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[Scar]

---

Things had changed little in Papua, Scar noted. There were a few repaired buildings in the town, but most everything was as he had left it. His Cu Sidhe mount got fearful glances from the locals, as it always had, yet no one spoke a word to him, good or ill.

He had returned to Stonegate, spoken with Merci and Myrddin. They had welcomed his return, listened to his sad tale, and had been empathetic to his need for answers. They had bidden him good fortune in finding out what he could in Papua about his long disappearance.

He rode to his former office at the Pier 39 building, dismissed his ethereal pet, and walked into the room. Once inside he removed his hood and mempo, to reveal his face.

"M'lord Scar?!" Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. Their faces were an odd mix of surprise, dread, and horror, without a hint of elation.

"Kendrick, isn't it?" he replied, focusing his gaze upon a raven-haired, mustachioed man who wore a clean brown doublet and breeches---considered overdressed in Papua.

Kendrick nodded. He quickly composed himself, forced a smile, and rushed over to Scar to offer a friendly handshake, which Scar accepted.

The names of the others came quickly to mind: Doris, Niola, and Reebdoog, the current town councilors. They, too, rediscovered their wits and manners and approached him kindly, welcoming him back.

"Where have you been, m'lord?" Reebdoog inquired. "We searched all over for you for months, to no avail." His face belied no deception.

"That is what I mean to find out," he stated. "I am only now able to remember anything clearly. I want to make a thorough investigation... and it will start here, with you all." He sat down in a stone chair while the three of them gathered in front of him. "Now, tell me, with whom did you see me last... and where?"

Doris spoke up first. "I saw you at the Inn the day you disappeared. You were having dinner."

"Alone?"

"I don't think so. There was that fellow who used to be here... what was his name?" She paused to think.

"Malthrax," Reebdoog interjected. "I hated the fellow. He was quite the character. A good-for-nothing lout, as far as I could tell."

The mention of that name opened vistas of memories for Scar. It was as if enormous portions of his past life, events buried deeply, suddenly exploded in his mind all at once. "Malthrax," he muttered.

"Aye, he disappeared about the same time you did," Reebdoog continued. "He came back though, for a short while, asking if we'd seen you. When we began questioning him, he got jittery. He took off and hasn't been back since."

"We went through the things he left behind at the Inn, though, and we kept them. Would you like to see it?" Doris added.

"Yes, show me."

She hurried away to collect the items held at the bank vault.

Scar stood and began pacing. He recalled his activities with Malthrax, of the events in Delucia and Yew, how he seemed unable to resist the man's insistent commands. On the one hand, he remembered him as a friend and confidant, but the feelings now toward him were different---there was an underlying revulsion at the thought of him.

Doris returned with a knapsack. It was filled with empty potion bottles, a few articles of clothing and an assortment of what appeared to be vials of spices or reagents, some he could not readily identify. Scar sniffed each of them. "Utopia," he muttered. "Or something akin to it. He drugged me... kept me doped up so he could... force me to do his bidding." Scar had to suppress a feral snarl.

"I told you we should have arrested him!" Reebdoog blurted out, looking at the others, mainly Kendrick. "I told you he was up to no good!"

"Yes, you should have, but what's done is done," Scar commented. "Just be sure if you see him again, do it! I will make a search for him myself, but I now place a bounty of fifty-thousand gold on his head. Make sure he is alive. He has a lot of explaining to do to me." He sat back down. "In the meantime, fill me in on what I have missed."

[Scar]

---

"I tell you it's him!" Bruno said to his half-drunken cohort who slouched, rather than sat, on a stool beside him at the bank in Delucia. "He's the one in the picture! There's gold on his head!" he continued to foolishly implore, hoping to spurn his friend on to lay hands with him on the wanted man. He stuck the drawing of the wanted poster in front of his face for emphasis.

Eyeing them for across the room stood, what in all appearances of clothing and general cleanliness would be a manual laborer, a ditch-digger perhaps. He wanted to go and knock both their heads together, to shut them up. He was certain with the one's bellowing, his quarry would overhear and increase his cautiousness. He decided it was time to leave and report to his employer.

Nearby was Malthrax the Mad, making a small transaction at the bank. Since the loss of his "pet" he had been on the run mostly. He foolishly ventured back to Papua a few months ago, hoping to discover his friend and resume control of him. Instead he was met by the authorities and arrested, though he did manage to escape with nothing more than a thorough grilling by one of them. He swore vengeance on the town and was now in a position to fulfill it. He took up residence in Delucia, a place with which he was quite familiar. To keep a low profile, he began wearing a mask, only taking it off to prove who he was to the vault keeper of the bank. Despite all his caution, however, there were times when his face could be in view momentarily.

"If tha's 'im, why dassn't th'thorities.. keeper.. raise alarm?" the drunk man, Bruno's friend, argued, wiping the ale off his lips with his sleeve. "Canna the' see 'is face's th' same as th' piccher?"

As if his reasoning made sense, Bruno plopped the poster down on his leg and tried to unravel wrinkles in it, trying to make sure they weren't the cause of his misidentification. "Nah!" he grumbled. "They're just blind is all! It's him. I'd bet my life on it."

Malthrax overheard that portion of the man's ravings. He turned and walked slowly toward them, stopping just in front of them. "Just who do you think I am, you drunken oafs?"

The drunk fellow frowned, then belched loudly and pointing to his friend. "I dinno... e's the ravin' one, not me," he blurted, then laid his head on the table.

Bruno was a big fellow and not easily frightened, but the sight of the blood red hooded cloak and mask did unnerve him slightly. "I say you're the scoundrel on this picture!" he said, standing up, showing it to him.

"Malthrax the Mad?" He laughed out loud a moment then stopped as suddenly as he started. "If I were he, you'd be dead by now!" he hissed. "Here, take these," he said, placing a bag on the table. "A bit of ale I had left over from a party. It's all yours," he said as he turned away toward the door.

Shocked, but mildly elated, Bruno opened the bag and pulled out one of the bottles. "This ain't ale!" he said, staring at the oddly shaped bottle. He could hear the man's laughter fading in the distance. "Why you slimy weasel!," he cursed. Then his temper got the better of him and he shattered the bottle on the floor in his rage.

Even from a good running distance, Malthrax could feel the pressure wave of the explosion and the heat of the flames that shot outward and upward from the bank. He grinned and hurried on his way.

[Scar]

---

Malthrax beat a hasty retreat to his current refuge: the Savage kin fort north of Delucia. For several months he had been living among them, having applied their face paint to assure them he was friendly. He convinced a Shaman to imbibe his special brew and she fell under his control much as Scar had done. It was easy after that to bring many of the others under his power. Those who had resisted were slain. His intentions were to remain there, protected by the savages, while he made more of the powder. Eventually he hoped to have enough warriors under his control to march upon Papua, to kill and destroy.

But the spy at the bank had escaped with the valuable information of his whereabouts and reported to his master Scar. As soon as he heard this he went and informed the Wolf King who agreed to muster the Clan to go in search of the madman.

Scar decided to venture alone into the lands above Papua, whilst the Clan fanned out from Delucia.

It wasn't long until they came upon the fort and spotted the red-robed man. Seeing them with weapons drawn, Malthrax cried out to his erstwhile allies to protect him and kill the intruders while he sought means to escape.

It was to no avail. The savages were no match for the steel and magic of the Clan, nor its ferocity; they were cut down like wheat. Malthrax tried feebly to defend himself, but he fell quickly also.

Inside the fort's quarters they came upon his journal which described in detail his dealings with Scar and the natives, along with a small supply of the powder. They gathered it up, signaled to Scar and met at last at the Mead Hall in Stonegate.

Scar was free of the madman who had tried to destroy his life, to make him his Lycan slave. Together they had saved Papua from yet another threat. There was great cause to celebrate. A new chapter in his life had now begun---among his people, his kind, his Clan---Stonegate. ~ finis ~

[Merci d'Rue]

---

She could say confidently that Stonegate had now been tested as no other clan surely could be. Nothing could be worse, then trusted members going mad and attacking one another.

Her and Willow were indeed guilty parties. Yet the words she heard brought her great discomfort as she couldnt quite understand Blue Lotus's role in things. Differing stories abounded, and Merci was certain that chaos had taken over. Only a few had retained a piece of mind and pulled the clan thru such a troubling time.

Myrddin, ever the King and that which tied them firmly to the ground had focused and suceeded.
Quinn, Scar, and Rythane had remained strong and thought quickly on thier feet giving Myrddin the much needed support, protecting the king from several attacks and threats to his person, even from their own, Merci, and their allies the Lotus.

While Merci and willow had very clearly been out of thier minds with crystal poisoning, it was uncertain what had prompted the Lotus's attack on Stonegate, and capture and detainment of Quinn when her clan sorely needed her.

Crickette and Mei seemed to be the unwitting innocents caught up in what many call, friendly fire. It had become hard to differentiate between who was mad, and whom was helping.

What does one learn from this? Do not aid those who do not ask for it, was certainly one, perhaps Stonegate's loyalty and wish to aid thier allies had grown far to close.

The Lotus and Stonegate had always had different customs but at one time thier core beliefs had always been the same. Was it possible both clans had changed? Were these changes so vast, and loyalties weakening? Was Merci the last tie between the clans, and was this tie without Bishimi around, becoming ineffective.

She still felt the same as ever, that she would sacrifice her life for that of Stonegate or Blue Lotus's well being. However, it had quickly became apparent that Blue Lotus may not hold the same devotions.

What of her children that lived upon Tokuno soil?

Perhaps time and space were needed, While she had hoped that this problem would strengthen ties with thier allies in Tokuno and bring new understanding with those of Ashencrosse, it was fast becoming apparent that it was doing just the opposite. So with that Merci's focus shifted, and her natural protective instincts came forwad. Her clan was and always would be most important and she would fight to her dying breath for them.

Stonegate had plans soon to leave Malas, and she was rather glad that at last, this ordeal was over for her people that they could look with new eyes and new horizons upon Trammel...Very soon.
_________________
May destiny guide you...

[Scar]

---

Scar sat atop his small tower as snowflakes swirled about. Many alighted upon him. Yet their icy touch did not chill him, nor did they remotely quench the heat of the seething anger that swelled within him. He was healing from his wounds quickly, as he knew he would, and though they would leave no permanent mark upon him, those that had been carved into his heart from the blades and arrows of his supposed allies, indeed had.

He had awakened from a long slumber, a hibernation of sorts. He recalled settling down for a winter's nap and waking up to a remote summons, one that he believed could only have come from either Merci or his liege, Myrddin, the Wolf King. Much time had passed... months, in fact, and it had greatly affected his movement. His limbs were stiff; he could barely grip his shield and sword, but he knew the summons had to be answered.

It was the Wolf King who had indeed called out to him, and he had met with him and a few others of the Clan to discuss events that were all new to him---green crystals which had apparently poisoned members of the Clan. Some had found their way to Tokuno, and that was where the King sent them.

Once there, they encountered golems apparently made from the crystals, and their masters, humans it seemed, immediately perceived them as enemies, or a threat at least, and unleashed their minions upon them. The battles were short, but had been long enough for him to realize how low his combat skills had fallen. He therefore elected to remain in wolf form, to utilize his hunting skills, as he prowled the streets of Zento looking for more of the creatures.

It was then that things went south.

Soldiery from Tokuno, Blue Lotus as it turned out to be, set upon them for no apparent reason. Several arrows or bolts struck him before he could react. His first instinct was to attack, but he held back. Confused and wounded, when he finally did defend himself, it was too late... he could not, even if he were at his best, hope to match their skill with weapons, armor, and their superb teamwork. He fell, incapacitated, and had to lay there until he recovered slowly from his wounds.

Returning to meet with the Wolf King to report, the situation became even more bewildering... Clan members approached with more of the golems defying their Liege... two Blue Lotus warriors arrived... there were words, confusion, combat... casualties.

As images of the evening's events flowed through his mind, he could take solace in only one thing, something he had learned through a newly acquired experience, one of embarrassment, blood, and pain---never, ever, trust the Tokunese, allies or not.

[Deminatza]

---

A hooded stranger wanders into the tavern, taking an empty seat at the bar. Their gaze sweeps through the faces of the patrons a moment, before turning their attention to the barkeep that is walking towards them.

"What can I get you stranger?"

They pulled the hood and cloak closer to their person.

"I'll have wine please."

The barkeep nods, takes out a goblet and begins to pour a deep red liquid into it and hands it to them.

"I also am looking for someone, I was hoping you could help me," the strangers asks. "I am searching for someone by the name of Scaramandine. Have you seen him or know someone who can point me in the direction of locating him?"

A silk gloved hand lifts the goblet to its owner's lips, samples the wine, then rests it back on the counter, patiently waits for an answer from either the barkeep or other ears that may have been listening.

[Scar]

---

The freezing winds chilled him to the bone as he hurried to the front steps of the small tower in Malas. It was no simple matter for Spyte to find his former colleague (who paid very well for important information), Scar, since Papua was very, very, far away. That he went from humid, jungle, heat to freezing snow and ice, was, for him, quite an intolerable contrast... yet, for the reward, he braved it.

He knocked on the door and a voice entreated him to enter. Scar was seated at a table, eating some kind of meat. "Spyte! Do come in! What brings you here old friend?"

Closing the door, Spyte stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together. Unbidden, he sat down at the table, eyeing carefully whatever consumables that lay upon it, noting those he preferred.

"Help yourself," Scar invited. "The ale is excellent."

Spyte nodded. "Unlike Papuan," he scowled. The jungle swill tasted more like jungle sweat to his discerning palate. He had to import what he liked most.

"To what do I owe the honor of your company?"

"News, m'lord... news. There is a woman..."

At that word, Scar lit up. "Look! I have not been there in months and I assure you I have not slept with..."

Spyte laughed and waved him away. "No, no! It isn't that! There is a woman who has been asking around for you. Not only in Papua but all over, I hear tell."

"So?"

"Well, this one..." He formed shapely curves in the air with his chilled hands, which he followed with a promiscuous grin. "You will NOT want to miss!"

"That so? Does this beauty have a name?"

"Aye... I think I heard her give it as Deminatza. I told her I would help her, but did not mention anything specific... I wanted to talk to you first."

Though he seldom showed any visible expressions of emotion, Scar could not conceal it upon hearing the name. He recovered quickly, though not in time for Spyte to miss it. He reached behind him and fumbled through a bag. The tinkling of coins brought a certain covetous wideness to Spyte's red-rimmed eyes. Scar hefted a leather pouch on the table and plunked it down in front of his informant. "Tell her I will meet with her at the Inn in Papua tonight... the rising of the 6th western star."

Spyte grabbed the back and rose to his feet, eager to be away from this icy hell. "Good as done, m'lord. He saluted and fairly fled the scene.

"Demi..." Scar muttered. "Where in the world have you been?"

[Deminatza]

---

The barkeep was kind enough to offer her lodging for the night. As she got ready for bed, her thoughts wandered back to the conversation she had with the fellow that had agreed to help in her search for Scaramandine.

She sat at the edge of her bed, watching the candle flame dance upon its pedestal. Could he really help me find this Scaramandine? This name has plagued her dreams ever since she awoke about two months ago. She has no memory prior to hearing her master's voice calling her his Dark Angel, compelling her to do his bidding. Though she has no recollection of exactly what it was she did, she only knew that she wanted to please the master, no matter what the cost. Then she awoke in the Empath Abbey.

The monks had told her that her father, Sirrico, had carried her to them. Her master had been furious that Sirrico had stolen his Dark Angel from him, that as he fled, the master cast a spell driving her to madness. He had hoped that keeping her chained, while he sought a cure to her malady, would keep her safe. But in her fits of madness, she attempted to gnaw at her wrists to find her beloved master. When the monks evaluated her, they notified him that they didn't know of a cure. Sirrico had vowed to hunt and slay the master for he could not stand to see his daughter in such a state. The monks agreed to keep her sedated to prevent further injury while her father hunted the master. They assumed that since she awoke, the master had been slain, but they had no real confirmation. She waited for her father, but by the time she left, he still had not returned, and she had feared the worse.

The monks had told her, while she slept, she occasionally spoke the word Scaramandine. One of the monks believe they've heard of man who shares the same name. Deminatza had no recollection of someone by this name, but if someone did exist, and it wasn't just the madness talking, she would find this person. Maybe he could help her fill in the blanks. Who is he? What does he mean to her? Who was she before she became enslaved?

And finally, her search led her to this tavern, to a gentleman who appeared to have some information. The sound of the flame crackling brought her back to the present, where she noticed that the candle was not two inches shorter than she recalled. I better get some sleep. That gentleman said to wait here until he returned for further instructions. And she fully intended to do that.

[Scar]

---

Later that day Scar lay on his bed trying to arrange his thoughts. Deminatza, my first true love... last time I saw you, you were on a ship sailing to parts unknown with your father... what was his name... Siricco? Gods how he hated me---no daughter of his getting mixed up in the life of some wandering mercenary... not at seventeen leastways! I would have found out at the last moment they were leaving. His plan succeeded. I never saw her again... and now... we will meet again soon.

Spyte made his way to the tavern where he met the woman. She was not there, so he asked the barkeep where she might be. All he got was a scowl and a terse, "What's it to ya, offal?" ...an angry glare sharing space with an even angrier attitude toward one from whom trouble always followed in his wake.

"All right then," he said nonchalantly, tossing a gold coin on the counter in defiance. "I guess you won't be needing MY money after all," he quipped.

At the sight of actual coinage, the barkeep's mood lightened, as did his facial expression. "She's resting. Got herself a room. Knock before you go in," he stated flatly.

Spyte scowled. "What do you take me for?" he retorted.

The barkeep grinned at the easy setup. "You don't want to know," he replied.

Spyte snorted in derision. "Does the room have a number on it, or is it like everything else around here... classless?"

The barkeep frowned and pointed to a corner door. "That one."

Knocking lightly on the door, Spyte waited for a moment, then spoke. "Lady Demi, are you there? I have news for you about Scar... amandine." He heard footsteps approaching the door from the other side.

[Deminatza]

---

There was a light knock on the door then a voice.

"Lady Demi, are you there? I have news for you about Scar... amandine."

Deminatza's pulse quickened at the sound of the name. She rose, wrapped the cloak about her and made her way to the door. She paused a moment, brushing aside the strands of hair from her face, then opened it.

A warm smile greeted the man, "What news do you have gentle sir?"

[Deminatza]

---

Deminatza had finally met the face of the name that has been in her constant thoughts. She sat before her night stand, brushing her hair with a dreamy look on her face as she recalled the evenings events.

After leaving the home of her new friend, Aingeal, Scaramandine had escorted her to the Abbey, where she spoke to the monks letting them know she was safe. Demi notified them that she would be staying at the Papua inn and left instructions on how to find her should her father return. They voiced their disapproval of staying at an inn with no guardian, while avoiding Scar's gaze, but she assured them that there was an inn keeper there that had agreed to be her steward. Begrudgingly, they bid the pair farewell as they journeyed to their final destination.

She walked quietly to the wall that separated her from Scar. Demi laid her hands upon it, smiling softly, wondered if he was asleep. Does he snore? Is he a light sleeper? She pressed an ear to it, listening intently for his sleeping breaths. She wondered how it would feel, laying beside him, within the safety of his arms. Demi looked to the wall again and sighed, treading quietly back to her bed.

I should not be having these kind of thoughts, it is very unbecoming she chided herself. Resting her head on her pillow, she thought of his words. They had loved one another once, very deeply according to Scar. Sadly, she had no memory of it, but with one look into his eyes, she knew he spoke the truth. Demi inspected the hand upon which Scar's lips had touched. "I did not know how empty was my soul until it was filled," she murmured softly, pressing the hand against her cheek as sleep consumed her.

Sometime later, she heard a voice.

"Deminatza.... come to me, my love." That sounds like Scar, but why doesn't he just knock? "Deminatza.... I wait for you outside. I long for your embrace, my dark angel" Pulling back the covers, she wandered to the door, opened it, and sleepily followed the sound of the voice.

Oren heard a door open and noticed the Lady Deminatza walking out of her room in her sleeping gown.

"Lady, is there anything I can get you?"

As she drew closer, he noticed her eyes appeared to be half closed as if she were asleep. Movement from his peripheral vision drew his attention outside. When he turned to see what it was, he had to rub his eyes. He had thought he saw a shadow duck just out of sight. The floor boards creaked, and he remembered the lady.

"Lady? Are you okay?"

When she didn't respond, he thought about taking a hold of her, but decided against it. If Scar saw her dressed the way she was, with my hands on her... Oren swallowed hard not daring to finish the thought. Instead, he hurriedly went to Scar's room and knocked on the door.

"Um.. sir," he listened a moment, "Sir... I think you need to come out here. There is something you need to uh... attend to." Oren kept his eyes on Deminatza, waiting for Scar to answer his call.

[Scar]

---

Hours later, Scar was still not asleep. With some aid from Oren, he gently coaxed Deminatza back into her room and into bed and paid the innkeeper an exorbitant amount to lock the door from the outside and keep watch all night over it.

Need not to have bothered! he thought to himself, taking a last swig of stale, warm, ale.

He ruminated on recent events... the meeting in Papua of his long lost, and first, true love... her state of mind, not really knowing him.. the discussions with Aingeal while at Ashencrosse as to a remedy for the curse... the shocking interruption of some lunatic who suddenly and inexplicably seized control of Demi while they were talking... and her not knowing what he, or it, had just said through her...

It was not true possession. He was convinced of that. It was more like some kind of channeling... a rare form of magic power which only a seasoned, erudite, but thoroughly ruthless mage or necromancer would employ. It did not surprise Aingeal in the least, so he felt secure that she, and perhaps other gypsy witches, would figure out and frustrate... eventually.

His nerves, however, were shot. It had taken his utmost restraint not to lose control at the table, during the "episode", and revert to his Lycan form to go loping off, howling mad, into the night to slaughter something out of pure rage. He had to get help if this was to continue, for if he ever did lose control, he might be unable to contain it again.

With a sigh, he rolled over in bed and let his thoughts drift until slumber, in the early hours of dawn, overtook him.

[Deminatza]

---

She could not hear the conversation going on between her new friends, Jolicia and Judas, and Scar over the onset of a pounding headache. Deminatza had excused herself from the table to lay down.
She had barely fallen asleep when there was a knock on the door.

"Demi, are you awake?" Scar's voice came from the other side.

"One moment," exhausted, she rose and adjusted her clothing. When she opened the door, she noticed evening had arrived and Scar standing before her smiling. I must have been asleep longer that I thought.

"The monk Balzar, suggested I take you to him for your daily tonic," Scar informed her. "Are you well enough to travel?"

"I would travel anywhere you ventured," Deminatza replied automatically as if she had spoken those words many a times.

Scar smiled, bowed and extended his left hand to her. She took it, noting the sense of familiarity of their fingers laced together.

When they arrived at the Abbey, the monks greeted her and started to bombard her with questions about her well being and what events had taken place during her absence. She would have gladly stayed and conversed with them, regardless of the headache returning, for even though she was gone not more than 24 hours, Demi had already missed them. This had been home to her since her awakening, the only home she remembered.

"Excuse me, sirs," Scar spoke, his voice soft yet firm, "But we cannot stay long. Lady Deminatza has had a long day and the hour grows late. Perhaps you can administer the tonic and we can return to Papua inn so she may rest."

Demi smiled her thanks to Scar and squeezed her hand in response.

"Ahh, there she is," Balzar called out as he descended from the stairs carrying a goblet. "How are you my child?"

"She is tired, Balzar, and she should get some rest," Scar interjected. "Give her the drug and we can be on our way."

"Tonic," Balzar had reached the foot of the stairs and offered the goblet to Demi. "Has he been treating you well, my child? Are you hurt?"

She felt Scar stiffen beside her. She removed her hand from his, approached the monk, and accepted the goblet.

"He has been a perfect gentleman, Father Balzar. You need not worry about my honor being compromised," she said gently then drained the cup of its contents.

"Very well, Demi. But remember you must return here daily, at the very least, to receive your tonic. We all have noticed your absence and it grieves us all.," the monk handed her a handkerchief.

She wiped her mouth then handed back both goblet and cloth. "I will I promise."

Balzar appeared to want to say more, but Scar moved to her side. "Come Demi, let us return so you can rest."

"Of course. If you will excuse me, I am a bit tired and would like to rest."

"Safe journey my child."

Demi hugged each monk in turn and made promises to return on the morrow so they could tell her all that has happened. Scar, once again, extended his left hand, and together they headed back to the inn.

[Deminatza]

---

Deminatza’s attempt to keep her mind occupied by reading a book had failed miserably. Her thoughts kept wandering to her insecurities. Scar must busy trying to find a cure. But what if he isn’t? It was only a few days ago that she had come back into his life. He must have had a life before she arrived. Wasn’t he that warned me to ignore the other women sulking about? Maybe that’s where he was, with another woman. Her chair scrapped against the floor as she rose to her feet, slamming the book closed.

“Do you wish to talk about it my child,” the monk Balzar had looked up from his work to eye the disgruntled woman.

“I am well enough father,” she replied unable to hide her frustration. She took a deep breath, pulled a nearby chair and sat before the monk.

“I’m sorry father, I do not mean to be short with you,” she sighed leaning back in her chair her arms crossed.

Balzar put down his mortal and pestle, slipped his hands within the sleeves of his robes and studied her with a cool calm gaze.

“What ails you my child?”

Deminatza looked down at her clasped hands on her lap.

“I know this sounds ridiculous. I have been searching for Scaramandine for quite sometime. I have found him just this past Day of Thor. He has been there every day since, except for today. What I do not understand is? Why am I so frustrated? Why does my heart feel so heavy in my chest? My mind tells me he is searching for the cure to free the memories locked within. But doubt tells me, perhaps he has sought the warm embrace of another woman,” saying it out loud had caused her chest to tighten.

“I awoke two months ago with no recollection of my past. But who is to say, that he is not promised to another? How can he love me if he is promised to another,” lifting her gaze to meet the monks, unashamed of the tears streaming down her face.

“Did he say you he loves you?”

“Well, no. He said we had loved one another when we were young. He said we were close to being lovers,” she felt her face growing warm.

“But has he told you, over the past couple of days you two have shared, that he loves you?”

The truth of his words stung her response barely audible, “No, he has not.” She buried her face in her hands, weeping uncontrollably.

Balzar moved from where he sat to kneel beside Demi, gently taking hold of her hands and pulling them away from her face so he may wipe away her tears.

“There, there child. Why do you weep so? Do you love him?”

Demi hiccupped, “I… I think so.”

The monk took hold of her chin, his face ever so patient and calm.

“And what makes you think so, my child? Because he told you the two of you loved one another once? But that is in the past child. What makes you believe you love him now?”

She hiccupped again. “Well…,” her voice trails off, chewing on her bottom lip. “Well, why else would I be saying his name while I was asleep all those months?”

“Perhaps there are some feelings that are unresolved. Did you not say Scar claimed your father whisked you away? Do you think that was your father’s doing or was your father doing what you asked him to do, take you away from Scar?”

“I...no... that’s…” she faltered. “Then why does it feel like I am dying? Why does my heart feel full when I am near him, my soul empty when he is not?”

Balzar pats her hand. “Maybe you remember how you use to feel for him. Maybe by him telling you the two of you were involved planted the seed. Or maybe,” he brushed away the remaining tears on her face, “You are in love with the idea of being in love?”

She slumped in her chair confused more than ever. “How will I know the answer,” she says quietly more to herself than to the monk.

He rose to his feet, poured the remaining contents from the pestle into a goblet. He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured until the glass was half full.

“Your tonic is ready child,” his tone was gentle as he passed her the cup.

Obediently, she took it and drank.

“It is now time for bed child. Will you be staying here or would you like an escort to Papua?”

“I think I will stay here tonight, father, if that is okay.”

“Of course it is child, you will always have a place here at the Abbey.” The monk extended his hand to escort her, but she shook her head.

“Not yet. There is something I must do first. I will not be long.”

Balzar nodded, “Just do not stay up too late child.” He left her to attend his evening prayer.

[Scar]

---

Scar was getting nowhere. Everyone was either unknowing, uncooperative, or stonewalling. Sirroco, Demi's father, had not been seen or heard from in years. There had been talk of a foray into Deceit, on the assertion of a monk, that he had been chased or led into that dungeon by a person known only as "Master." His patience was at an end; he was now convinced more than ever that much of this was some kind of hoax, a wild goose chase, to keep him either busy or off track, but for a purpose unknown.

He looked again at his right palm, for the millionth time. The hair which had grown there had not increased, but had not receded either. Anybody who knew what to look for would know it for what it was, and what he was. He decided to keep his gloves and gauntlets on to keep it hidden.

He had read and reread Demi's letter, having mixed feelings about it. Did he still love her? Did he still want her to love him? Would she if she knew what he really was? The last question was the hardest; the others easy---what man would not love a woman as beautiful, exquisitely feminine, intelligent and charming as she? He had given his heart to her many years ago, and he knew with her it had remained.

There was a knock at the door of his room at the Papuan Inn. Expecting it to be her, he opened it, smiling.

"Not who you thought, eh?" the Papuan woman, Poppy, stood there, arms folded, scowling. "Is she in there with you now?" she asked, trying to look past him into the room.

He pulled her inside and closed the door. "What is wrong with you?" he snarled.

"ME?!" she fired back. "YOU'RE the one with the new lady! Oh yes, I've seen her about, and the way she looks at you! Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Poppy was the mother of one of his children, Jace. He took care of the child and visited often, spending days with him, fishing and hunting. Poppy took that as an indication that he still wanted to be with her, that he was merely visiting to spend time with her. The thought that he may have actually loved the child had never entered her mind, but such was the case with him.

"I am NOT hiding anything from you! Nor would I try! When WILL you get it through your thick skull that I do NOT belong to you?!! There was never anything between us, Poppy... nothing!"

Dissatisfied, Poppy tried her favorite ploy, one that often worked at least on others, in the past. She feigned a pout and put her arms around his neck. "Don't be mad. I'm jealous, I'll admit it. But what do you see in her anyway? If she tripped, she would shatter like a porcelain jar... so... fragile. You need a strong woman, Scar... like me," she cooed, smiling.

While his mood did lighten, he gently removed his arms from around his neck. "Tell Jace I will see him soon. I owe him a fishing trip." He took out a bag of gold. "Take this and get what you need."

Poppy took the gold and smiled. "Well, that'll do, I guess." Then she looked up at him. "Who is she anyway? Really."

"My first... no, my ONE true love."

"What's her name?"

"None of your business."

"I'll find out."

"So, find out. But leave her alone. Do not make a scene, Poppy."

She sighed. She had got what she wanted most. So she grinned and danced to the door to let herself out. "G'bye love," she said, winking, before exiting.

Scar shook his head and sighed. And THAT is something else she doesn't know about. Oy!