Date: Tue, 7 Jan 2003 23:05:56 -0700 From: Dan Kirk Subject: Mists of Fate: The New God 10 Here it is, folks. I never thought we'd get here, but here is the final chapter of the Mists of Fate. I would like to thank all of the following people for their continual support and encouragement: Ed (get better soon!), Dabeagle, Besterboi, Manuel, Michael, and everyone who has written me! Mists of Fate Chapter 10 -- The Price of Salvation There is great truth to be found in the moments before death claims you. Unfortunately, since death usually claims you immediately afterwards, the truths you have learned are usually worthless. -- Book of the Way, Chapter 3, Verse 3. Quote attributed to legendary godlet Andrei in a discussion about the last moments of the neo-god J'Stan. Pain. Pain filled him in a way that it never had experienced. Sure, he had felt pain before, but never like this. Every fiber of his being screamed at the pain ripping through him. Vaguely he was aware of the Mists pulling him inside the rift, into the place between realities where it had been spawned. The pain was consuming him. He could feel that very clearly. Soon, and forever from now, it would consume the last of him, sending him into that eternal darkness known as death. Something wiggled inside him, something beside the pain. At first, it was little more than a spark of feeling, but it quickly grew, drawing strength from his pain. It was fear. Fear soon rivaled the pain for control of him. Old feelings welled inside of him, the ancient, most basic struggle of any life. Fight or flight. Fear struggled against the pain, urging him to fight it or to run, but he could do neither. Instead he remembered an old question. What was the difference between how a human dealt with fear and an animal dealt with it? The answer came to him, as it was so deeply ingrained in him, deeper even than the fear and the pain. He pushed back the pain. It struggled against him, fought to consume more of him, but even weak as he now was, it did not stand a chance. He pushed it back, further and further, until it barely touched him. Then he opened his mind, letting himself feel. Feel the cause of the pain. The Mists of Fate. They were well-named. He could feel their malevolence here, their desire for death, for pain, their desire for him. Zela had said they were formed from his sub-conscious emotions that first time he broke the barrier of reality to travel backwards in time. Maybe she was right about how they were formed, but she was wrong in thinking they might be destroyed simply with his death. They would continue to ravage on, destroying any life they came into contact with. He understood that intuitively. Ignoring the renewed attack against him by the Mists, he reached his mind out behind him, towards the opening he had been dragged through. What he saw there shocked him. Shocked him enough that the Mists broke through his barrier for a moment and latched onto his shoulder. Pain ripped through him for a moment before he shrugged it off, and threw the Mists back with a shout of anger. He turned physically in this empty, weightless void and faced the opening directly, looking with his physical eyes. They confirmed what his mind had told him. From the other side, this rift was a gateway through which the Mists gained access to the Earth. >From this side, they were something more. As he stared at the rift with both his eyes and his mind, he began to see possibilities. The rift was a gateway, not just to Earth at the moment that he had opened it, but to ALL moments since the rift was opened. All it took was a little concentration. This gave him possibilities, ideas on how to solve the problems of the Mists, without ending his own life. Smiling gently, he used his mind to set when he wanted to be, and stepped through the rift. Pain. He was on his knees in pain. The loamy West Virginian soil churned under his clenched hands as the pain fought to consume him. He knew better than this. He stood, shrugging off the pain and stared Corcoran in the face. The soft smile on J'Stan's face struck fear into the man; fear before death consumed him. It was almost funny how someone who had once posed such a danger to him turned to dust so quickly. He turned; looking at the dead bodies of his first two loves. They were no more, and no less dead now than they had been if he had changed the timeline. He realized that, now. Turning again, he searched for the rift he had stepped through from the far future, and couldn't find it. It had never existed. He sighed in relief, and ignored the grief that filled him from the bodies around him. The followers of Corcoran who had taken part in the attack on his camp were retreating now. They had seen their leader glowing before turning into ash, and were afraid. They had reason to be, as J'Stan let his grief fill him for a moment, turning to rage. None of them even felt their death coming for them. It took him a few moments to remember the forward base that Alan Mills would be operating out from. His long dead friend was alive here and now, something to be thankful for, at least. How long had it been from this point in time before Alan was killed? It was four years or so, according to his memories. He cast out with his mind, looking for the long remembered `feel' of Alan Mill's mind. He found it in the general direction he expected, and it was a simple matter to teleport himself there. He brought with him the bodies of the two young men who had been his first loves. *** Alan Mills was sitting at the side of the large hangar, staring at the big Sikorsky Blackhawk being prepared for flight. The flight crew was excitedly moving about their preparations, while Alan Mills was waiting. Their surprise was absolute when a worn, dirty Justin Ackeman appeared with the bodies of two young men with him. Alan let out his breath in a hiss as he recognized the young Parker boys. "Justin!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing loudly. "What happened?" "They're dead, Alan." Justin said simply, his voice hoarse with grief. It was odd, to Alan he appeared to be different, older somehow. Far older than even Alan's true age. Justin's voice seemed to have the weight of ages in it. "How?" Alan could barely get out as he moved closer, examining the gunshot wounds. In his time, he'd seen death many times, including young kids, but for some reason these two were worse. Maybe it had something to do with having shared their thoughts. A dim part of his brain wondered if they'd ever told Justin how they felt about him. "Corcoran got them before I could get back. He got my family too." Justin's voice rumbled in the hangar. A circle of people was starting to form around them, open curiosity on their faces. "I'm sorry, Justin." Alan said softly, standing back up and resting his hand on Justin's grimy fatigues. "It's okay. It is better than the alternative." Justin said softly. "What alternatives?" Alan asked, curiosity eating him up. "Not here, not here." Justin said softly. "Corcoran is dead, our mission here is essentially over. Let's get back to base." "Jaz, that's gonna take a bit." Alan said, his southern drawl coming back strong. He'd always tried to keep it under control when on a mission, but stress always brought it out. "No, it won't. You ready?" Justin asked him politely. Alan could feel the boy's mind brushing his, asking for entry. He layered back his shields, and Justin flowed into him, shortly. The feel of the boy was different, far different, yet much the same. Something had happened to him, but it was still the boy he'd said goodbye to a few days before. He wasn't left with time to wonder as a sense of disorientation hit him, and the hangar disappeared. In the blink of an eye, they had reappeared in the main entry room of the underground base they called home. He could hear Justin's mental call for Colonel Henry Sells, and for a team from the medical center, even though there was no need for medical help -- they would need to take the bodies away. It was nighttime, but the base was humming with activity. It wasn't long before Colonel Sells appeared with a medical team following close behind. "Ackeman!" Sells exclaimed, surprised at seeing the young man. "How the hell...oh my God! What happened?" "Corcoran got them before I could get him." Justin's voice was still as gravelly as at the hangar. "He's dead now, the threat from him is ended." "I'm sorry, Lieutenant." Colonel Sells said softly, putting his hand comfortingly on Justin's shoulder. To Alan, it looked strange, almost as if comfort wasn't what Justin wanted now. "It's okay, sir. Death happens. No one knows that as well as I." Justin's response was a surprise to all of them. He had never been so...pessimistic in his outlook before. Something had changed in him big time. `We need to meet immediately.' Justin's mind voice was strong, and Alan instinctively knew that everyone nearby who was gifted could hear it. `Everyone needs to meet me in the training room immediately.' "Mr. Ackeman, I shouldn't have to remind you, but I am the commanding officer here." Henry Sells said sternly. `Trust me, old friend. You and David both need to hear this.' Justin answered. `Old friend? What does Captain Baxter have to do with this?' a confused Henry Sells responded mentally. `I'll explain it all in a moment, but it is best if everyone hears it together.' Justin explained, his mind voice seemed tired. Henry nodded shortly and they all made their way towards the training room, leaving the bodies of Jason and Curtis to be removed by the medical team. *** That was three years ago. Three years full of activity for Alan Mills and the others working with Justin, or J'Stan as he was more commonly known now. It had been a lot of work consolidating power, subverting the national government, weeding their own ranks of those who were seeking power for self-aggrandizement. They had been successful. Last week, the national government, led by the old preacher had been overthrown. J'Stan himself had torn out the old man's heart, then ordered the execution of the remaining members of the government. Elections were scheduled for the next year, after the problem of the Europeans was dealt with, and more infrastructure had been restored. Already small teams were being assembled to begin restoring electrical power and infrastructure to the various cities. Everyone in the Corps, as it was now called, knew J'Stan had lived for thousands of years in a possible future. He brought knowledge of creating fusion reactors, methods for the gifted to install sewer and water lines. He had also given knowledge of easier ways of filtering water and processing raw sewage. More importantly, he had knowledge on how to build hydrogen-powered vehicles and stable lighter-than-air ships. It was estimated that in less than year, much of the country would be restored to a status very similar to that enjoyed before the Event. He was amazed, really, at just how different, how commanding J'Stan was. It made it very easy to believe his story, even without having shared many of those memories. What made it even more interesting was where he, Alan was now. He smiled as he opened his eyes and looked at the form of J'Stan lying next to him. "What you looking at, old man?" J'Stan asked quietly, smiling gently. "A fine young stud." Alan said gently. Then added "Who needs a shower." "Bah! You do too." J'Stan replied. "So, is today the day?" Alan asked quietly. "Yep. Henry says they're about three hours off the coast." J'Stan said solemnly, getting out of bed and dressing in the combat fatigues they both usually wore. "So, any changes I should be aware of?" Alan asked, also climbing out of bed and getting dressed. "Nothing substantive." J'Stan said, finishing his dressing routine. The referenced shower really was unnecessary; it only took a thought for both of them to clean themselves. "Fine, then I'll stand by with the reinforcements and be ready if you need us." Alan told him. Several hours later, J'Stan was gone with Henry Sells, David Baxter, and the majority of the Corps stationed at the Center. Alan was standing by with the remaining troops as a reserve force. The engagement should have started by now. Hours passed as Alan sat in the galley with the rest of the reinforcements waiting for that mental `shout' to call them into action. When it did come, it was so weak that he barely heard it. The fifteen men around him snapped to their feet after him, and they all set themselves to teleport to where the call had come from. Moving as one they all disappeared from the Center and reappeared in the middle of hell, or so it seemed. Fire ravaged the wooded coastline, and in the distance, burning ships could be seen sinking below the waves. A sandy beach was littered with dead bodies, most in the pale blue uniforms of the Europeans. The fire, and swirl of combat centered on two figures. To Alan's surprise, the two figures were not J'Stan and Bjorn. Instead it was J'Stan and a dark-skinned woman. The two were just staring at each other while death exploded around them. Alan ordered his reserves into the fray to support those Corps members most threatened. He headed for where David Baxter and Henry Sells were engaging a tall man with long blond hair and a balding man. Before he could get there though, a vicious attack broke through Henry's shield. Alan could feel Henry's death, but not as much as David did. David turned, his face a rictus of rage and grief. The moment seemed frozen, until David picked up the blasted body of Henry, tears streaming down his face. A determined look reached his face, replacing the grief with pure rage and a horrible shriek, as if reality itself cried out, filled the air. Alan's last sight was J'Stan turning from his staring contest with the dark-skinned woman, shrieking "Noooooooooooooo!" *** `Ok, that didn't work.' J'Stan thought to himself. He was still in that place, with the Mists pushing against him. They seemed stronger, more implacable, but he was still able to hold them back. He cast his thoughts back over the years, looking for another point in time to put an end to the threats posed by the Mists. He found it, a long time after the fall of the United States, at the height of the Guardians and New Phoenix. It was a different rift, but still one that touched here, they all touched here. A moment's disorientation hit him as he adjusted to where, and when he was. Adam was gone from Earth, but he could feel the bond with his lover still there. For a moment, a feeling of peace and joy filled him at the love he felt from Adam. Yes, he remembered this day. Adam had gone to Europa to oversee the seeding of insect life in the small moon's ecosphere. It was still several years before the first colony would be established there. Years before he would command the Trepidation. Today he had just returned from the New Phoenix Council, successfully having argued for the establishment of a space service. Within the next three years, the first spaceship would lift off from Buenos Aires, establishing the new space race. D'vad was somewhere, even now, preparing his first test of his ideas for using the Mists as a weapon. He had been altered by the twins' own children, unknowingly changed to foster conflict between the Shapers Republic and New Phoenix. A conflict that would benefit the Southern Alliance. Another moment of concentration took him to the site where D'vad was. He left behind the long-destroyed home he had shared for millennia with Adam and reappeared on a desolate mountaintop. Snow crunched underfoot as he turned looking around. The place was beautiful. D'vad always did have a penchant for beautiful mountain views. As if the thought had summoned him, D'vad appeared at that moment, his back to J'Stan. Quickly, J'Stan hid himself visibly, and his power from his old friend. He couldn't keep this up long, but maybe he could long enough. D'vad was escorted by two younger Shapers. Both shivered slightly at the chill of the high, cold mountaintop. D'vad turned, facing the North, and began to draw in his will. J'Stan watched on in fascination as D'vad erected a glowing shield first, then each of the two Shapers erected their own shields around his. As D'vad began to make the `tear' in reality, J'Stan reached out with is mind, undoing the twisting work of Frank and Kelly Parker. The effect was immediate. D'vad stopped before he had made any real progress, a look of horror on his face. Sensing J'Stan's unhidden presence, the two Shapers turned, jaws dropping in shock at the sight of the infamous J'Stan. Their surprise didn't last long, though, and they attacked. It was no more than a moment's work though for J'Stan to eradicate both of them in fire. He crossed the blasted snow and took a weeping D'vad in his arms, formulating a plan. Two days later, the conference was convened on the moon. He had erected a small dome there, a forerunner of the Retreat he remembered from later years. It was important that this conference be held quickly, before Adam returned tomorrow. When Adam returned, their bond would flare to full strength, and the two of them would have some awful new memories to come to terms with. J'Stan wanted the world safe before dealing with his memories of having killed Adam. He knew his lover intimately, and he knew that Adam would go hunting the Parker boys as soon as he integrated those memories. "This had better work." D'vad mumbled from his seat next to J'Stan. "It will, trust me." J'Stan grinned back. "It had better." J'Stan said softly. As he said the last word, the delegation from the Southern Alliance arrived, taking their seats between the Guardian delegation and the Shapers'. There was little said within each delegation, and even less between delegations. J'Stan was not pleased to see that both of the Parker boys were there, along with Bester and his brother. He was not surprised to see that Bester was the current High Lord of the Southern Alliance. Letting his breath out in a sigh, he stood to begin. "My thanks to all of you for attending this hastily called conference. D'vad and I have called this conference to try to bring resolution to the conflicts we have all caused in the past. It is our concern that unless a peaceful resolution is found soon, we run the risk of destroying our world, our civilizations at a point in time when we are poised to achieve the wildest dreams of our forbearers." "J'Stan and I have made peace with each other, and we hope to see peace made between all of us here." D'vad continued for J'Stan in their pre-arranged speech. "Impossible!" a voice recognized in the heavy accent of a Southern Alliance man. J'Stan recognized the voice as Kelly Parker. He had expected something like this, and was prepared to stop any effort the boy made to open a rift. "Not impossible." D'vad said quietly, but firmly. "Did you really think your little mind-trick would work? You tried to twist me to increase the influence of your Alliance." "NO!" Bester shouted, catching both J'Stan and D'vad off guard. "I won't let you hurt the Alliance!" As he shouted, Bester gathered in his will, and let it loose. A great rift appeared above him, and he was the first victim of the tendril of Mist that snaked out. The room erupted in pandemonium as people fled for their lives, some not escaping the Mists pouring out of the rift. J'Stan just sighed, releasing himself back into the void he had come from. *** `Okay, maybe another track?' he thought to himself as he repaired his defenses that had eroded a little. He studied the rifts around him and found something he had not realized before. So long as there was a rift present, he could step through to any time. It did not have to be a time when there was a rift open. Throughout the history of Ackeland, and its struggles with the Shapers Republic, the Southern Alliance with the two Parker boys had been in the background, stirring conflict. Maybe if that was changed... J'Stan zoomed in on the time, shortly after the death of Jason and Curtis, when he had wrapped himself in his grief and pain. Bjorn had reshaped the world in his image, holding the reigns of power. Bjorn had found the boys, and given them to a subordinate of his to raise. J'Stan stepped back in time and found himself in the ruins of Washington, D.C. This soon after his fight with Bjorn, Washington was a stinking cesspool. The decomposing bodies of the hundreds of thousands who had died here struck his nostrils. The smell raised the specter of guilt for the millions who had paid the price for his rage at Bjorn. He put the guilt out of his mind and focused on his destination. It was a government facility in the central part of Illinois. He appeared in the middle of the building that housed the artificially inseminated children of the American Psionics Corps. There were about twenty children here, but he immediately saw the two he sought. The two tow-headed toddlers were playing some game with each other, nearly identical faces showing their concentration on the building blocks. J'Stan's heart leaped at the sight of the young innocent children. It was hard to believe that these two, the children of his first lovers, were responsible for the catastrophe that released the Mists of Fate on the world thousands of years from now. He made his way across the floor, dodging children and ignoring the shouts of surprise from the adult staff. He also ignored their orders to halt. Stopping next to the two toddlers, he called gently to them. "Frank, Kelly, come here." His voice was smooth as silk, and the two boys stopped playing with the building blocks to stand next to him. He knelt down, smiling at them gently, gathered them in his arms, and disappeared from the government center. They reappeared on the edge of a small town. Both boys were bewildered and scared, expressing their fright in tears. He calmed them down eventually, and made his way into this town. He'd never been here before, but he remembered it clearly. A few minutes later, he found himself standing on the front porch of a modest home, knocking on the door of the Morgan household. Sarah Morgan answered the door, holding an infant Adam in her arms. For a moment, J'Stan couldn't speak as emotions flooded him. Behind Adam's mother, he could see Father Morgan coming to the door, and once more he was hit with a wave of guilt. He finally found his voice after the third time she spoke to him. "These children need a good family, raise them as you will your son." He told them, making his voice resonate, and letting a golden glow surround him. As the word son left his mouth, he disappeared slowly, leaving behind a golden light to dissipate slowly. He returned to the desiccating city that had once been his nation's capitol. As the smell of decomposing bodies returned to his nostrils, emotions swirled once more. He gathered up his grief, his anger, his guilt, and wrapped himself in the void like he had originally done. He would wait here, not interfering anymore until David and his two oldest kids came to wake him. Except they never did. Time had passed, and he knew it was time for them to come, but they never did. He felt another year pass as he waited, hidden and blind inside the void. Finally, curiosity overcame his fear of making things worse. He unwrapped the void and stepped out into Washington. He was expecting a dead city, without the smell of decomposing bodies. What he found instead was signs of life here at the heart of old Washington. He stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The steps were clean, free of the vegetation he remembered. Below him, on a clear street a horse and buggy ambled past. A few pedestrians looked up at him, but they looked down quickly as if they were afraid to show curiosity. His own curiosity flaring, he joined the flow of foot traffic, walking around the now-living capitol. He noticed that the people on the street were attired in conservative browns and black. The men all wore broad-rimmed hats while the women were bonnets. He looked down at himself and saw he was attired in the camouflage pants and olive t-shirt he had worn at the Center. A thought when no one was looking changed him into brown attire similar to that being worn by other men. He eventually moved into the area that had bordered the White House. Here he saw the first sign of officialdom, a handful of blue-garbed men that looked like police officers. As he stood, looking at the old home of government leaders, one of them noticed him and approached him. "Stop gawking, brother." The officer warned. "Idleness is the devil's playground." "Sorry, officer." J'Stan said warily. "Couldn't help being curious." "Ah, now." The officer said, his tone sharp. "Another trait of the wicked one. Identity papers, please." "You don't need to see my identity papers." J'Stan said automatically, asserting his statement with a flick of his mind. He almost broke down laughing since this child had never seen a movie that would always be J'Stan's favorite childhood memory. "You're right, just move along." The officer said, his eyes glazing. "Thanks, officer" J'Stan said politely, moving up the street, trying to blend in with the pedestrians. "You!" a familiar voice called out. "Stop!" J'Stan froze in place, not because of the command, but because of who the voice belonged to. He turned slowly and found himself looking at a young Adam Morgan. Albeit an Adam Morgan dressed very oddly. His black hair and eyes were exactly as he remembered from their first meeting, but the flowing robe and sword at his hip were odd. So was the reaction of the people on the street. Shrieks of fear were followed by the sound of running feet. The officers across the street were pale and frozen in place. J'Stan faced this young man and tried to quell the memories and feelings of the Adam he had known. This young man was, and yet was not the Adam Morgan he had fallen in love with. "Identify yourself, unbeliever." The young man said, his voice harsh and a hand resting on the sword hilt. "I'm just passing through, friend." J'Stan said softly, putting as much influence with his words as he could. "Don't try your tricks with me!" Adam shouted, drawing the sword. J'Stan couldn't help but chuckle as it burst into flame. The white robe and flaming sword spoke volumes about the role Adam played in whatever society this had become. He rolled his eyes upwards at that and noticed something for the first time. A shimmering dome covered Washington much like the one he had held for eons over Tylera. Adam's next words only made his heart sink further. "You know the Treaty, unbeliever. You demons do what you wish in your havens, but you leave the True Believers alone!" "I'm not from any other places." J'Stan said angrily. The anger seemed to leap inside of him and he couldn't stop talking for some reason. "I've been here for the last few decades!" "You're him!" Adam snarled, his voice nearly ragged. "Justin the Defiler!" "Don't know about the Defiler part," Justin began but was cut-off. "It doesn't make any difference whether you crossed the demon-mists or you were here somewhere. Your life is forfeit before the throne of God!" Adam snarled. "I don't think so." J'Stan said softly, letting his mind loose and tearing through Adam's memories. What he saw made him sick. Father Morgan had taken J'Stan's appearance, and the two boys as a sign from God. Convinced by these signs of his own holiness, he had turned from the decent, caring, religious man J'Stan had remembered into a religious zealot. A fanatic of the highest order. When the Parker boys, and later Adam had exhibited signs of their abilities, he had successfully hidden them from Bjorn's forces for a while. When the inevitable confrontation happened, things did not go well. J'Stan did not recognize anyone in the Shaper party, but their reactions were predictable. When Father Morgan called them hellspawn demons, their leader killed him with a lightning bolt. Adam's reaction had been to go back in time and escape with his father still alive. J'Stan sighed, ignoring the glazed, vacant eyes of Adam. When he released his mental hold on the boy, the body slid to the ground, nothing more than a pile of living tissue. J'Stan sighed heavily at his latest failure and stepped back to where he started from. Back to his own future, his own prison. *** The Mists had grown stronger in this confined space. It felt like they were drawing themselves together, focusing their combined strength on him, searching for a way into him. It took more concentration to hold them back, but he could still think. How many more points could he try to reach? How many more changes could he make trying to reach the outcome he wanted? Would he ever find just the right one? A heavy mental sigh filled him as he finally gave in to a simple fact. No matter how much he meddled with time, certain things would always happen. That led him to another understanding. The Mists would have happened whether he went back in time against Corcoran, or if he hadn't. If he hadn't done it then, someone, somewhen would have. The thought was comforting and chilling at the same time. It also led to another idea. Maybe he wasn't the first one to go back after all. How had Zela learned as much about the Mists as she had? He searched this strange place he was in, this place between realities. Finally he found a small hole that was different than the rest, a small hole that felt ancient. He touched it, and reached through it, seeking how it had been made. The answer came to him as a vision. It was of Zela standing on a tall hillside, her three children around her. He knew instinctively that his had been her first lifetime, a period so ancient that it was long lost in the dust of human history even when he had been born. One of those three children walked towards the edge of the hillside, a cliff really, overlooking the ocean. Zela yelled in a strange language, probably telling the child to step back. When she turned to look at her littlest, the boy tripped and fell forward, over the cliff edge. Zela's cry of fear resounded as she leapt to her feet and ran towards the boy. She was too late, the boy was already falling. She closed her eyes, screaming, then it happened. She jumped back in time, only a few seconds and grabbed the boy's arm. The rift in reality appeared moment's later, but the Mists didn't attack. Instead they screamed in agony of fear and loss, nearly wrecking the souls of those that heard. Zela fixed the tear with her nascent powers, then returned to her kids. Somehow J'Stan knew that the boy died the next week, falling out of a tree he had climbed. This time, Zela did not go back in time to save him. This gave J'Stan more to think about, and he drifted aimlessly in the void while his mind whirled. Finally he noticed two things changing. First, the Mists were pressing harder against him, they felt stronger and he had to struggle harder to hold himself safe against them. Second, the rifts, the tears between his reality and this place were closing! In fact, while he was realizing this, he could feel the next to last close. He drifted towards the one remaining opening, his original one. He felt something, someone outside of it, probing it. He mentally seized that probing thought and found himself in contact with... Andrei! His surprise caused him to neglect his own defense for a moment. The sharp pain as a piece of the Mists broke his shielding reminded him of his danger, and he reinforced his defenses. He could feel the obsession of the Mists now, could feel their focus on consuming him. The touch of the Mists had been familiar, and he at last understood how the Mists had grown stronger over time, more intelligent. He could also feel the love and support from Andrei. Taking that mental probe he had caught, he traced it back to its source, and opened himself to the young man. Memories flowed in two directions. While Andrei learned of what he had been doing since leaving the moon, he learned what had happened to Andrei. The strangers had not killed him, instead they had transported him somewhere distant. Even Andrei did not know where, just that it took him years to return to Earth. None of the Shapers on the moon that day had been killed. Instead, they were given a choice to join the strangers in their new home, a planet still a long way away or to return to Earth. It seemed that all of the Shapers had chosen for something new, something away from the Mists. All except Andrei and Ter. Those two had chosen to return to Earth in the hopes that J'Stan had achieved some victory against the Mists. They had brought with them a few hundred of the survivors of Tylera, mostly younger people. It was all the strangers had been willing to part with. When they arrived back at Earth, they had left the humans in stasis on the moon. As the two returned to the surface of Earth, they found a shocking sight. Dead land and nearly black oceans were all they saw, no Mists anywhere! Immediately, Andrei and Ter had begun to search for the rifts and sealed them. As they reached the last one, Andrei thought to probe it, and had found J'Stan alive. `Seal it!' J'Stan ordered as he finished processing the memories. `No, you'll be stuck inside!' Andrei replied. `We will never have this opportunity again.' J'Stan sent, explaining his thoughts. `Only two gifted remain, and you love each other. Once it is sealed, there will be no one to tear them open again.' `Come out first!' Andrei replied. `No, they are too strong. Right now they are occupied by my presence, by the desire to destroy me. If I tried to leave, they would follow.' `So, there's three of us.' Andrei reasoned. `Whatever gets out before we seal it we can deal with.' `I don't think so.' J'Stan said, he was peaceful now. That touch of the Mists had clicked the last piece of the puzzle in place, and now as he stood facing death he realized he was no longer afraid of dying. `The Mists, when it kills a living thing, it absorbs that living thing into itself. That is how the Mists multiply. Every Shaper, every human, every animal is here, filled with the rage and hunger of the Mists. They desire only to consume life, and my life is all they can see at the moment. If I left, and they realized there was only one exit left, they would chase me in such strength that a hundred of us couldn't hold them back.' `Are..are you sure?' Andrei's mental voice reminded J'Stan of just how young the boy really was. `Yes, Andrei. Don't worry I no longer fear death. I won't let the Mists absorb me, I will end my existence before that happens, if it ever does. But you can only close the last rift while the Mists are distracted. Do it now.' J'Stan ordered calmly. `But what will we do?' Andrei's question was almost a mental wail. `I suggest you re-grow the Earth, first. In the Retreat, undamaged, are samples of every plant and animal we ever saved. Use those samples to rebuild the animal and plant life on Earth. Start with a small area, but seed life everywhere it belongs. You have my memories, my knowledge. You can do this. Once the Earth thrives again, wake up your survivors. In a few thousand years, you should have a thriving population.' `But...but...' Andrei started to protest. `Shape them into a good society, Andrei. Make sure they understand that they are all humans, and remember that when they no longer need you, it is time for you to go." `How will we know...' `You will know, I trust you." J'Stan said. He almost lost the link to Andrei as the Mists tightened around him. Their attacks were growing so strong now that he would soon need all of his attention to stay alive against them. Of course, when they passed the level he could defend against, it would be time. `I'm scared, J'Stan. What if another gifted comes along and starts trouble?' `You're not going to like this, but you cannot allow that to happen. Do not allow any born with the gift to ever realize their power, or if they do, kill them." `I understand, and can do that. But what about when we grow tired? What about when they don't need Shapers anymore?' `Remember Adam and I at Guardian's Retreat?' J'Stan answered, then groaned as the attacks against him increased again. It was time. `Seal it NOW! Goodbye Andrei! SEAL IT!' J'Stan shouted mentally before turning himself fully into a fight against the Mists of Fate. `Who said you can't fight fate?' the ages old man asked himself, remembering his favorite saying as a teenager. The grin on his face as he fought the last battle of his life was one of pure joy, pure freedom. He was free at that moment. Free of pain, of guilt, of anger, free to love all the people who were yet to be born, free to give his life so that they could live without the Mists of Fate. *** The old man closed the old, heavy book with a contented sigh. His hair was pure white, and wrinkles lined his face, but the children around him barely cared. Tears filled many of their eyes, but they were all smiling. "So, young ones, that is how J'Stan defeated the Mists of Fate." His kindly old voice still held their rapt attention. Finally a small girl, her long black hair flowing over shoulders, raised her little hand excitedly. "Yes, Fiorna?" "Elder Hackan," she began shyly. "Did J'Stan really die?" "No one knows, lass." Hackan told her gently. "He was J'Stan, he may still be fighting the Mists today, or he may have passed away thousands of years ago. The best we've been able to figure it was six thousand years ago that the last rift was sealed. No one has heard or seen Shapers Ter and Andrei in over three thousand." "My cousin says they are all just a myth." A boy in the front row said, his voice a mix of the cousin's sneering tone and boyish curiosity. "Your cousin can believe that, if he wants." Hackan said kindly. "So can you. I for one feel a lot safer believing in them. We may not see them, we may not hear from them like we use to, but we don't need to anymore. We have our science, we have the tools to make our lives here on Earth comfortable. But if we ever do need them, I believe that all we have to do is call for them." "Is that what I'm supposed to believe?" another young girl asked. She had recently crossed the threshold to puberty, and was beginning to question everything in life. "Only you can choose what to believe, Erica." Hackan told her. "It is in the Book of the Way, handed down from the Shapers themselves, that we are all free to make choices in our lives. So long as those choices do not harm others, it is wrong for anyone to interfere." "Thank you, Elder." A woman said, approaching the small group. "Children, it is time to go home." As the children got up from the floor where they had been sitting, Elder Hackan climbed wearily to his feet. Approaching his twentieth decade, he was feeling every year this afternoon. He replaced the worn copy of the Book of the Way on its shelf and left the classroom after waving goodbye to the teacher. She was a good woman and would make someone a good wife someday. He ambled out of the school building and took the powered slidewalk home. Along the way he smiled at the green fields and trees interspersed with buildings along the way. You would never guess that the Phoenix, the oldest city on the planet, held three million people. Few skyscrapers dotted the sky, most of the buildings actually dug into the Earth more than towered above it. He soon found himself keying in the exit for his home. It was only a short walk to his home from there. Tired as he was, walking into the door seemed to revitalize him. His eyes sparkled at the smell of cooking food and the noise from the kitchen was reassuring. He managed to make it into the kitchen itself without being heard and surprised his husband who was bending over checking the oven. "Dammit, love, you better be glad I follow the Way or I'd hit you!" Iosef said in mock anger. The two embraced, kissing deeply. Who ever said almost two hundred years of marriage got boring? They'd grown up next-door neighbors, and as puberty hit, their love for each other deepened. Now, in their twilight years they still enjoyed each others company as much as they had then. "When's that delicious food going to be ready?" Hackner asked instead of answering the rhetorical remark. "Just in time for the moon walk. The bird is down on the surface and they're near the Retreat." "Ahhh, this should be interesting. Vindication for the followers of the Way." "I just hope it doesn't create too many religious fanatics. They always give me a headache." Iosef said with a groan. "Agreed, love. I'll set the table." Hackner told his husband. Dinner was on the table and the two men were eating when the video feed from the moon walk was broadcast. They both watched avidly from the dining room table. The kids were long gone, but would probably call as soon as the broadcast was over. On the floating screen, they saw the space traveler approach the Retreat airlock. The space traveler wore a bulky gray space suit to protect him from the vacuum of space. It appeared the airlock was simple to operate, pictures identified buttons to open and close the doors, which the space traveler pushed perfectly. Soon she was inside the airlock, talking to the space controller constantly. The airlock cycled and soon the inner door opened onto a thriving jungle. "Way to go, girl" Hackner whispered to their adopted daughter, knowing she couldn't hear him. Legend said the Retreat had been repaired by Andrei and Ter and used by them while they guided the people of Earth. Some had hoped they would be there when the space travelers arrived, although Hackner and Iosef had told their daughter Methan not to expect it. Movement on the screen drew their attention, and Methan's gasp was clearly audible as a figure formed in front of her. Iosef looked in wonder at the image on the screen, and stared at his husband in shock. "Greetings" the figure, matching the ancient paintings of Andrei, said. It's language was an archaic version of the current tongue, but still comprehensible. "This recording was left in the hopes that the people of Earth would one day reach back to the stars. Since you are seeing this, it would appear that our fondest dreams are coming true. We left Earth to you when it became clear you could fend for yourselves. Never have we been so proud of you, our people before. "Never doubt our love for you, and never doubt the power of your own love. Be good to each other, treat each other with respect and love. These are the things we have always hoped for. By reaching this place you have taken your first steps into the interstellar community. As you know from the Book of the Way, there are other people out there. You have made it this far, I hope that you will continue onwards until all the children of Earth are one day united. "Until that day, be good to each other. Remember, though we have left you to make your own way in this universe, we have not forgotten you. If ever there is a true need for us, we will be there. May that day never come. Go in peace, my children." As it ended, the figure vanished, leaving a speechless Methan standing alone inside Shaper's Retreat. "You bastard." Iosef told his husband. "Hey, we agreed getting to the Retreat would be a good scientific goal to keep them progressing. I thought I'd give them something more to strive for." Hackner replied with a laugh. "Okay, but I'm not your High Priest anymore, love. If there are any fanatics coming out of the woodwork on this one, you deal with them!" Iosef said. "Agreed, now, shall we get some nookie?" Hackner said, his features melting into those of Andrei. "Nookie? Is that another one of J'Stan's words?" Iosef said as his form also melted into that which he'd worn for most of his life... Ter. "Yep!" Andrei nearly giggled. For some reason he felt young again. "Six thousand, five hundred and thirty-eight years later and you still come up with weird words from that man!" Ter sighed loudly. His sigh was cut off as Andrei kissed him, and thoughts of J'Stan, moons, or anything but his love faded from his mind. The two sank to the floor of the dining room right there, enjoying each other's bodies once more. *** `Who said you can't fight fate?' J'Stan asked himself, remembering his favorite saying as a teenager. The grin on his face as he fought the last battle of his life was one of pure joy, pure freedom. He was free at that moment. Free of pain, of guilt, of anger, free to love all the people who were yet to be born, free to give his life so that they could live without the Mists of Fate. The End of the Mists of Fate **Thank to all of you for reading, and responding to this story. I hope you have enjoyed it. As I have mentioned earlier, I am currently attending school and my free time is greatly curtailed with full-time college and full-time work. Take care and remember to smile. Life ain't worth too many frowns. Daniel R. Kirk, Jr.