"How goes the world?"

Yumina heard the question, but as the voice belonged to Beliel, she ignored 
it.

"Or, more importantly, perhaps: How goes Sankria?"

Yumina did not answer. To be truthful, at this particular moment in time, 
years before the seemingly inevitable fall of Sankria, it was difficult to 
tell whether events were proceeding along well or ill. It was a time of 
transition. Jehane Lin Raan, the Bloodmoon, now ruled in Corneria, as a 
result of her purging of the government. Ilysa, too, was there, as Jehane's 
adopted daughter. The absence of Ilysa would do much, hopefully, to defuse 
the tension between the princes, and Yumina planned to do more. The death of 
the caliph had left Corneria destabilized, and Pholian's death had both 
eliminated that country's claim to the Sankrian throne and substantially 
weakened its military might. Sankria had enough trouble of its own without 
Corneria interfering.

In essence, everything seemed to be going perfectly well. The important word 
being, Yumina knew, "seemed."

Beliel began to pace around Yumina in a tight circle, thoughtfully. He had 
appeared out of nowhere, without warning, without any conceivable purpose 
except to torment Yumina. Same as always.

His steps beat out a slow, steady cadence on the forest floor. Above, 
through an opening in the canopy above, twinkled a myriad of stars. Yumina 
concentrated upon these, not upon Beliel, and considered. She could have 
left, she could have flitted through space, away from Beliel, but she had 
vowed to no longer allow Beliel to weave his subtle control over her, to 
play with her. And, grudgingly, spitefully, she admitted that Beliel had 
lived much longer and seen much more than she had. In a twisted way, he was 
wise, if only she could separate his moments of truth from the epochs of 
lies.

"Have you ever considered this?" he began, suddenly, deliberately, with 
great energy. "What if the thing mortals call Fate, that thing which we 
ourselves believe we control, exists apart from us. What if you and I are 
but puppets of an even greater being? What if,"--here he paused 
dramatically, before continuing on in a wondering voice--"what if some of us 
were destined to fail?"

"No," Yumina said forcefully. It was not precisely the correct sort of 
response required by the question, but that did not bother Yumina. She had 
meant it primarily as an objection to Beliel's existence.

"Perhaps not," Beliel conceded lazily. After a long pause and three 
agonizingly slow circuits about Yumina, he continued. "May I ask you a 
personal question?"

"May I personally disembowel you?" Yumina replied. Despite her attempt to 
remain calm, hatred boiled beneath her skin.

"Perhaps at another time, when I am feeling less philosophically inclined," 
he said casually. "My question is this: Are you a glutton for punishment? I 
only ask because you have continually failed, quite miserably on a few 
occasions, and yet you persist in reliving your defeats over and over and 
over."

"Yes, I do persist."

"Do you enjoy it? Nations rise and fall, just as you shall live and die. Do 
you enjoy fretting over princes and temples when you could own the world? I 
plan on living forever, for my power is not bound to nations, but to the 
souls of men. I have no worries. I have all the time in the world. I can 
meet my every desire. I am utterly content."

"Except you lack power and you lack love and you lack me."

Beliel ignored her comment. "I have seen others like you die with their 
nations. They grow weak with their nations. Do you feel weak? Do your knees 
ever tremble? Do your muscles ache with fatigue? When you are lying, 
helpless and in pain, upon the ground, then you will join me. You will have 
no other choice but death. There are only so many failures that can be woven 
into the Pattern before the whole of it shifts, and you are left without any 
options."

Yumina said nothing. Words drunken with rage pounded upon her lips, 
screaming to be released. She said nothing. She met his eyes and smiled. 
Beliel ceased his pacing and studied her intently, his mouth curving in a 
frown. His eyes flared darkly; he was trying to control his temper also.

"So, what are you planning on trying this time?" he finally asked in an 
annoyingly conversational manner.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Gates of Time

Begun by Lady Brick

This chapter by Stuart Lem

"Once Upon a Time, Again"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A garishly garbed Fool juggled four swords before King Numair as, in an 
outlandish voice, he mocked the king's advisors. It was quite amazing; he 
could expound, quite accurately, upon the falling price of wheat as he 
manipulated the deadly blades with incredible finesse. Numair, however, had 
a habit of daydreaming and was presently participating in a rather pleasant 
fantasy. He started as a messenger who had not been there a moment before 
whispered into his ear.

"Truly?" Numair asked in amazement. "Of course you'll send her in. Send her 
in at once. Fool, that's enough for now." The Fool bowed, still juggling, 
and left with a pasted grin.

"The Lady Jehane Lin Raan, the Bloodmoon, of Corneria." The announcement 
rang through the chambers. A dozen royal guards, noticeably nervous, 
escorted her in. At the sight of Numair, she only gave a hard stare. She did 
not curtsy--Numair doubted she had ever curtsied in her life--or show any 
sign of respect. He had expected as much.

"What is it that brings you to Sankria, Lady Jehane?" Numair asked, truly 
curious. Jehane was certainly a dangerous woman, but he had little doubt 
that she was also an honorable one.

"I would not be here had I not been commanded by the Silver Lady herself in 
a vision. I will be to the point. I have a daughter. Her name is Ilysa. She 
must marry one of your sons."

"She *must*?" Numair replied sternly. He leaned forward in his throne. "It 
is not your place to command me. Only a few years ago, we were at war. I 
believe you have risked much to come here, but that does not give you the 
right to demand anything."

"I am only obeying my vision," Jehane said stiffly, as if she found the 
obeying difficult. "You must hold a ball. There the Silver Lady will choose 
the prince that will marry my daughter. It is her will."

"This is absurd!" Numair said with an incredulous laugh. He thought he 
caught a flash of agreement flash across Jehane's eyes.

"It...." Jehane hesitated, frowning. The words came with effort. "It will 
unite our kingdoms." She scowled.

Numair stared at her. This did not seem to be a trick. Even Jehane resisted. 
Was it of the gods?

"I'll consider it."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was very peculiar.

It was a fact that every timeline differed, yet Yumina had not foreseen that 
this timeline would yield such...unexpected events.

She watched the king and the quivering of his mind as he considered Jehane's 
unexpected proposal. He seriously considered it; his World-Tree hummed with 
meditation. It was Yumina's immediate impulse to dissuade him. She had done 
so much to arrange events as they were--Ilysa isolated and Corneria a 
non-threat--and now, with a single decision, everything could unravel. She 
had no doubt that this was the result of Beliel's manipulations.

"What guarantees do I have that you speak honorably?" Numair asked Jehane.

Jehane's voice was as sharp and as deadly as her sword. "Do you doubt my 
word?" Her face was meticulously devoid of emotion, but her eyes burned. Her 
lips trembled with agonizing slowness. "I have been told to give you...to 
give you...this, as a token of my honor."

She slowly unsheathed a silver blade and held it lightly in her hand. The 
soldiers around her tensed and looked to their king for orders.

"It is the moon kris blade," Jehane explained contemptuously.

"Truly?" Numair asked. "The same as in the legend?"

"What other would it be?" Jehane replied venomously.

Yumina had to admit that the king had a tendency to appear rather naive; he 
had, after all, decided to give *both* of his sons rule of the kingdom after 
his death, a decision, which, as Yumina knew all too well, often complicated 
matters. Whether he was as naive as he appeared was another matter entirely.

Numair ordered a guard to bring him the blade. Jehane hesitated, resisted, 
and then reluctantly released her grip. The king examined it closely. "This 
is marvelous craftsmanship. Are you truly serious about this...ball?"

"Dead serious," Jehane replied emotionlessly.

Yumina could have stopped the king then. It was her last chance. She didn't. 
Yumina could foresee many possibly fortuitous outcomes from this ball. 
Sankria and Corneria could be peacefully united. Ilysa could be happily 
married to a prince, as seemed her destiny. Her husband, whichever prince it 
was, should certainly have more political clout, and perhaps the king could 
be made to realize this and so grant that son exclusively his power. 
Tensions between the temples, between Daric and Averny, would be lessened 
through their reunion at the ball. There were a lot of "could"'s and 
"would"'s involved in the plan, but she had no guarantee that her old plan 
would succeed. She was winging it either way, and the course she was on was 
so familiar that it seemed doomed to failure. Also, if she allowed this 
ball, she would know where Beliel was likely to make his move.

And, to be honest, she was burdened with the memories of discarded realities 
of blood and war and pain and death. They had become the elements of her 
world, replacing water, fire, air, and stone. A ball, however, was at the 
other end of the spectrum. It might even be enjoyable for a change.

"It shall be done," the king told Jehane.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a sharp rap upon the wooden door, which was odd since the house 
rarely received visitors. The father hoisted himself from his chair beside 
the fire. He opened the door to discover a hooded figure.

"Is Joy home?" the figure said by way of greeting.

"Who wants to know?" Joy's father returned gruffly.

"She has a letter from the castle."

Joy's father blinked his small eyes in surprise. "Um...Joy, dear, can you 
come here?"

Silently, Joy came and stood behind her father's shoulder. She kept her eyes 
lowered, as if afraid to meet the stranger's gaze. "Yes, father?"

"Joy," the stranger interrupted, holding a letter out for Joy that bore the 
king's seal. Her father took it. "This letter is a personal invitation to a 
ball King Numair is holding in two weeks time. He hopes that you will 
accept."

Joy's gray eyes widened into great moons, and her body shuddered slightly. 
"You must be mistaken," she whispered.

"If this is a cruel trick of some kind...," her father threatened.

"It is not. The king wished to invite your daughter personally, for he 
learned that you exercised a great deal of control in a barroom one night."

Joy's father blinked again, then straightened himself. He said proudly, 
"Yeah, well, this soldier tried to criticize the queen, bless her, and I was 
gonna show him what, but I didn't. It didn't seem right to me, like one of 
those times when you don't have to make a choice 'cause there's only one 
worth making. It were like I'd already made the choice before and only had 
to go along with it. Like a groove, you know. And I...yeah...." He realized 
he was rambling to a royal messenger of the king and trailed off awkwardly.

"I'm sure that's exactly how it went," the messenger blandly agreed.

"I don't remember letting on I had a daughter, though."

"You were quite drunk, sir."

"Yeah...," he muttered, rubbing his hair sheepishly.

"Will you accept?" the messenger asked Joy.

"I don't have a dress."

"One will be provided."

"I don't think I can get there."

"A carriage will be sent."

Joy silently studied the ground. A small voice said, "I'm scared."

"She'll come," clarified her father. And that was that.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hello, Beliel."

Beliel jumped in surprise before recovering himself quickly. "Hello, Yumina. 
I wasn't expecting you."

"Who were you expecting? Your brother?"

"How did you find me?" Beliel demanded, ignoring the jab.

"I have more right to be here than you do." Yumina glanced down from the 
battlements into the large courtyard where people scurried as they made 
preparations for the ball. She decided to probe Beliel; perhaps this time 
she would have the upper hand. "They're planning a ball, the consequence 
being a marriage between Sankria and Corneria."

"So I hear," Beliel replied vaguely.

"I'll be watching you closely."

Beliel grinned lecherously. "Of course. You've checked the loyalty of the 
cooks and the servants and the soldiers?"

Yumina didn't reply. She had in fact done such things, but it angered her 
that Beliel should suggest them. It also put her on her guard.

"I'll make you a deal," Beliel said, still grinning. "I'll never leave your 
sight the day of the ball provided," he relished a paused, "provided you 
save a dance for me."

Yumina glared at him, and her insides twisted in disgust. Slowly she nodded. 
It was best for Sankria if he was not allowed to run free that night, 
whatever the plans hidden in his mind may be. Perhaps he would slip, and she 
could intercept fragments of those hidden thoughts. He certainly said only a 
small fraction of what he thought and knew. "I want you here, at midnight 
the day before, or the deal's off."

Beliel nodded with mock solemnity. "Anything you say, Yumina." Then he 
disappeared.

What was Beliel playing at? Surely, he wasn't twisted enough to arrange all 
this for a single dance.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dying rays of the sun streaked the stone walls of the castle a brilliant 
crimson. A line of carriages, flocked by servants dressed in a blaze of 
colors, waited and bustled and crawled forward toward the designated 
entrance. Since King Numair's wedding, nearly two decades ago, the castle 
had not accommodated so many guests at one time. A lively, tensely expectant 
air hung over everything, an atmosphere that dispelled the previous gloom 
and worry that had settled into the walls so subtly that none had noticed 
its presence until it had gone. The rush of strangers, the aroma of food, 
the menagerie of frills and fans and flowers: it all seemed fantastic and 
added an exotic flair, a wonderful strangeness, to the monotonous tone of 
mundane castle life.

The parties were introduced with belabored elegance and ceremony. A great 
host of nobles and ladies descended the steps that night and mingled 
politely with respected citizens who had also been invited. Beneath a 
dazzling red paper globe brimming with light the Fool played his tricks and 
told his jokes, mildly amusing a disinterested crowd. Upon his throne King 
Numair sat, talking softly with his sons, which sat on both sides of him. 
Daric and Averny exchanged stories of training and decided that, as a rule, 
high priests were dedicated to excessive paranoia and illogical demands.

The horns blared and the room fell silent. Framed by the monstrous arch of 
the doorway, Ilysa stood silently and looked upon the mass below. She held 
herself regally, but with a hint of hesitation, so that she seemed at once 
proud and vulnerable. Her silken dress drifted lazily over her body, like a 
silvery mist clinging lightly to her skin. A veil hung mysteriously over the 
bottom portion of her face, and her bright eyes danced with life and 
laughter. She strolled elegantly down the steps and the orchestra struck up 
a cheery waltz.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lovely night, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Beliel," Yumina snapped. She regretted making this deal with 
Beliel. She had regretted it since a minute after midnight. She would 
continue to regret it until the ball was over. It had been, simply put, a 
bad idea. She could deal with the havoc wrecked by the utter dissolution of 
Sankria--she had done so before--but she was seriously beginning to doubt 
her continuing sanity in Beliel's presence.

Yumina's eyes watched as Averny approached Ilysa, bowed, and asked her to 
dance. It was obvious to Yumina, who had considerable experience in viewing 
such meetings, that Daric didn't have a chance with Ilysa now. Ilysa and 
Averny's destinies were now inexplicable intertwined, for better or for 
worse. Searching, Yumina also spotted Joy, hiding her face in a glass of 
punch. Perhaps it had been a little foolish to invite Joy, but Yumina now 
refused to deny the bond she felt toward the girl. Joy had taught her much. 
In any case, perhaps Joy would enjoy herself; Yumina no longer had any plans 
of doing so.

An odd noise struck her ear.

"Are you humming?" Yumina asked incredulously.

Beliel looked innocently at Yumina.

"Stop that," she demanded.

Beliel grinned maliciously. "I knew it would make you mad."

Yumina kicked him in the shin.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daric left his partner with a few polite words and began to wander about the 
room, exchanging pleasantries with nobles and wide-eyed, bubbling young 
women. He worked very hard not to laugh in their faces. Their excitement 
seemed ridiculous. His few years in the temple had allowed him to interact 
with others informally, where he was merely another procrastinating student. 
It amused him that not everyone had come to recognize his fallibility as 
well as his friends had.

He spotted a girl trying to shrink into the wall. Spontaneously, he excused 
himself from a gray-mustached noble who kept mistaking him for Averny and 
introduced himself. "Good evening, ma'am. I'm Prince Daric. Who might you 
be?"

The girl responded by imitating a frightened deer.

"I, I, I...." She looked down. "Joy," she whispered to her shoes.

"Well, Joy," Daric said, as he took her hand gently, "I would enjoy a dance 
with you, if you don't mind."

Joy shook her head, as if it was inevitable.

"Does that mean you'd like to dance?"

Joy nodded.

Daric led her out onto the floor and held her lightly in his arms as they 
began to dance slowly. He could feel her slender frame tremble beneath his 
hands.

"Are you alright?" he asked soothingly. Joy nodded without looking up. "Let 
me see your face." Joy slowly raised her head: her eyes were watery, but 
bright, and her nervous smile seemed to belie a childlike exuberance 
beneath.

"You're very nice," she said simply, in a hushed voice.

Daric laughed heartily at the compliment. "Why, I thank you, my dear Joy. 
Has anyone ever told you that you're very beautiful?"

Joy blushed fiercely and averted her eyes in a way that tugged at something 
deep within Daric. "Only my daddy. Never a prince," she said in her whisper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yumina had scanned the servants, the cooks, the maids, the nobles, the 
ladies, the pages, the guards, the priests--there were no deadly intentions 
present in any of them. Only Jehane's mind boiled with anger and frustration 
as she stood stonily, eyeing the dancers with contempt. Yumina would watch 
her carefully.

Beside her, Beliel yawned. "Rather a dull party, wouldn't you say? Maybe 
I'll just turn in." He received Yumina's customary glare in response. "So, 
ready for our dance?"

"Not yet." Yumina avoided his eyes. She loathed the idea of touching him. If 
the night hadn't been going so well, if this didn't seem so close to working 
out, she would have sent Beliel away long ago. At least he had not attempted 
to interfere yet. He seemed utterly at ease, almost smug.

It was that fact that most worried her.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The prince smiled, an action that sent a spontaneous quiver of emotion 
through Joy because Joy knew that behind that smile were true emotions, and 
she could not help but resonant with them. She had few barriers for 
lessening the impact of her feelings or the sympathy she shared with others' 
feelings. She received the full brunt of fear, anticipation, disappointment, 
exhilaration, guilt, love. Sometimes, they wracked her body.

"Joy, I have enjoyed your presence thoroughly, but I must at least play at 
being interested with others." With a light jerk of the head he motioned to 
a gaggle of giggling girls. "I'll be back, though, if my brain has not been 
turned to mush after a few mindless dances. Ah, the burdens of being 
prince!"

Joy nodded, told him to go ahead. He bowed and left. Joy sank back against 
the wall.

She could not help but feel deflated. She had experienced a moment of 
ecstasy. Every girl dreamed of marrying a prince, and she had touched one, 
danced with him, and he had...appreciated, liked, loved--what?--her 
presence. But emotions were transient--they tore through her soul with an 
unflagging intensity that did fade and did die. She didn't know if she could 
handle the inevitable dismissal when it came. Wasn't it better to leave now, 
with fond memories, than to try to hold on to what she could not have? She 
feared having her heart broken, fragile as it was, and she knew, somewhere, 
that it would be. She was a guest here only; she was no princess. If she 
left now--if she ran away, she corrected herself, a little ashamed--it would 
be easier. It would all end as a happy memory, before the pain came.

So she ran away, quietly, out a side door, because she feared that the best 
had passed and that the future held no hope of realizing her dreams.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where are you going?" Yumina demanded.

"I'm breaking the deal. You aren't planning on keeping your end," Beliel 
replied harshly.

The clock struck eleven. Yumina could feel Averny coming to a decision. 
Soon, all would be right. She could not afford to let Beliel leave her 
sight. "I'll keep my end."

"Now?"

"Now."

The next instant she was in Beliel's arms, involuntarily following the 
rhythms of a seductive Cornerian piece. They passed through the mortal crowd 
like fated ghosts seized by some unearthly passion. It was a bizarre, 
surreal sight: his black and her white twirling into an indistinguishable 
gray, their energy filling the air with an electric tension. It was not a 
dance. It was not a dirge. It was something incongruous, yet the sight 
coexisted easily with the mortal's ball in which the specters played, for it 
seemed, somehow, a reflection of it.

Yumina's body trembled. She found that she liked it.

She hated Beliel, even more so now that he controlled her for this short 
time. She was forced to follow. By her word, she was practically bound to 
follow. But it was the warmth of his arms, the closeness of another body 
that made her tremble. Inside hatred boiled and her soul quivered in 
revulsion, but outside her body felt the companionship of another being such 
as herself. She had been alone, always alone, though she had rarely realized 
it. The failures, the sorrows, the despair she had experienced recently had 
brought that isolation to her mind and had intensified it. She was not a 
social being like the mortals, yet she was like them, though differing in 
degrees. It was as if she had been modeled after them, or them after her, 
but fundamentally, at the core, they were equivalent somehow. She failed and 
she failed, and though she knew that the entity that owned Beliel's soul 
also owned his body, she could not help but revel in the body's closeness.

"Have you seen Joy?" Daric asked a balding, gargantuan man as the world 
danced around him. The man shook his head. "A slight girl, very delicate, 
she was here. Right here." He pointed at the wall as if it should perform a 
trick for him.

"Perhaps she left with another chap," the man supplied, winking.

Daric growled, surveyed the room for the fifth time, found nothing, and 
burst out a side door in search of Joy.

The trumpets blared. All dancing stopped. Yumina pulled herself angrily away 
from a grinning Beliel.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Prince Averny began from the raised stage upon which 
the thrones sat. Ilysa, holding his hand, watched him lovingly. "I have an 
announcement to make. I have asked Ilysa, princess of Corneria, for her hand 
in marriage, and she has accepted!"

A great cheer shook the room and there were shouts for a toast. The Fool ran 
out of the kitchen, pushing a monstrous punchbowl, prancing and flinging his 
arms wildly as he came. Yumina watched Jehane carefully. As the Fool danced 
and poured glasses of red punch, Jehane just scowled and reluctantly took a 
glass offered her. When everyone had a glass (Numair insisted that the 
servants participate alongside the nobles for they had prepared the whole 
event), King Numair shouted, "Long live Sankria!"

"Long live Sankria!" they cheered and drank. Jehane's grimace deepened at 
the self-centered toast, but she swallowed hers at a gulp, muttering, "For 
the Silver Lady."

Two minutes later, everyone in the room, save two, was dead.

Jehane, immune to whatever poison had been in the drink, looked in shocked 
amazement as the bodies dropped to the ground one by one, their lifeless 
faces still grinning contentedly. It was as if a great store of dolls and 
figurines lay discarded randomly upon the cold floor. There was no music 
now, no rustle of gossip and debate, only an ominous silence.

Jehane walked slowly to the raised platform, where Averny and Ilysa lay 
embraced in death. A shadow of sorrow crossed Jehane's rigid face. 
"Ilysa...."

"Imagine that: Dead drunk. Everyone one of them. But Sankria, all of 
Sankria, had to be purged," a light, airy voice reflected. It was the Fool; 
though he had served the drink, he had not drunk a drop of it. "You are now 
to return south, or so says my orders, Bloodmoon. Your army awaits you. This 
country will fall easily now, if you want it."

Lady Jehane surveyed the Fool with a wonder her eyes rarely held. He was 
standing erect now, almost proud, except for his comic grin and ludicrous 
dress. "Why have you done this?"

"Because I was surrounded by fools who could not see that our nation sat on 
a sword's blade: Any way we went, we fell." The Fool laughed grimly. "All 
men are fools who believe themselves wise, but we must all act wise, for no 
one notices the fool. I did not care for the King, and I did not see a way 
out for him or anybody else. This way, what was to come, comes, and I live 
to profit. I was promised more than amble recompense for my actions."

"From whom?"

"From you. The Silver Lady who sought me out assured me of your gratitude," 
the Fool explained, stepping over a pile of once-giggling girls.

A smile touched the Bloodmoon's lips. "Yes. On that she was correct, as she 
is on all things. Come, our god has done a great thing tonight. I would be a 
disgrace to her if I ceased the plan now. Let us go." The two left, ignoring 
the bodies.

"Beliel...! I will kill you!" Yumina began angrily. An unforgiving slap 
knocked her to the ground.

"Are you such a fool?" Beliel demanded in a dangerous voice. "I did not do 
this."

Yumina struggled to her knees. "Then who?"

Beliel kicked her and she collapsed again. "Are you so arrogant as to 
believe we are the only two? Am I the Darkness and you the Light so that the 
universe is to be decided between us? You are Sankria, temporal, dying, 
fated Sankria, nothing more. Corneria did this. Do you think your influence 
over Jehane, your disposal of Pholian, your playing Corneria like a pawn in 
your plan would go unnoticed? I knew from the beginning that this was her 
plan. The Fates grow tired of your endless failure. They must ceaselessly 
rebuild their plans because yours have failed and you have decided to begin 
again. The world itself grows tired of it. You have no resolution, no plan, 
no hope. I am not Death, Yumina. You are. You are doomed to failure. I am 
your hope. I am your future. I am your Life. Join me."

Yumina stared in horror at Beliel. His eyes were blazing conflagrations, and 
his chest heaved. Yumina shook her head.

Beliel kicked her again, and again she collapsed. He kicked her repeatedly, 
until she writhed with pain and was unable to realize anything but pain.

"Do you feel weak yet?" Beliel asked. "Your nation is dying. Are you?"

Later, recovering enough to sense the world around her, she discovered 
Beliel was gone. She lay on the floor, curled into a ball of pain, unable to 
move, like one more corpse.

Daric entered, having been unable to find Joy. He saw the room, stared 
blankly, sank to his knees, and wept.

THE END
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Notes:

Well, what to say? I decided to try something a little different for this 
one, and I think it worked out well. I initially wanted to do a 
light-hearted chapter, but as the story now approaches its end, I decided to 
switch for a cheery atmosphere meets DEATH approach. :-)

I'd like to give credit to an episode of "The Prisoner" ("Free for All") for 
working unconsciously upon my mind and sneaking into this story as the 
seemingly-harmless-Beliel-turns-very-nasty scene. That last speech of his is 
a very convincing temptation, if I do say so myself.

Well, that's all I have for now. Any comments whatsoever, send to 
stuartlem@hotmail.com.