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WORLDS AT THEIR END

by Alan Harnum

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I have a little white scar a quarter-inch above my left eyebrow.
It is perhaps as long as the first joint of my ring finger.  I
got it when I was seven, the first time I ever fenced with Joan.
She gave it to me with the tip of Destiny's Thorn, after perhaps
half-an-hour of disinterestedly parrying my childish two-handed
swings of an old short sword she got from the armoury for me.

      It was not a deep wound, but hurts are magnified when one is
that age, and it bled quite freely.  I remember that I howled
quite magnificently, and Joan said (quite calmly, with neither
cruelty nor compassion), "There is a lesson for you, Juri: it is
never just a game."  Then she bandaged it up and told me to go
away.  I've always been fairly sure that she intended from the
very beginning to cut me like that, and had invited me to fence
with her--I had for a year or so before that been quite enamoured
of watching her practice, when she would allow it--that day
purely for that reason.

      However, to this day, I am really not sure why.  I remember
that I lied to Mother and said I had fallen down, but she looked
at the cut and frowned--she knew perfectly well that it wasn't an
accidental wound, I'm sure.  I expect she said something to
Father, who probably said something to Joan; they never got
along.  I can remember that even from my very youngest days.

      I was both fascinated and terrified by Joan as a very young
girl.  She was so cold and beautiful and driven.  Looking back,
it's easy to see that I modelled myself on her when I started to
mature, at least in part: I started to fence at Ohtori because I
wanted to be able to defeat her when I came home, and, after
Shiori broke my heart that first time, I adopted that same icy
private distance between myself and the world as a way of coping.
It took me far too long to realize that wasn't right for me.

      That little scar (which, perhaps because of the weapon that
inflicted it, perhaps because I got it when I was so young, has
never gone away) is important because it was how I first knew the
face in the mirror wasn't mine, as I raised my head from the
basin.  There were other details, some of them much more obvious:
the eyes weren't bleary enough, and the hair far too neat for
someone who'd just spent two hours making passionate love as the
culmination of a long day of saving the universe and then getting
extremely drunk at the afterparty.  But the first thing I thought
was: where's the scar?

      I gripped the basin and scowled and said, "Who are you?"

      My reflection blanched, coughed, and pronounced, very
precisely: "A ha.  A ha ha ha."  There was a brief pause, and
then it said, "Oh, my."  I scowled at it more fiercely, and it
sneezed, rippled like a still pool suddenly raked by wind, and
changed.

      The face on the other side of the mirror was now sallow and
male, with thin lips and a longish chin and eyes in two different
colours, one blue and the other green.  His azure hair was
collar-length, with long bangs swept to the sides, away from his
high forehead, so that they framed his face.  He was familiar,
but I couldn't say how.

      "I must be dreaming," he said.  For some reason, he looked
down at his chest.  "For one thing, I am a man."  His voice was
very musical and his pronunciation very precise, rather like that
of some computers I've known.

      "Is that unusual for you?" I asked, raising one eyebrow.

      He nodded.  "Lately," he said, quite seriously.  "You are
Princess Juri of Avalon?"

      "Yes," I said shortly.  "And who are you, and what are you
doing in my mirror?"

      He reached out of my line of sight for a moment, and his
hands came clutching a pair of blue-lensed spectacles, which he
put on.  They were opaque--sunglasses, I suppose--and hid his
strange eyes completely.

      "I," he began vaguely, "am Damask Minobee-Barimen of House
Hendrake, Baron of Chout--"

      The name clicked into place with something I'd heard in
passing a few months back, and I realized why he was so familiar.
"Kozuen's son," I interrupted.  "The ambassador."

      He blinked, then nodded.  "Mmm, yes.  Good evening to you,
Princess."

      "Now, what are you doing in my mirror?"

      He fiddled with one arm of his glasses.  "I am not entirely
sure," he admitted.  "I suspect that you are simply a thing in my
dream.  Or perhaps I am a thing in yours.  Or perhaps it is some
kind of symbiotic dreaming, in which each of us dreams the other
that the other may dream us--"

      "Or perhaps we're both just things in somebody else's
dream," I interrupted.  "I don't like metaphysics, so just get on
with it.  What do you want?"

      More fiddling.  "Well, nothing from you, really," he said,
sounding embarassed.  "Unless you would happen to know where to
find them?"  His voice was hopeful, but not too hopeful.  I
got the feeling he was used to disappointment.

      "Find what?" I asked, deciding to scowl at him some more.

      "You know.  _Them_," he said, as though that explained
everything.  When I simply stared at him (my own Shadow of Joan's
Stare of Ice, as I like to think of it), he coughed, looked more
embarassed, and continued with: "You see, I would  like to avoid
using the Dildo of Divination if I can, and I am  not sure how
Princess Joan will respond to my overtures.  So if you know
anything at all about them, I would be very appreciative if you
would tell me."

      Stare.

      "A ha.  A ha ha ha."

      "Dildo of Divination?" I asked slowly.

      "A ha.  A ha ha ha.  Oh dear."  And the whole mirror
rippled, and suddenly it was simply my own face, little white
scar and bleary eyes and sausage curls that had begun to
resemble dreadlocks due to recent neglect.

      I just shook my head.  "What a strange person."

      I bent down to the basin again, and splashed a second
handful of water on my face.  When I raised my head this time,
the face was still my own.  I dried my hands and face, then
turned to leave.

      Then I stopped, and, feeling immensely silly, turned back to
the mirror and rapped on the smooth, cold surface with my
knuckles.

      "Hey," I said softly, "you still there?"

      There was no answer.  I'm not sure why, but I went on.
"Listen, when you see your uncle, can you tell him..."  I paused,
trying to think of what would sum up everything I wanted to say,
then simply sighed and said, "Just tell him I send my love, all
right?  And your mother..."  I had to pause longer this time.  "I
don't know.  It would be better if I said it to her face-to-face.
But she might ask if she finds out you told Mikel something from
me, and then... look, if she asks, can you tell her I'm sorry?
Only if she asks, so she doesn't think I had nothing to say to
her at all, but... oh, hell."

      I turned away and stalked back into the bedroom, but
somehow, I felt a little better all the same.  If some horrible
impending doom wasn't instantly descending upon Avalon when I got
home, I was going to have to follow in Father's footsteps some
more, sojourn in the Courts (if I could get away with it,
considering I killed their titular king's father and their
Assistant Logrus Keeper is Kiryuu Nanami), and finally work out
some of this baggage about Miki.  Mikel.  Kozuen, too, because
all those things I'd said to Corrine had been true: I had
treated her shabbily by any standards, when (as I found out from
Gideon) she would have been one of the best allies I could have
had.  Just one more thing I did wrong in those days.  I couldn't
look beyond the past, beyond the masks people had worn when they
very young.

      Roderick was sitting up in bed when I came back, blinking
and yawning.  "You talking to somebody in there?" he mumbled.

      I nodded.  "Urd.  We're eloping together.  That's okay with
you, right?"

      He went white for a moment, and he looked so much like
Horatio that I laughed out loud.

      "That's not funny," he muttered, as I slid back under the
covers next to him.

      "I don't know," I said languidly, putting my hand on his
arm, "I thought it was pretty funny."

      "Cruel woman," he said sourly, burrowing back under the
covers and turning his back to me.  "I think I'm going to sleep
until my head stops hurting so much."

      He was trying to cover it, but the joke had frightened him,
even if just briefly, and suddenly I felt absolutely terrible,
because I understood why, I saw things from his point of view.
I'd told him right from the start that my inclinations were more
towards women; I can't honestly say that if the chance came
along to be with someone like Utena, even after all we've been
through together, that I wouldn't put him aside.  I'd like to
think I wouldn't, but...

      And he had to be thinking of that, almost all of the time.
I felt awful.  Break down and cry awful, completely
disproportionately.  Stupidly.  But the feeling was there all the
same.

      I wrapped my arms around him from behind and kissed his left
shoulder, and murmured into his ear: "I'm sorry, Rod."

      He seemed genuinely surprised, perhaps just by the tone of
voice.  "For what?"

      "For teasing.  You're right.  It was cruel.  I shouldn't
have said that."

      He laughed and clasped his hands over mine on his chest.  I
felt the beat of his heart against my palms.  "I knew you weren't
serious, Juri."

      I tried to recall if I'd ever actually told him I loved him.
I'd said that I thought I could love him, on that first sweet
night, but...

      "I love you," I said, and I realized it was true only as I
said it.  I did love him.  Not some grand infatuation or burning
passion, but a steady kind of thing, like friendship but deeper.
Because he made me laugh and he cared for me and I'd shown the
dark depths of my heart to him, and he hadn't turned away.  I
trusted him.  I wanted him beside me in whatever was to come, and
I couldn't bear the thought of not having him there.

      I felt him tense briefly, and then relax, and that was how I
knew that I hadn't ever said it to him.  He didn't make an issue
of it, though.  Didn't even say anything.  Just rolled over and
held me.  My head against his chest.  I closed my eyes and
listened to his heart, and the steady, even rhythm of his
breathing.  He fell asleep like that, his arms around me, my arms
around him.

      I stayed awake, thinking; oddly enough, I thought about what
Kozuen's strange son had said to me from the mirror: that I was
dreaming him, or that he was dreaming me, or that we were
dreaming one another.  Or that someone else was dreaming us both.

      I talk a lot about how I hate metaphysics, but I don't,
really.  I just have to stop myself from thinking about them too
much, because I know I'm not clever enough to accomplish anything
valuable by that.  Not like Tess or Gideon is, or like--from what
Corrine tells me--my counterpart in this universe is.  I'm at my
best when I have an enemy I can hate unequivocally, a Brand or an
Annadil.  I don't handle complexity well.  All I can do is kill
things, or lead armies, and hope I'm doing it for a good cause.

      I'm truly a bloody-minded person.  No better than Dar was,
or at least no better than I ever believed her to be.  I used to
think she was so simple, and I was so complex.  As it turned out,
she was complex, and I was simple and just had too much angst.

      I have to stop myself from thinking too much because I can
never figure out where to stop.  I mean, if we're just characters
in somebody else's dream, if we're just dreams of some distant
dreamer, than perhaps that distant dreamer is the dream of
another distant dreamer, who in turn is dreamt by...

      And that's how it goes, always.  If I look for first causes,
I always seem to just keep on going back.  Infinite causal chain.
Easier not to think about it.

      What a strange mood I'm in.  I should be happy.  I helped
save another universe.  I've made so many friends here.  I've
found a lover who I think I could probably spend the rest of my
life with.

      If he asked me to marry him, I think I'd probably say yes.
Just to watch everyone's faces at the wedding.  Get Horatio to be
the best man.  Watch Meri do that cute little twitch he has.
Serve sandwiches at the reception.

      Rod was right; I am a cruel woman.

      I should be happy, but I just can't stop thinking about Dar.
Maybe it's always going to come back to her.  My centre.  My
what is, what was, and what will always be.  My little sister,
who I hated and killed, and could never manage to try and
understand or love until after she was gone.

      I sometimes imagine human existence--my existence, at
least--as being rather like the situation of a bird tied by one
leg to a pillar.  The pillar is made up of every terrible thing
that you've ever done.  There are names carved on it.  A few of
the ones on mine?  Ohtori.  Shiori.  Darako.  Venir.  Brand.

      Most of the time, the bird flies around that pillar, and
doesn't even think about it.  It just looks towards the horizon,
towards the future.  Sometimes it will catch a glimpse of its
past, and it thinks about what might have been, all the different
ways things might have gone.

      If I'd trusted Tess, like I should have.  If I'd read
between the lines better when I first talked to Father.  If I'd
been a little more cautious of Tomas.  If I'd listened to Dar.
If she'd killed me rather than the other way round.  If I'd
understood properly the meaning of Akio's arm glinting.

      But at a certain point, you've got to come home to roost.
The what-ifs and the what-might-have-beens and the what-may-bes
have to fall away in the face of what was, and what is, and what
will always be.

      Times like those, I remember exactly what it felt like to
kneel down on the rug beside my bed, with my throat so tight with
tears I wouldn't let myself shed that I could barely breathe, and
hold my sword in my hands and press the point against my belly
through my robe.  And then stop, because that was the easy way
out, the way that let me run away from what I'd done and what I'd
become.  And I didn't deserve the easy way.  I hated myself too
much to kill myself, odd though that sounds.

      But I'm better now.  I have to be better.  I've got to move
on.  Live for others--for Father, for Rod, for Corrine, for my
family and homeland--until I can manage to forgive myself (and I
know I can, eventually, I'm strong enough to do that) and live
for myself again.

      I don't know what I hope for more: to go home and find
everything is fine, crisis is over, crisis never was, welcome
home Juri, good to see you again, and sorry about letting that
whole Kinslayer reputation develop...  Or to go home and have
some new battle to fight, something to distract me from thinking
about the past.  I can live just fine in war; it's living in
peace that's going to be so hard for me.  But I'll try--not just
try, but succeed, because I promised Tess I would.

      His heart, his breath, so steady, so strong.  I didn't
realize how badly I needed something like this until I found it.
Someone to cling to, and not just a sister like Corrine.  Or a
father like Angus.  I can't afford to be as weak as I need to be
to survive in front of either of them, but I think I can with
Rod.

      I don't know why I feel so depressed.  It's like I'm losing
a part of myself, or have already lost it, and can never get it
back.  I remember feeling like this after I killed Brand, too.
Like it was the end of the world.  Except how can it be the end,
when everything turned out all right, more or less?  The good
guys won.  Again.  And this time, I was on the side of the angels
the entire time... I did almost everything right.  I hope.

      I can just imagine what Darako would say: "Stop being so
mopey, you big dyke.  Get the hell over it.  What's done is done,
and you can't change the past, so why bother angsting about it?
Just don't do it again, for fuck's sake."

      Except Darako can't ever say that, not as she really would;
the closest she could come would be as some sanitized rough-but-
lovable ghost conjured up by the Pattern to help keep me sane.

      But isn't that the kind of thing she'd say?  And isn't it
the same thing Tess (or Roderick, doing the best Tess imitation
I've ever seen) said, somewhat more eloquently?  Isn't it what
I've said to other people agonizing over their past?

      Remember the past, learn from it, but live for the future.
Am I a hypocrite who can't follow her own advice, though she
knows it's sound?  Am I stupid?  Am I a masochist?  Maybe all
three, but I'm trying not to be.

      The ends of the world.  Worlds at their end.  I should try
to sleep.  That would be better than thinking about this.  And
maybe it will be sleeping, and maybe it will be waking up.  Who
can say?  Who can really say?

      I had a dream after I fell asleep.  Or perhaps just the
dream I was dreaming, the dream where I talked to Kozuen's son in
a mirror and teased Rod and told him I loved him, perhaps that
just became another dream.  I don't know if this dream means
anything at all.

      I was staring into a pair of eyes, one green and one blue.
And at the same time, I was staring into another pair of eyes,
both green.

      And I said: your face is my face.

      And they said: your face is my face.

      We were standing between two mirrors that faced each other,
and thereby cast reflections infinitely.

      And I said: there will be time.

      And they said: there will be time.

      We embraced each other, and suddenly all I could think of
was how _happy_ I was, as though my heart was going to splinter
into an infinity of bright shards.  Embraced each other, and did
one of those things, in unison, that's only possible in a dream:
we laughed and wept at the same time, impossibly, a perfect
unison of joy and despair, and I felt utterly, utterly at peace.

      When I woke up, Rod was still there, and it seemed the most
unbelievable, beautiful thing in the world that he was.  He was
still there, and there was sun coming through the window, the sun
of the new day.  And I thought: every world at its end is also a
world at its beginning.  I'm not sure if I even believe that
to be true or not, but I like the sound of it all the same.

* * *