Chapter 5: The Reckoning

"Somewhere in a burst of glory
 Sound becomes a song
 I'm bound to tell a story
 That's where I belong."
 		--Paul Simon, "That's Where I Belong"

Mikje Mrythen walked down the halls of the castle, whistling a cheerful tune.
Today was the year anniversary of when he had left his parents' farm and had
come to Rhye to join the king's army.  And now he served his king ably and well,
and had been named Corporal Mrythen just a few days prior.

Most of his duties were constabulary in nature, patrolling the castle or the
streets of Rhye, and this suited the young man just fine.  As much as he was a
D'wani and proud of that, he was finding that he was falling in love with the
chief city of the Kiratyu, the capital city of his nation.  He wondered if he
would have been happier in Dewpoint at its heyday, but it wasn't a question
because Dewpoint was long dead from the tsunami.

He turned the corner and ran into the head of his unit, Lieutenant Dyan Akshul.
Akshul took one look at him and said, "Where have you been, Corporal?  They're
bringing in Marken Yuvall for questioning over the kidnapping of the King's son,
and I wanted you down there to watch the interrogation.  Can't have too much a
show of force, can we?"

"No, sir, especially not against scum like Marken, sir," Mikje responded.  The
kidnapping of King Takal's youngest son, Kendren, had been the news in Rhye for
the last few days.  Nobody was sure who had done it, but Mikje had suspected
Marken and his cult of would-be Code-breaking Kyrill worshipers, and had
despised him from the beginning.

Mikje ran down to the interrogation room, and took a chair along the wall.  He
found himself sitting next to Corporal Rikul Kadan, his partner during the first
few months.  Kadan, despite being one of those damned Kiratyu, was by all
accounts a good man, and Mikje had come to think of him as a honorary D'wani.
"How goes, Rikul?" Mikje asked.

"It goes, Mikje.  I hear a rumour we get to see the great Captain Shukal pull
his interrogation magic on Yuvall.  Shukal doesn't need guards, we're just here
to watch the show."

And sure enough, Captain Shukal walked in just after Rikul had finished saying
that.  He smiled at everybody present in the room and spoke.  "Alright.  This is
an interrogation, everybody present is mainly as a show of force.  I doubt we'll
actually need any of you, but since this is Marken Yuvall, I am glad you are all
here.  Please do not speak, though, because any time you distract him, it makes
us less likely to get the information we need to know, and right now, we need to
make sure Prince Kendren is safe."

The guards nodded, and Shukal sat at a table and waved to the guard nearest the
door to tell him that he was ready for the prisoner.  The guard poked his head
out and a minute later, two guards walked in escorting an older man with his
hands chained up.  They seated him in a chair across from Shukal.  The two
looked at each other for a while, Shukal studying his prisoner and Marken
looking somewhat bemused at the whole process.  "Name and occupation?" Shukal
finally asked.

"Marken Rukshef Yuvall Marsanyewmu, and I am a travelling missionary," Marken
replied.  "And a prophet of some note," he added after thinking for a second.

"A prophet?" Shukal stared at him.  "A seer?  What's going to happen here,
Marken, if you can see the future?"

"It is going to be a fruitless interrogation session, my friend.  Nothing will
come of it in the end."

Shukal smiled, a cold, cruel smile.  "Perhaps.  What do you know of Kendren's
disappearance?"

Marken returned the smile, only his was much warmer.  "Is it a kidnapping if he
went of his own free will?"

Shukal raised his eyebrows.  "So you admit you kidnapped Prince Kendren."

"I admit nothing," Marken said.  "I merely asked what the definitions of the
crime was, for it is no secret on the streets of Rhye that the constables are
looking for Kendren's kidnappers.  And I believe the question of free will is
important to the definition."

Mikje couldn't believe that Shukal was letting the prisoner get away with this
impertinence.  Shukal surprised him, though.  "I care not about free will or
lack thereof. I am looking for the kidnappers of my prince, and I don't care if
those kidnappers forcibly took him from his room in this castle or simply
convinced him that running away was in his best interests.  Kendren is the son
of the King."

Marken sat back in his chair.  "The younger son.  The eldest takes the throne,
and I'm honestly surprised that King Takal cares this much for his youngest son
that he would throw all of Marraketh into a panic looking for a boy that
probably came up with the idea on his own to run away."

Shukal looked shocked.  "Slandering the king, on top of kidnapping charges.  You
just feel like racking them up, don't you, Marken?"

"Is it slander if it's the truth?  Takal thinks if he puts me away, it will
destroy the agitation against the Codes.  I confess to say that is not the
truth, the movement will continue whether I am at its head or not."

Shukal wrote some words on a page.  "I will get you locked up, Marken, whether
it is the last thing I do or not."

Marken smiled.  "In the end, you will banish me to K'lin.  Because you can't pin
a thing on me, Shukal.  In fact, my dear friend, you will try, and I'll spend a
few days in the dungeon over it.  But in the end, it will be you rotting in the
dungeons and me walking free."

Shukal rose from his seat and towered over Marken.  "Is that a threat, sir?"

Marken smiled back up at him.  "It depends.  Does the name Rukal Thalif mean
anything to you?"

Shukal sat back down in his seat, only to watch Marken rise from his seat, the
chains that had bound him curling around his ankles, happily unattached to
anything.  "Well, Captain? Does it?"

"You can't prove anything," Shukal muttered.  Then with a gesture, Shukal said,
"Stop him."

The guards seated around the room rose as one, all of them drawing their swords.
Marken smiled again, a genuinely warm smile.  "I don't think any of your guards
is going to lay a hand on me, Captain Shukal.  I believe I am in control of this
interrogation session, so let me indulge in a bit of my favorite activity."

Mikje tried to lunge forward and take out this traitor who had managed to turn
the tables on the great Captain Shukal, the best interrogator in the Marraketh
Army, but found that his shoes would not move.  This made him even angrier,
which made him disobey Shukal's orders from earlier.  "You're a traitor, Marken.
A traitor!  You would throw this land to those who would destroy it."

Marken smiled a bit more and walked over in front of Mikje and Rikal.  "You two
are bound together strongly," he said as a start.  Mikje tried to stab him when
he was so close, but found he couldn't move any of his muscles.  Marken simply
smiled at him.  "You two are bound not only by your moments together in the
past, but your moments together in the future.  One day, the Kadan clan and the
Mrythen clan will come together and become as one.  And the mixing of that blood
will end up saving Marraketh."

He nodded at Rikal, who just collapsed back into his seat.  "Ah, Mikje," Marken
said, staring him directly in the face.  "And you shall be there to see it.  I
shall return, Mikje, to bring Marraketh one step closer to the society it could
be.  Your code of ethics and etiquette that you all hold so dear is what is
choking and destroying Marraketh, and it will be at least a hundred years before
it shall be broken, but before the hold is broken, you and I will meet again."

He smiled.  "And this you shall know, because you will age much slower than your
peers, so that fifty years from now, you will still only look thirty, and one
hundred years from now, you shall only look sixty.  And you will not remember
this conversation, Mikje, my friend, because I want you confused as to why you
are living so long."

"It's being recorded," Mikje said, in defiance.

Marken smiled.  "No, Mikje, my friend, this is not.  It will when I return to
the center of the room again.  You will remember this when the time comes, and
not a moment before." Marken smiled.  "And at that moment, you will know what
happened to Kendren too."

Mikje blinked, and Marken walked back out to the center of the room.  Mikje
frowned.  Marken was going to make prophecy, and that always made his head hurt.
He glanced over to the recorder, who was shocked as well, but had scribbled down
that Marken was about to indulge in prophecy.  He wondered why Rikal had sat
down, though, they were supposed to be protecting Captain Shukal, even if they
couldn't move.

"Captain Shukal," Marken addressed the interrogator.  "I am here to push things
in place for the Liberator of Marraketh.  Bad things will befall your lands in
the future, but there will be hope as well, for at their darkest, there will be
a dawn.  I am writing a whole book on the prophecies of the Liberator, but I
feel like mentioning one important fact.  Somebody in this room will meet me
when the Liberator returns.  And he will be surprised."

Captain Shukal looked down at the table, shaking his head.  The recorder noted
the words.  Mikje wondered who that person would be.

***

Katze cried.  Part of her tears were disappointment that there would be no
reconciliation with David, part of them joy that she had a mother for the first
time in her life, and the joy in which she knew Tyrene would greet Horetia when
they returned to Rhye. But part of it simply tears over what had occurred that
night -- between saying no to J'Naith and then being used as the instrument of
his taking Tirrasan's pound of flesh.

Halfway through, she felt a quiet embrace.  "My dear Tjarlin," the person
hugging her said, "I wish for all the world I could have seen you grow up, and I
am sure Tyrene wishes the same thing.  We did what we had to do, though, to make
sure you were safe and well, and we paid for it.  But you turned out beautiful
and wonderful, and I am so proud of you."

Katze looked up, face stained with tears, into the gentle face of her mother,
and found the tears returning.  She had never realized what it meant to not have
one -- she'd never thought of it, having been raised by David alone, but found
that there was a part of her that had ached at not having one.  "Mother...," she
said, and found herself burying her face in her mother's shoulder, and crying
some more, like a little kid who had been lost and now was found.

Nobody said anything for a long time, it seemed as if all the people who had
witnessed the scene understood just what power they were seeing here, but
finally Marken said, quietly, "Katze, it's time we need to be heading back to
Rhye.  There is one more problem to deal with before Marraketh can be truly
free."

Katze pulled herself away from her mother, smiled bravely, and nodded.  "Mikje,
right?"

"Yes," Marken said.  "It is time I returned to him and you have a part to play
in that.  Besides, we need to reunite your father and your mother.  Anyway, I
want you to go to your room, and grab your things, for I don't think you're
coming back here."

Katze nodded, hugged her mother once more, and looked back on the night's
scuffles.  The sea was munching on her sculpture of Dewpoint, but it wasn't the
same malevolent sea she had fought against earlier -- poor Tirrasan.  Katze was
finding herself not liking it much again, and decided to get off the beach
before the urge to find high ground consumed her once again.

***

Mikje awoke, screaming.

He blinked, trying to figure out where he was, and it took a few moments before
he realized he was in his bedroom in the castle in Rhye, and that the skulking
terror he had just dreamt of wasn't true.  The first rays of a dawn crept into
his room, and he got out of bed, and looked to the west, into the shadow and
darkness that the sun would soon obliterate.

"Gods can't die, silly," he said to himself.  The dream he'd had seemed
especially vivid, though, and he wasn't quite sure of how real things were this
early in the morning.  But it was silly that he dreamed of Atirrasan's death at
the hands of his great-granddaughter.  Gods can't die.  It was simply a law of
nature -- certain things were immutable.  Atirrasan was as forever as the Rasan
Tjathe, the sea that bordered Marraketh.

The door burst open, and four or five guards came clustering in, followed by
Remmick, who had obviously just gotten out of bed himself at the yelling, based
on the fact that he was still in his pajamas.  Mikje continued to look out the
window, ignoring them.  One of the soldiers asked, "M'liege, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes.  If you will all leave, it's fine.  I just had a nightmare."  They
all left, except Remmick.

"A nightmare?" Remmick asked.  "What kind of nightmare?"

Mikje continued looking out the window to the west before finally speaking.  "I
dreamed that Tjarlin, whom you know, slayed Atirrasan."

"Any idea why?" Remmick asked.  "It seems rather out of character for the lady
Katze, does it not?"

Mikje sighed.  "You can call her Tjarlin, Remmick.  She's as much a Mrythen as
she is a Katze.  And I don't know why she would do such a thing, but I don't
think it was literal.  You can't kill a god."

"I hate to suggest it," Remmick said, "but is it possible that Rene was right,
and the lady, err, Tjarlin is what he claims?  What Grahm was claiming all
along?"

"That my great-granddaughter is the Liberator of Marraketh?  The very thought is
laughable, Remmick!  Atirrasan is the protector of the D'wani, and thus the
protector of all of Marraketh.  This Liberator myth is the folly of Marken
Yuvall -- one of his dreams.  There is no such thing, it was made up by the liar
and the traitor himself."

Remmick nodded.  "So what do you think the dream means?" he asked, carefully.

"I don't know," Mikje said.  "I don't know if I like the portents that such a
dream seems to imply.  Especially when I looked away, and thought I saw Rikul
Kadan watching as well, with a smile on his face."

"Rikul Kadan?"

"A friend of mine a long time ago, Remmick.  You'd not know him."

"Any relation to Tyrene?"

"Tyrene's a Kadan?"

Remmick nodded.  "His maternal family."

Mikje blinked.  "That's right.  That's why I let him marry Horetia in the end,
because he was a Kadan.  Even though he was one of the damned Kiratyu."

"As a mix between the Kiratyu and the D'wani, like most of Marraketh, I'm not
able to comment," Remmick said.  The two men looked at one another, until Mikje
blinked again.  "Is there something wrong?"

"Remmick, I want you to release Rene for long enough to bring me that
interrogation record he was babbling on about."

"That's a strange request.  May I ask why?"

"My memory seems to be playing tricks on me."  Mikje shrugged.  "It's probably
just nothing, but I want to see how well my memory remembers that day.  Because
I could have sworn I remembered Marken saying something about Rikul and me
having a connection in the future as well as the past."

***

Rene Ewerte, Head Librarian at the University of Rhye and currently serving time
in the dungeons of Marraketh, looked up at Remmick.  "He wants *what*?"

Remmick, dressed in his uniform, sighed.  Not only at the spot Mikje was putting
him in, but since it looked like Rene might not want to cooperate after all.
"He wants the interrogation record of Marken Yuvall.  He wants to check his
memory with it."

"I told him what was in that record, and he threw me in jail over it!"  Rene
responded.  "And I'm not getting that record from him until I'm convinced that
he'll let me go back to my library!"

Remmick looked at Rene through the bars.  "I'd love nothing more than for you to
go back to your library, Rene.  But I'm not the king.  I am willing to try to
talk him into letting you go if you'll do this."

Rene nodded.  "Why does he care now, Remmick?  He obviously didn't when he threw
me in here.  What's changed?"

"You didn't hear this from me," Remmick said.  "Mikje had a dream that disturbed
him."

"Oh?" Rene asked.  "Dare I ask what could perturb the unflappable Mikje?"

Remmick looked at the librarian, and pulled out the keys.  He unlocked the door
and stepped into the cell.  "We didn't drown."

Rene stared at him.  "We didn't drown?  What are you on about, Remmick?"

"Remember what you told Mikje that got you thrown in here?"

"N'kanyu tiri!"  Rene looked surprised.  "I...you mean, she *actually* was?"

Remmick nodded.  "Mikje dreamed of Tirrasan's death -- at the hands of Tjarlin.
It's made him want to see the interrogation record.  I fear the end is nigh."

"The end is nigh for Mikje, I think.  The rest of us are going to be just fine."

"I hope you're right, Rene."  Remmick stepped back through the cell door.  "Now,
come on.  Let's find that interrogation record, and I'll find a way for you to
avoid going back in the dungeon."

"Fair enough, my friend."  Rene smiled quietly and Remmick wondered what the
librarian was thinking.

The two walked out of the dungeon and through the hallways, where they ran into
the third member of their conspiracy still in Rhye.  Tyrene looked at the two of
them.  "What is Rene doing out of the dungeon?  Did Mikje finally come to his
senses?"

"Have you ever known Mikje to come to his senses?" Rene said bitterly.  "He
wants the interrogation record of Marken Yuvall."

"I have that," Tyrene said.  "You left it on the table when you got arrested, I
picked it up to keep it safe."

"Well, wouldn't it figure.  You didn't have to let me out, but because Mikje
wanted something he thought I had..."

"Hush, Rene," Tyrene said.  "You don't want to end up back in the dungeon again.
Anyway, I was curious, as my great-grandfather used to always tell stories about
his policework in Rhye, and he mentioned the interrogation of Marken Yuvall --
with sadness, he mentioned his old friend was changed by the experience, and
they grew apart after that.  I was trying to see what happened and I don't
understand!"

Remmick smiled quietly.  "You might ask the old friend, Tyrene."

Tyrene blinked.  "He's still alive?"  He frowned.  "There is no way that
somebody could live that long..."  He trailed off, realizing what he was saying.
"Mikje.  How could I be so stupid?"

"You're not stupid, Tyrene, but yeah.  He was your great-grandfather's partner,
once upon a time.  And something happened in that interrogation room." Remmick
frowned.  "But what could have happened?"

Rene spoke up.  "Making it even more interesting, Remmick, is that there isn't
any mention of Mikje in that record other than in the list of 'soldiers
present'."

Remmick frowned.  "Nothing about Mikje and somebody else having a connection in
the future?"

"Nothing that I saw," Tyrene said, and Rene nodded his agreement.

"Odd," Remmick said quietly.  "Tyrene, get that record from wherever you stashed
it, and I'll meet you in the Great Hall."

***

Mikje turned over the last page of the interrogation record and frowned.
Remmick and Tyrene looked at one another and waited for him to speak.

"This isn't what I remember at all," Mikje said.  "I know he said something to
Rikul and me, but it isn't here!"

"Would it not have been put in the record?" Remmick asked.  Tyrene frowned.
Rene would know the answer, but Rene had steadfastly refused to see Mikje.  Not
that Tyrene could blame him, the last time the two had seen each other, it was
when Mikje put Rene in the dungeon for telling the truth.

Mikje sighed.  "They recorded everything.  Everything.  But I don't say a word
in here.  And I know I said something."

Tyrene looked around at the walls, half paying attention to Mikje's sputters.
He frowned.  The pictures had been rearranged since he was last here, as the
Panel of History Yet to Come had reappeared, shifting out the liberation scene
with all the other pictures.  He frowned, as he realized the old panel of
Tirrasan creating the D'wani was missing.

"That's odd," he said.  Mikje and Remmick both looked at him.

"What's odd, Tyrene?" Mikje asked him.

"The picture of Tirrasan creating the D'wani is missing -- and the blank panel
is back."

Mikje blinked and both him and Remmick looked over where said panel belonged.
Sure enough, there was a picture of Kyrill leading the D'wani in its place, and
all the rest of the panels had been shifted slightly.  The look on his face,
Tyrene noted, looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

Remmick, on the other hand, started to investigate the new panel.  "It's not
blank," he pronounced.  "It looks like somebody's been drawing on it."

"Drawing?  Drawing what?" Mikje said, his voice barely containing the shake in
it.

Tyrene had walked over and was standing next to Remmick frowning at the
sketching.  "Remmick?" he finally said.  "Is it me, or does the girl with the
blade resemble Tjarlin?"

Remmick nodded.  Tyrene continued.  "Where did she get a sword?"

Mikje sunk back into the throne.  "No, it...you can't kill a god.  You can't..."

Tyrene sighed.  "Marken Yuvall might just have been right after all, Mikje."

The storm clouds that came with the mention of that name appeared across Mikje's
face. He leapt to his feet so he could turn around and stare daggers at Tyrene.
"You don't really mean that, do you, Tyrene?"

Tyrene closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  "I say what I mean, Mikje, and
I'm staring at the evidence in front of my eyes.  To ask me to discard that
because you can't stand the thought that Marken was right and the Codes are
hurting us..."

"The water glass," Remmick said suddenly.  Tyrene looked at him, and Remmick
smiled.  "It was something I noticed when the...err, Tjarlin was Sid's prisoner.
She woke her fellow prisoner by dumping a glass of water on him...from across
the hall.  The thing that amazed me, though, was how straight and steady it was
held.  I can't do that, Mikje, even though my position in the Guard exempts me
from some of the codes.  I don't even know if you can."

Mikje collapsed back in his throne, and said, in that tone of voice one uses
when one is about to explode in anger and is trying to contain it, "Both of you
had better get out of here before I have half a mind to walk you both down to
the dungeon myself."

***

There came a pounding at the door.  Tyrene looked up from the book he was
reading.  He had been under house arrest the last few days -- Mikje hadn't been
happy with his and Remmick's remarks about Marken, apparently.  Having nothing
else to do, he'd taken to reading late into the night.

But why hadn't the soldiers stopped anybody who was banging at the door?  House
arrest meant that visitors were closely monitored, and they were usually
escorted in by the soldiers.  Not that he'd had very many guests anyway, Remmick
was under house arrest as well, and Rene had been put back in his cell.

He opened the door, only to find his daughter standing there.  She seemed
different, though, in bearing and demeanor than what he had seen her last.
Much more self-assured.  And -- n'kanyu tiri, the picture'd been right -- she
wore a sword.  Something really strange was going on here, and he didn't have a
clue.

But not a word of this did he breathe.  "Tjarlin," he said simply.

She nodded.  "Father," and then added a smile.  "I have a surprise for you."

He frowned at her, and she stepped through the doorway and to the side,
revealing the person behind her.  Tyrene stood there staring in sudden shock.
It could not be!  It just could not be!  It had to be a ghost!

A voice came from his side, where Tjarlin was.  "Miracles are capable of
occurring," she said quietly.

Tyrene still stared in disbelief.  "Horetia?" he finally said.

The figure in the doorway smiled, and Tyrene was sure.  This was his wife, the
woman he'd fallen in love with and married.  This was Tjarlin's mother.  And by
some miracle, by some matter of luck, some god had smiled upon him and reunited
his small family, all three of them.  After all he had given up and sacrificed
to assure that Marraketh would survive the Beast, the universe had returned the
two things most important to him -- his wife and his only child.

He looked at Tjarlin and then at Horetia, and then started to cry with the
wonderfulness of what was happening to him.  A second later, he found himself
being hugged by both his daughter and his wife, and at that moment, Tyrene
figured himself to be the luckiest man in Marraketh.

When the hug broke apart, Tyrene blinked to see an older man standing in his
doorway, smiling himself.  Tjarlin returned the smile, and then said to him,
"Father, I'd like you to meet Marken Yuvall."

Tyrene blinked.  "You're *really* full of surprises tonight, Tjarlin.  So this
is the man who is Mikje's bane."

His daughter smiled.  "One more, then, Father." She nodded at the door, and a
younger man stepped through.  "This would be Kendren Grehnich."

"Tjarlin," Tyrene said, fearing the answer to what he was about to ask, "what
has happened here?"

His daughter grinned and it was Marken who answered.  "Didn't we spend quite a
while debating that question, Tyrene?  You and me and Rene and Remmick, over
pints at the Grey Horse?  Well, you and Remmick and Rene did, I had no doubts
from the beginning."

Tyrene frowned.  "It was Grahm who was in on those...you're telling me that
Mikje's Bane has been one of his best soldiers?  And that you were so sure
Tjarlin was the Liberator because you had made the prophecies.  I..."  Tyrene
thought for a second.  "So what was Mikje talking about when he mentioned that
Rikul and him would be tied in the future?"

This time it was Tjarlin who spoke up.  "That would be me."  She smiled again.
"Mrythen and Kadan, no?"

Marken nodded.  "Exactly.  The pieces all fall together."

And Tyrene just stared.  "Alright.  I want to know everything.  Starting with
the soldiers at my door, and why they never noticed you coming in..."

"Mostly a bit of magic," Marken said, just as a fifth figure came in from
outside.  "And Saulin here checked to make sure there wasn't any more of them."

"They're all sleeping peacefully," Saulin reported.  "And the warding spells are
set.  It's safe."

And the seven of them fell into a conversation that spanned the night and yet
none of them were tired, for there was still work to be done.

***

The door to the room Mikje was in swung open suddenly.  Mikje looked up,
startled at the sudden movement as a tall figure swept into the room, with a
confidence and majesty he had rarely seen.  "Grandfather, we need to talk."

Mikje blinked before realizing the figure was Tjarlin, his great-granddaughter.
She, the last time they'd spoke, had been dressed in clothes befitting the
universe she normally ran around in, and had to remember not to call him
Professor Schmidt.  But now...

She stood there, staring at him, waiting for a response, but Mikje found he
couldn't make one.  This time she had called him by the family relation they
shared, and it struck him at just how much Tjarlin resembled her mother.  And
the only thing that was out of place in her garb were the spectacles she wore,
which were much more modern than anything Marraketh could produce at the moment.
Somebody had even gone to the trouble of finding her a cape, which was clasped
shut with the sigil of her father's clan.  He found himself oddly disappointed
she had chosen to use his sigil as opposed to that of her mother's clan -- his
clan.

He nodded.  "And what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit, Tjarlin?" he
said, expecting her to wince.  But she didn't change expression or anything, and
Mikje started to wonder just what had happened to her, and he also started to
wonder where the guards were.

"First of all," she said, "that is my name.  I may use others, in other places,
but that is the name I was given at my birth.  Second, your soldiers are
sleeping.  And third, I believe I stated why I came here -- we need to talk."

Mikje stared at his granddaughter.  "What has happened to you?"

"I am what I am, Grandfather."  She smiled.  "Anyway, shall we walk?  The
gardens would be better conducted for talking than this stuffed up room."

He blinked, and then nodded.  "Alright.  I still don't understand, though.  What
do you want with your old grandfather?"

They walked down the hall out of his room.  Tjarlin took a deep breath and
finally said, "Why didn't you come to the castle the night Sid and the Beast
took over Marraketh?"

Mikje blinked at the question out of nowhere.  Tjarlin continued.  "You were the
Captain of the Guard.  It would have been your responsibility to be there a
night when court was being held.  You would have been able to take out Sid.  Why
weren't you there?"

Mikje found he had no answer to the question that made any sense.  "I had a
feeling.  A feeling that I needed to be elsewhere.  It was the right decision in
the end, I think, somebody needed to coordinate the resistance."

"But you didn't even do that, Grandfather, you fled first to K'lin and then to
Earth.  The resistance was mainly Remmick's doing, Grandfather.  He's the one
that laid his life on the line every day for his cause.  What were you doing?"

"You know what I was doing, Tjarlin, I was your linguistics professor, if you
recall."

"Yes.  I am aware of that.  But the point is, you were not here.  You were not
in Marraketh, nor did you even stick around K'lin.  You went to Earth."

"So did you, Tjarlin."

"I did not have a choice, Grandfather."

Mikje hesitated for a second, as they had reached the door to the gardens.
"All's well that ends well.  Why do you care?  Sid is dead; the Beast is gone.
Marraketh thrives.  Why does something that happened twenty-eight years ago
matter now?"

His granddaughter looked at him and just shook her head.  "Your family means
that little to you, Grandfather?"

He looked at her and tried to remember just how long ago it had been that she
had been born.  "No, twenty-eight years ago...you wouldn't have been born
yet...you're eighteen, aren't you?"

"On Earth, Grandfather, yes.  Marrakethian years are shorter."

He stared at her and wondered how he had forgotten that.  Had he gotten used to
the long Earth year when he'd been there?  Tjarlin looked at him.  "I was born
in 534, Grandfather.  And it's 562 now."

Mikje just shook his head.  "There was no stopping Sid and the Beast.  If I had
been there, I would have been killed.  You know that."

"Like my mother was?"

Mikje winced.  "This isn't fair, Tjarlin.  You're asking hard questions that I'm
not sure there's any good answers to."

Tjarlin opened the door out onto the garden.  "I wasn't intending on being fair.
I was intending on holding you accountable for your decisions.  And the decision
you made to not be present the night Sid and the Beast took over might have just
been responsible for the death of Warhm Grehnich -- and the death of my mother,
the brainwashing of my father, and my exile."

They walked out, Mikje near frustration at the lines of this questioning.  "I
had an exile too, Tjarlin."

"But your exile was self-chosen, Grandfather!  And the whole time you were on
Earth, you *knew* you were a Marrakethian.  You knew it wasn't home.  I didn't
know -- think about it, Grandfather, to when you were twenty-eight!  What were
you doing at twenty-eight?  Now imagine if you were told at that point that you
weren't what you'd always thought you were?"

Mikje thought back over the years to when he was that young.  They turned a
corner in the garden and Mikje looked down the row they were walking down.  The
timing of Tjarlin's question matched with the figure standing at the end of the
row jarred something loose in his head.

At twenty-eight, he was a guard and a constable in the King's Army, and one day
he'd been chosen to help guard the interrogation of Marken Yuvall, that most
notorious criminal.  At twenty-eight, Marken had told him that he would be
around to see his mythical Liberator return.  Now it was time to give Marken a
piece of his mind.

He started to move forward, only to hear the sound of somebody drawing a sword,
and one being placed in his path.  He stopped and stared at the blade -- the
same one that Tjarlin had wielded in his dream where she had killed Atirrasan.
He followed it up to see who it was wielded by, and found himself again looking
into his granddaughter's face.

They stood there, staring at one another, until Tjarlin finally said, "I am your
'mythical' Liberator."

Mikje stepped backwards another step, shaking his head.  "No, no...it can't be.
It can't be.  It's not allowed."

"There are higher authorities than you, Grandfather.  Now, we are going to
approach Marken, and we are not going to hurt him."

Mikje, in stunned silence, let his granddaughter guide him ever closer to his
worst enemy.  He remembered now, he remembered that Marken had told him he would
live to see the Liberator of Marraketh.  He never expected Marken to be right,
and he definitely never expected that it would be his own descendant.  Or at
least he hadn't until now.  The mixing of Kadan and Mrythen...no wonder he'd
been willing to let Tyrene marry Horetia.

"So we meet again, Mikje."  There was no animosity in Marken's voice, no hatred,
just a tolerant pity.  Mikje stared up at the man whom he'd hated for so very
long, and found that he couldn't bring himself to hate anymore.  He had lost.

"You said I'd know where Kendren went," Mikje said.  "And I know now that you
weren't making it up when you said the Liberator would return.  But is Atirrasan
really dead?"

Marken smiled.  "In a moment, you will know where Kendren went.  And I think the
latter question is better addressed to Tjarlin."

Mikje looked at his granddaughter.  She looked down at the ground, and then back
at him.  "Yes.  It became him or me, and since he was partially responsible for
all this pain, I had to.  He was going to flood Marraketh again if I did not.

"His plan, Grandfather, was to reseed the D'wani race, much in the way he had
created it in the first place.  And he did.  He seduced a farmer's wife, and the
farmer was convinced the child that came out of Tirrasan's illicit relationship
was his son.  And that son was you, Grandfather.  And that's why you didn't go
to court that evening -- the feeling you had was Tirrasan warning you away.  And
you didn't tell Horetia, because Tirrasan wanted to punish her and Tyrene for
falling in love.  Because Horetia's firstborn was supposed to have been pure
D'wani -- the resurgent Empress, the recreation of the once proud D'wani.

"Unfortunately for his plans, I was a halfbreed, and he was going to destroy
us and start over again.  You'd have survived again, another miracle."

Mikje stood there, looking at his granddaughter, horrified.  He then looked up
at Marken.  "I didn't know!" he cried, and fell to his knees in grief.  "I
wanted the D'wani to find their former glory, but not at the expense of my
family.  And I thought of Rikul as a D'wani!  And when his grandson asked for my
granddaughter's hand, I let him.  I didn't want the Kiratyu wiped from
Marraketh...I didn't..."

Marken looked at the man collapsed at his feet and shook his head.  "Arise,
Mikje."

Mikje got shakily to his feet and looked around, just as Tyrene and Remmick
stepped out of the dark shadows.  Mikje stared at the both of them.  "Aren't you
supposed to be under house arrest?"

In answer to that question, the two of them made room for a third, and Rene
popped out of the shadows.  Mikje stared.  Remmick spoke.  "What was our crime?"

Mikje looked pleadingly at Tjarlin, but she just bowed her head and said
nothing.  Marken said, quietly, "Three good men, and you had them thrown in jail
for suggesting I was anything other than a traitor and a fool."

It was Tyrene's turn to speak.  "Mikje, was Grahm Valkurk a traitor and a fool?"

"No.  He was a good soldier, if a bit unorthodox."

Tjarlin spoke again.  "Grandfather, I would like you to meet Grahm Valkurk," she
said, pointing to Marken.

Mikje nearly dropped to his knees again.  "Grahm?  Good quiet Grahm?  The Grahm
who exposed Thalin's treachery?  That Grahm was..."

"That Grahm was me," Marken said.  "Am I really such a traitor and a fool?"

Mikje looked up.  "No.  I don't want to admit it, but no.  You're not."

Marken nodded.  "In that case.  Kendren?"

Kendren stepped out of the shadows next to Marken.  Marken spoke again.  "Mikje,
if I may present to you Kendren Hrdek Grehnich."

"Kendren still lives?  What happened?" Mikje said, shocked.  "He disappeared
when I was a young man, and I am no longer young!"

"I ran away," Kendren said, "and was found by Marken's group.  They kept me hid,
because there was no future for me at the castle -- I was punished when I tried
to use my talents, and I wasn't very good at the things they encouraged me to
do.  And when Marken said the future would need me, I figured I would give it a
shot.  So I gained some time to practice my talents and teach others, because I
didn't expect Marken to do what he has done."

"Your talents are against the Codes?" Mikje asked.

Kendren nodded.  "And the Codes are unnatural, Marrakethians were born to be
magic users."

"The Codes are the only thing that makes it possible for the D'wani and the
Kiratyu to live together!" Mikje exclaimed.

"Your granddaughter seems to live fine without them," Kendren pointed out.  "And
she is both D'wani and Kiratyu.  The societies are not so incompatible that they
would collapse at the first use of magic.  Tyrone Grehnich, my esteemed
ancestor, had that one very wrong."

Mikje glared at Marken.  "This is tell Mikje he's wrong day, isn't it?  Well,
I'm not going to put up with it anymore.  I am the King, still, despite this
usurper.  And you, Marken, you aren't a fool, but you damned well are still a
traitor.  Guards!  GUARDS!"

The castle stayed silent and still.  Mikje looked around.  "What have you all
done?  What enchantments have you put on this place?"

"I told you," Tjarlin said.  "The guards are asleep.  And nothing will wake
them."

"Don't kill me," Mikje said, for the first time finding that Tjarlin -- or what
Tjarlin had become -- was scaring him.  "Let me live, please?  Don't kill me?  I
just..."

"I was never going to kill you.  None of us were.  We're just here to show you
the truth."  Tjarlin looked at her grandfather, and then realized she still had
her sword drawn.  She put it away, and smiled.  "Besides...Rene?"

Rene stepped forward, with a piece of paper.  He started to read.  "I, Mikje
D'nek Mrythen Talikmu, the Captain of the Remote Frontier Guard of the
Marrakethian Army, and as the highest ranking Court official in Marraketh, do
hereby decree that, absent any claimant to the throne by members of the Hrdek
Grehnich clan, the title of King shall fall to the highest ranking Court officer
in an effort to return Marraketh to some stability after the reign of Lord
Protector Sid Harldcast and the Beast.  Dated this 20th day of Agamon in the
year 562 after the Joining."

Mikje stared.  He'd forgotten that he'd signed that piece of paper, and here was
a claimant to the throne that was of the Hrdek Grehnich line.  He really had no
out here.  He turned to each of them, searching their faces for any hope of
reneging on his word. Finding none, he said, "I will call an abdication ceremony
first thing in the morning.  And after I have abdicated, I think I will go home
to the farm that my father left me."  He looked at Tjarlin.  "It'll someday be
yours, you're my only living relative."

Tjarlin smiled.  "That's not quite true, Grandfather."

And a figure stepped out from the far end of the row.  Mikje had noted how much
Tjarlin had resembled her mother, but he never imagined he'd have the chance to
actually see the two of them together.  "Horetia.  How did you survive?"

"A miracle, Grandfather Mikje," she said.

And Mikje stared at Tjarlin.  Tjarlin just simply smiled back.

***

Katze stood next to Kendren.  He had asked her to escort him when Mikje handed
the crown over at his abdication ceremony.  It had even been more surprising
when he'd asked her just to wear the simple garments that she had worn the night
in the garden with Mikje as opposed to Marrakethian finery.  Katze was greatly
pleased with this, because it meant she wouldn't have to get dressed up in fine
dress clothes, and Marrakethian high fashion for women was worse than that of
Earth.

He had insisted she wear the sword -- "it's the indicator of your office" he had
said -- but Katze found she didn't mind that either.  It was true, she had a
special role to play here, and it really didn't bother her as much as she
expected it to.  She wasn't going to spend all her time in Marraketh, but enough
to both make sure the country was heading in the right direction and that the
Wyrm wasn't coming back.  Never again, she decided. Never again would he be
allowed to destroy Marraketh.

She suspected it was also to make sure Mikje kept his promises -- he'd been near
scared of her since that night in the garden, between his begging her not to
kill him, and the look of shock and awe on his face when her mother had shown
up.  She still wasn't quite sure if she was pleased with this development or
not, but if it helped today, she could take it.

Because nothing must spoil this day, for it was the day in which Marraketh took
its first step on a glorious future.  Katze didn't quite know how she knew that,
but she knew it anyway, and was going to make sure that they took that first
step.

The doors opened, and the two of them strode into the throne room, Kendren
smiling and Katze just thinking about how different this was from the last time
she was in here.  The pictures on the wall always made her smile, this time even
more so because the Wyrm wasn't drawn in all the panels.

They came to a stop on the map of Marraketh laid in the floor, this time on top
of Dewpoint as opposed to Rhye, and Katze smiled at the contrast in that.  She
stood there next to Kendren as Mikje rose from the throne, took the crown off
his own head, and said, "I, Mikje D'nek Mrythen Talikmu, do abdicate the throne
of Marraketh."  He then handed the crown to Remmick, who was standing next to
him.

It was much to Katze's surprise to find that Remmick brought the crown to her.
It was even more of a shock when Kendren kneeled, and she placed the crown on
his head, saying words that she somehow knew, even though she'd never practiced.
"I, Tjarlin Mrythen Katze Rhyemu, in my capacity as the Liberator of Marraketh,
do crown Kendren Hrdek Grehnich King of Marraketh.  Arise, my king."

Kendren rose, and Katze immediately knelt to him.  The rest of the room followed
in the gesture towards their king, and Kendren broke out in a grin.  Katze
suddenly realized that the kneeling was probably not necessary from her, but it
had seemed right at the time.

After the ceremony, though, she disappeared out to the river, just beyond the
city walls, to watch the current flow by and do a bit of thinking.  It was much
to her surprise, however that she found Marken sitting right there, as if he was
waiting for her.

***

Katze and Marken leaned against the city wall, watching the slow and stately
drift of the Kyrill river.  Katze attempted to skip a few stones on the mostly
smooth surface, while Marken just sat there soaking up the sun.  He finally
said, "A job well done all the way around.  Things are returning to what they
once were in Marraketh."

Katze nodded, not feeling like saying much of anything.  The last few days had
been somewhat a blur, and she wasn't sure of this odd feeling of power she was
picking up off the universe.  Marken spoke again.  "And you, my friend, did the
best job of all."

"Thank you," Katze responded, preferring to keep to the short and simple.

"What are your plans now?" he asked.

"I'll probably go back to Earth.  They could use the help in fighting the Wyrm,
and, well, Marraketh is liberated, there's not much left for me to do here."

"Have you thought about coming home?"  Marken asked.

The question didn't make any sense to Katze.  Wasn't Marraketh home; wasn't that
the point of all of this?  She started to say, "Home?  But I am..." and then
trailed off, thinking of something Saulin had said, about the Creator walking
among us all.  She took another look at Marken and realized that she truly was
staring at the Creator of All, and unsheathed her sword.  She lay it on the
ground, and was about to call her staff and her bow to her when Marken laughed
gently.

"No, Katze," he said.  "You don't need to take the oath, you already did, a long
time ago.  Put your sword away."

Katze returned her blade to its scabbard.  "What do you mean?  I don't recall
doing such a thing."

"When I want a job done right, I send a trusted lieutenant to make sure it is
done right."  Marken smiled at the thought, and then added, "Although I suppose
it is cheating to make prophecy when you can see the trails of the future."

Katze hadn't managed to get past the trusted lieutenant part.  "Err?" she asked
in confusion, not liking where the thought led.  It had taken so damned long to
learn to deal with the whole 'you're not human, you're a Marrakethian', and now
it looked as though the apple cart was about to be tipped. Again. "Trusted
lieutenant?"

Marken smiled again.  "I shouldn't expect you to remember any of what I'm
telling you, some things have to be left behind.  But you do need to know a few
things if you want to stay."

"Stay?  You mean I might not have a choice?"

"You're an Aspect."

"What in the name of Kyrill?"  Katze was afraid to know the answer.  The world
was just about to go collapsing around her again.

Marken smiled that quiet little smile again.  "Marken Yuvall is an Aspect of
Me," he said.  "Born mortal, but infused with the spark of a god, which is Me.
The body is flesh and blood and will die, but the spark lives on as part of
something greater.

"The same goes for you.  The spirit that animates the body is a piece of a god
-- if you recall Saulin's lessons, one of the Three who were created after
J'Naith.  In the mythos you're familiar with, archangels seem to come to mind."

"Which one?" Katze asked.

Marken shook his head.  "Best for you not to know right now, you'll remember in
time.  Anyway, aspects are often used for having somebody in the right place at
the right time, or sometimes for punishment.  There's always a few interesting
lessons to be learned by living within the restraints of a mortal body.  But
this wasn't punishment, I should say, it was more a case of the right place at
the right time."

Katze shook her head, trying to get this all to fit with everything else.  It
just about figured, didn't it.  All this just to be content with herself, only
to find that the whole goddamn mess was like an onion.

Marken looked at her.  "You're not happy about this.  I wouldn't mention it, but
that I had to stop pushing the Source back from you to get you through the
night you faced J'Naith.  Part of me is surprised that he didn't recognize the
real you through this guise, you were shining pretty brightly towards the end of
it."

Katze blinked.  "You mean, that's how come I was able to see without my
glasses?"

Marken nodded.  "Exactly.  The Source is, well, a source of great power, and it
does interesting things to those who would use it.  But it has a way of pulling
those who would use it back to their true natures.  And thus, if you want to
stay here, you're going to have to do your own pushing back.  The Source doesn't
take kindly to those who want to shirk the responsibility It thinks you should
have."

"I think I'll still take my chances.  There's a War to be fought," Katze said,
smiling a bit.

"There is.  Good luck.  And if you need me, I'll be around."

Katze sat and watched as Marken disappeared into nothing, established some
boundaries in her head with the tickling little bit that Marken had called the
Source, and walked back into town.  There were a few people to say goodbye to
before she went back to Earth.

***

Katze opened the door from her room, calling out loudly, "I'm home!"

When she stepped out into the hallway, she found Josh and Greg, both there
waiting for her.  Greg said, "Hey, look what the cat drug in one day."

Josh, still in his wheelchair, smiled up at her.  "They said it'll heal.  Maybe
only another couple months in the chair, and they'll be able to start physical
therapy.  Not bad for a dead man."

Katze smiled.  "So it looks like everybody's doing well."

Greg looked at her.  "How'd my suggestion work?" he asked.

Katze sighed.  "Well, your original suggestion of 'Go to Chico' didn't work out
all that well."  She shook her head and sighed.  "It's a long complicated story.
Short of it, Dad didn't think all that highly of who I am.  I'd hate to see his
reaction to what I found out in Marraketh."

Greg raised his eyebrow.  Josh said, "The Liberator myth turned out to be true
after all, didn't it?"

Katze blinked.  "How'd you know about that?"

Josh smiled.  "It was Sid's biggest worry in dealing with you.  That the
Liberator myth would turn out to be true, and that you'd be it."

Katze stared at him.  Josh continued.  "I didn't think you were because of the
gunshot incident, but then, when I found out that you'd killed Sid, I started to
wonder."

Greg looked at the both of them, baffled.  "You mean Josh is one of whatever the
hell you are, Katze?"

"Yeah," Katze said.  "Josh and I are both Marrakethians."

Greg laughed.  "I get pulled deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole!"

"Anyway," Katze said, attempting to pull the discussion back on track, "I ran
into Grahm Valkurk -- remember Gary Wilkins, our GSI for linguistics, Josh?
That's Grahm. -- and from there we went to Marraketh.  Lesse.  Did a lot of
reading of history, ran into Josh there, and ended up taking a trip out of Rhye
and discovering that I was, indeed, what Josh suspected.  That, and Greg, I know
this is going to drive you nuts, but I guess I'm a mage too."

"Oh come on, now, Kats, now you're just pulling my leg."

Katze didn't respond directly to Greg but began mumbling in Marrakethian
instead.  Josh frowned at first, not quite catching what Katze was saying, but
grinning as he caught onto what she was doing.  Katze finished muttering and
opened her right fist for Greg to see the small flickering light contained
there.  "Very basic illumination spell," she said.

Greg blinked.  "Okay, Katze, anybody tell you that you were weird?"

Katze dismissed the spell and smiled.  "I'll take it as a compliment coming from
the unflappable Greg Wu."

Greg smiled back.  "I missed you too, Katze.  And in some ways, it's nice to see
the old Katze back."

Katze shook her head.  "No, Greg.  Not the old Katze.  Not the one you knew
freshman year, that Katze is gone and won't be coming back.  But I'm okay with
that, and I think, in time, you'll be okay with it too."

Josh grinned.  "So...how about we all go raid somewhere in town for dinner?"

And they all wandered off into the Berkeley evening, three friends united.

***

Mal and Ari were having another meeting to discuss the running of the
Verthandic Rangers, a process which needed to be checked up on every once in a
while.  Normally, there would be a third person in the room helping with this
job, but that wasn't the case right now, which left an empty chair where that
third person would have been.  Both Mal and Ari were trying their best to ignore
that third chair, and both quietly wondered what the hell Katze was up to and
whether she'd ever come back to take that chair.

So it was much to their surprise when, halfway through one of these meeting,
somebody walked into the room, took that empty seat, and asked quietly, "Have I
missed anything important?"

They both turned and looked.  Katze sat there, a grin upon her face. "I think
I'm back," she said.  "And there's a War to be fought, so I guess I'll still be
around."

Ari leaped out of her chair at the sight of her best friend, and proceeded to
hug Katze.  Katze hugged Ari back.  Mal, not given to such displays, and not
really being as close to Katze as Ari was, just stayed in his chair, finally
saying, "Welcome back, kid."

"So how'd it go?" Ari asked.  "You seem happier than when I last saw you, when
you weren't sure if you were going to come back."

"Well..." Katze said.  "It didn't start out well.  Dad didn't take kindly to my
trying to tell him who I was.  It ended up..." Katze trailed off, surprised at
how much it still hurt to say what she was about to say, "...well, Dad's gotten
into this Christian church that believes devils are real and take over souls,
and he thinks I've been taken over by one of these demons.  And before I knew
what was going on, I was told I was no longer welcome at his house."  She
blinked, trying to keep the tears out of her eyes.  "It was stupid of me to tell
him who I was, but I thought he'd understand...he understood the weirdness in
taking me in the first place."

Was that a glint of anger in Mal's eyes?  Katze couldn't be sure, and didn't
want to take the chance of checking; Mal scared her in some ways even though
they'd been working together for a while now.  Ari just shook her head.  "Well,
what else happened?"

And Katze told the whole tale of what had happened in Marraketh, including what
Marken had said to her by the riverside at the end of her adventures.  The two
of them looked at her rather oddly, but Mal recovered first.  "Archangel Katze,"
he said, smiling.

Katze just shook her head.  "Yeah, it's kinda funny, but no jokes around
everybody else, okay?  I'd like to not have to worry about having this one get
around; it's bad enough being the Jihaddi who got kidnapped."

That got a chuckle from Mal and a laugh from Ari, and the three of them settled
back down to discuss the current state of the Rangers.  Katze was surprised to
realize that she actually missed this sort of meeting, and the normality of it
compared nicely to her last month or so.

***

Katze aimed carefully at the center of the target in the bale of hay, and fired
a shot.  Bullseye.  She'd talked Mal into letting her take a corner of the
vehicle pool for archery practice, and it felt kinda nice to be able to have a
place to practice. Besides, it got her out of her office every once in a while.

She went to retrieve her arrows, and decided it was time to practice trick
shots.  You never knew when you were going to have to rely on firing an arrow
from a strange direction, or around a corner, or while in the middle of
'porting.

So that's how Katze came to be firing from the top of a stack of boxes on the
far side of the motor pool.  While she was always careful to check and make sure
the area was clear before firing, sometimes she got so concentrated on making
her shot that she didn't notice when somebody entered the range.

And that's what happened this time.  Katze fired the shot, and then realized
that somebody was going to step right in the way of the arrow.  Hurriedly, she
reached out for it and pulled it to a halt just in time for the person to look
up and see an arrow floating in midair, not going anywhere, awfully close to her
head.

Katze climbed down from the stack of boxes, making very sure to keep the brakes
held on the arrow, and ran over.  "Sorry!" she called.  "Wasn't aiming at you!"

The other person poked warily at the arrow, just as Kat came up on it.  She
grabbed it with her hand and released the brakes, only to find it didn't go
anywhere.  Katze nodded, relieved that if she'd messed up on holding the brake,
the arrow would have just fallen to the ground.  She stuck the arrow back in her
quiver and looked up at the person she very nearly took out.

"You're Katze, aren't you?" the other person asked.

Katze nodded.  "Yep, that's me."

"Thought so.  I was in on the rescue team."

Katze frowned.  She'd been helping Ari out with Explorations ever since she'd
returned to the Jihad, but it had only been a few days since she'd gotten the
gig, and she was still frantically trying to remember everybody's names.
"You're...Commander Merquoni, no?"

"Yeah."

The two of them looked at each other, both trying to figure out what to say,
until Katze grinned and said, "Well, can I make up for nearly shooting you with
an arrow in some way?"

"Uhhh, sure."

"I dunno.  How about dinner in Berkeley or something?  It'd be a change from
eating here."

Aris blinked.  "That could work.  Hey, you hang out around the Bay Area too?"

Katze nodded.  "Live and attempt to go to school at Berkeley.  Not that that's
been happening much..."

"You a Giants fan?"

"Are you kidding?  I grew up on Giants baseball."

"We could go to a game sometime."

"Yes, why not?"

And the two wandered out of the garage chattering about the Giants' chance to
take the Series this year.  For you see, Jihaddi -- even those who find they're
odd by the standards of Jihaddi -- can have mundane interests and even attempt
to live a mostly mundane life.

Even Katze.

***


"These days I feel a change 
 All the patterns rearranged
 Though I can't explain
 I know I'm not afraid
 Now I realize
 All good things can be supplied..."
 
 	--Great Big Sea, "Shines Right Through Me"
 	

This concludes Requiem.  
Katze's adventures will continue in some other story, though.