"Until The Fall" - 15/48
Title: Until The Fall
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 04.10.09)
Chapter Fifteen
Almost directly to the north of the Realm of the Unwanted, the village of Byvasser sat nestled in the sparse, scrub-pine forest. Far placed from the Brick Route, the village was close enough to the gorge that the sound of the rushing river was a constant presence. The night before, the two AR soldiers had arrived near suns-down, and had received permission from a local deputy to camp at the edge of town, under a few towering oaks. Their tent was situated to view the only road that led in and out of town, and they took turns watching it at all times.
Jeb's partner was the man he'd chosen personally to accompany him on this mission. Though he knew very little about the young sergeant's past, there was no doubt in his abilities, and his personal views on the royal family, and Queen Azkadellia in particular, would help him pass as a reasonable Longcoat supporter.
Jeb didn't like the plan; though it wasn't hard for him to focus on the hate he'd felt an annual before, a mere thirteen months, at the height of the Resistance... the Eclipse was approaching fast and the Emerald had yet to be found, the vice of the Sorceress was tightening, she was running out of time... people were dying, children screaming...
No, it wasn't hard to remember that hate. But to associate that villainess, that Witch, with the woman who sat on the throne, gentle and quiet and consumed by guilt, was much, much harder.
Sgt. Travers had the type of introspective personality that Jeb's father would have admired. Not a single word was said between the two for the entire trip from the base-camp in the South to the perimeter of Byvasser. Jeb was used to quiet, however. Raised as a child, his home hadn't been full of spoken words, and his mother had said even less after the day the Longcoats had come marching up the road. In the Resistance, if they weren't talking about ambushing Longcoats, liberating miners, delaying supply caravans, then they weren't talking about much else. The past annual as a bodyguard for the future monarch had been the most silent of his life, no one wanted to hear what the guard had to say, which was fine by him. So, Travers was someone with whom Jeb could get along quite nicely.
Their contact was a fat merchant who was covertly keeping the Longcoats supplied. How, exactly, he wasn't telling. It wasn't something that could be outright discussed, after all. But he made his presence known, had stopped by the camp their first morning to tell the young men that anything they might need, they'd probably find in his store. Just a man, doing his business, nothing more.
Jeb had no idea how long they were going to be sitting stagnant in Byvasser waiting for the merchant to put them into contact with the Longcoats, but his patience was impressively far-reaching.
The merchant had a daughter, who had surprised them by bringing them a warm supper. She'd sat with them while they ate, and asked too many questions, unaware of the dealings going on between the two ex-Resistance drifters, and her seemingly-innocent father.
“You guys were with the Resistance?” she asked them.
Both of the soldiers nodded an affirmation, Jeb looking up to offer the girl a smile. No more than seventeen, and stuck in a small village on the far side of the gorge; new people her own age had arrived, and he understood her curiosity.
“Were you a part of the storm on the Tower?” she asked, lowering her voice.
Travers looked up at Jeb, giving him a look that plainly stated he thought the girl was asking too much. Jeb only shrugged his shoulders at his companion, before turning to the girl. “I was,” he said, and his smile widened. “I don't know about this layabout here. Probably too busy in the East fighting with Munchkins over ambush tactics.”
The girl giggled. “Is that true?”
“Pfft, no,” Travers snorted. “But I wasn't at the Tower the day of the Eclipse. I'm not that big of a bloody idiot.”
Jeb choked on a laugh. “No, the idiots were the ones that went into the Tower. And that wasn't me.” He nodded firmly, and then turned to the girl. “I didn't catch your name,” he said, and he bit back the charming part of him that wanted to smile more at her.
“Its Devolah,” she said.
Jeb tried to feign interest in her. “You lived around these parts very long?” he asked. She was the first villager, aside from the deputy and the merchant, that had braved the gap to come over and speak to them, and he was curious about what goings-on that were obvious enough for the residents to notice.
“My father moved us here after the Fall of Central City,” she said. “So, I guess you could consider ten annuals a long time.”
“This village get a lot of visitors?”
Devolah shook her head. “Not many at all. People say its because we're so far off the Brick Route,” she said. “Traffic has surely slowed down. An annual past, there were men on the road constantly. Wherever that flow came from, its dried up now, and its mostly nice and quiet.”
An annual past. The Longcoats, moving to the Southeast from every other direction of the Zone, heading to gather in the Black Forest, sneaking past this out of the way village, unhindered and undetected. Whichever way the 'Coats had gone, Jeb and Travers would soon be heading along the same path.
Silence fell over the three new companions then, as Travers stared into the fire without a word to say to the girl, and Jeb was unsure of what other questions he'd want to ask. After a few moments, Devolah gathered up the dishes she'd served their supper on, and bid them goodnight.
As Jeb watched her walk into the darkness beyond the firelight, towards the lights of the village a little farther off, a slow and deep voice cut into his thoughts. “I think she's got her eye on you,” Travers commented, and it was the closest to a lighter mood Jeb had seen the sergeant get, though his tone had done nothing to give it away.
Jeb shook his head, ignoring the comment his partner had made. “You got a girl?” he asked Travers instead.
“Surely do,” the sergeant replied, getting up from his seat by the fire to stretch his heavy limbs. “She's waiting for me in Central.”
“Oh yeah?” Jeb prompted. “What's she like?”
Travers smirked. “Cute as a button... violent as all hell, though.” He shrugged one arm out of his service jacket to bare his forearm to Jeb. A two-inch long scar shone white in the firelight. “Gave me this the night we got engaged.”
Jeb's eyebrows raised, and he swallowed back a laugh, unsure if he wanted to ask what Travers had done to deserve such an injury. Shaking his head, he settled down onto the bare ground beside the fire-pit, ready to let the sergeant get some sleep, and to take his shift watching the road.
“What about you?” Travers asked on his way to the single-man tent. “You got someone waitin' for you to come home?”
Jeb nodded slowly, staring into the flames. “Yeah,” he said, watching the logs inside the circle of stones become consumed by the fire. “At least, I hope she's waiting.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I'll wake you up in a few hours, eh? Try to think about that girl of yours, now that you know there's a pretty thing like that in the village.” He nodded in the direction the merchant's daughter had disappeared.
Travers shook his head, seemingly undisturbed by Jeb's comment. “G'night, Cain.”
“'Night.”
***
As Jeb lay in the dirt, staring into a lonely fire, DG was being led into a dim room. The light from the high-set wall sconces was hazy and filtered with dust particles; the air smelled faintly of the type of perfume you might find tucked away in an attic. As her eyes adjusted, she was surprised to find herself in a bedroom, but... as she looked around, she wondered how anything managed to surprise her anymore.
The room was divided into two distinct areas, one for sleeping, and one for sitting, and DG was curious as to which, exactly, this woman conducted her business in. With her back to the closed door, she was afraid to move any farther inside; she watched, instead, as Cynthia flitted about, lighting candles and small lamps, the swish and sashay of her dress accompanying her every move. Stopping suddenly, she looked up at DG, her lips stretched in a patronizing line.
“Don't insult me,” she said firmly.
DG's eyebrows raised slightly. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, taking a step back to the door. She wasn't sure what she'd done, but the woman didn't look impressed.
“The magic. Take it off. I know who you are,” she said, smirking at DG's foolishness. Trying her best to look contrite, DG let the magic slip, felt the shimmer of it over her skin, and looked up at the Reader once again, hoping her appearance was now satisfactory. To her relief, Cynthia gave her an approving nod.
“Not as pretty as your sister, are you?” Cynthia commented, sounding sympathetic.
DG frowned. “Don't insult you, huh?” This certainly wasn't going the way she'd expected, but seldom did things go the way she had thought they might. So, she stood on the fringe of the room and waited, until the Reader had finished lighting her lamps, and had settled herself down at a table situated in the center of the sitting area.
“Well?” Cynthia asked, motioning to the second chair at the small table.
DG crossed the room tentatively, trying not to gawk at her surroundings as she sat; the walls seemed to be papered with old posters and advertisements, resembling a bulletin-board instead of wallpaper, and reminding DG more of a theater dressing room than a bedroom suite. A small green poster seemed to appear much more than any others, depicting a beautiful woman with her arm raised above her head, though it was still too dim in the windowless room for DG to make out the words... she was sure she'd seen it somewhere before.
The chair which she was offered was of heavy carved wood, its cushions worn and faded, but soft. She sat properly, her hands clasped in her lap as she continued to look nervously around. “Would you like anything? Wine, fruit?” Cynthia asked offhandedly, as she adjusted her skirt, the clink of the glass beads almost like rain.
“No, thank you,” DG said. “So, how does this work, exactly?”
Cynthia looked up at the princess, a beautifully sculpted eyebrow raised in question. “What do you mean, 'how does this work'? Didn't anyone explain to you what you were getting yourself into?”
“Oh,” DG said, realizing her error. “Yeah, I got that speech. I just... are there formalities? Do we discuss business first or after? I mean, if I wanted to smoke, could I smoke?” She was tense, too tense, and she was near the point of breaking into nervous giggles.
Cynthia watched her, quirking her head to the side like a bird. With an unhappy curl to her lips, she shook her head. “You need to calm down. Don't be so scared of me, girl. Don't you know you're different than those others out there?” She motioned her chin towards the door to the antechamber, where the others sat waiting. With a sigh, she got up out of her chair, and went to a small bar that was tucked into the corner of her suite. After a few moments, she returned to DG with a glass of amber liquid.
DG looked up at the woman hesitantly. The Reader frowned.
“Kiddo, if you can't trust what I offer, how're you going to trust the answer I give you?”
DG considered this seriously, as she took the glass. She didn't drink from it, but she held it, studied the contents, sniffed it. The smell was sharp and sweet. Just watching the alcohol and ice swill about the glass had a sobering effect, and she felt slightly calmed. She put the glass down on the tabletop and didn't touch it again.
“Those poor suckers in the other room,” Cynthia said with a nod, picking up where she'd left off as she sunk gracefully back into her seat across from the princess. “Did you speak to any of them?”
DG shook her head.
“One of those women out there will be gone by the time you leave my chamber. She'll talk herself out of it, mark my words,” Cynthia said assuredly. “The other will do just lovely on the housekeeping staff. The gentleman,” she said, and a sly smile crept across her lips, “has excellent aim, and is going to join my personal protection detail. That is, of course, if they both decide to accept.” When DG's eyebrows raised in surprise, Cynthia laughed. “I run a business here, my dear. Not every girl that wanders in here is made to spend her annual entertaining my patrons in an upstairs room. Don't get me wrong.” Here, she paused and giggled again. “You're cute, but you're just not made for it.”
Glad to hear this, and yet curiously insulted, the expression that crossed DG's features made the Reader laugh. “You know how to love, and you know the difference it makes - you just don't have the heart for this,” Cynthia explained quietly, and for a moment, as their eyes met, the briefest glimpse at someone other than the aloof and mystical Reader, the woman hiding underneath. It wasn't a second later that she seemed to shift back, and her eyes flicked away.
“So, instead of serving an annual in my home,” she said, pausing dramatically, “I want something else from you.”
DG laughed nervously. “What, my first-born?” she joked.
Cynthia seemed unamused. “I want you to retrieve something for me during your travels,” she said, her words clipped as she resumed her business-like manner and dropped the air of mystery. “I cannot tell you what it is until after your Reading, but I can assure you it won't interfere with this quest you seem to be on.”
DG opened her mouth to ask how the woman possibly knew what her plans or intentions were, but the woman started to speak again quickly, cutting off her very first word. “This is your price, do you accept?”
“You're sure it won't interfere?” DG asked, thinking about the search for the Emerald, a year before; she thought she'd traipsed every inch of the O.Z., but no, that was wrong... there were so many dark corners still unexplored. “As in, I'm going that way anyway?”
Resolutely, Cynthia nodded. Her lips, painted bright red, like a bloodstain on her pale face, were pursed together tightly. She would say no more until the princess made her choice.
DG sighed, and looked down at her hands, assuming that the Reader was a patient woman. As she studied the familiar lines of her fingers, and Cain's ring that caught and refracted the lamplight, she knew there was only one answer. It wasn't about the question she would ask, it was about this answer she would give.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, and cleared her throat, her mouth suddenly very dry. “I accept.”
Cynthia's face broke into a relieved smile, and the moment passed anticlimactically. She got out of her chair and went to a cabinet. A ribbon tied to her wrist held a tiny key, and this she used to unlock the doors. When she turned back to DG, she was carrying an crystal ball that was filled with mist.
DG bit her lip uncertainly for a moment, before another nervously babbled sentence spilled out of her mouth. “Whatcha got there?” Definitely better than, 'You know, on the Other Side, they've got these things called B-movies...'
Tense, her knee bouncing, she watched the inside of the crystal swirl, filled with its own currents of air. When the orb was placed in the middle of the table in front of her, set in a small stand, DG gazed into it carefully, trying to make sense or pattern out of the fog inside, but she saw nothing ethereal, only... mist.
“Within this glass is your answer,” Cynthia told her, simply. DG wondered if a piece of ticker tape would come out the little carved stand, or if a talking head would appear in the mist. As Cynthia settled herself back into her chair, brushing a hand quickly through her hair, DG studied the crystal again, cocking her head to one side as if looking at it from a different angle would change what she saw.
Cynthia cleared her throat, and DG's eyes raised to see the woman watching her expectantly. “Well?”
“Um, do I ask you, or do I ask the crystal ball?”
Cynthia scowled. “You ask me, you stupid girl,” she snapped, rapidly losing patience with DG's cheek.
DG frowned. “All right then,” she mumbled, and took a deep breath. “How do I destroy the power of the Emerald of the Eclipse?”
The Reader's face broke into a grin. “Ooh, that's a good one. You know, I so seldom get good ones,” she told DG, as she placed her hands over the crystal ball at a nine-and-three position. The mist inside began to swirl faster, the currents inside shifting, and it began to turn a pale green that darkened quickly to the exact color of an emerald. “It's a rare night that someone walks into this room with a question actually worth the annual.”
An image began to appear in the mist, like a projection. The Emerald. And then, like poorly-stored film, more images began to flash, bleary and barely readable. Dorothy, mountains, an untended section of brick road, an armed outlander before a heavy door, dark and narrow corridors, the towers of Central City... one after another until DG was dizzy. Faces swam into focus before immediately dissolving again, so fast that her eyes couldn't possibly keep up. Forcing herself to try, she caught snippets and pieces, pictures of what had been, and scenes she sometimes didn't recognize... falcon in a cage, an empty velvet satchel, herself in a beautiful red dress, an abandoned stone temple...
“I don't understand,” she muttered, shaking her head, as Cain's weathered, serious face flashed by.
Seconds seemed to melt away as the barrage of scenes and images inside the crystal continued... until as abruptly as it began, it stopped, fading away from an image of two dark-haired young women facing each other in a dark, dark space, one of whom she was afraid might be herself. Cynthia heaved a great sigh, releasing her tense posture and falling back slightly into her chair. “Huh,” she said, staring dumbstruck at the crystal. “So, didja get all that, Princess?”
DG's jaw dropped. “Get all that? What was all that?”
“Glimpses,” the Reader said with a non-committal shrug. “And revisits. Surely you recognized some of that?” DG nodded slowly, and Cynthia looked satisfied. “Well then, 'all that' was your answer, the path that leads from this moment to the completion of your task, 'destroying the power of the Emerald'... because you want to keep the stone.”
Numbly, DG nodded again.
“To destroy the magic contained inside that little gem, Princess, you need to focus your own Light, its as simple as that. Now, you could take ten annuals and have that headcase-inventor build you a machine to do it.” DG's eyes widened and her shoulders fell. Cynthia smirked. “Or,” she continued, “you could go to a place where the very air acts as a natural magical conduit, stronger than the waters of Finaqua, where your Light, my girl, is all that you're going to need.”
DG reared back slightly, unsure if she'd heard right. The older woman smirked at her disbelief. “You think I'm lying,” she said with an affirming nod. “But let me tell you something: you've got more power than you think. Your mother didn't lie when she said your Light is strong, and the 'Wizard' certainly didn't lie when he said you were more powerful than your sister.”
“How could you know that?” DG asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion, but Cynthia waved her off dismissively.
“Don't concern yourself with how to destroy the Emerald. The answer lies not in how, DG, but in where. There is only one location in the O.Z. where your magic will be powerful enough to overcome that of the stone; one place where, if you focus your Light correctly, it will be as easy as clicking your heels together. Because, after all,” the Reader said, “this is about finding a way for you to do it, and you alone.”
The finality of that statement shook the princess to her core, but determinedly, she barreled forward, seeking the things she yet didn't know. “So where am I going?” DG asked, and then added “Or does that count as another question?”
The Reader smiled at her. “Deep in the heart of the Black Forest is an old temple, used by the Ancients as a place of sacrifice. This glade, the darkest place in the O.Z., is called Deadwood Fall. It is here that your Light may shine its brightest and, with luck and hope, conquer the Emerald.”
DG nearly laughed at the impossibility of it. “The heart of the Black Forest? That's where the Longcoats have their camp!” Cynthia merely nodded. “I'm supposed to march into the middle of a Longcoat camp and pull off some fantastic magic trick?” Again, Cynthia nodded. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” she demanded, beyond subtlety or caring if those outside in the antechamber could hear. She didn't care how many damn questions she asked.
Cynthia, ignoring the girl's outburst, ran a careful finger over the surface of the crystal, where the mist swirled, calm and undisturbed. “I don't know how you're supposed to pull it off,” she said shortly, “all I can tell you is that the way to enter the Longcoat base waits for you in the West.”
DG's head quirked slightly at the unexpected change in direction. “West? What's in the West?” When Cynthia raised her eyebrows expectantly, and tapped the top of the crystal, DG tried to think back on what she'd seen. West... mountains... and then it came to her so suddenly that she had to roll her eyes at her own ignorance. After all, the Gale had told her the Commander might make a strong ally in the fight that was coming, if the greedy outlander could be properly bribed...
“But beware, Princess,” the Reader said, her final warning. “The Emerald is sought by she who commands the Longcoats. Once you've retrieved the Emerald from its resting place, to take it to Deadwood Fall, you must watch your back. As easily as the Sorceress took the Emerald from you before the Eclipse, she who watches you will take it. If you lose the Emerald, it will be the end of Gale rule over the O.Z.”
“She? Who is she? Another witch? Who?”
The Reader only shrugged. “I cannot see. All is gray,” she said, as she looked disappointedly into the crystal. “As gray as it was when the Sorceress demanded the location of the Emerald. Oh well... the fog should clear before its too late. It usually does. But keep sharp, you're being watched.”
DG frowned. “Let me guess, 'dark eyes'?”
Cynthia gave the barest hint of a nod, as she pursed her lips together. She'd said all there was to say.
Silence fell over the room then, as DG's head began to formulate her plan. Convincing Cain and Hass to return to the West to search for the outlanders wasn't going to be an easy task. She hoped they might have an idea of how she was supposed to find them... or perhaps she could ask Ambrose, when they took the kid to Central City. Either way... whether she was being intentionally vague or she truly didn't know, the Reader wasn't telling her. So that only left one order of business.
DG's head jerked up to look at Cynthia, who watched her placidly. “Your price. You haven't said yet.”
Cynthia's lips stretched into a thin smile. “A book.”
DG shook her head, confused. “A book?”
The Reader sighed. “An old Zonian treasure that disappeared over a century ago, its titled The Record, and you might want to write that one down, Princess, so you don't forget. Its recently resurfaced in the possession of the Longcoats, though how exactly, this damn thing won't tell me.” She tapped the top of the crystal again, annoyed. “If you find a way to infiltrate their camp, and if you succeed in what you've set out to do, retrieving the book will cause you no trouble whatsoever. Its everything else that comes before that you've got to watch out for.” The woman nodded knowingly, but DG could only stare in open-mouthed wonder.
The Reader's advice... the Gale's test... her mother's 'plan'... vague and overreaching, suffocating in their expectations, and unforgiving as the consequence of failure.
A worrisome thought crossed her mind. “What if I can't find the book? What if I can't bring it back to you?”
“Of course, if you die in your attempts, it negates your debt to me,” Cynthia said simply, as if dying weren't that big of a deal. “But your verbal agreement to do me this favor is a magic of its own, Princess. You won't find a moment of peace, day or night, until your end of the bargain is fulfilled, or you're inside my house serving off your debt another way. You can't hide from it... this baby calls much louder than the Emerald.”
She grinned wickedly then, as she stroked the top of the crystal affectionately, and DG's stomach churned. She would pay one way or another in the end, it seemed. She'd promised Cain, and herself, that she wouldn't be serving the annual, and all it would cost her was a book. She tried to cheer herself with that fact.
“Now, Princess,” she continued. “Do you remember all that we've discussed here?”
Deadwood Fall, outlanders in the West... vague direction and no instruction... did they let my mother plan this?
More questions, more answers.
DG nodded weakly. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, Your Highness,” the Reader said, all business once again. “This was a pleasure, and I eagerly await your return with my book. And remember, the darkest hour comes just before the reappearance of the Light.” She nodded sagely, as if her words weren't complete nonsense that left DG frowning at their uselessness.
“You and your Tin Man must spend the night here as my guests. You don't want to go back to that cramped room.” Cynthia gave her a conspiratorial wink, and stood from the table. DG followed suit, wondering momentarily if her legs were going to carry her weight. She didn't feel lighter, in knowing her next step, she felt heavier, weighted down with an unbearable load. She didn't want to think about the Emerald anymore, or Longcoats, or outlanders, but in a few minutes she'd be repeating all this to Cain.
She wondered how he was going to react when he found out that they were about to go ask the militants that had imprisoned them for help.
She was escorted from the Reader's chamber as one might be led out of a doctor's office, all smiles and business and 'thank you for comings'. Nothing this evening had gone as she'd expected, and as she watched the Reader disappear back into her suite, she was amazed at how many things were never as they appeared. Were things so illusionary, or was she just a bad judge of the world around her? The irony of her thoughts hit home as she took a moment to cast a spell over her appearance, hiding behind her magic and leaving the Reader and her crystal ball behind.
In the antechamber, DG wasn't surprised to see one of the women who'd been waiting had disappeared, just as Cynthia had predicted. Neither the man nor the woman who remained looked up to make eye contact, though their heads jerked up in unison as the door opened; quickly, they went back to staring at their hands pensively.
The scantily-clad maid, Alessia, was waiting for her. “This way, Miss,” she said, motioning for DG to follow her and keeping her hands to herself, much to the princess's relief. “A room has been made up, and your escort is already there waiting for you. No one will bother you at all this evening, there's no need to worry.”
“I think I'd rather leave,” DG interjected, as she was led up a flight of stairs.
Alessia giggled absentmindedly. “Oh, that's out of the question, Miss. The Reader has requested you spend the night, and spend the night you shall. Come first light, you'll be able to leave.”
“First light? But we're underground,” DG pointed out.
The maid rolled her eyes as she led the way through a maze of hallways, passing rooms with doors shut tight and no sounds escaping; it was too eerily quiet. Finally, they stopped in front of a plain, heavy door. Alessia knocked once before turning a key in lock. She then untied the ribbon that held the key to her wrist, and handed it to DG, who held it tightly in her closed fist as the door was opened for her.
Inside the room, Wyatt jumped to his feet at the interruption; he'd removed his hat and duster, and his shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows. Upon the sight of him, DG almost wilted, finally nearing the end of her endurance for the strange place. Ignoring the maid who'd led the way, she crossed the room in a few quick strides, and caught him off-guard as she threw herself at him; after a moment of surprise, he placed his heavy hands on her back. She faintly registered the sound of the door closing and locking as she buried her face in Cain's neck, hiding from the world as long as she was able, until something came along to force her back onto the Road.
Author's Note: I'm worried about this chapter and the exposition towards the plot, I'm sure you can see why. Let your opinions be heard! Next chapter, Cain and DG fluff/recap, and a check-in with some characters we haven't heard from in a while... hopefully faster than this one came out... blah. Comments are love!
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20
21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30
31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40
41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 04.10.09)
Chapter Fifteen
Almost directly to the north of the Realm of the Unwanted, the village of Byvasser sat nestled in the sparse, scrub-pine forest. Far placed from the Brick Route, the village was close enough to the gorge that the sound of the rushing river was a constant presence. The night before, the two AR soldiers had arrived near suns-down, and had received permission from a local deputy to camp at the edge of town, under a few towering oaks. Their tent was situated to view the only road that led in and out of town, and they took turns watching it at all times.
Jeb's partner was the man he'd chosen personally to accompany him on this mission. Though he knew very little about the young sergeant's past, there was no doubt in his abilities, and his personal views on the royal family, and Queen Azkadellia in particular, would help him pass as a reasonable Longcoat supporter.
Jeb didn't like the plan; though it wasn't hard for him to focus on the hate he'd felt an annual before, a mere thirteen months, at the height of the Resistance... the Eclipse was approaching fast and the Emerald had yet to be found, the vice of the Sorceress was tightening, she was running out of time... people were dying, children screaming...
No, it wasn't hard to remember that hate. But to associate that villainess, that Witch, with the woman who sat on the throne, gentle and quiet and consumed by guilt, was much, much harder.
Sgt. Travers had the type of introspective personality that Jeb's father would have admired. Not a single word was said between the two for the entire trip from the base-camp in the South to the perimeter of Byvasser. Jeb was used to quiet, however. Raised as a child, his home hadn't been full of spoken words, and his mother had said even less after the day the Longcoats had come marching up the road. In the Resistance, if they weren't talking about ambushing Longcoats, liberating miners, delaying supply caravans, then they weren't talking about much else. The past annual as a bodyguard for the future monarch had been the most silent of his life, no one wanted to hear what the guard had to say, which was fine by him. So, Travers was someone with whom Jeb could get along quite nicely.
Their contact was a fat merchant who was covertly keeping the Longcoats supplied. How, exactly, he wasn't telling. It wasn't something that could be outright discussed, after all. But he made his presence known, had stopped by the camp their first morning to tell the young men that anything they might need, they'd probably find in his store. Just a man, doing his business, nothing more.
Jeb had no idea how long they were going to be sitting stagnant in Byvasser waiting for the merchant to put them into contact with the Longcoats, but his patience was impressively far-reaching.
The merchant had a daughter, who had surprised them by bringing them a warm supper. She'd sat with them while they ate, and asked too many questions, unaware of the dealings going on between the two ex-Resistance drifters, and her seemingly-innocent father.
“You guys were with the Resistance?” she asked them.
Both of the soldiers nodded an affirmation, Jeb looking up to offer the girl a smile. No more than seventeen, and stuck in a small village on the far side of the gorge; new people her own age had arrived, and he understood her curiosity.
“Were you a part of the storm on the Tower?” she asked, lowering her voice.
Travers looked up at Jeb, giving him a look that plainly stated he thought the girl was asking too much. Jeb only shrugged his shoulders at his companion, before turning to the girl. “I was,” he said, and his smile widened. “I don't know about this layabout here. Probably too busy in the East fighting with Munchkins over ambush tactics.”
The girl giggled. “Is that true?”
“Pfft, no,” Travers snorted. “But I wasn't at the Tower the day of the Eclipse. I'm not that big of a bloody idiot.”
Jeb choked on a laugh. “No, the idiots were the ones that went into the Tower. And that wasn't me.” He nodded firmly, and then turned to the girl. “I didn't catch your name,” he said, and he bit back the charming part of him that wanted to smile more at her.
“Its Devolah,” she said.
Jeb tried to feign interest in her. “You lived around these parts very long?” he asked. She was the first villager, aside from the deputy and the merchant, that had braved the gap to come over and speak to them, and he was curious about what goings-on that were obvious enough for the residents to notice.
“My father moved us here after the Fall of Central City,” she said. “So, I guess you could consider ten annuals a long time.”
“This village get a lot of visitors?”
Devolah shook her head. “Not many at all. People say its because we're so far off the Brick Route,” she said. “Traffic has surely slowed down. An annual past, there were men on the road constantly. Wherever that flow came from, its dried up now, and its mostly nice and quiet.”
An annual past. The Longcoats, moving to the Southeast from every other direction of the Zone, heading to gather in the Black Forest, sneaking past this out of the way village, unhindered and undetected. Whichever way the 'Coats had gone, Jeb and Travers would soon be heading along the same path.
Silence fell over the three new companions then, as Travers stared into the fire without a word to say to the girl, and Jeb was unsure of what other questions he'd want to ask. After a few moments, Devolah gathered up the dishes she'd served their supper on, and bid them goodnight.
As Jeb watched her walk into the darkness beyond the firelight, towards the lights of the village a little farther off, a slow and deep voice cut into his thoughts. “I think she's got her eye on you,” Travers commented, and it was the closest to a lighter mood Jeb had seen the sergeant get, though his tone had done nothing to give it away.
Jeb shook his head, ignoring the comment his partner had made. “You got a girl?” he asked Travers instead.
“Surely do,” the sergeant replied, getting up from his seat by the fire to stretch his heavy limbs. “She's waiting for me in Central.”
“Oh yeah?” Jeb prompted. “What's she like?”
Travers smirked. “Cute as a button... violent as all hell, though.” He shrugged one arm out of his service jacket to bare his forearm to Jeb. A two-inch long scar shone white in the firelight. “Gave me this the night we got engaged.”
Jeb's eyebrows raised, and he swallowed back a laugh, unsure if he wanted to ask what Travers had done to deserve such an injury. Shaking his head, he settled down onto the bare ground beside the fire-pit, ready to let the sergeant get some sleep, and to take his shift watching the road.
“What about you?” Travers asked on his way to the single-man tent. “You got someone waitin' for you to come home?”
Jeb nodded slowly, staring into the flames. “Yeah,” he said, watching the logs inside the circle of stones become consumed by the fire. “At least, I hope she's waiting.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I'll wake you up in a few hours, eh? Try to think about that girl of yours, now that you know there's a pretty thing like that in the village.” He nodded in the direction the merchant's daughter had disappeared.
Travers shook his head, seemingly undisturbed by Jeb's comment. “G'night, Cain.”
“'Night.”
***
As Jeb lay in the dirt, staring into a lonely fire, DG was being led into a dim room. The light from the high-set wall sconces was hazy and filtered with dust particles; the air smelled faintly of the type of perfume you might find tucked away in an attic. As her eyes adjusted, she was surprised to find herself in a bedroom, but... as she looked around, she wondered how anything managed to surprise her anymore.
The room was divided into two distinct areas, one for sleeping, and one for sitting, and DG was curious as to which, exactly, this woman conducted her business in. With her back to the closed door, she was afraid to move any farther inside; she watched, instead, as Cynthia flitted about, lighting candles and small lamps, the swish and sashay of her dress accompanying her every move. Stopping suddenly, she looked up at DG, her lips stretched in a patronizing line.
“Don't insult me,” she said firmly.
DG's eyebrows raised slightly. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, taking a step back to the door. She wasn't sure what she'd done, but the woman didn't look impressed.
“The magic. Take it off. I know who you are,” she said, smirking at DG's foolishness. Trying her best to look contrite, DG let the magic slip, felt the shimmer of it over her skin, and looked up at the Reader once again, hoping her appearance was now satisfactory. To her relief, Cynthia gave her an approving nod.
“Not as pretty as your sister, are you?” Cynthia commented, sounding sympathetic.
DG frowned. “Don't insult you, huh?” This certainly wasn't going the way she'd expected, but seldom did things go the way she had thought they might. So, she stood on the fringe of the room and waited, until the Reader had finished lighting her lamps, and had settled herself down at a table situated in the center of the sitting area.
“Well?” Cynthia asked, motioning to the second chair at the small table.
DG crossed the room tentatively, trying not to gawk at her surroundings as she sat; the walls seemed to be papered with old posters and advertisements, resembling a bulletin-board instead of wallpaper, and reminding DG more of a theater dressing room than a bedroom suite. A small green poster seemed to appear much more than any others, depicting a beautiful woman with her arm raised above her head, though it was still too dim in the windowless room for DG to make out the words... she was sure she'd seen it somewhere before.
The chair which she was offered was of heavy carved wood, its cushions worn and faded, but soft. She sat properly, her hands clasped in her lap as she continued to look nervously around. “Would you like anything? Wine, fruit?” Cynthia asked offhandedly, as she adjusted her skirt, the clink of the glass beads almost like rain.
“No, thank you,” DG said. “So, how does this work, exactly?”
Cynthia looked up at the princess, a beautifully sculpted eyebrow raised in question. “What do you mean, 'how does this work'? Didn't anyone explain to you what you were getting yourself into?”
“Oh,” DG said, realizing her error. “Yeah, I got that speech. I just... are there formalities? Do we discuss business first or after? I mean, if I wanted to smoke, could I smoke?” She was tense, too tense, and she was near the point of breaking into nervous giggles.
Cynthia watched her, quirking her head to the side like a bird. With an unhappy curl to her lips, she shook her head. “You need to calm down. Don't be so scared of me, girl. Don't you know you're different than those others out there?” She motioned her chin towards the door to the antechamber, where the others sat waiting. With a sigh, she got up out of her chair, and went to a small bar that was tucked into the corner of her suite. After a few moments, she returned to DG with a glass of amber liquid.
DG looked up at the woman hesitantly. The Reader frowned.
“Kiddo, if you can't trust what I offer, how're you going to trust the answer I give you?”
DG considered this seriously, as she took the glass. She didn't drink from it, but she held it, studied the contents, sniffed it. The smell was sharp and sweet. Just watching the alcohol and ice swill about the glass had a sobering effect, and she felt slightly calmed. She put the glass down on the tabletop and didn't touch it again.
“Those poor suckers in the other room,” Cynthia said with a nod, picking up where she'd left off as she sunk gracefully back into her seat across from the princess. “Did you speak to any of them?”
DG shook her head.
“One of those women out there will be gone by the time you leave my chamber. She'll talk herself out of it, mark my words,” Cynthia said assuredly. “The other will do just lovely on the housekeeping staff. The gentleman,” she said, and a sly smile crept across her lips, “has excellent aim, and is going to join my personal protection detail. That is, of course, if they both decide to accept.” When DG's eyebrows raised in surprise, Cynthia laughed. “I run a business here, my dear. Not every girl that wanders in here is made to spend her annual entertaining my patrons in an upstairs room. Don't get me wrong.” Here, she paused and giggled again. “You're cute, but you're just not made for it.”
Glad to hear this, and yet curiously insulted, the expression that crossed DG's features made the Reader laugh. “You know how to love, and you know the difference it makes - you just don't have the heart for this,” Cynthia explained quietly, and for a moment, as their eyes met, the briefest glimpse at someone other than the aloof and mystical Reader, the woman hiding underneath. It wasn't a second later that she seemed to shift back, and her eyes flicked away.
“So, instead of serving an annual in my home,” she said, pausing dramatically, “I want something else from you.”
DG laughed nervously. “What, my first-born?” she joked.
Cynthia seemed unamused. “I want you to retrieve something for me during your travels,” she said, her words clipped as she resumed her business-like manner and dropped the air of mystery. “I cannot tell you what it is until after your Reading, but I can assure you it won't interfere with this quest you seem to be on.”
DG opened her mouth to ask how the woman possibly knew what her plans or intentions were, but the woman started to speak again quickly, cutting off her very first word. “This is your price, do you accept?”
“You're sure it won't interfere?” DG asked, thinking about the search for the Emerald, a year before; she thought she'd traipsed every inch of the O.Z., but no, that was wrong... there were so many dark corners still unexplored. “As in, I'm going that way anyway?”
Resolutely, Cynthia nodded. Her lips, painted bright red, like a bloodstain on her pale face, were pursed together tightly. She would say no more until the princess made her choice.
DG sighed, and looked down at her hands, assuming that the Reader was a patient woman. As she studied the familiar lines of her fingers, and Cain's ring that caught and refracted the lamplight, she knew there was only one answer. It wasn't about the question she would ask, it was about this answer she would give.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, and cleared her throat, her mouth suddenly very dry. “I accept.”
Cynthia's face broke into a relieved smile, and the moment passed anticlimactically. She got out of her chair and went to a cabinet. A ribbon tied to her wrist held a tiny key, and this she used to unlock the doors. When she turned back to DG, she was carrying an crystal ball that was filled with mist.
DG bit her lip uncertainly for a moment, before another nervously babbled sentence spilled out of her mouth. “Whatcha got there?” Definitely better than, 'You know, on the Other Side, they've got these things called B-movies...'
Tense, her knee bouncing, she watched the inside of the crystal swirl, filled with its own currents of air. When the orb was placed in the middle of the table in front of her, set in a small stand, DG gazed into it carefully, trying to make sense or pattern out of the fog inside, but she saw nothing ethereal, only... mist.
“Within this glass is your answer,” Cynthia told her, simply. DG wondered if a piece of ticker tape would come out the little carved stand, or if a talking head would appear in the mist. As Cynthia settled herself back into her chair, brushing a hand quickly through her hair, DG studied the crystal again, cocking her head to one side as if looking at it from a different angle would change what she saw.
Cynthia cleared her throat, and DG's eyes raised to see the woman watching her expectantly. “Well?”
“Um, do I ask you, or do I ask the crystal ball?”
Cynthia scowled. “You ask me, you stupid girl,” she snapped, rapidly losing patience with DG's cheek.
DG frowned. “All right then,” she mumbled, and took a deep breath. “How do I destroy the power of the Emerald of the Eclipse?”
The Reader's face broke into a grin. “Ooh, that's a good one. You know, I so seldom get good ones,” she told DG, as she placed her hands over the crystal ball at a nine-and-three position. The mist inside began to swirl faster, the currents inside shifting, and it began to turn a pale green that darkened quickly to the exact color of an emerald. “It's a rare night that someone walks into this room with a question actually worth the annual.”
An image began to appear in the mist, like a projection. The Emerald. And then, like poorly-stored film, more images began to flash, bleary and barely readable. Dorothy, mountains, an untended section of brick road, an armed outlander before a heavy door, dark and narrow corridors, the towers of Central City... one after another until DG was dizzy. Faces swam into focus before immediately dissolving again, so fast that her eyes couldn't possibly keep up. Forcing herself to try, she caught snippets and pieces, pictures of what had been, and scenes she sometimes didn't recognize... falcon in a cage, an empty velvet satchel, herself in a beautiful red dress, an abandoned stone temple...
“I don't understand,” she muttered, shaking her head, as Cain's weathered, serious face flashed by.
Seconds seemed to melt away as the barrage of scenes and images inside the crystal continued... until as abruptly as it began, it stopped, fading away from an image of two dark-haired young women facing each other in a dark, dark space, one of whom she was afraid might be herself. Cynthia heaved a great sigh, releasing her tense posture and falling back slightly into her chair. “Huh,” she said, staring dumbstruck at the crystal. “So, didja get all that, Princess?”
DG's jaw dropped. “Get all that? What was all that?”
“Glimpses,” the Reader said with a non-committal shrug. “And revisits. Surely you recognized some of that?” DG nodded slowly, and Cynthia looked satisfied. “Well then, 'all that' was your answer, the path that leads from this moment to the completion of your task, 'destroying the power of the Emerald'... because you want to keep the stone.”
Numbly, DG nodded again.
“To destroy the magic contained inside that little gem, Princess, you need to focus your own Light, its as simple as that. Now, you could take ten annuals and have that headcase-inventor build you a machine to do it.” DG's eyes widened and her shoulders fell. Cynthia smirked. “Or,” she continued, “you could go to a place where the very air acts as a natural magical conduit, stronger than the waters of Finaqua, where your Light, my girl, is all that you're going to need.”
DG reared back slightly, unsure if she'd heard right. The older woman smirked at her disbelief. “You think I'm lying,” she said with an affirming nod. “But let me tell you something: you've got more power than you think. Your mother didn't lie when she said your Light is strong, and the 'Wizard' certainly didn't lie when he said you were more powerful than your sister.”
“How could you know that?” DG asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion, but Cynthia waved her off dismissively.
“Don't concern yourself with how to destroy the Emerald. The answer lies not in how, DG, but in where. There is only one location in the O.Z. where your magic will be powerful enough to overcome that of the stone; one place where, if you focus your Light correctly, it will be as easy as clicking your heels together. Because, after all,” the Reader said, “this is about finding a way for you to do it, and you alone.”
The finality of that statement shook the princess to her core, but determinedly, she barreled forward, seeking the things she yet didn't know. “So where am I going?” DG asked, and then added “Or does that count as another question?”
The Reader smiled at her. “Deep in the heart of the Black Forest is an old temple, used by the Ancients as a place of sacrifice. This glade, the darkest place in the O.Z., is called Deadwood Fall. It is here that your Light may shine its brightest and, with luck and hope, conquer the Emerald.”
DG nearly laughed at the impossibility of it. “The heart of the Black Forest? That's where the Longcoats have their camp!” Cynthia merely nodded. “I'm supposed to march into the middle of a Longcoat camp and pull off some fantastic magic trick?” Again, Cynthia nodded. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” she demanded, beyond subtlety or caring if those outside in the antechamber could hear. She didn't care how many damn questions she asked.
Cynthia, ignoring the girl's outburst, ran a careful finger over the surface of the crystal, where the mist swirled, calm and undisturbed. “I don't know how you're supposed to pull it off,” she said shortly, “all I can tell you is that the way to enter the Longcoat base waits for you in the West.”
DG's head quirked slightly at the unexpected change in direction. “West? What's in the West?” When Cynthia raised her eyebrows expectantly, and tapped the top of the crystal, DG tried to think back on what she'd seen. West... mountains... and then it came to her so suddenly that she had to roll her eyes at her own ignorance. After all, the Gale had told her the Commander might make a strong ally in the fight that was coming, if the greedy outlander could be properly bribed...
“But beware, Princess,” the Reader said, her final warning. “The Emerald is sought by she who commands the Longcoats. Once you've retrieved the Emerald from its resting place, to take it to Deadwood Fall, you must watch your back. As easily as the Sorceress took the Emerald from you before the Eclipse, she who watches you will take it. If you lose the Emerald, it will be the end of Gale rule over the O.Z.”
“She? Who is she? Another witch? Who?”
The Reader only shrugged. “I cannot see. All is gray,” she said, as she looked disappointedly into the crystal. “As gray as it was when the Sorceress demanded the location of the Emerald. Oh well... the fog should clear before its too late. It usually does. But keep sharp, you're being watched.”
DG frowned. “Let me guess, 'dark eyes'?”
Cynthia gave the barest hint of a nod, as she pursed her lips together. She'd said all there was to say.
Silence fell over the room then, as DG's head began to formulate her plan. Convincing Cain and Hass to return to the West to search for the outlanders wasn't going to be an easy task. She hoped they might have an idea of how she was supposed to find them... or perhaps she could ask Ambrose, when they took the kid to Central City. Either way... whether she was being intentionally vague or she truly didn't know, the Reader wasn't telling her. So that only left one order of business.
DG's head jerked up to look at Cynthia, who watched her placidly. “Your price. You haven't said yet.”
Cynthia's lips stretched into a thin smile. “A book.”
DG shook her head, confused. “A book?”
The Reader sighed. “An old Zonian treasure that disappeared over a century ago, its titled The Record, and you might want to write that one down, Princess, so you don't forget. Its recently resurfaced in the possession of the Longcoats, though how exactly, this damn thing won't tell me.” She tapped the top of the crystal again, annoyed. “If you find a way to infiltrate their camp, and if you succeed in what you've set out to do, retrieving the book will cause you no trouble whatsoever. Its everything else that comes before that you've got to watch out for.” The woman nodded knowingly, but DG could only stare in open-mouthed wonder.
The Reader's advice... the Gale's test... her mother's 'plan'... vague and overreaching, suffocating in their expectations, and unforgiving as the consequence of failure.
A worrisome thought crossed her mind. “What if I can't find the book? What if I can't bring it back to you?”
“Of course, if you die in your attempts, it negates your debt to me,” Cynthia said simply, as if dying weren't that big of a deal. “But your verbal agreement to do me this favor is a magic of its own, Princess. You won't find a moment of peace, day or night, until your end of the bargain is fulfilled, or you're inside my house serving off your debt another way. You can't hide from it... this baby calls much louder than the Emerald.”
She grinned wickedly then, as she stroked the top of the crystal affectionately, and DG's stomach churned. She would pay one way or another in the end, it seemed. She'd promised Cain, and herself, that she wouldn't be serving the annual, and all it would cost her was a book. She tried to cheer herself with that fact.
“Now, Princess,” she continued. “Do you remember all that we've discussed here?”
Deadwood Fall, outlanders in the West... vague direction and no instruction... did they let my mother plan this?
More questions, more answers.
DG nodded weakly. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, Your Highness,” the Reader said, all business once again. “This was a pleasure, and I eagerly await your return with my book. And remember, the darkest hour comes just before the reappearance of the Light.” She nodded sagely, as if her words weren't complete nonsense that left DG frowning at their uselessness.
“You and your Tin Man must spend the night here as my guests. You don't want to go back to that cramped room.” Cynthia gave her a conspiratorial wink, and stood from the table. DG followed suit, wondering momentarily if her legs were going to carry her weight. She didn't feel lighter, in knowing her next step, she felt heavier, weighted down with an unbearable load. She didn't want to think about the Emerald anymore, or Longcoats, or outlanders, but in a few minutes she'd be repeating all this to Cain.
She wondered how he was going to react when he found out that they were about to go ask the militants that had imprisoned them for help.
She was escorted from the Reader's chamber as one might be led out of a doctor's office, all smiles and business and 'thank you for comings'. Nothing this evening had gone as she'd expected, and as she watched the Reader disappear back into her suite, she was amazed at how many things were never as they appeared. Were things so illusionary, or was she just a bad judge of the world around her? The irony of her thoughts hit home as she took a moment to cast a spell over her appearance, hiding behind her magic and leaving the Reader and her crystal ball behind.
In the antechamber, DG wasn't surprised to see one of the women who'd been waiting had disappeared, just as Cynthia had predicted. Neither the man nor the woman who remained looked up to make eye contact, though their heads jerked up in unison as the door opened; quickly, they went back to staring at their hands pensively.
The scantily-clad maid, Alessia, was waiting for her. “This way, Miss,” she said, motioning for DG to follow her and keeping her hands to herself, much to the princess's relief. “A room has been made up, and your escort is already there waiting for you. No one will bother you at all this evening, there's no need to worry.”
“I think I'd rather leave,” DG interjected, as she was led up a flight of stairs.
Alessia giggled absentmindedly. “Oh, that's out of the question, Miss. The Reader has requested you spend the night, and spend the night you shall. Come first light, you'll be able to leave.”
“First light? But we're underground,” DG pointed out.
The maid rolled her eyes as she led the way through a maze of hallways, passing rooms with doors shut tight and no sounds escaping; it was too eerily quiet. Finally, they stopped in front of a plain, heavy door. Alessia knocked once before turning a key in lock. She then untied the ribbon that held the key to her wrist, and handed it to DG, who held it tightly in her closed fist as the door was opened for her.
Inside the room, Wyatt jumped to his feet at the interruption; he'd removed his hat and duster, and his shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows. Upon the sight of him, DG almost wilted, finally nearing the end of her endurance for the strange place. Ignoring the maid who'd led the way, she crossed the room in a few quick strides, and caught him off-guard as she threw herself at him; after a moment of surprise, he placed his heavy hands on her back. She faintly registered the sound of the door closing and locking as she buried her face in Cain's neck, hiding from the world as long as she was able, until something came along to force her back onto the Road.
Author's Note: I'm worried about this chapter and the exposition towards the plot, I'm sure you can see why. Let your opinions be heard! Next chapter, Cain and DG fluff/recap, and a check-in with some characters we haven't heard from in a while... hopefully faster than this one came out... blah. Comments are love!
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20
21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30
31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40
41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48