Disclaimer in first part.
Leave: Part Three
by Jaya Mitai
Stryfe pounded the flimsy table with a curled fist, and it nearly gave. "Stab your eyes, don't tell me that! Tell me what we _do _ have!"
The startled warrior opened his mouth, but Cathan interrupted him. "Stryfe, the campaign will fail without that equipment You cannot send those men in without an energy shield! We both know that plasma cuts through the armor in only two shots, and they have an entire platoon guarding the palace in New Canaan! What do you want to do, kill of as much of Clan Chosen as you can in one night?"
Stryfe's look was positively deadly. "There are two hundred members of Clan Chosen in there, and far be it from you to judge the value of human life –"
"They aren't even human yet! That's the point –"
Stryfe lunged for the general, but was intercepted by strong, dark arms. "Easy, take it easy, S."
Fas'd'fain and Omana exchanged glances, just as the other generals did. "I think Cathan was trying, in his usual tactful way," and he received a glare, "that we can't justify the men in this operation for . . . members of Clan Chosen too young to even walk. What do you propose to do if the teleporting equipment is damaged? Carry them all out by yourself?"
"If I have to." His eyes were deadly serious, and Omana shook his head slowly, meeting Tetherblood's gaze rather than Stryfe's.
"We know how you value Clan Chosen life, Stryfe. We all know you plan your strategies ten times as hard as our opposition to save every life you can in these skirmishes, we watch you do it. Stryfe, you haven't slept the night in a month. No," he added, when Stryfe opened his mouth to interrupt. "We know that you want to save them as much for Clan Chosen as for yourself, but without the high-frequency energy shield, it's suicide. What would be the point of getting in if you couldn't get out?"
The other generals around the rickety table nodded agreement, eyes more on the maps and plans than their Clanleader, as his searching eyes went from one to another.
"Not a single one of you will stand by me on this, will you."
For the first time in many days he considered the possibility of having to do it alone. He would die, that he knew. Die or be captured and wish for death. But how many days had he gone without, how many nights had he given everything for this Clan, for his Clan, only to find the effort spent on a void that felt no obligation in returning it?
Tetherblood released him with a gentle shake, pressing him back into his seat, and Stryfe sat, more because he was exhausted than anything else. It was true. He hadn't slept more than three or four hours a night since Daphne's startled cry in his mind, since she had vanished from the battlefield in a flash of light. The teleporting shield around her prevented them from freeing her in the same fashion, and only the strength of the psychic bond he'd built with her had been able to penetrate the psishielding around her.
He knew also that appealing to the actual Clanmembers was fruitless. They followed their generals, only after those generals had approved his plans, only after the Askani had inspected them for traces of 'Apocalypse's taint.' Only after every single precaution had been taken for every single variant on the field, so that every last man or woman had a way to flee a battle, so that no run was a suicide run, so that no lives were wasted for any goal. Their lives above all.
He knew also that the generals and the Askani both kept him from interacting with his Clan members. They paid lip service to him, whenever a warrior could hear, creating a slightly worshipful atmosphere on and off the battlefield that served to make him seem aloof and lofty without any effort at all from him. His Clan barely even caught a glimpse of him outside of battle; even trying to start up a conversation with one in the mess tent was intercepted by an Askani with an 'urgent matter.'
While the Askani and particularly the generals wanted the Clan to follow him, they didn't want his Clan to love him, in case they could get their 'true' Askani'son back. After all, Stryfe the Clone was the second choice, the 'just in case' measures that he fought with in every battle.
And 'Sunspear,' Nathan Dayspring, he was the original. Stryfe used to feel guilt for it, but no more. It had taken him a long time to come around to Redd and Slym, and when he did he told them of what would happen to his 'brother.'
They'd actually referred to them as brothers. Redd would cry in the night for him, and it would just remind Stryfe that he was the second. Always the second.
They'd looked for him, used every bit of knowledge in Stryfe's mind to scan the palace, but there had never been an opportunity. It was as if Apocalypse knew, he purposefully kept his heir out of the limelight. It galled him, how they had finally found him, lying beneath Apocalypse's right foot while the External bellowed in rage at the recalcitrant T-O virus, that had left Nate a barely-aware, screaming puddle.
He'd rescued his brother, even as their parents were disappearing, he'd saved him from the T-O virus, barely even had time to say goodbye to their parents himself.
He'd been willing to rescue Nathan, to apologize and take care of him and undo all the damage that had been done, like Slym had made him promise. Ch'Vayre had taken the boy, though, before Slym's last whispers were dead in the air. It was the first oath he'd ever broken. Constantly he wondered what would have changed if he'd kept that oath. If he'd taken Nathan with him on that fateful walk in the desert, if the Askani had laid eyes on both of them.
He knew who they would have chosen, if they'd had the choice.
Sometimes he wondered why he hadn’t been killed in his restless sleep when the offer from Sunspear had come, the offer to go to him and pledge their loyalty and their love. Sometimes, like just now, he wondered why they didn't abandon him totally.
Why he didn't do the same.
"Not a one of you." He slouched in the chair, head back, teeth bared in disgust. "Tell me, do you find the idea of rescuing my wife repulsive because she is my wife, or because she was made an Askani sister? I don't recall a single offensive thing Daphne could have done to a one of you –"
"That she is Askani, or your wife, makes no difference!" 'Fain looked sympathetic, he was radiating it, but there was steel there. "How many will you sacrifice for her?"
Stryfe's head tilted to one side, his expression becoming venomous once more. "Shall we count the number of Canaanite lives she has taken, to see what her worth in lives is? What about the entire platoon that's buried beneath the Atouche Plateau? That's several thousand dog soldiers. Or what about the time a particularly convenient vent of steam opened just beneath your transport, blasting you out of the way of a concentrated therm attack?" He rose, menacingly, leaning on the complaining table. "Let's discuss how many lives yours is worth –"
"Anyone who goes in there will die!" Omana was also standing, and there were tears in his eyes. "Stab your eyes, Stryfe, can't you see a trap when one is laid right in front of you? She's already dead! Even if we get in there, even if you actually get _to _ her, she's dead! He'll make sure of it! Stryfe, you cannot save your wife!"
Stryfe reeled back as if he'd been physically slapped, knocking over the folding chair behind his knees as if it were a pesky cat that didn't know when to move. Omana looked instantly apologetic, inclining his head, staring at the table in apology. "Clanleader . . . there isn't anything you can do for her. Even we have spent sleepless nights searching for a way, but there is none. We . . ." He searched for the words. "There's nothing that can be done for her."
"No!" Loud, but no strength behind it. "We're so close! So close . . ."
Cathan bared his teeth. "I told you he would not see reason –"
A cry, and Cathan was flung from the tent apparently by the whim of the air. All the generals took their feet then, even as Tetherblood leapt the overturned chair to capture Stryfe. The telekinetipath was radiating so much rage it was hard to touch him, but Tetherblood had fairly good shields for a non-psi, and grabbed Stryfe around the shoulders.
"I said easy!" The arms hauled him around so he was staring at a canvas tent wall, rather than the shocked faces of his advisors and generals. Tetherblood turned his head to the right, seeing them all in his peripheral vision. "All of you. Out. Now."
They didn't protest, and when they was gone, Stryfe was released. He continued to stare at the wall, shaking with fury. "You shouldn't have stopped me –"
"You don't need to murder your generals. The shipment was intercepted. Maybe we can raid a small Canaanite force on the way –"
"That has a high-frequency energy shield?" His voice dripped contempt. "Don't patronize me, Tetherblood."
A sigh. A hand on his shoulder. "You know I want her out as much as you do." Truth. If he didn't believe it, after all this time, Tetherblood's mind was open to him. "I know he's responsible. And I know you can't trust those Askani bitches as far as I can throw them. The spy is probably one of them. Stryfe, I'd follow you into that palace if it was just the two of us and Hope, you know I would. But getting in is worthless without being able to get her out. You can't go charging in. You know that."
He knew that. Oath, did he know it. How many times had Slym drilled strategy into his brain? But she was hurt, so badly hurt, even just getting her relief, letting her see him, holding her . . wasn't that a better death? A cleaner one? Dying in battle, as they were supposed to, rather than wasting away, tortured with your own children?
Oh, Bright Lady. He didn't know how to get the saplings out, he didn't. A mass teleport, but it was so poorly planned, if the equipment was damaged there was no backup –
"I can't . . . we're so close, T. So close . . ." He bit his lip till he tasted blood to keep the sob in. He was planning this so desperately, even with the link sealed he couldn't sleep, hadn't lost that sense of terror and pain and acute need. How many times he'd justified keeping it, keeping Sanctity at bay with her telepathy and her too-sweet promises of clarity. Her guilt-tripping, her severe glares as he spent resources they didn't have trying to find just one opportunity –
"I know we are. I know." The hand gripped him, lending strength. "You gotta have faith. You said she was a tree right now, she's growing like a tree and being treated like one, watered and such. You have time, Stryfe."
"She's being tortured!" Barely not a scream of rage, and he whirled on the solemn-looking Tetherblood. "How can you say we have time?! She's been there too long! Too long –"
Oh, the things she must be experiencing at Sunspear's hands. He dreamt them every time he closed his eyes so that he was afraid to close them now, not sure whether they were invented by his mind or seeping along the link anyway. Nothing was seeping from it now, he was a little more focused because of his rage, and that startled him into taking a deep breath. Incinerating Tetherblood for speaking truth was not only rude, it was also stupid.
"It's been too long. You're right. You're right," he repeated, clearly trying to calm him. "We'll keep looking. Even if it's just me and you, we'll keep searching for a way. He's going to have to trip up sometime."
He shook his head, just breathing, looking around the planning tent. A simple canvas structure, metal supports and line, a flimsy table in the center with mismatched chairs and a fiber rug that was rougher on the feet than simple sand. Nothing fancy, he wasn't really wasting their precious resources, like 'Fain and the others complained. He wasn't chasing shadows. The throbbing psilink in his head was proof of that –
But not so throbbing this evening, for some reason.
His stomach dropped to the floor as he frantically studied it. Barely there at all, he could barely see the sunlight of it behind his sealings. Perhaps she had retreated to a deeper treeform despite her children, or was resting . . . was it worth breaking his oath to her?
There was no doubt about it. He tore at the sealings until his telepathic fingers bled, cut to the bone with the strength of the block he'd had to use, still not strong enough. He felt it giving, and yanked with all he had, and more, ignoring his exhaustion, ignoring everything but that link.
The psychic mortar finally crumbled, allowing the sickly, dim light to trickle into his mind, their psilink shriveled to a dying vine from lack of care.
No. It wasn't collapsing.
She was dying.
* * * * * * *
Tetherblood thought for sure as he heard the cry, even though he was standing in the room with Stryfe, that his Clanleader had somehow been shot. Nothing else could have produced a tone so full of pain and denial, nothing could have sent him staggering to the ground so quickly, his frame curled in agony.
But there wasn't a wound on him.
"Stryfe . . . - Stryfe!" He shoved the chair out of his way, yanking Stryfe's head up and looking into sightless eyes. But he was breathing. Thank the Bright Lady, he was breathing.
"Summon Hope! Now!" They'd feared it, a telepathic attack along that psilink, it was one of the reasons he'd supported Sanctity's insistence that it be terminated –
There was motion outside the tent, and 'Fain stepped back in, eyes widening as he took in the scene.
"NOW!"
* * * * * * *
Daphne didn't even sense the link at all, but she knew, the second she was cradled, that he was there.
#No, Daphne -#
Her pain faded, letting her convulsing body slowly relax to the soil bed. Her desperate need for sleep faded as well, her exhaustion bearable, so that she could close her eyes, relax her face and her back and her cries. But he could do nothing for the agony she was in.
#He's killing them, all of them -# Stryfe could undoubtedly hear, but he couldn't make it out. #He's taking their leaves. They'll starve. Our daughters will starve . . .#
Stryfe didn't quite understand how desperate it was, for a plant to be able to absorb nutrients and do nothing with them, no matter how good the soil was. How the hunger gnawed, how the bark flaked away as the sap ran slow, how long and painful it was due to some food in the water, how a young, strong plant could take days or weeks to fade completely.
Even if he got to them now, it was too late.
She felt Stryfe choke, felt him try to channel even the tiniest bit of telepathy through her. Her treespeak talents tended in that area, but she was far too exhausted to let him channel now. Her head exploded in pain, which faded instantly with cooling fingers and whispered apologies.
#I'm sorry, Daphne, I'm sorry -#
#I don't care if it hurts, save them, my babies -# She knew she was blathering, but the cries of those without leaves were starting to drown out the frightened ones who were being plucked. Two men with baskets were collecting their leaves like one would harvest fruit, and she could do nothing, nothing to comfort them. Less than fifty yards and she couldn't even crawl to them.
#I love you, my daughters. I'll see you soon.#
#Help me! Please!#
#Mother! How do I survive now? I don't know how to turn human!#
#Mom, he's taking my leaves -!#
#It hurts! Please, go away!#
#Help us!#
#Mother, I'm frightened!#
#We'll die! Don't they know -#
#I can't eat! I drink through my roots, but I can't eat!#
#Help . . . help me . . . he's hurting-#
#I know, babies, I know.# It was all she could say, over and over. She couldn't lie to them, not now, not ever. She couldn't even comfort them, she wouldn't live long enough to hold their hands as they walked to the great river and sank into her depths. They would be alone when they died, totally and completely alone.
#Please, please link to them.# She knew the toll it would take, but the idea of them being alone for the last few days was too much to bear.
#I . . . I can't . . .# She knew he couldn't; it had been hard enough to link with the older saplings, the only three daughters that would survive this, rooted safely back at Clan Arbora. These were tiny little minds, he probably couldn't even find them –
#Try! Stab your eyes, they'll die alone!#
# . . . I can't, Daphne. I can't find them.#
Inarticulate rage coursed through her, and she cried, cried for her daughters and for her pain and for her exhaustion. She cried for knowing that she would not be brought to rest where she wanted to be most. She cried for not being able to contact her mother. She cried for the agony she'd endured for nothing. She cried for her daughters, that they'd never know rain.
His arms were wrapped around her, but she was quite alone, lying on a bed of her children.
# . . . I tried . . .#
#Save them . . . you promised to save them -#
#I know, Daphne. I know.#
Hearing the words she was sending to her daughters shocked her fading mind slightly, stopping her retreat into nothing. She finally looked, looked at him with all the strength she could.
The only thing she could see didn't make sense. She was floating above a mist, or perhaps in it, or perhaps it was to her right. It wasn't a threatening mist, it looked rather cool and inviting, and she had the feeling that it was coming from the great river below, she could hear water lapping at an invisible shore. Around her wrist was a hand, a warm hand, a strong hand, and attached to it, standing on a bridge of red rock and wires, an unfinished bridge, was her husband.
John Dayspring. Stryfe. Chaos-bringer. Askani'son.
His face was clouded with tears, his whole being radiated it, but his grip was so strong. He was holding her, support in a storm, the strong branch of a neighboring tree in a high wind. But she wanted to lean away, so badly, as badly as she wanted to step back onto the bridge with him. His storm-grey eyes mirrored her helplessness, and she finally realized . . . everything.
#You did your best, love.# She brought her lips to the hand around her wrist, laid her face upon the back of his hand as it shook, as the other one came to rest on the side of her head, fingers running through her long hair.
#Don't leave.# It was punctuated by a startling *twang!* and one of the bridge supports snapped, the wire passing dangerously close to them both.
She had every reason to know that he would follow her into that mist, if the bridge collapsed, farther than he should, so that he was lost, that he never made his way back to the Mother like she feared for herself. There was no need for that fear now, she could see it. No matter where her remains, she would have her rest. The promise of that relief lent her strength.
#You have to let go, John.# Even she could feel the rock beneath his very feet trembling as another support fell, somewhere back near land, somewhere in the mists behind him.
#Never.#
#They need you.#
#No one needs me more than you . . . I need you.#
She almost choked. #I . . . I don't need you anymore, John. You were there when I needed you.#
The ending phrase did nothing to take the sting from her thoughts, and she wept inwardly at the pain she had just unintentionally caused him. His eyes were wide, pleading with her, begging her without words, and the rock shuddered beneath his feet. His grip faltered as instinct warred with emotion, as part of him screamed to grab onto the bridge, to steady himself, while the other fought against letting her go.
The mist was getting more insistent, she knew she was tugging on him, destroying his balance. But the hand around her wrist didn't give, and suddenly his arms were around her, he was no longer pulling her.
He was no longer on the bridge, and they watched it plummet toward the unseen river until the mists swallowed it. They never heard it hit bottom.
#I love you.#
#I know, love. I know.#
#I'm not leaving you again.#
She burrowed into a surprisingly firm-feeling shoulder, this one not cold with metal, and the arms that came around her were warm and comforting. How she had longed for those arms, the past weeks. How she had missed him, so much so that it pained her to even remember.
#But I'm here now. I'm here.#
#I know -#
With the added strength he was lending her, she was able to – she hoped – send back the feelings she felt now to her daughters. Such clarity, such confidence. No fear. The unknown was known, the Mother was waiting for them all, and it was as she had been told. Sunlight, rain, children, her children, crowding around her to rest in her branches.
#I'm waiting for you, daughters.#
She kissed her husband, lightly, and felt the firm, soft lips beneath hers, the firm, soft ground beneath her roots. He had followed her too far, but she knew the way back. #Goodbye, my love. Your Clan needs you now, but I'm right here, and I think I'm going to put my roots down for a while. I'm tired.#
#No, don't, we can -# Hopeless, he knew he was stammering, and she smiled at his tears, and kissed him gently.
#Go.# She was surprised he was so easy to manipulate on the astral plane, she shoved him in the right direction and suddenly the mist seemed to decide he didn't belong on that side of it, and it snapped him right up. He was out of sight in seconds.
#Greetings, little one,# she beamed at Mallie, and received a mischievous grin in reply.
#Look! I can turn human!#