[Chapter Fifteen]

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A strange dream . . .

Eruva was laying on her back. Without opening her eyes, she grappled at her surroundings with one hand. It met coarse fabric, then the edge of the couch. Further she reached, until she hit her fingers on the side of the coffee table, and cursed.

The first two fingers went into her mouth and she bit down on them to stop the pain. She knew before she opened her eyes that she was in the Gahtos' living room, which looked out over the back garden.

The garden.

She had almost forgotten . . . what exactly happened last night? It had to have been a dream. Another dream from the twisted mind of Eruva Tachté.

She rose gently, for her head swam a little, and stepped cautiously around the coffee table, towards the full-length window. The heavy fabric curtains were drawn, but the sun shone brightly beyond them - bathing the whole room in soft green.

As she reached out for the curtain, she couldn't help but notice her heart hammered slightly; a pulse beat in her ears. What if it really did happen . . . ?

Looking down, she pulled one curtain back, then slowly allowed herself to see what was outside.

Sure enough, there was the back garden, as innocent as the day before. The light shone from the east this time, contrasting the orange of before with a now pink and white hue. It was still early, for the sun only just hovered above the forest. The trees cast long but dull shadows over the stone wall, and over the lawn. The grass was silky with dew, and sparkled in the breeze. Eruva's sight travelled between the dewdrops, and towards the centre.

There was the white sheet. Or what had been white - it was red now. There was nothing else.

'It . . . It was too good to be true,' she spoke quietly, her voice cracking. She folded her arms and closed her eyes, a tear being pushed out onto her wrist.

It was an hour later when Mrs Gahto opened the door to the living room, only to find a pale and sobbing girl sitting on the floor in front of the window.

'Eruva, dear - whatever is the matter?' Mrs Gahto pulled the top of Eruva's arm until she stood upright. The girl's eyes did not look up to meet hers, though.

'Mrs . . . *sob* uhn . . .' Eruva put both her hands over her face in a vain effort to wipe the water away.

'What's wrong?'

Eruva swallowed hard, and sniffed deeply. She whispered, 'I'm s-sorry.'

'What in stars' names are sorry about, Eruva?'

'M-Miro, he's d-d-d-'

'What?'

'He did it to save me - it's m-m-my fault.'

'What are talking about?'

'Mm . . . Miro's dead!'

Mrs Gahto had her eyebrows raised when Eruva finally looked at her.

'What are you babbling about? Miro's not dead! He's upstairs!'

'. . . W-what?'

'You silly girl! Don't you remember? He woke up!'


****

He's alive! I can't believe it!

When Eruva reached the top of the staircase, it was to Captain Balren backing out of Miro's room and closing the door. He started slightly as he saw her, but composed himself and cleared his throat. The guest room door was open, and Eruva saw what she supposed was Baleen’s suitcase next to the bed.

'I took a look at him again,' he said quietly. 'The wound is huge - it is a miracle he's alive.'

Eruva just stood there looking at him, all too aware of her burning eyes and tear-encrusted cheeks.

'Um . . . so, Erva - '

'Eruva.' Eruva crossed her arms.

'Right, sorry. Eruva. I was wondering if you could help me out.' Balren lowered his voice further and stepped away from the door. 'Miro's wound . . . although it is so large, it is almost as if - and this will sound crazy - but it looks at the same stage as a month-old wound of that size. Do you have any idea what could have happened to cause that?'

Eruva didn't look the man in the eye; she just eyed the badges upon his chest and sleeve, mouth slightly ajar. '. . . No. Aren't you meant to be the doctor?'

Eruva made to walk past the Captain, but he stepped in her way. 'Look,' he said. 'Let me be frank. I saw what you did last night. The magic you used - it was Whi-'

'White magic? But - !' Eruva whispered loudly, and probably very audibly.

'I'm not mistaken. I've worked on the front line and I know when I see it.'

'But, it can't be White magic. That's not even possible!'

'But it clearly is.'

Eruva's face was a mixture of shock and worry. She tried to get to Miro's door again, but the Captain stopped her.

'Another thing puzzled me.' He held his hand on Eruva's shoulder to stop her facing away. 'I checked Miro yesterday, after the boar rat ran him through. He was dead, Eruva. Stone cold. Not an ounce of thought or feeling. I've never heard of a White mage being able to cast in West Lumina, but I know a White mage cannot bring someone back to life.' He said the last words piercingly, fixing Eruva's stare with his bright grey eyes.

Eruva stood still, watching Balren’s pupils dart back and forth slightly, her lip quivering, her mouth trying to form words but failing.

Suddenly, the door behind Balren creaked open and Miro appeared, one arm upon the bandage below his ribs, one on the doorframe to stop himself from falling.

'That's enough, Captain. Please.' He winced after he spoke, and Eruva rushed past the Captain to help him stand.

'Miro . . . don't walk around,' she said quietly to him. She slowly guided him back to his bed, careful not to disrupt the bandage or put her hand in his armpit. After laying him down gently, she went to close the door, noticing an angry yet inaudible conversation between Mrs. Gahto and Captain Balren coming from downstairs.

'Mum's been telling him not to keep coming up here,' Miro said. Eruva pushed the door shut completely, then turned and perched on the end of his bed. 'She wants to take me to the doctor in Rita, but the Captain keeps saying I'm fine.'

'How do you feel?' Eruva asked, still feeling edgy. This was worsened by Miro's lack of a shirt.

'Bad,' Miro said. 'There is a lot of bruising and pain - but the wound is closed, which is what I'm a bit . . . confused by.' He looked up, one eyebrow went up, and Eruva chewed the inside of her cheek. '. . . It happened again, didn't it?'

Eruva was silent, then took breaths to speak but nothing came out. She opened her hands palms-up to examine them.. This had to be a dream.

'The Captain told me that I was dead,' Miro continued. 'I even felt it happening, yesterday. It was exactly the same as three years ago. Except this time . . . I died, Eruva.'

'. . . White magic.'

'Yes! I don't know how,' Miro smiled and a small laugh escaped his lips, 'But yes. Oh - and look!'

Eruva looked up to see Miro displaying the underside of his forearms. They were spotless. The scars were gone, even the largest one! It was all too much. A stream of tears erupted from Eruva's eyes.

'I . . . I can't believe . . . I thought you were gone . . . '

Before she knew it, she was being cradled by Miro, who had managed to shift to the end of the bed. He was so warm, so alive. He was speaking, but Eruva didn't so much hear the words as simply the notes of his voice. He was so close, his soft breath upon her face. It would have been so easy to reach up, to have let their lips meet . . .

But something caught Eruva's eye.

Her sudden pulling away was responded to by a pained grunt from Miro. She bent down to the floor, and picked up a pile of books. They had titles such as Analytical Theories of White Magic and The White Mage: Is He Really The Wrong Mage?

'What are these?' Eruva sternly placed the books upon the duvet cover.

'Ah,' Miro said, looking sheepish. 'I got those from, um . . . '

'I thought books like these weren't, you know, legal.'

'Ah, no.' Miro hugged his ribs, but Eruva could tell he wasn't hurting by the look on his face. She continued staring at him.

'Where did they come from?'

'Look,' Miro said. 'You must not tell anyone.'

'I promise,' Eruva said, holding up her hands in a prayer. She then started idly flicking through Negative Thinking.

'. . . My dad's got contacts. I wouldn't be allowed in the army for three more years, if he didn't know Captain Balren.'

'So Captain Balren gave you these books?'

'Well, no . . . he was going to interview me, so he can prove to his bosses that I'm good enough, and we got to talking . . . and it turns out he's interested in White magic too, so . . . he kind of . . . gave me this pass . . . '

Miro opened a small brown book from the bottom of the pile and presented a slip of paper, with a ton of handwriting and a signature upon it.

'It let me have access to the locked library vaults at Capita Magic Institute, and I managed to get a hold of these books . . . But you can't say anything, or who knows what will happen, to Balren and me.'

'Why is it such a big deal - if he can give you permission, it shouldn't matter if anyone knows. The library people know you've got them anyway!'

'No, you see . . . the signature isn't . . . genuine.'

'What?' Eruva snatched the paper from Miro, and squinted to read the bottom. There was a name there, that looked nothing like Balren.

'It's "signed" by the head of the army. So you see, you mustn't say anything.'

A few minutes passed, with Eruva fascinated by the books and Miro getting more and more on edge, wanting her to put them under the bed before his mother found out. A short while after that, Miro was laying back against his pillows and Eruva now lay sprawled across the mattress, the books safely tucked underneath the bed. Bar one, the small brown one, which she was reading with great interest.

One section of it particularly held her attention.

'"How to track White magic" . . . Hey, Miro?'

Miro groaned, then yawned. His energy burst from earlier was clearly dwindling.

'This spell . . . this is a Black magic spell?' She held the book up, and Miro strained to see.

'Uh-huh. It lets you detect White magic, or White magi. It's a bit like a souped-up and illegal version of the Magic Within detection spell they cast on babies.'

'So . . . if you used it on me, it would say if I was a White mage?'

'Yes . . . Ah.' Miro was taken aback as Eruva smiled a smile which one only smiles when one wants something.

'Please?' Eruva chucked the book to him.

'I . . . can't, Eruva. Ah, it can only be cast once, just like the Magic Within spell. You've already had it done on you.'

'How do you know?'

'Because . . . Well how else would I have found you, when you were wandering around in Conver in the middle of the night?'

****

Miro had stayed in the vaults longer than he anticipated. There were just so many books he could have taken, but the library limited him to six maximum. He had taken four, since his backpack could not physically fit any more inside of it. He could not believe he actually got away with it! Well, he believed more than he didn't, or he wouldn't have travelled all the way out to Capita.

Well, there was one particular spell he had to try, even if it was 11:30PM. He knew it would work - Eruva's letter said she would be in Conver, so he'd have to travel two districts over to get near that area.

An hour later he arrived in the Conver district on foot, as the last trains had been shut early for maintenance. It was much cleaner than the Institute district, and felt safer. Possibly the best district for Eruva to be living in, but still . . . she couldn't stay here.

Taking refuge in an alley, he cast a flame to light his view as he went over the spell once more. A complicated spell, but doable nonetheless. It didn't look any harder than the ones he learned for his final exam at BAA. To be on the safe side, he decided to speak the spell out loud, to help focus his mind.

'Ji-am ti-ah-ou. Ki-ja-am ti-ah-ou. Ti te-ga.' The words left his lips quietly, hardly disturbing the night. Well-trained fingers mimicked the symbols as he pronounced them, and his voice echoed only within his own head.

Momentarily he connected to the energy, the unknown yet familiar place where all magicks' origins are. Although more difficult to accomplish than usual, the energy stuck to his thoughts like flies to a web, enabling him to bring it forth from the three digits he held before his face.

As always happened with new and difficult spells, Miro had summoned excess energy which he did not direct to his fingers. He knew this because his body suddenly became increasingly hot, beads of sweat forming on his brow and a wave of nausea trying to overcome him. He concentrated all of his might upon holding the spell in his fingers until the extra energy dispersed. To try and cast in this state could lead to a phenomena known as overblast, where a powerful and uncontrollable spell would be expelled with such force, that Miro would suffer burns and, in the worst case, fatal injury.

The excess energy finally left his body, dissipating into the darkness, causing Miro to feel relieved yet cold as his body temperature returned to normal. He touched the three fingers to his forehead and allowed the spell to pass through into his mind.

He suddenly became extremely agitated, with an immense urge to turn around. He did so, until another feeling overtook and told him what he wanted was in that direction, but far away. It was similar to the feeling of smelling food from a distance and becoming hungry, wanting to get closer.

His legs began to walk - of his own will, but with an extra sense of urgency. He felt as though he had a compass implanted in his head; it told him the direction, but he was the one who had to command his body.

He wondered if the spell would lead him to Eruva - he'd had his suspicions, but what if she wasn't a White mage? What if he'd end up walking all the way to East Lumina . . . ?

No, he may have been a powerful mage, but he wasn't that powerful. What he wanted had to be close by.

The sense of proximity in his mind, like a radar, intensified after several minutes of frantic marching along Conver's empty streets. He walked straight into the locked gates of the Central Park, then had to drag himself away and around the edge of the park in order to follow his spell's directions.

She must be in one of these apartments somewhere. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow morning and just knock on all the doors.

He was just readying himself to dissipate the spell, When he noticed a figure crossing the road in front and entering under the beam of a streetlight on the other side.

Female, about his height, long fair hair, legwarmers, backpack . . .

Forgetting about dispelling himself, Miro hastily crossed the street and pursued her, not realising that she would turn around, see a shadow approaching, and run for her life.

He ran too, fuelled by his spell, and tried to get her attention.

'Eruva! Eruva! It's me!'

She ran faster, holding onto the straps of her backpack. She was very nimble, and much faster on her feet than him. She turned corners at speed, rushed along streets, dodging obstructions that Miro had to concentrate hard to avoid.

Finally, when Miro turned a corner near the train station, she was gone. But his spell was still going, if weakening now.

He slowly followed his sense of direction, which pointed into the wall on his left. The whole wall was bathed in shadow from the buildings' overhanging second storeys. He paused for a moment, exhausted, then wiped an arm over his sweating forehead.

From his immediate left came a short metallic bang.

An alleyway?

Sure enough, as he turned and stepped left, the darkness opened up into a dark space between two buildings. His spell nagged at him to walk this way, so he stepped cautiously, slowly. A metal bin was knocked over onto its side next to a large blue dumpster. Through the silence of the night he thought he heard a sudden intake of breath.

What if there's a murderer hiding here, waiting to . . .

He stepped closer to the dumpster, squinted and tried to see the shape behind, and -

A sudden blow hit the left side of his face, with such force he was sent flying sideways. As he went, he saw remnants of his spell float in the air, knocked clean out of him. In his confusion he did not see where he was falling and he whacked his head on concrete.


- Arido's note: Bear with me, I need to straighten out the next part of the story before I can upload! :D