe stood smirking before him.
     
     "It's no good," the enemy mocked.  "You'll never beat me.
You'll never be good enough."

     He lashed out, and struck his rival's face.  It burst like a
balloon, and he ran through the dispersing atoms to where the 
angel had stood.

     "Wait!" 
     
     Despairing, he fell to his knees, and stretched up his hands
towards the pitiless grey sky in supplication to the rapidly
disappearing figure.  "Wait!  I can do it!  Don't go!

     "Don't leave me!"
     
     Smoke from the burning wings stung his eyes.  Burning,
burning, burning.

     Jinnai opened his eyes.  The first thing he saw was the dim
gleam of Lethiaphan's face, dulled by the low lights within the
cabin until it seemed more black than silver.

     "Why are you bending over me?" he snarled at the war 
machine.

     "You were engaged in movements and vocalizations consistent
with somnambulic disturbance.  I am required to protect my master
unless ordered to do otherwise.  Had your movements threatened to
harm you, I would have intervened."

     "Oh.  Very well, then."  Jinnai raised his head from the
Bugrom he'd been using as a pillow, and groaned as his neck 
kinked.  "Damn things aren't very comfortable to lie on."  He
looked around the cabin.  "Where's my sister?"

     "Sister?"
     
     "Nanami."
     
     "Nanami went up on deck."
     
     "What?  Why didn't you wake me and tell me?"
     
     "You didn't ask me to do so if that occured."
     
     Jinnai stood up and smirked condescendingly.  "You really 
are just a machine, aren't you?"

     "I am a hierodule."
     
     "Good for you."  He took out his comb and began to arrange
his hair, using Lethiaphan's face as a mirror.  In response to 
his awakened state, the phosphorescent walls had grown brighter,
and the sleeping Bugrom began to unfold their limbs from their
shells and rise up.  Deva wouldn't let Nanami do something stupid
like trying to escape anyway.

     "Welcome to a new and glorious morning, my loyal troops!" he
barked.  "Are you ready to serve me with all your hearts, even
unto the most horrible deaths imaginable?"

     The Bugrom saluted and agreed.
     
     "Wonderful!"  He paused, and scratched his cheek.  Something
was oddly out of place.  He counted his Bugrom; one, two, three,
four, five, six... all there.  

     One of the smaller ones raised its hand.  "Yes, what is it,
Zeppo?"

     Zeppo asked a question.
     
     "No, I don't know why the boat isn't moving."  So that was
what it was.  "But I was about to go up on deck and check.  
Follow me!"  He glanced to Lethiaphan.  "You too."

     Trailed by his faithful Bugrom and his glorious new weapon, 
he walked out onto the deck, and found Nanami and Deva standing
at the railings, fixated on something he couldn't see from his
angle.

     "What are you two staring at?"
     
     Deva pointed.  "You'd best see for yourself."
     
     Jinnai walked over, with Lethiaphan pacing beside him.  As
usual, the Bugrom shrank back before the Demon-God as though it
gave off some repellent aura.

     From a small boat off the starboard bow of the ship, a 
tanned, long-haired near-doppelganger of his sister looked back
at him.  Her eyes met his, and locked; he almost heard a sound
akin to the click of bolts sliding into place.

     Time slid to a slow molasses drip.  Light and substance
leached from the world, until he stood within a long dark tunnel
locking eyes with the girl.  

     She broke the bond; the bolts slid back, and her gaze moved
fractionally away from him, to Lethiaphan.  Her eyes went wide;
she shrieked piercingly.

     "The faceless king," she moaned, voice cutting across the
waters to slash at his hearing.  "The terrible lord, bringer of
ruin, abyss-risen, scourge of men, obliterating hate,
annihilation of memory..."  Voice dropping lower until Jinnai
could no longer hear it, she slowly sank down as though in a 
faint.

     The boat's pilot, a thickset bearded man, cried out,
"Perra!", and began to turn the boat around to head back towards
the sandy coastlines of the island.

     "Hold them!" Jinnai barked to Lethiaphan.  The Demon-God
raised its silver hand, and clenched it into a fist; morning sun
flickered as though trapped within the glistening flesh.  In the
water, the boat ceased to move, and an angry roar like a caged
tiger began to sound from it.  Suddenly, with a sharp pop and a
small lick of flame, smoke began to pour from the back of it.
The man took his hands off the controls and raised them above his
head.

     "Please, sir, have mercy in God's name.  My daughter is of
fragile health, and easily susceptible to fits.  I have herbal
preparations for her back at my house, but..."

     Jinnai flicked his gaze to Deva and Nanami, both of whom
seemed incapable of speech, lost in thought as they were.  The
same thoughts, or different ones?  He could not say.

     "I, the great Jinnai, am magnanimous," he said.  "Release 
the boat, my servant.  Queen Deva, follow them to shore."  A
feeling near to lust came over him as he studied the long cliff-
shadowed coastline, and the forests and mountains distantly 
visible beyond it.  There was something important about his 
place; he could feel it in an almost visceral way.

     "Thank you, sir.  God bless you."
     
     No need for that, Jinnai thought smirkingly.  He already
has.  The man placed his hands on the controls again; the boat's
engine made a choking sound, and the smoke began to pour thicker
and blacker.

     "My boat is crippled," the man said humbly, sounding sorry
to have spoken again.  "Your aid in reaching the shore would be
appreciated."

     "Lethiaphan, bring them to shore with us."
     
     Lethiaphan lifted a hand, palm up.  
     
     "Oh," Jinnai added, "and make sure you do it gently, 
please."

     Deva returned to the helm and began to steer the ship 
towards the shore; the small boat followed beside them at 
precisely the same speed.

     Nanami touched his wrist.  "Katsuhiko, who do you think that 
girl is?"

     "Why don't you tell me, Nanami?" he replied.  "After all, 
you seem to have a lot in common with her."

     "I'm serious.  Why did you come here, anyway?"
     
     "God called me, and I came."
     
     She leaned in close to him, and dropped her voice to a 
whisper.  "Do you have the slightest idea of how completely nuts
that sounds?"  Why she cared if Deva or Lethiaphan or the Bugrom
overheard escaped him, but he would humour her.

     "No doubt it seems deluded to you, Nanami," he hissed back.
"But all great men are seen as deluded by their contemporaries.
And the succeeding generations tar and feather their memory in an
attempt to feel better about their own weakness..."  The roster 
of names scrolled through his head, his heroes: Machiavelli, 
Napoleon, Nietzsche reduced to madness in the last years of his
life...

     "It seems deluded because it _is_ deluded.  Did you ever
hear God talking to you before you came here?"

     "No.  But that was then, and this is now.  Things have
changed," he shot back.  "The status quo, as such, has shifted.
If you could see the dreams I've seen, Nanami--"

     "Dreams?" she interrupted.  "What dreams?"
     
     The boat shuddered as it rode up onto the wet ribbon of sand
bridging shore and sea.  Jinnai turned away, and began to order
the Bugrom off the boat.

     "We'll talk later, Nanami."  He waved a dismissive hand at 
her, not especially caring whether they did or not.

***

     "So why'd they stop?"
     
     Makoto looked at Shayla uncomfortably, and glanced to Miz.
The squeaking of chalk on the deck as Afura sketched the battle
plan filled the silence.

     Miz lowered her teacup from her lips and looked straight at
Shayla.  "From the charts and my navigations, Jinnai and his
Bugrom have likely made landing on Turanga."

     "Oh."  Shayla's voice held the threat of fire in it, like 
the glowings of a coal.  "And you didn't decide to tell me this
until now because?"

     "I've only known it since a little while ago," Miz answered
in an aggrieved tone.  "And you were asleep.  Would you have
wanted to me to wake you for a little thing like this?"

     "Little thing!" Shayla's hand slapped down on the deck.  
"How _dare_ you call it a little thing?"

     "Shayla, you know I didn't mean it like--"
     
     "Well how the hell _did_ you mean it, then?"
     
     Flat on the deck, Shayla's dark hand trembled.  Her face was
tight, almost contorted with the suppression of whatever emotions
she was feeling.

     Makoto saw a similiar struggle on Alielle's face, turned 
away as she was from Shayla.  Then the struggle died, and the
smaller girl reached out and touched Shayla's wrist.  "Sister
Shayla, what's wrong?"

     "You stay out of this!"  Shayla's free hand snapped up, 
index finger pointed like a spear at Alielle.  "I don't need to
hear anything out of you right now."

     "Fine!"  Alielle turned away again and put her nose in the
air.  "Though if you're always so mean to people, you're going to
be alone for the rest of your life."

     "Please don't fight," Makoto pleaded.  "We need to work 
together."

     "It's hard to work together when you don't trust people,"
Shayla said searingly.  "And it's hard to trust people when they
don't tell you things you should know right away."  She shot a
glare at Miz.

     Afura looked up from her chalk sketchings, having apparently
ignored the argument until now.  "That's enough, Shayla.  Stop 
acting like a child."

     Although Makoto wouldn't have thought it possible, Shayla's
face grew even tighter.  Her mouth compressed down into a thin
line; she rose to her feet, and stalked over to the port side of
the boat.

     With a cry, she raised her hands over her head, and hurled a
bolt of glistening fire into a distant and inoffensive expanse of
ocean.  It hit; water boiled away, and steam rose in a great 
cloud.

     Shayla reversed and headed towards the cabin door.  "I'm 
going below for a while.  Don't worry, I know my part in the 
plan.  It's not like I need to be informed of things anyway."

     The boat vibrated slightly as she slammed the door behind
her.

     "I knew she'd overreact like this," Miz muttered.
     
     "It looks like overreacting to you," Afura said quietly.
"It isn't for her."

     Makoto stood up, absently stroking the Power-Key Staff.  The
motion calmed him.  "Maybe I should go talk to her..."

     "No." Afura gestured for him to sit again.  "You don't know
the situation well enough, and it isn't our business to explain 
it to you.  I'll go talk to her."

     Slowly, painfully, she got up and headed below.
     
***

     "Amazing."  Jinnai peered down at the girl lying on the
sand.  "She could be your twin, Nanami."

     Crouched on the other side of her unconscious double, 
Nanami regarded him with narrowed eyes.  "Have you always been
that good at stating the obvious, Katsuhiko, or is that another
ability you acquired here, along with talking to bugs and acting
like a raving lunatic?"

     "Have some respect, Nanami."
     
     "Or what?  You'll sic your pet war machine on me again?"
     
     He sighed for the dissension between siblings.  "Can't you
cease this pointless hostility?"

     "Sure.  As soon as you stop trying to conquer El-Hazard and
kill Makoto."

     "As neither of those two things are likely to happen any
time soon, I suppose we'll have to remain at odds."

     "Fine."  Under her breath, he heard her mutter, "Maniac."
     
     "You wound me, Nanami."
     
     She snorted.  "I'd love to, but I think you've got the
advantage here."  She glanced pointedly to where the Bugrom and
Deva stood in the surf, seemingly fascinated by the breaking of
the waves upon their ankles; out in the shallows, Lethiaphan swam 
slow and patient circles around the boats.

     "I'm not a tyrant, Nanami."  His fingers caressed the smooth
metal of the staff he'd taken from the false angels of the 
Phantom Tribe.  "I brought Nahato aboard, didn't I?"

     "Only after you threw him over the side in the first place."
     
     "Perhaps that was a hasty decision."  He frowned.  "Still, I
want to know just how he got free.  And what happened to turn him
into a drooling wreck."

     "...end of hope, pinnacle of despair, devourer of..."
     
     Nanami blinked.  "Hey, she's awake."
     
     "Mister Jinnai, he has returned."
     
     Jinnai looked away from the now semi-conscious girl.  Her
father was hurrying down the rough path leading down from the
cliffs, something cupped in his hands.  As he drew closer, Jinnai
could see it was a bowl from which steam slowly curled.  

     "Lift her head up, please," the man said.  "She needs to 
drink this."  There was a note of authority in his voice; he 
sounded used to giving orders.

     Working in unison, Jinnai and Nanami raised the girl up.  
Her father tipped the steaming bowl to her lips, and she weakly
drank.  A gentle shudder ran through her body, and her eyes
opened.  "Father?"

     "How do you feel, Perra?" he asked.
     
     "Better."  She coughed, wiped at her mouth with the back of
her hand.  "I haven't had a vision so strong in years."

     "And what did you see?"
     
     "Never mind that."  Jinnai stood up, allowing Nanami to
continue to support Perra.  "Now that the crisis is passed, I 
have some questions.  Where is this place?"

     Nanami shook her head.  "Tactless as always.  Don't give her
a chance to recover, or anything."  She smiled down at her 
double.  "I'm Nanami.  This megalomaniac is my worthless brother, 
Katsuhiko."

     Queen Deva approached with long-legged strides, leaving the
Bugrom moving slowly about in the surf.  "Mister Jinnai, what 
now?  Why have we come to this island?"

     Jinnai frowned and put a hand on his forehead.  "That's what
I'm trying to find out, Queen Deva."

     "This island is Turanga." Perra's father bent down and 
helped his daughter up.  "I do not know what interest the Bugrom
could have in it.  We have nothing you would value here."

     "I'll decide that myself," Jinnai snapped.  "I've been
brought here on a very important mission, by God Himself.  Aid 
me, and you shall be rewarded; oppose me, and you shall be 
crushed."

     "Earthly rewards do not interest me," the man replied in a
measured voice.  "Nor do the threats of men move me."

     Leaning on her father's arm for support, Perra spoke.  
"Father, he claims God has sent him.  I do not think he believes 
he lies."

     "Belief does not make truth."
     
     "Save the theological debate."  Jinnai pounded the haft of
the Phantom Tribe staff on the beach, sending up small clouds of
sand.  "There's something important hidden on this island, and I
intend to find it."

     "Well then stop talking about it, and do it," Nanami
muttered, crossing her arms and hunching her shoulders.  "Geez,
you love the sound of your own voice here even more than you did
back on Earth."

     "Nanami, would you _please_ shut up, before you make me lose
my temper?"  

     Nanami sniffed, turned up her nose, and stalked a few feet
away to kick at an innocent dune of sand.  Perhaps, Jinnai 
thought, I should have just called Lethiaphan back and left her 
behind.  Every word his sister said to him made the choice to 
bring her along seem less and less wise.

     Perra turned her attention away from her father and towards
Jinnai.  "You claim to be sent by God?"

     "I do not claim.  I am sent by God."
     
     Deva took a step closer to him, and put a hand on his
shoulder.  "Mister Jinnai is my Grand General, and the promised
saviour sent to the Bugrom by God's hand."  Her grip was nearly
tight enough to be uncomfortable; she seemed to be challenging
Perra to disagree with her.

     "You too are sincere."  Perra smiled at Deva.  "Father, I am
going to do a reading for him."

     Her father grimaced.  "If that is where your heart guides
you."

     "We must welcome all who come to us, no matter their form.
It does not fall to us to judge."
     
     She separated herself from the supporting arm of her father, 
reached out, and took Jinnai's hand in hers.  Her fingers were 
callused and strong, as though from years of hard work.  "If you 
would come with me, Katsuhiko?"

     His shoulder slipped free from Deva's grasp, and he let 
Perra lead him across the sand.  Glancing back as they went, he 
saw that Deva wore a perplexed frown.  He met her eyes for a
moment, and jerked his head dismissively.  Still frowning, she
presented her back to him.  

     Tempermental, he thought.  Wonder why?
     
     They stopped a short distance away, and Perra bade him sit
down upon the sand.  His fastidiousness rebelled for a brief
moment at the thought of getting sand all over his pants, but he
forced it to relent.  This might be the quickest way of finding
out just why his dreams had sent him here.

     And if it didn't work, there were other methods of getting
the information, ones that he wouldn't hesitate to use if he had
to.  Even if she did look so much like Nanami.

     Perra sat down across from him, smoothing her skirts 
demurely over her folded legs.  Wisps of hair, the same coppery
shade as Nanami's, had pulled free from her bun.  They hung about
her face like obscuring vines.  
     
     "Are you ready?" she asked.
     
     "For what?"
     
     She smiled, as though she thought he needed reassurance.  
"For the reading.  You may find it a little disconcerting."
     
     He frowned.  "I doubt that."
     
     "Very well."  She shrugged.  "I'm not saying you will, it's
just that some people do."     
     
     "Just get on with it, will you?"  How he hated dealing with
capricious humanity compared to the mechanic obedience of a being
like Lethiaphan.  They all seemed obsessed with mindless
pleasantries and small things.
     
     "Hold out your hands.  No, cup them.  Like this.  Yes, 
that's right."

     She pinched some beach sand between her fingers, and 
dribbled it into the bowl of his palms.  "Almighty God, this thy
blessed sand, I thy servant placate thee, I thy vessel call to
thee, fill me with thy grace, make blossom the seed of power that
you have placed within me.  Not for mine own greater glory, Lord, 
but for thine, do I ask this."

     The motes of sand glittered in his hands like jewels.  Perra
put her palms against the backs of his hands, and curled her 
thumbs around the sides.  Gently, she eased them apart; the sand
dropped to the beach.  Each individual grain seemed to take hours
to fall.

     Sliding her hands up, she linked her fingers with his.
     
     "Show us the paths, oh Lord.  Close thou our eyes to this 
imperfect world, that we might see with eyes unclouded.  If ever
I have sung your praise in the halls of worship or beneath the
open skies or in the most secret hollows of mine heart, then sing
in me, Almighty God, and through me..."

     Her voice began to fade out, along with his vision.  As
before, he seemed to stand within a long dark tunnel; only there
was no one else here with him, and he was falling, falling,
falling...

     He saw a grave graced by a plain marker of stone, and a girl
weeping beside it whom he could not say was or was not his 
sister.  Shadows danced in the bows of the trees.  Again and
again, the waves struck the beach, like the gentle blows of
hammers.  Slowly, the coastline eroded.  

     Burning.
     
     A pyre?
     
     Burning leaves.
     
     Burning, burning, burning.
     
END OF CHAPTER NINE