Back to Part 2 SVS2-01: Eye of the Storm by Rushlight, Part 3 Jim knew from the moment he laid eyes on Lucien Mantashe that he was going to have his work cut out for him. He hadn't honestly been expecting the suspect that Brown and Rafe picked up to actually be the man they were looking for, but there could be little doubt that he was. Lucien had offered no information about himself, but his ID clearly identified him by name as a Tanzanian citizen. He was in the country legally, which was a disappointment, but there was something about the man that made Jim feel as though he wouldn't be making many obvious mistakes that could be used against him. Lucien was sitting dispassionately inside the poorly lit interrogation room, long legs stretched out underneath the table in front of him. He looked a lot like his picture, but there was an indefinable quality to him that the police artist had failed to capture from Mike's description. He seemed sublimely self-possessed for a man who had been dragged in off the streets at such an ungodly hour of the morning. His tall form was dressed casually in chinos and an earth-toned T-shirt, and his battered denim jacket was thrown over the back of the metal chair beside him. There was nothing exotic about him, aside from the uncommon darkness of his skin. He would have looked equally at home on a college campus or on an anthropological dig in deep jungle. Jim had to remind himself that while jungle-bred, the members of Lucien's clan were well-educated and indoctrinated in the vagaries of city life, quite unlike the shamans of the Chopec tribe where he had spent his last year in the Army. "He doesn't much look like a man with a guilty conscience," Simon remarked dryly from where he stood next to Jim, watching their suspect through the one-way mirror in the hallway. Jim didn't take his eyes away from the window. "No, he doesn't." On Jim's other side, Blair was bouncing nervously. Jim had objected to having Blair accompany him in the interrogation, but Blair had insisted. On one level, Jim was glad; if anyone had a chance of unraveling the psyche of their unwilling guest, it would be Blair. On the other hand, Jim was loath to put him into a situation where he might again be at the mercy of the visions that were plaguing him. He was still hesitant to give in to Blair's theory that their problems had a spiritual basis, but he had to admit that the appearance of an African shaman on the streets of Cascade was a definite point in his favor. Steeling himself, Jim pulled open the door to the interrogation room and stepped inside, and Blair followed him without any visible hesitation. At the table, Lucien's eyes lifted to look at them as they came in, and Jim kept his face expressionless as he sat down across from him. It unnerved him that Lucien's gaze seemed to have bypassed him completely to focus on Blair. Taking a deep breath, Jim plunged in. "I'm Detective Jim Ellison, and this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We're investigating the murders of several faculty members of Rainier University." Lucien's gaze shifted to meet his without any apparent surprise or anger at the unspoken accusation in the words. "Murder is a relative term," he said, with a thin ghost of a smile. His voice was surprisingly deep and colored with an accent that was almost musical. Jim leaned back in his chair, mirroring the other man's casual attitude. "Not in this country." Any police-type interrogation was a seduction; each party was trying to seduce the other into giving him what he wanted. It was a game that Jim had played countless times, and it was one that he was remarkably good at. The first thing you had to do was size up your opponent, try to figure out what manner of approach would work on him. With some, you could be straight-forward and matter-of-fact, provided you knew the facts of the case and you made it clear that they couldn't deceive you. In cases like these, however, where the facts were still largely unknown, he'd learned that it was best to take a more circuitous approach. "We know what happened in Tanzania, Lucien," he said, trying to project a note of sympathy into his voice. "You have every reason to want to see these guys dead. Hell, if they'd killed my brother, I'd probably want a piece of them myself." Lucien's expression did not change, but something deep in his eyes flickered darkly at that. "Then you should understand that justice takes different forms in this world, and in the next," he said. "And yet it's my job to uphold the justice of this country. In this world." Jim could sense Blair stirring restlessly behind him, but he didn't look away from Lucien. "Will it bring your brother back to kill these people? Do you think your brother would have wanted you to throw everything away for him like this?" For a moment, the rage he sensed pouring from Lucien was so pronounced that it was almost a physical presence within the room. "You know nothing about my brother." "What about the rest of your family back home, then?" Blair spoke up from where he stood behind Jim's shoulder, coming forward to stand beside him. His tone was honestly curious. "What about your people? From what I understand, accepting the role of shaman to a village is a lifelong commitment. I can't see how they would approve of a mission of personal vengeance." Lucien regarded Blair curiously for a long moment, and Jim felt the hairs along the back of his neck start to raise at the blatant assessment in his gaze. "I don't understand you," Lucien said at last, making Blair blink at the apparent non sequitur. "I thought I did, earlier, but you surprised me. That was my mistake, I guess. I should know better than to make assumptions in our line of work." His smile was wry and faintly threatening. His voice lowered as he said, "Do you really intend to protect them?" Blair held his gaze steadily, although Jim could tell that he was shaking. "That depends. Do you really intend to try and kill them?" Lucien's smile took on a sharper edge. "We'll see." Jim shifted in his chair, not understanding what was going on between the two of them but knowing that he didn't like it. "Can you account for your whereabouts over the past two days?" he asked, hearing the edge begin to creep into his voice. There was something about Lucien that he truly did not like, but whether that was because of the man's unshakable confidence, his inexplicable mood shifts, or his uncommon interest in Jim's Guide, remained to be seen. "I don't understand why you insist on pursuing a matter that is clearly outside your jurisdiction," Lucien told him, sounding disinterested. "You didn't answer the question." One of Lucien's eyebrows lifted. "I wasn't aware that I was under an obligation to answer any of your questions." His tone was sharp. "I'm a private citizen, a guest to your country, and I have chosen to speak to you without the benefit of a lawyer. I believe that courtesy is at an end. Either charge me with a crime, or let me go." Jim refused to react to the unconcealed ire in the words, although he cursed inwardly. He'd known full well that taking an aggressive stance would be a mistake in this situation, and yet he'd let his personal feelings influence him into doing just that. God damn it. Keeping his expression neutral, he slid his chair away from the table and stood up. "I'm afraid you'll have to stay with us for a little while longer," he said, letting the faintest edge of menace enter into his voice. "If you change your mind about talking to us, I'll see what I can do about cutting you some kind of a deal." He didn't wait for a response as he motioned for Blair to precede him out of the room. It was an absolutely baseless threat, and he was fairly sure that Lucien knew it. Knowing that didn't improve his mood any as he closed the door firmly behind him and met up with Simon in the hallway. "That went well," Simon remarked, scowling. "It could have gone better," Jim agreed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Blair walked up to the window looking over the interrogation room and peered inside. Strangely enough, Lucien seemed to be staring right back at him. "I don't think he took you seriously, Jim." "No, he didn't." Jim looked at him closely, eyes tracing the stiff contours of his back. "You, however, he took very seriously." He refused to say how much that disturbed him. "You do realize that we can only hold him for twenty-four hours without pressing charges." Simon was clearly upset by this fact. "And if he gets it into his head to hire a lawyer and sue for false arrest, then this entire department is in deep shit, Jim." "What, you mean that little conversation in there wasn't enough?" Blair glanced back at him in surprise. "He all but admitted to committing the murders, and to wanting to go after the others." Jim sighed tiredly. "Nothing that he said can be construed as an outright confession, Chief." Blair was aghast. "You've got to be kidding me." "I'm afraid that endorsement of justice 'on a higher plane' does not a confession make." Simon looked disgusted with the whole thing, as if he'd just as soon do away with modern ideas of legality and indulge in a little shamanic justice himself. "And the truth is, even though the ME ruled the deaths a homicide, we can't even prove that there was a crime committed. As near as we can figure, those guys died in their sleep." It was depressing to discuss the facts of the case out loud; Jim didn't like being reminded of how very little they had to go on. "We show no evidence of him at the scene. He's here legally, so we can't even get him on that. We have nothing, Chief." He turned away abruptly and glared in through the window at the source of his misery. "Not a damn thing." Blair was unnaturally silent during the ride home. Jim would have preferred to stay and work out ways to wrestle a confession out of their guest, but he knew that Blair would have insisted on staying with him, and Blair desperately needed to rest. He was still shaken after the events of the past few days, and Jim still felt abnormally protective of him. It was frustrating, but there didn't seem to be much he could do about it. He'd had this odd feeling for the past two days, that Blair was in danger and needed to be protected. He hadn't been able to explain it then, and he couldn't adequately explain it now, but there was little doubt that the feeling, however irrational, had been more than slightly accurate. He'd never been more unhappy about being proved right. Blair didn't speak again until they were inside the loft. Jim was in full emotional shut-down again, which wasn't entirely unexpected considering the circumstances. But it was damned irritating, and Blair had to fight the ridiculous urge to clap his hands over his ears and start screaming until it forced Jim to have an honest-to-God emotional reaction. Blair was still upset about the way the interview with Lucien had gone, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he couldn't erase the sick feeling of dread that crawled just underneath the surface of his skin whenever he thought about it. The feeling was almost familiar after the past couple of days, but that didn't help reduce its impact any. Part of him wanted to just crawl into bed and block out the world, but the more dominant part of him knew that that wasn't an option. Deciding to grab the bull by the horns, he faced Jim squarely and said, "Jim, you know as well as I do that being in jail isn't going to keep him from going after Mike and the others." Jim closed the refrigerator door rather more forcefully than was strictly necessary and leaned back against the counter as he took a sip of his bottled water. "He's in custody, Chief. I'm not sure what else you want me to do right now." The sun was just beginning to rise, and the living room was layered in trailers of clinging shadow. Mike was under protective custody now with the rest of the survivors from Eisner's expedition, and the loft seemed unnaturally still and empty around them. Blair walked up to the balcony windows and looked outside, rubbing his hands over his arms to warm them. "I want you to help me figure out what to do," he said truthfully. There was silence behind him for a moment, and then the air behind him shifted with the warmth of his Sentinel's body. "Talk to me," Jim said softly, pushing Blair's hair back lightly behind his ear with the fingers of one hand. Fighting back a shiver, Blair leaned back against the body behind him. "You know, Jim, I never really thought of myself as a shaman before. I mean, not really. It's not like I have a sign hanging outside our door advertising my services to the general public, you know?" He laughed shortly, but there really wasn't any humor in it. He sighed, pressing his cheek briefly up against Jim's. "I know that Incacha passed something on to me, some kind of trust, but I never really understood what that meant. But these are my people, and this is my city. I can't just let Lucien wander through and kill whoever he damn well pleases." Jim let his breath out in an uneasy sigh. "He's a trained shaman, Blair." "And I'm just a city kid with delusions of grandeur, I know." Blair's smile was wry. The rain had quieted after the night's thunderstorm, but it still traced random patterns across the windowpane in front of him, bisecting his view of the city outside. "But he knows I'm here now, Jim. That means I'm a target now, too. I don't think he really saw me as a threat before. But when he saw that I was ready to challenge him last night to keep him away from Mike, he turned tail and ran. I don't know why that is, but it means I have some kind of power here. Something that could maybe help bring the killings to an end." "So what do you want to do?" Jim's voice was sharp, thick with the fear-driven anger he always seemed to feel whenever he thought that Blair was in danger. "If you can tell me it'll help, I'll have fifty cops sitting in his cell before the hour's up. Give me something to work with here, Blair." Blair shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. At least, I don't think it does. I don't know what he's planning, but I think I know how I can find out." Jim's sudden silence said that he understood clearly the direction Blair's thoughts were heading. "You're going to meet him on the spirit plane." Blair could tell by the sound of Jim's voice that he wasn't particularly taken with the idea. Steeling himself, he refused to let that sway him. "I have to, Jim. He's just going to keep on killing until somebody stops him. And who says he's going to stop after he finishes with the members of Eisner's expedition? There's probably dozens of people that he can hold responsible for his brother's death if he has a mind to. What about the people who funded Eisner's grant? The museum reps who were negotiating the sale of the artifacts? The pilot who flew them out into the region where Johan died? When is it going to stop, Jim?" His vehemence surprised even himself. Jim didn't say anything in response to the outburst for a long moment, and Blair was left listening to the steady drumming of the rain against the window. Finally, Jim said, "I don't like it." Which made sense, of course. Jim was used to battling his foes openly, with fists and guns and superior intellect. Anything having to do with the spirit world had always unnerved him, and Blair could still hear the echo of Jim's voice as he lay recovering in the hospital after the fountain incident -- "Chief, I don't know if I'm ready to take that trip with you." What he'd never admitted to Jim was that he hadn't felt near ready to take that trip himself. Spirituality was all very well in theory, but when it came right down to it, he was as scared of the idea as Jim was. Not to mention that this wasn't a battle Jim could fight for Blair; if anything, Blair would be left protecting him. Which was an interesting change of paradigm, Blair couldn't help but think. The thought made him smile despite himself. Bracing himself, he turned away from the window to look up into Jim's eyes. "How about it, Jim?" he asked, positive that he could hear the frightened pounding of his heart even without Sentinel senses. "Are you ready to take that trip with me yet? Because I don't mind telling you, I could sure use your help here." Jim stared down at him for a long moment, without saying anything. Then he nodded. "Whatever you need," he promised. Blair felt overwhelmed by such a surge of love and gratitude that there was really nothing else he could do but kiss him. Jim held onto him tightly, all but squeezing the breath out of him as he rubbed his cheek against the top of Blair's head. "I love you," Jim whispered, and Blair shut his eyes against the strength of the emotions that rose up inside of him. "I love you, too, Jim." And suddenly their situation didn't seem quite so grim. As long as Jim was here with him, Blair felt as if he could take on the world. There was very little practical information available on how to instigate a shamanic vision, but Blair did what he could. He slid off his shoes and settled as comfortably as he could onto the couch, sitting cross-legged and stretching out the kinks in his neck muscles to relax himself. Jim had gone to fetch him his favorite meditation candles, and they were lit now on the coffee table in front of him, filling the air with the sweet, subtle fragrance of beeswax. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Jim slid a leg between Blair and the back of the couch and settled down carefully behind him, sliding his arms around his waist. He rested his chin on Blair's shoulder and hugged him tightly, his breath tickling Blair's ear. Blair leaned against him, grateful for both the physical and emotional support. "I think so," he said, pushing his hair back away from his face distractedly. "The way things have been going lately, it might be harder to stop the visions from coming than to initiate one." Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the heat of Jim's body behind him. At once, the fatigue he'd been holding off crashed in on him, and this time, he gave in to it without protest, letting it carry him down. Opening his eyes to half-slits, he focused on the flickering orange lights of the candle flames in front of him. They blurred in front of his eyes, running together in a pattern reminiscent of the rain on the windows, and he closed his eyes against the brightness of them. You must choose your destiny, little wolf. It will not choose you. The words seemed to come from deep inside of him, and from around him at the same time. You may be put on the path and shown which direction to go... but only you can make the decision to follow it. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring up at a nighttime sky. He was standing on a cleared path in deep jungle, and the only sound around him was the steady whisper of the wind in the trees. There was something odd about the sky that he couldn't quite explain, and he was reminded of certain tribal religions that said the stars were actually the souls of ancestors who had already made their journey through the spirit realm. He had never placed much stock in such religions, but here, in this place, they seemed somewhat more than an idle curiosity. "Blair?" Startled, Blair turned to see Jim standing on the path some distance behind him. For a moment he just stared, not quite willing to accept the evidence of his senses, but the tender confusion on Jim's face as he looked around was heartbreakingly familiar. "Jim," he said, moving toward him and taking hold of his arm in greeting. That arm felt warm, solid -- real. That in itself seemed odd in this place. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him that Jim would be here with him now. Jim was a Sentinel, after all, with more than a passing familiarity with the spirit world in his own right. And more than that, he was Blair's Sentinel, Blair's Blessed Protector. If Lucien had the power to drag unwilling others into the spirit plane to hunt them down and kill them, then Blair should be more than able to pull Jim along, willingly, to stand beside him. He was suddenly, overwhelmingly glad for Jim's presence as the night was suddenly split by a high-pitched, barking cry that sounded uncomfortably similar to a human scream. Tensing, he pressed closer to Jim's side, taking comfort in the tangible warmth of the body beside him. Somewhere in the darkness around them, a jackal was hunting. "What the hell was that?" Jim whispered. "Lucien's spirit animal." Blair was shivering uncontrollably now, and he was struck suddenly by the near irresistible urge to just let it go, to give up this foolish, self-imposed duty to defend the members of his tribe. He wanted desperately to just go home and make love to Jim until he couldn't remember his own name, much less the responsibilities laid on him by a dying shaman more than two years ago. But of course that was never truly an option. Blair's conscience forbade it, and he knew that he would never be able to live with himself if he turned his back on his duties now, and people died because of it. Jim had accepted his role as a protector of the Great City without hardly batting an eye; how could Blair do anything less? "You okay?" Jim asked softly, touching him lightly on the back. Blair leaned into the touch and looked up at him with solemn eyes. "I think so." He took a deep breath to steady himself, knowing Jim would never agree to let him face this trial alone, even if Blair insisted. The thought was warmly comforting, even though he knew it was highly possible that they would both die here. Blair's attention was caught by a silver shadow that flickered to life ahead of him on the path. He turned toward it, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the grey-furred wolf standing a cautious distance away, watching him. Its head was up, ears back, and as he watched, it whuffed softly. "Blair," Jim whispered, and Blair nodded. "I see it," he whispered back. He took a slow step forward, feeling a sense of calm steal over him. The appearance of his Spirit Guide seemed a very good omen, considering the circumstances. "Show me where Lucien is," he requested quietly, knowing that the decision was right the moment he made it. As a shaman, it was within his power to seek the aid of his spirit allies. It wasn't something that he had ever seriously considered before, and a shiver of excitement gripped him without regard for the direness of their circumstances when the wolf obeyed him. The wolf stepped off the edge of the path with a last look over its shoulder at them. Blair followed immediately, with Jim cursing softly under his breath and trailing close behind. At once, the darkness closed around them. Blair moved as silently as he could, ducking his head to avoid the low-hanging branches as he followed the ghostly form of the animal in front of him. He'd been to many different jungles during his career as an anthropologist, but none of them had ever possessed this kind of uncomfortable listening quality, as if the trees themselves were alive and watching him. The shadows around him were blue-tinged, and they seemed to swirl in shapes and textures that had little to do with the objects that cast them. It seemed that Blair walked for a very long time before he came to the edge of a deep gorge. The ground fell away in front of him, and at the very cusp of it, an enormous tree clawed savagely into the ground, its branches spreading out like a monstrous canopy above him, cutting off the sky. Blair stepped into its shadow cautiously, feeling a tingle move down his spine as he bent to slide his fingers through the soft dirt at his feet. "What is this place?" Jim asked, moving to stand behind him. Blair smiled softly, feeling the individual grains of dirt press between his fingers. "I think this is the World Tree, Jim." It was a common structure in accounts of shamanic journeys, a sort of connecting bridge between the Lower, Middle, and Upper Worlds. He couldn't keep the awe out of his voice as he said, "I've read narratives about it, but I never thought I'd actually see --" A low, coughing growl above him made him raise his head sharply, and Blair held himself very still as he watched the sleek form of a black jaguar make its way down through the branches of the tree to stand in front of him. He could feel Jim tense behind him, but he raised a hand to gesture that everything was all right. He wasn't sure why or how, but he knew this animal, too. "The Guide and the Guardian," Blair said softly, seeing the wolf and the jaguar standing side-by-side, and he almost thought that the jaguar smiled in response to his statement. The jaguar led him toward a large hole that had been bored in the side of the tree. Blair looked inside uncertainly, feeling an undeniable terror of the darkness that pulsed within. "Where does it lead?" Jim asked, leaning over his shoulder to take a tentative look inside. Blair was silent for a moment as he considered. "To the Lower World, would be my guess," he said at last, thinking back to what he knew of shamanic lore. "Is that where we're going to find Lucien?" Blair nodded, feeling the certainty of it move through him. "Yes." He bit his lip and glanced back at the other man, feeling a sudden spike of urgency. "And we have to hurry, Jim. He's... he's so full of pain and anger over his brother's death. He needs to kill. It's the only way he can think of to keep himself sane." The insight surprised him, but the wolf and the jaguar only blinked at him in calm acceptance as they waited to see what he would do next. Without stopping to rethink his decision, Blair reached up to grab one of the branches above his head and levered himself into the hole in the side of the tree, feet-first. To his surprise, there was a gently sloped tunnel leading down ahead of him. "Be careful," Jim said, sounding none too certain. Blair laughed nervously. "Believe me, Jim, being reckless here is not one of my plans." With a last brief glance at Jim, he let go of the branch and allowed himself to slide forward into the darkness. He seemed to fall for a very long time. He hit the bottom with a dull "oof" and rolled to a sitting position, looking around uncertainly. He was on the shore of a large lake now, with a brilliantly patterned night sky stretching overhead. Again, the stars seemed to be somewhat more than what they appeared, and he turned his eyes away from them hurriedly, feeling uncomfortable under their weighing gaze. Jim landed beside him a moment later, and Blair moved to stand by him gratefully. The sand around them was pale white, almost silver under the light of the stars. The waters of the lake were black as ink and curiously unreflective, lapping softly against the shore. There was a boat sitting on the shoreline nearby, as if waiting for them. Blair shared a long glance with Jim and then approached it cautiously. With only the barest of hesitations, he stepped into the narrow vessel and sat down. Jim followed immediately behind him, his brow furrowing as he stared out at the water around them. This is a strange poetry, Blair thought, in a line from a poem. He couldn't help but feel that everything he was seeing was symbolic in nature, and he just didn't have the training or the expertise to understand it. He reached for Jim's hand and held on tightly, drawing comfort from the tacit strength of the other man's grip, fortifying himself with the reality of his lover's presence. The boat was navigated across the lake by a tall man dressed in black, who seemed to appear out of nowhere once the boat began to move. Blair eyed him closely from where he sat at the aft end of the boat, wondering at the significance of it. Cultures across the world purported myths about mysterious men in black, who often fulfilled the role of a conductor between worlds. This particular "man" was so unremarkable inside the sweeping folds of his hood and robe, so completely without distinguishing characteristics of any kind, that he could not possibly be anything other than a walking metaphor. Where were the images in this spirit plane coming from, anyway, if not from Blair's own subconscious? For the first time, he wondered if Jim was seeing the same things that he was. The boat arrived at the opposite shore with a small bump. Blair glanced up nervously, knowing that in Greek mythology, there was often a fee required when one was punted across the river. But their mysterious host made no movement toward him, so Blair clambered out of the boat carefully and looked around curiously at their new surroundings. They appeared to be on an island of some sort, but it was like no island that Blair had ever seen before. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of ghostly shapes flitting around him, luminous under the light of the stars. They were wandering aimlessly, without purpose or direction, vague drifts of light among the shadows. Blair felt a deep-seated chill grip him as he realized where they were. "Where the hell are we, Blair?" Jim hissed softly, standing so close behind him that Blair could feel his breath wafting across his ear. "It's okay, Jim," he said, without taking his eyes away from the incredible sight in front of him. At least, he hoped it was okay. "These are souls, or at least parts of them." From the look on Jim's face, that would definitely require more elucidation. Taking a deep breath, he explained, "One of the primary tenets of shamanic belief is a type of psychological healing known as 'soul-retrieval'. It's believed that most forms of psychological imbalance are a result of soul loss, that we actually... lose pieces of ourselves during periods of trauma or extreme illness in our lives. It's said to be something we all suffer from, to one degree or another." He paused, drinking in the sight around him. Even he could hear the awe in his voice when he said, "I guess this is the place, symbolically speaking, where those lost pieces go." He could tell that Jim wasn't at all impressed by the lecture. "So what does that mean, exactly?" he said, sounding not at all happy about the situation. He pulled Blair back abruptly when one of the drifting souls wandered too close for comfort. "Well," -- Blair had to think about that for a moment -- "our Spirit Guides led us here for a reason, Jim. I did ask them to show us where Lucien is." The sound of a child crying distracted him, and he turned to focus on the shape of a young boy huddling at the edge of the water some distance away. Curious, Blair moved closer to get a better look. Jim followed close behind. "Hey," Blair said, dropping down to one knee beside the child. The boy looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and rubbed at his cheeks absently. "What's your name?" "Lucien," the boy replied, and for some reason, Blair didn't find this at all surprising. It made sense that the more innocent parts of himself that Lucien had lost -- the parts that didn't want to kill or hate -- would manifest as a child here. The strangest feeling began to fall over Blair then, and he blinked, seeing the child's image begin to blur in front of him. It wavered for a moment, like sunlight on water, and shifted into the outline of the jackal he'd seen earlier, then into the shape of Lucien the man. Then it was nothing but a child again, staring up at him with wide, solemn eyes. And suddenly, he knew this man. It wasn't just a vague feeling or a tentative supposition -- it was like he was suddenly inside his skin, looking out through his eyes. He saw the pain and horror that Lucien had felt when his parents died at a painfully young age, and the way his brother had then become parent, and friend, and the only family that he'd ever truly known. He saw the pride that Lucien had felt when he was discovered by the village's holy woman and taken on as her pupil to learn the way of the shaman, almost equal to the pride he'd felt when he made his first solo trek to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro to watch the sun rise over the roof of the world. Then watching the sun set, sitting at the old woman's bedside as she died, holding a deathwatch vigil while she passed on to him the charge to look after the people of their village, to watch over them, to serve them. To be their shaman. So much pride, and sorrow, pieces of himself falling away with each successive loss. Rage, hate, grief, fear, nothing at all the same as it was, and would never be again. Railing against the injustice of a world that would take so much away from him, family, teacher, brother, until nothing mattered except setting that pain to rest, in the only way he knew how. Even if it meant the loss of everything else that he still held dear. Blair gasped and opened his eyes, unaware that he had closed them. Jim's hands were warm on his shoulders, steadying him against the vision that shuddered through him. "Jim," he whispered, unsure what he was trying to say, but before he could get his shattered thoughts in order, a dark shadow fell over him, cutting off the light from the stars. He shot to his feet and whirled, his heart pounding. Immediately, Jim moved in front of him, half-shielding him with his body, but Blair laid a hand on his arm and gently pushed him aside. This wasn't Jim's battle to fight; not this time. Lucien stood on the beach some distance away, and Blair knew without question that this time, he was the real thing. Not a shadow image or a dream or a hallucination brought to life by Blair's fears of giving in to the responsibilities that had been imposed on him. He was watching Blair closely, although in the darkness, little could be seen of his expression aside from the echoing blackness of his eyes and the dark slash of his mouth. Blair shivered, feeling the immense power emanating from him. Did Jim feel it? Lucien had spent the greater part of his life making journeys through the spirit plane; he was familiar with all its many vagaries, had made his peace with his own horde of spirit allies, had performed his fair share of miracles. And Blair was just a shaman-wannabe, untrained and untested, terrified, lost, and completely out of his league. Dear God, they were going to die here. "Lucien," he said, wiping damp palms across the front of his shirt and wondering just how the hell he was still able to sweat here in the spirit realm. That shouldn't be allowed, no matter how realistic his subconscious was trying to make the experience for him. He knew immediately that Lucien had no intention of listening to anything that he had to say. Blair could hear the echo of the jackal's callous cry in the far distance, and it chilled him. He had made it clear in no uncertain terms that if Lucien wanted to continue on his mission of vengeance to take the lives of the men he felt had wronged him, then he would have to get through Blair first. Just his luck that Lucien was the type to take him up on it. That was about all he had the time to consider before the world exploded. Blair screamed as he was caught up inside of a whirlwind of light and sound, assaulted from all sides by a power so intense that his mind couldn't encompass the scope of it. The world seemed to break apart and crumble around him, like water thrown on a child's sand castle, changing, shifting, unreal becoming real around him. The horror of that was worse than the pain, worse than the fear, and he felt the edges of madness press up around him, gibbering insanely for his attention, fighting to claw its way to him through the violent storm of rage and fear and vicious hate that railed against him. Blair! He realized suddenly that Jim was here with him, oh God oh God oh God, no, not here, not in this place, because Jim couldn't die, couldn't die this way, and Blair tried shoving him away, to get him out of here, away from here, but Jim was holding onto him with a strength that Blair found unbelievable and refused to let him go. Jim... And suddenly he was in the fountain again, struggling for air, desperate for it, lost and terrified and alone, black water rising up around him, cutting off the light, cutting off the world, locking him away inside the prison of his own unimaginable terror. Blair screamed again, and tasted water, thick and dark and bitter... NO! This couldn't be happening, couldn't be happening, couldn't be real. The water that entombed him tasted like defeat, like despair, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight against it; he'd thought that he could face Lucien down, but he couldn't, there was no way he was strong enough to be able to do this. It seemed the grossest of arrogance suddenly to have ever thought that he could. This was his own private nightmare, and oh God oh God it was real, his lungs were burning, it was really happening, and nothing that he could do would be enough to save him. Light. Desperately, Blair swam for it, kicking out against the unseen hands that tried to drag him down. From somewhere distant, he could hear a jaguar screaming, and it was a vicious, angry sound. The sound brought with it memories of a light, a blinding light that had saved him the last time he had been in this place, when the jaguar and the wolf had raced together through the trees and fused together in a moment of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that blazed brighter than the sun. It had been a moment of sublime epiphany for him, and for that one moment, everything had seemed clear, and he'd felt as if finally, all of his questions had at last found answers. A strong hand closed around his, pulling him free from the clinging grasp of the water, and Blair sucked in great lungfuls of air, cringing from the explosion of lights that sparkled in front of his eyes as the world snapped back into focus around him. Jim's arms closed around him, holding him close, and Blair huddled in their warm shelter gladly, gasping for breath as if he'd never tasted air before. It was warm here in Jim's embrace, and Blair found himself reaching out for Jim, holding onto him, feeding off of the love that poured out of him, the trust, the faith. Faith. Blair looked up into eyes that were bluer than the bluest sky he had ever seen. You're not alone. They were an echo of words that Jim had said to him earlier, but they seemed so much more profound now. They were words that Blair had ached to hear his entire life, but only here, in this place, did he understand their true meaning. He stared, wide-eyed, enraptured by the emotion he saw burning in Jim's eyes, and thought of all the things that Jim had ever been to him: lover, friend, partner, Sentinel, guardian. What more could it possibly take to lean on him now, and trust him in this as well? The storm raged around them. Blair could feel Lucien's fury, hot as a sun, sharp as the rain and the wind that lashed against them, blocking out the stars. Dear God, there was no way they could fight this, no weapon that they could raise against the powers that were being invoked here. They were going to die. Blair knew that, felt it in the deepest parts of him. But still he refused to give up, refused to give in. The souls of the island were spinning in a vicious whirlwind around him, spinning, dizzying, trying to make him give up the fight and let himself drift apart to join them, leeching the heat from his body with every moment that passed. Blair let his eyes drift closed for a second, just a second, red and blue and green and every other color in the rainbow crashing, converging in his head, exploding, burning, unraveling -- Then he forced his eyes to open and made a deliberate effort to let go of his fear, let go of his doubt, let go of the guilt that told him he wasn't competent to defend the people he had been charged to protect. Jim believed in him, after all. Jim had faith in him. Blair took a deep breath, and then another, in and out, in, out, concentrating his whole being on the force of that one, simple action, letting it focus his thoughts as the storm raged on around him. He tipped his head back against Jim's shoulder, letting Jim's heat seep into him, feeling the rain spill down his cheeks with the warmth of tears as Jim's arms slid tight around him. Feeling more at peace than he had since this entire wild adventure had begun, Blair opened himself up to the storm of souls and broken pieces of dreams that wailed around him, trusting Jim to keep him grounded. Through it all, he couldn't stop thinking of the child that Lucien had been, the child that he'd seen crying at the edge of the beach, lost, broken, cast aside in the wake of a darker ambition. For all his power, for all his hate, Lucien was only a boy who had wandered from his path, and gotten lost in the darkness. And Blair, as a shaman, was in the business of healing souls. Steeling himself, Blair reached through the storm for the one soul that he knew he would recognize: that solemn, dark child with the solemn, dark eyes. The child who had been charged with so much more than he ever imagined, been placed on paths that he'd never thought he would see. The child who was being eaten alive by guilt because of his brother's death, because he hadn't been able to save him, should have been able to save him, because he was a shaman and it was his duty to protect his people, to keep them safe, but now his brother was dead and it was his fault. His fault, because he was a shaman and he should have been able to save him, when he hadn't even been able to protect his people from the theft of their most sacred possessions. Oh, God... it felt like being devoured alive, like being swept up inside the funnel of a world-sized tornado, like being born. The force of it shuddered through him, and Blair swayed, gasping, but Jim's arms were tight as life around him, clinging to him with a strength that seemed half desperation and half righteous fury. The wind screamed around him, but impossibly, something in that storm of souls seemed to answer him. Blair had no earthly idea of how to go about reuniting a lost soul with the body it had once inhabited, but all at once, the knowledge was there, pressing at the edges of his mind. He closed his eyes and let it flow through him, feeling the oddly inexplicable awareness of another heart beating inside his own, another breath echoing through him. Even as he struggled to understand what was happening to him, he realized that what he felt was something completely apart from him or Jim or Lucien or the storm of souls that raged around them. He gasped as the mysterious presence moved out of him, through him, enveloping Lucien's child-soul and dragging it inexorably down into the vengeful form of the furious and guilt-torn man before them. It was a shock when the storm ended abruptly, and everything went suddenly, impossibly still. Blair swayed and would have fallen if Jim's arms hadn't been tight around him, holding him upright. It took him a moment to realize that it was over, that the storm was gone as if it had never been, and it took him longer still to focus on the narrow shape on the beach in front of them. It was Lucien. But this was a different Lucien than Blair remembered. He was thinner, diminished somehow, without the aura of banked power that had so terrified Blair at the start of their encounter. His eyes were wide against the dark skin of his face, and he stared at Blair with an expression of pure amazement. It was a feeling that Blair more than echoed. Quite honestly, he couldn't believe that he was still alive. Panting heavily, he leaned back against Jim's chest, clinging to him tightly. Jim curled protectively around him, holding him, and Blair concentrated on the feel of that familiar and beloved warmth against him, trying to fight back the tears that wanted to wrack through him as he tried desperately to understand what had just happened. "No more." Blair couldn't tell whether it was a plea or a promise. He was never quite sure which of the three of them had spoken. It was then that Blair realized Lucien's gaze was fixed on something beyond him, and he turned, hearing his breath catch as he noticed the silver fox standing behind them on the white sand of the beach. Blair straightened abruptly, feeling an inexplicable sense of epiphany tease at the edges of his consciousness, and watched as the animal stepped forward around them. The edges of its fur caught the light from the stars, as if it were in reality nothing other than a star itself. For a reason he couldn't explain, Blair thought of the presence he'd felt when he'd successfully made contact with Lucien's lost soul. The moment the fox stepped into view, all of the fight seemed to drain out of Lucien. His expression segued into one of shocked betrayal, and he sank to the ground in an exhausted slump, his eyes shining too bright in the darkness. "Why?" he whispered, without taking his gaze from the fox, and the bitter defeat in the word made Blair tremble in anguished sympathy. He tightened his grip on Jim's arms and felt tears sting his eyes, without knowing why. He watched with a feeling of profound wonder as the fox changed into the stoop-shouldered form of an old woman. For all the woman's apparent frailty, however, there was a feeling of immense power that emanated from her, shining in cold, near-visible waves out of her dark-skinned form. Her eyes were clear and solemn as she made her way to Lucien's side. One bony hand went to rest on Lucien's bent shoulder in a curiously maternal gesture, and he bowed under it, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and rocking gently. At that moment, he looked like nothing more than a young child being brought to task by a disappointed elder. The old woman turned to look at Blair and nodded slightly, as if thanking him for services rendered. He couldn't shake the odd feeling that he knew her somehow, and it took him a moment to realize that this was the woman from Lucien's vision. The one who had trained him, and instructed him in the path that he was to follow. "You chose well," the old shaman told him, but whether she was referring to Blair's choice of guardians or his decision to confront Lucien was not clear. She smiled approvingly at him, and her expression was gentle. "Thank you," Blair said, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. He couldn't help feeling that if he tried, he might almost understand what was happening here. The woman turned away from him then and very carefully drew Lucien to his feet. Lucian followed her direction wordlessly, looking utterly defeated. Whatever battle he had been attempting to wage here had been undeniably lost. Blair tried to feel happy about that, but the best he could manage was to feel tired, and sad for reasons that he couldn't quite explain. Jim held onto him tightly as Lucien and the old woman walked away down the curve of the beach, their forms growing steadily dimmer as they got farther and farther away. Overhead, the stars shone brightly, twinkling softly against the darkness of the night. "What the hell just happened here, Chief?" Jim asked quietly, tightening his arms around Blair's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder, as if needing to feel for himself that Blair was still in one piece. Blair didn't answer for a long moment. "Damned if I know," he said at last, feeling an uncomfortable shiver pass through him. Whatever had just occurred, he was more than happy to leave Lucien in someone else's hands. The dream started to unravel around him then, and he let it, giving in to the dull, homing tug of the feelings within him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the couch in the living room of the loft, with Jim spooned up tight behind him. Warm sunlight streamed headily in through the balcony windows, startling him for a moment as he tried to figure out just how long he and Jim had been under. The candles in front of him had burned very low. Jim's breath was warm behind his ear. When Blair turned to look at him, he saw a haunted, almost shell-shocked expression on the other man's face. Immediately, he reached to cup Jim's cheek in his palm and kissed him lightly on the lips. "We did it, Jim," he murmured, not sure yet just what they had accomplished, but determined to soothe the fear and uncertainty he saw flickering in his Sentinel's gaze. Jim's troubled expression did not ease. Dropping his hand to Jim's shoulder, Blair squeezed lightly and said the only thing he could think of to reassure him. "It was real, Jim. Whatever you saw while you were in there, it was real." Jim's eyes finally focused on his face, and he nodded slightly. "I know," he whispered, and he tightened his arms around Blair, pressing their cheeks together. His voice turned slightly hoarse as he repeated the words. "I know." Blair couldn't begin to think how difficult it must be for Jim to accept the fact that he'd shared in an honest-to-God shamanic journey. Jim was a man who lived his life according to the rules of the strictly tangible, and it had to be a vicious blow to have that solid ground pulled out from under him. With all that they'd seen over the past several years, with everything they'd experienced, it was impossible not to accept that there was something larger than both of them out there. But still, Jim's first instinct was to cling to the comfort and solidity of the world he knew. And yet he had gone, for Blair, and he hadn't turned away from his decision once it had been made. Not even when they were faced with a near-fatal assault from a world that he could barely bring himself to admit the existence of. It would require a great deal of further processing for Jim to feel comfortable with any of it, if he ever did. It was something that Blair wasn't sure he'd ever truly feel comfortable with himself. Blair twisted sideways so that he could lean his head on Jim's shoulder, letting his breath out in a long sigh. "Thank you," he whispered, knowing that Jim would understand exactly what he meant. He smiled when Jim's fingers slid his hair back away from his neck, making him shiver where they brushed across his skin. Jim pressed a kiss to the side of Blair's face, holding him as if he were the most precious gift that he had ever been given. His breath was warm and soft as it wafted across Blair's ear. "Any time, Chief." Blair could hear the sincerity in his voice. Whatever personal demons he might be wrestling with, there was no doubt that Jim had no regrets about any of it. And in Blair's book, that meant that all was right with the world. Jim watched as Blair settled back on the couch and fluffed a pillow behind him, looking up at him expectantly. Jim paused for a moment before hanging up the phone and then moved to join him. "That was Simon," he said, shifting his gaze away from Blair's curious gaze as he perched tensely on the edge of the couch beside him. "Lucien was found dead in his cell late this morning. There was no apparent cause of death." Blair swallowed visibly. "What about Mike and the others?" "They're fine, considering. They're still facing an investigation into their actions in Tanzania, and the negotiations for the artifacts they brought back with them are being frozen until further notice. But they're still alive, if that's what you're asking." He winced at the coldness in his tone, knowing that it stemmed from his own deep-seated reluctance to examine the supposed facts of this case too closely. Fortunately, Blair didn't take offense. Blair nodded. "You know," he said, settling back against the arm of the couch thoughtfully, "despite everything he did, I can't help feeling sorry for Lucien. I mean, he lost everything, and he went a little nuts because of it. First he lost his parents, then his mentor, and then these people -- our people -- waltzed on in and took away the only family that he had left. Sure, it may have been an accident, but what they did was still wrong, you know?" Jim wished that he could share Blair's magnanimous views, but found that he could not. The fact remained that four members of his city were dead, who had not been dead before. And Lucien had killed them. No matter the difficulties he might have in explaining the hows and the wherefores of it, he was very certain of that fact. It didn't help any that he saw far too much of himself in Lucien. What extremes would he have gone to in order to avenge the death of someone he cared about? Blair, for instance? The thought made him extremely uncomfortable, and he hurriedly turned away from it. Outside the living room windows, the afternoon sun was shining brightly for the first time in over a week. Despite the deluge of the past few days, it looked as if they might be in for a bit of an Indian summer. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what happened, Chief," Jim said quietly, fixing his gaze on the panoramic view beyond the balcony outside. "But Simon's going to be expecting some kind of closure on this thing." He paused, but decided that Blair deserved the fullest amount of honesty that he could give him. "And I honestly wouldn't mind some kind of an explanation myself." "I can't explain what happened, Jim, any better than you can." Blair seemed curiously un-upset by this. "But what I think happened is that when Lucien made the decision to go after Eisner and the others, he abandoned the people in the village that he'd sworn to protect. He went AWOL, so to speak. And the shaman who'd trained him, who passed that trust on to him, didn't approve." "You mean the old lady. The one who turned into a fox." Jim was rather proud of the fact that he didn't sound too condescending when he said it. He'd seen his share of odd things since he'd become a Sentinel, and he wasn't about to dismiss anything out of hand -- but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Yeah." Blair leaned back and propped his feet up on Jim's lap, smiling slightly. "It's one of the things I'm starting to learn about the spirit world, Jim. Everything there is a... a metaphor. It's like trying to decipher the language of dreams. There isn't a strict rulebook on how to go about it; sometimes you just have to trust your instincts." "And the fact that this woman had already died several years ago has no bearing on your logic whatsoever, does it?" Jim ran a hand across his face and let his breath out slowly. After a moment, he said, "Okay, so let's say I'm willing to buy this. That would mean that she... what? Decided to tag along with you -- spiritually speaking -- until you decided to confront her wayward pupil?" Blair nodded. "I think that's exactly what happened. And Lucien sensed her somehow, without realizing she was there. That's why he thought I was so very powerful, and why I kept having those terrible visions. She was trying to warn me, Jim. She wanted me to go after him, because for whatever reason, she couldn't confront him herself. She needed me to run a soul-retrieval on him, to lure him down into the Lower World where he could meet up with the missing parts of himself. It's a very common procedure in shamanic medicine, although it usually isn't done against another shaman. And definitely not against his will." He shuddered lightly, remembering. "Why you?" Jim's tone was dubious. "Of all the shamans that have to exist in this city, why in hell did she choose you?" "Who knows?" Blair shrugged. "Maybe she somehow sensed my connection to the university, or to the police department, and deduced that I'd have a better chance of tracking Lucien down than someone who didn't know anything about what was going on. Maybe it's the whole Sentinel thing, because we already have such a strong connection to the spirit world -- and to each other -- and she knew it would take the two of us to stand up against him." Jim sighed, rubbing his eyes. "It's a lot to swallow, Chief." "I know. Believe me, I know." Blair ran his fingers back through his hair and tipped his head back against the top of the couch. "And I don't think we're ever going to know for sure what really happened. I mean, any way you look at it, the spirit world is a place that you're going to come away from with more questions than you started out with. It's the nature of the beast, Jim." "Then what good is it?" The frustration in his voice had a bitter ring to it. Blair laughed shortly. "Well," he said, after considering for a moment, "Lucien's dead, isn't he? And we're still alive." There wasn't really any argument that Jim could raise against that. Instead, he reached for Blair and pulled him close, needing to feel the reality of him after the terrifying visions of the... dream... they'd shared. He buried his face in Blair's hair and inhaled deeply to savor the scent of him, settling them both back against the corner of the couch. "I'm just glad you're all right," he said, and sighed as he felt Blair's body relax against him. "Though the next time someone decides that it's your God-given duty to save the world, I wish that they'd at least ask first." Blair snuggled closer, settling himself in comfortably against Jim's side with the well-practiced ease of a cat. "Believe me, Jim, it's not something I plan on doing again anytime soon," he said, chuckling softly. Then he sobered, and when he spoke next, his voice was very serious. "'Like all of us in this storm between life and death, we can wreak no great changes on the world -- only small changes for the better, we can hope, to leave the mark of our passing.'" He sounded as if he were quoting. "Hemmingway?" Jim guessed, enjoying the warmth of the body in his arms. He rubbed his cheek slowly against Blair's hair, not really caring what the reference was. Blair tipped his head back and grinned up at him. "Dean Koontz," he replied, his eyes sparking impishly. "Not all the great wisdom of our time comes from classic literature." "Brat." Jim leaned down to kiss him then, completely unable to resist the face that looked up at him with such tender contentment at being inside his embrace. No matter what marks Blair ended up leaving on the world, the marks that he'd left on this modern-day Sentinel were deeply rooted and irreversible. They were bound together by more than just their experiences, more than just a common secret or a common goal in life. They were both sworn guardians of this city, held to their task by a power that Jim didn't understand and probably never would. But the bond between them went far deeper than that, soul-deep, deep to the parts of them that answered to the names Jim and Blair, not Sentinel and shaman. And for that he was eternally grateful. And even as he allowed himself to drift into the comfort -- the rightness -- of holding this man in his arms, Jim had to admit to himself that the things they'd encountered so far in their lives were probably nothing compared to what they had yet to face. Because the truth was, they had both chosen the more difficult path from the ones that had been presented before them. But at least they would not be traveling those paths alone. Epilogue: The night was not night anymore; that was the first thing he noticed. The sky was ablaze with a myriad of silver lights, brilliant against the black backdrop that stood behind them. And that blackness had form to it, and texture, and dimension... As if the night itself had come alive, and grown into something new, something extraordinary. It seemed a place where dreams could become real. This was a place he had been to many times before, at the edge of the jungle where the land met the sky. It was believed to be a place at the juncture of two worlds -- land and sky, earth and air. The delineation between the two was as sharp and unambiguous as that found on the earliest nautical maps, where the sea at the edges of the world fell away into an eternal abyss, marked only by the legend, Here there be monsters. He watched in silent awe as one of the stars detached from that great backdrop of living, breathing night and descended slowly to meet him. He lifted his face to it, feeling somewhat like a child trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. That was the feeling he got from this place, that kind of innocence, and the thought made him smile slightly. Perhaps, after everything, it wasn't too late for him after all. I dreamed of you, he said, and the fallen star shimmered in fond amusement, hovering like a 2,000-watt speck of brilliance in front of his face. Its light pushed back the darkness that pressed around him, and for a moment he thought he saw another, more familiar, form encased within it. Of course you did, it said to him, and there was laughter in its voice. The comment brought with it a stab of remembered pain, and he looked away, unable to stand the brightness any longer. Around him, darkness and light mingled in dreamy ecstasy, and he thought about how well they complemented each other, how one could not exist without the other. But did I do right? he whispered. There was silence for a long while then, and he froze, waiting for the words that would condemn him. It was no more than he deserved, he knew, but even so, the pain cut deep. And then, with a soft flicker of starfire, the light replied. Go find out. There was no condemnation in the words, for which he was grateful. Only sorrow, and loss, and even that was chased through by an echo of quiet joy. Because he was here, finally, in this place that was end and beginning both. Yes, he said, and he smiled, feeling an echo of that joy shiver through him. He lifted his face to the night once again, letting his eyes sweep over that glorious vista of star-filled sky, and knew that he had at last come home. And then there was nothing but the light.