Early one morning, when the world was still a shadow of the day to come, the 
trees and the grass and the shack hovered in a dream-like gray. Candlelight 
wavered in the shack’s window, a mere hole in the wooden wall. The night was 
cool. The wind was still as if it was holding its breath.

A woman inside the shack was panting, straining. The man was across the 
room, pretending not to watch. It was not his business, now; it was women's 
business.

But he watched covertly as the midwife spoke in low voices to his wife, as 
his wife struggled with the birth. She was sweating and groaning. He was not 
an emotional man, but he felt a tug inside--he wished he could help her.

As he watched, he made a realization. The creation of life was painful. He 
didn't know why it was, but it was. A few hours of pain, and the joy of a 
new life.

His wife gave birth. He ignored whatever it was the midwife was doing and 
concentrated on trying to see the baby. It was a girl.

"What will you name her?" the midwife asked.

His wife turned her head to him. "Ilysa," he said. "Her name will be Ilysa."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An Improfanfic begun by Lady Brick

Chapter 14--"Your Father, the Devil"

By Stuart Lem
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beliel sat in the dark lair that was once his brother's, in the chair that 
once held his pale, blind form. There was no sentiment attached to that room 
or chair, no sense of nostalgia, but there was a certain...satisfaction. It 
symbolized a plan completed. In a little time, in less than two decades of 
human time, which he might just allow to slip by him, the princes would die, 
Sankria would fall. Sankria would fall, and it would never rise again.

Yumina would die then, or be his. He was not sure which he preferred.

And yet, though the tides and undercurrents of time were already, even in 
this early hour, moving toward destruction--this country knew no other fate 
but destruction; it was the natural order of things now--Beliel did not feel 
it appropriate to remain silent and hidden.

It would not be much fun.

If Yumina insisted on dying, as Beliel guessed she might, he needed to play 
with her this final time. She'd be gone after this. Now, there was a girl 
she was fond of, one of those commoners, one with an odd name...Joy.

Joy. Such a weak, insignificant girl. She'd shatter like glass beneath a 
glare, a frown, a smile. But Yumina liked her, and if Yumina liked her 
enough, he might be able to use her as a bargaining chip.

In any case, he had lots of time and nothing to do.

		*		*		*		*		*

Thick raindrops pelted the armor of the soldiers, the heavy, sodden cloth of 
shirts and pants, the already dripping hair of onlookers and executioner. 
For this was an execution, and--rain or shine--it would be executed.

A big man with a face frozen in a mask of grim resignation was led toward 
the block. His was a mask not because it hid fear or pain beneath, but 
because it hid guilt. His eyes remained forward, not flicking once to the 
crowd around him. The villagers were silent. They were friends and neighbors 
who had passed him by in this same square many times on many different days.

A woman with blond hair and eyes the color of rain wiped her face, where the 
tears and rain intermingled. They were both the same, water falling from 
heavenly things into the ground. They came with darkness and strong winds, 
when the world ceased to look as it did in the light. And someday, all 
water, the tears and the rain, gave life. But only if the sun returned.

At the woman's side, clutching her leg like moss to a rock, a girl wept 
silently. She had the same gray eyes as her mother.

"Mommy, mommy! What're they doing with daddy? What're they doing? I'm sorry, 
mommy, I'm sorry!"

Her mother squeezed her tighter and said nothing.

The man, her dad, knelt at the executioner's block after a prod from a 
guard. He did not look toward his wife or daughter but once, and then he 
mouthed words that no one heard to the girl. The leader of the guards spoke 
some words no one listened to, words that the wind snatched from his mouth. 
The axe fell.

The mother gripped her daughter tightly, almost brutally, to keep her from 
running forward. The daughter screamed. Although the head made no sound when 
it fell on the wet grass, and the axe only a single, final sound, the scream 
was the sound of the execution itself. The scream understood loss and pain 
and injustice; it was basic, almost bestial, the sound of a soul tearing.

The mother's eyes were on her dead husband, but she patted her girl with as 
much care as remained in her drained body. "Joy, Joy, please, Joy. It'll be 
all right, it'll be all right, Joy. Joy, please, Joy."

"Joy," another voice said beside her. The girl turned and found a man 
kneeling in the wet grass beside her. His voice was deep and commanding. 
"Joy," he said softly, so that only she could hear him. "Would you like to 
make them pay for your daddy's death?"

Joy's twig body was shaking, and her breath came in desperate gasps. She 
nodded.

After that, Beliel had little trouble making Joy his own.

		*		*		*		*		*

Ilysa entered the Temple of Light warily. A priest had tested her and found 
that she had magical aptitude. When he had told her, she had been surprised 
and yet...it seemed as if it was meant to happen, as if it had in a dream 
somewhere, in the life of someone else.

A few initiates in white strolled along the corridor, but there was little 
movement. They were like ripples on a calm lake. This was a place of study 
and peace, Ilysa thought, of thought and reason. She smiled slightly at the 
idea, and rubbed her arm with a hand, nervously.

"Are you new here too?"

Ilysa turned. Beside her stood a slender girl about her age. Yes, slender, 
but in a different way than most women. She was like one of those figurines 
Ilysa had seen at a festival when she was young, one of those pristine 
crystalline figures the glass blowers made. Her chestnut hair hung braided 
down her back. She smiled a tremulous smile at Ilysa.

"I just got here. My name's Ilysa. They told me have some aptitude, so I 
came."

The girl nodded. "Me too. I'm Joy. My daddy suggested I come here."

Ilysa laughed for joy. She didn't know why, but she liked this girl. She 
felt an urge to hug her, but she only touched Joy's shoulder with her hand. 
Joy flinched.

"Please don't," she whispered. "I'm not used to people touching me."

"Sorry," Ilysa said. Her hand returned to rubbing her arm absently. "Do you 
know where we go?"

Joy shook her head. Her hands hung limply at her side.

Ilysa looked around, hoping to find someone to ask, and a young man in white 
strode toward them confidently. "May I help you, ladies?"

Ilysa glanced at Joy, but she remained silent. "Yes, we're here to enroll as 
initiates."

"You'll want to see Phair, then," the man said lightly. "Phair's a very 
interesting man, trust me. Sees conspiracies everywhere, as if the closer 
you are to a person, the more you should beware." He laughed. "You'll need 
to remember to address him as 'Father' in public, of course. He is the High 
Priest after all."

"I see," Ilysa said. It was a good thing to say when you understood very 
little of what was said. "Can you show us to...um...High Priest Phair's 
office."

"Of course," the man said. He bowed extravagantly and motioned them on. "By 
the way, my name's Daric. If you have any more questions these first 
days--and you will, trust me--I'll be glad to help." He looked back to find 
them stopped a few feet back. "Coming?"

"Daric?" Ilysa and Joy asked in unison. "Prince Daric?"

He chuckled. "Strange quirk of fate, that," he said lightly. "I guess that's 
what happens when your father happens to be king."

Ilysa had the feeling he used that line often.

		*		*		*		*		*

"Where is she?" Beliel asked to the empty air.

All the players were there: Prince Daric, Ilysa, and Joy, all three favorite 
pawns of Yumina. Only Averny was missing, and Beliel wasn't about to let the 
two princes interact before they were ready to kill each other.

But where was Yumina?

He had not seen her since the battlefield in the last timeline. She had 
faintly protested his scourging of the Silver Lady. Nothing else. He had 
been plunged back in time again when she began again, as the whole history 
of the world stepped back 20 years. And he had seen nothing of her since 
then.

He had looked, but found nothing. She was hiding as well as the Silver Lady 
ever had.

But why? What was she doing?

He'd wait. She'd come for Joy eventually. If not for her, for Ilysa or 
Daric. She'd come eventually. She cared too much not to.

		*		*		*		*		*

There was a knock at Joy's door. She rose from her bed, crossed the tiny 
room, and opened the door hesitantly. Ilysa stood outside.

Ilysa looked through the cracked opening. "It's me, Joy. Can I come in?"

Joy nodded and returned to sit on her bed. Ilysa entered and closed the door 
behind her. She sat on the edge of Joy's bed. Joy watched her with a blank 
expression. Her gray eyes were like fog hiding her emotions.

"Is it all right if I sit here?" Ilysa asked politely. Joy nodded. "I can 
leave if you want," Ilysa said, thinking that perhaps Joy really wanted to 
be left alone.

"It's fine," Joy said softly. Her eyes met Ilysa's for a brief second, 
before returning to study her hands. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

Joy shrugged her shoulders.

"I was thinking, too," Ilysa said to fill the silence. "New places make me 
think. It's strange. Everything's new here, like a mystery, but there's a 
sense that I've seen it all before, like a scene in a dream. And the more I 
think on it, the clearer it becomes, except.…" Ilysa frowned and shook her 
head. "Except something stops me from seeing it all. I stop myself, maybe. 
Like it's too much for me to handle, if I had it all." Ilysa brushed her red 
hair from her face. "Does that make any sense?"

Joy nodded. "The last part. The part about it being too much to handle."

Ilysa waited for more, but it never came.

"What do you think about the prince?" Joy asked suddenly, with a sort of 
intensity that seemed foreign to her.

"He's handsome," Ilysa said. The smile was impossible to restrain.

"I suppose," Joy said. She stroked the hair lying over her shoulder.

Ilysa leaned forward and touched Joy's hand. Joy looked up seriously. Ilysa 
pulled back her hand. "Sorry. I forgot." She paused for a second, then 
forced out the question she needed to ask. "Do you like him?"

The gray eyes became granite. "No." The word was a pebble falling to the 
ground, small, soft, but portending something large, an avalanche unseen. 
Joy's face was a mask, but tears were welling from somewhere.

"Joy," Ilysa whispered softly. She didn't know how to react to this. She 
couldn't even take the girl's hand. "Joy."

"Can you go?" Joy asked her quietly.

Ilysa nodded and rose. She turned to face Joy at the door. "Joy, I don't 
know if it matters to you but...you know I said I seem to remember things as 
if they've happened before?" She took a deep breath. "Joy, I think you’re 
the friend I've been waiting for."

Ilysa walked out and closed the door.

		*		*		*		*		*

"Did you hear the news, Ilysa? Corneria's preparing for war."

Ilysa didn't have to turn to see who had spoken. She knew Daric's voice well 
enough by now. He came up beside her as she walked down the corridor to 
dinner. "War, against whom?"

"Sankria, they say."

"Why? We haven't done anything to them."

"Except win the last war, even if it was over 300 years ago. That's enough 
reason for most people. And countries have longer memories than people." 
They entered the dining room, with its long rows of table. It was already 
bustling with hungry students. "But look on the bright side, this could 
bring the two Temples together."

"The end of the world couldn't bring the Temples together," Ilysa said, 
laughing.

They got their food and sat at the table where they always sat. Joy was 
already there, drinking soup broth. She didn't acknowledge either of them. 
Ilysa and Daric talked excitedly, first about Corneria, then about the 
Temples, then the High Priests, then about themselves. Normally, Ilysa tried 
to include Joy in the conversation by asking her questions, but today she 
forgot in the excitement of the conversation.

"Did you get your studying done?" Joy asked suddenly.

"What?"

"For that big project you were complaining about," Joy said.

Something clicked in Ilysa's mind. "I have to go. They don't keep the 
library open all night." Ilysa rose.

"I'll stop by later," Daric called after her. He chuckled. "Threats of war 
and threats of not finishing a project. Some things seem so unimportant when 
you change perspective. Don't you think, Joy?"

Joy shrugged. They ate in silence a little longer, then Daric rose to leave.

"Daric," Joy said softly. He stopped and sat back down, waiting. "Leave 
Ilysa alone."

"What?"

"Distance yourself." Her gray eyes stared unflinchingly into his. "Stop 
talking to her."

"But...but why?" He grew serious and swallowed. "Are you...jealous?"

Joy smiled sadly, her eyes were rain on a dark land. She shook her head.

Daric waited, but Joy said nothing. "What is it, Joy?" he asked. "What are 
you thinking?"

"Too much," she whispered. "Just leave Ilysa alone."

		*		*		*		*		*

Beliel again sat in his brother's chair. It had grown quite comfortable over 
the years. Bhaal had used it to watch the tapestry, all the strings of all 
the workings of the world. Beliel needed none of that. Things were going 
very well. The only glitch, if it could be called a glitch, was Yumina's 
absence. She had not appeared to interfere with his plans.

Joy was his, Daric was easy enough to manipulate, and Ilysa...well, she was 
odd, but she was only a single human. Beliel had studied her World-Tree 
extensively, and it was different from any other he had seen. Not that he 
had studied many World-Trees--one could sufficiently maneuver most humans 
with base instincts. There was little need for fine-tuned suggestions as 
long as Beliel got the result he wanted.

The interesting thing about Ilysa's World-Tree was that its trunk split at 
the roots. Effectively, it had two trunks, and these coiled around and 
around one another. Maybe that was why Yumina had been so interested in 
Ilysa in the beginning, though Beliel couldn't understand what difference 
two trunks would make.

Soon, it would make no difference. The Silver Lady's move with Corneria's 
army meant Beliel would have to execute his plan soon, the poisoning of King 
Numair and all the rest. That was fine with him. He was tired of waiting.

"Here we go, Yumina. Let's see what you've got up your sleeve."

		*		*		*		*		*

Ilysa knocked on Joy's door, then entered. It was late, but Joy never seemed 
to mind her late night visits. Daric had not met her at their place as they 
had arranged, but she was too angry with him to hunt him down in his room. 
She wasn’t technically allowed to wander the halls at night, though no one 
really watched them.

She needed to talk to someone. As she entered, she found Joy asleep. She 
often woke at Ilysa's knock...it was not important to talk tonight, Ilysa 
decided. She began to close the door.

"Please stay," Joy said.

"I thought you were asleep," Ilysa said, coming into the room. Shreds of 
moonlight fell on Joy. She was a pale ghost against the wall.

"No," Joy said. "Just dreaming."

Joy sat up in her bed. She appeared haggard, as if she had been sick. Her 
chestnut hair hung disarrayed across her face. She flung her head to get it 
out of her face. Her hands were beneath the covers. "Do you remember when we 
first met, that I said I understood, that I understood it all being too 
much?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I think I am two people sometimes,” Joy said. “I have two wills working 
within me. I...what I want to do, I do not do." She screamed suddenly, a 
scream of rage, and she shook frantically, beating at the air, then settled 
suddenly. "I only do what I hate doing," she whispered.

The first tears Ilysa had ever seen from Joy streaked down her face. Ilysa 
reached out a hand.

"Don't touch me!" Joy screamed.

Suddenly, Ilysa grabbed Joy's face between her hands. "He has you, doesn't 
he? He's been using you!"

"Get off me!" Joy shouted. She pulled her face away, backed away, and pushed 
Ilysa away with the force of rage. The moonlight fell on bloody hands.

"Joy," Ilysa whispered. "Joy, not again...."

Joy was breathing heavily. "Who? Who has me?"

Ilysa shook her head, unbelievingly. Joy crawled across the bed and grabbed 
Ilysa's throat in her slender hands. She pushed her off the bed, against the 
wall, empowered by madness.

"I'm bursting, Ilysa! Bursting! Everyday, feelings I hate, anger, lust, 
rage, jealousy, despair battle in me. I want to tear you apart. I would if 
it would lessen the struggle inside. Even you, Ilysa. Do you understand? Do 
you? Do you really know what "too much" means? That feeling that you have no 
control, that you must do what has been predestined for you because you are 
capable of no other? To want to destroy the world because you can't fix 
yourself?"

"Joy..." Ilysa said, struggling to breathe.

Joy released her Ilysa's neck and collapsed in a boneless heap. "I warned 
him, Ilysa. I'm sorry...no, I'm not sorry for doing it." She looked away 
from Ilysa. "I'm not sorry for killing him. His father killed...he killed 
him...that man. He was my daddy, I think. But not my real one, not the one I 
have now."

"Is... is Daric dead?" Ilysa asked hesitantly.

Joy let out a bark, a laugh. "Very dead."

Ilysa sat stunned on the floor. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.

"I'm only sorry you had to be so close to him," Joy said. "And so close to 
me." She struggled to her knees, scuttled over to a drawer. She pulled out a 
knife, still wet with blood. "He trusted me, you know. Thought I was you at 
first."

Ilysa ran out of the room, toward Daric's room. The lights on the walls flew 
past like memories being extinguished. She reached his door, opened it.

Daric lay on his face, in a pool of blood.

Ilysa fell to her knees, weeping. She might have screamed. She didn't know. 
She only knew that the one she loved was dead. She could have stopped it. 
Didn't she know it was coming, somehow? There was a presence beside her, but 
she did not look up.

Then there were shouts in the halls, and people gathered around, arguing, 
pushing, screaming. Ilysa wiped the tears from her eyes and found the bloody 
knife at her side. High Priest Phair stood behind her. Joy was near the 
front of the crowd, silent.

For a long moment, Ilysa did not move. She could barely think. Time seemed 
frozen, paths presenting themselves before her.

She wrapped her hand around the knife and stood.

"Take her to the holding room," High Priest Phair said.

The guards nodded and grabbed Ilysa. She did not resist.

		*		*		*		*		*

Ilysa sat in the complete dark, alone. Tears streamed down her face, soaked 
her clothes.

Beliel appeared in the darkness in front of her.

"You're an idiot," he said. There was an edge to his voice. "Do you hope to 
save the world from inside this cell?"

Ilysa did not acknowledge his existence.

"What are you doing?"

Silence.

"What do you hope to accomplish like this?"

Silence.

"Look at me!"

Beliel forcefully grabbed Ilysa's chin in his hands and stared into her 
eyes. They met his calmly.

"That's you in there, isn't it, Yumina?"

TO BE CONTINUED....