//------------------------------// // Chapter IX: The Moon Rises // Story: The World Within the Web // by Lord Max //------------------------------// Part II: The Dream of Aureliano * * * * * * Chapter IX: The Moon Rises * * * * * *          “Of the different loves so categorized by the Books of Black and White and so felt by mankind, I am now certain that romantic love is the most deep, love between family may be the most intrinsic, but the love between friends to be the most fulfilling, the most edifying, and above all the most useful.” — Quote from an anonymous writer sworn to the Laughing Friends, using the pen-name “Jessamino.” * * * * * * It was the same dream as always, but even realizing that did not stop Proximo Hart from living it again. Whenever he recalled the dream, the one he woke from so frequently, the strangest thing was that he was never in his own body. Usually his mind seemed to float above the scene, looking down at the two people standing across from one another. Another time he saw it through someone else’s eyes, a man casually sharpening a thin silver sword and paying no mind to what the haughty youth across from him said. But no matter how many times Proximo went through the memory, he never did so as himself — at least, not the one he had been then. But there were always two, standing apart. The young one, barely out of boyhood, was in green, handsome with a cruel smile. In his hand was his sword, one that he had never even swung at someone who could defend himself. A small crowd surrounded them, but they were all a grey mist, featureless. Not the man, though. His face was not one that most would recall, but Proximo remembered — old, calm, not plain but not beautiful, with dark hair streaked a dull crimson. Like blood, Proximo thought, just as he realized in his sick bed long ago. He never knew the man’s name, but that face would never leave him. “Ready to die?” the boy cried out, mocking. “Usually,” the man replied, not looking up. He ran the whetstone over the thin blade, making it shriek. “But not today, I think.” The boy laughed. “You shouldn’t have spoken that way to me. Maybe then I wouldn’t have killed you.” The man didn’t answer. He ran the whetstone over the sword one last time, looking down the edge, and stood up. “Finally done?” the foolish boy asked as he ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Sharpening it won’t save you.” The man looked at his opponent in a way between contempt and pity. “You’ve a long, wasted life behind you and such worthless potential ahead. You are about to end it, right now. You can still walk away.” Do it, Proximo thought, do it, walk. Fool! Fool, get away, walk away now, while you have a chance! While you have a life! Walk! Instead the boy spat on the ground, in the man’s direction. “Is that meant to frighten me? Stand there, and I’ll make it quick. You should be honored. I’ve never killed someone before.” “You killed yourself before this even began,” the man replied. The two circled each other, swords in hand. Proximo’s eye saw a glint of silver. Then, from the grey crowd, a whistle blew. There was a red slash, and the world started to spin. Proximo couldn’t see. Dark crimson clouds surrounded him, like bloody ink dropped into water. Where are they all? he thought as he seemed to fall. All of my friends, where are they? As he collapsed out of the world, he heard a sigh and the man’s cold voice. “You never fail to disappoint, Hart.” Then it all fell apart… Proximo’s eyes opened as he awoke to the sight of the wooden ceiling, and the creaking sounds of the ship that surrounded him. He clutched his head with one hand and his chest with the other before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again any time soon, so instead he swung his legs to the side of the bed, stood up, and tried to gauge what time it was. Within the hull of the Wonderbolt II, it was difficult to tell exactly when in the day it was at any given time. There were certainly no windows in Proximo’s room, which was barely larger than a broom closet. Space was limited on a smaller ship like this, but Hart was appreciative of what he had. They had been at sea for a week now, tossed and turned on the ocean, but truthfully there had been little to complain about. Well, he thought, I suppose it may take some time to learn to sleep here.  Proximo was bleary-eyed and still only half-awake, but he tried to think nonetheless. It couldn’t be morning already. There’ve been no calls. He couldn’t hear any voices overhead, either, the kind that the Loyal Friends normally made when the ship buzzed with life during the day. With nothing better to do, and not being able to simply slip back to sleep, Proximo resolved to check upstairs. There was little point in getting dressed in his normal fine clothing, so Proximo opted to cover himself with plain white robes adorned with a violet hood. He did not usually wear the simple habit, but it served well enough. Picking up the hand-mirror packed into his bag, he brushed his hair and warped into a proper shape. Slipping on a pair of shoes, Proximo pushed aside the curtain that served for his door, and proceeded on his way. After Proximo made his way through the narrow hold and looked up the wooden staircase, he could see that his estimate had been right after all. The night sky hung wide and tall overhead, alive with starlight and the dull white glow of the moons. The pale light of the Mare Who Waited was cast across the ship, lighting the deck that a handful of people stood upon. Proximo was used to the city, and the Citadel of the Six, where it could be hard for all but the Magic Friends seated at their great telescopes to see the heavens above, but out at sea it could all be counted. It was something that he loved about travelling: seeing new places was half of it, but just seeing the stars overhead was enough, sometimes. Lullay, Moon Princess, Proximo thought to himself, as he watched the sky. The Loyal Friends worked in shifts, most working in the day and a small number taking their rounds during the night — the ones that were still present on deck were those few. Some of the men clothed in cerulean blue with six-colored rainbows on their sleeves were on the ship’s riggings, fiddling with the sails and lines, but most were talking amongst themselves on the deck. Proximo saw an unlucky member of the Honest Friends leaned over the ship’s railing, presumably making his best attempt at turning his stomach inside-out while a man in blue patted him on the back. A few people greeted him as he passed by, but most kept to themselves. Hardly a festival boat, Proximo thought, recalling the pleasure barges that plied their way around the Devien Isles that the Wonderbolt now sailed towards. He was considering heading back down below decks to try and sleep again, when he saw a familiar man on the bow of the ship. Captain Skytide stood straight at the front of the Wonderbolt, as though he were a figurehead on the prow. He was dressed in a blue uniform, buttoned and well-fitted, with a rainbow cloth tied around his waist and his gloved hands folded behind his back. Beside him, even more still, was the Warden of Honesty. The giant was clad in his usual armor, his rough and ugly face turned intently at the distant horizon. Proximo could not recall a time that he had seen the Warden asleep or intent on sleeping — every moment that he was not with Lady Violet or locked away below-decks, he spent staring out at the ocean, as though he could compel it to propel them more swiftly towards their destination. Proximo did not revel in the idea of speaking with the Warden, but he thought to greet the captain who had brought them so far already. He approached as the two stood wordlessly together and stopped beside Skytide. “Good evening, captain,” he said amicably. If Captain Skytide was surprised, he did not show it, and smiled instead. He gripped the railing with his calloused hands, and turned to Proximo. “Mister Hart, a pleasure as always. The Warden and I were just discussing our destination.” A one-sided conversation, no doubt, Proximo thought. The Warden had not acknowledged that anyone else had approached them, and continued to stare forward. Proximo ignored him in turn. “My apologies for bothering you, captain. Trouble sleeping, you know.” The captain nodded in an understanding way. “I’ve had similar problems, myself, at times. Sleeping at sea can be tricky, when you’re used to land. I assumed that was why you were awake, so late at night.” “You were right to guess so, captain. I suppose I don’t have my sea-legs yet, so to speak. I was surprised to see you awake so late, though — I assumed you had the authority to not take the night shift.” Skytide laughed. “I do, as a matter of fact. But I am not in the habit of letting my crew take on burdens I wouldn’t take myself. At any rate, I prefer not to sleep too heavily on journeys like this. A man needs his wits about him, even when he might not expect it, and particularly when he has passengers as important as those I have.” Proximo bowed. “We are all grateful for your work, captain. We could not have asked for a better guide, on this mission.” The captain bowed in turn. “You flatter me, friend. But truthfully, we’ve had little to be concerned with, so far. The seas have been clear enough, as it has been, and with any luck we should arrive in the port of Shine within a week. Then, it is only the Dreamweave ahead.” The Dreamweave, Proximo thought, considering the word. It had been looming in everyone’s thoughts during the past week, with no man or woman on board entirely sure of what awaited them in the city. They said that the place had no love for the Brony Collective, nor for its friends, but it was where the followers of the Six were bound, regardless. “I hope we can succeed,” Hart said. Skytide nodded. “I am certain you will. With our friends at risk, it will require every aspect of the Six to set them free. I pray that the Loyal will have done their part, before it is all over.” He looked towards the horizon. “I’ve some experience with sailing the Painted Sea, and I’ve heard some tales of this Dreamweave. What do you know of it?” Proximo shrugged. “I visited once or twice when I was younger. It’s newer than most cities in the Devien Isles. Proud, too. They’ve fallen on hard times, though, from what I gather.” “I’ve heard the same. They say that foul practices are in place there. I hope it does not complicate things.” The Warden stirred. “Hrm,” he grunted through twisted lips. “Nothing to complicate. Foul, not foul. Friends will be freed.” “I certainly hope so,” the captain said. His hands left the railing, and he turned away from his post. “There are matters below-deck that need attending, so I’m afraid I must bid you goodnight, Mister Hart and my Lord of Honesty. It is always an honor.” He bowed, and proceeded down the nearby stairs. “Oh,” he added, “and if it is not too much trouble, Mister Hart, I couldn’t help but notice that Lady Violet is still awake in her cabin. Do you feel equipped to tell her that she should get some sleep herself?” Proximo laughed. “I’ll try my best, for all the good it will do. It was a pleasure to speak with you, captain.” With that, the captain left, and Proximo looked over to the cabin on the other end of the ship. Indeed, there was still a glow of light coming from the windows, no doubt from lanterns and candles to help the lady as she scribbled at something. Proximo did not say another word to the Warden, nor received one from him, and walked down to the cabin instead. The assistant drew up to the wooden door, took a moment to straighten his hair, and then knocked on the door. “Come in!” came a familiar voice from within. Proximo smiled and gently stepped inside. The assistant found Lady Violet Brushshape seated at the small table housed in the room, scratching at a sheet of paper with an ink quill. Clad in a white silk nightgown, she sat leaning over the paper, her long purple hair falling down her face in curls, and her dark eyes bleary from lack of sleep.  “My lady,” Proximo said, “I see that you’re still awake.” She smiled when she saw who it was. “Mister Hart! Yes, indeed I am. Very observant of you.” He ignored the playful sarcasm and walked over to her. “It’s late, my lady. You would profit from some sleep, I’m sure.” “I was about to say the same thing to you, Proxi,” she said coyly. “I have some experience in late nights. You’re the lightweight here.” There was a certain truth to that, so Hart chose to seat himself across from Lady Violet. “In that case,” he said, “may I join you? There aren’t a terrible many things to do on this ship, after all.” “I would never object to your company, Proximo. Here, maybe you can help me with this.” Proximo glanced over to the paper. “And what is ‘this,’ pray tell?” “A letter to my family,” she said with a wistful smile. “You know that my sister is going off on a journey across the Web soon? I remember when she was just a baby, and now she’s off to see everything from Central and the tall towers to the Blurrite sands and the mountains of the Sajle.” Proximo smiled. “Are you planning on visiting, by any chance?” “Well, we’re much too busy at the moment, of course. But perhaps when we’ve finished in the Dreamweave something can be arranged. It’s only a short sail to Kursedos, after all, and I’d love for you to meet them.” She looked over at her assistant. “That is, provided that you can help me write this.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Six save us my lady, you write things all the time. I’m sure you’ll manage without me.” “Oh, but this is different then all that, Proxi,” she said earnestly. “You know how I get all tongue-tied when I try to write letters to my family, so I’ll need some inspiration. You’re my assistant, aren’t you? Assist me, then.” Proximo sighed, and leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Well, best to start at the beginning. What salutations are you using?” “I’m between either ‘Dearest family,’ or ‘My mother, father, and siblings.’” “The former, certainly. The other sounds like a shopping list,” Proximo said. “Out of curiosity, are you writing in a formal way that makes you sound respectable, or in a casual way that reflects how you actually feel?” “Oh, formal of course. The appearance of respectability is all I have, Proxi,” she said jokingly. “Well, that and friends. And clothes, and a job I love, and you as well. Nevertheless, my point stands. Besides,” she continued, “I cannot be expressing my feelings too much, or I might settle into a pattern before we meet the Moderators. If one has too many feelings around them, they might mistake me for one of those Blurrite raiders.” “I always thought there was a resemblance, my lady.” “Oh hush.” She yawned, and thought for a second. “Scratch that, actually. Sadly, I need you talking. Now, if you were to say something kind to my sisters, what would you say?” “Well, first I would need to apologize and explain to them that really there’s only one woman in my life, and I’m simply not available. After that disappointment, I imagine they—” Violet laughed and playfully poked him in the arm. “You’re ridiculous, Proximo. I’ll have you know that my sisters are far too beautiful and far too sensible for a lout like you! The nerve!” Proximo raised his hands defensively. “Now now, my lady, we both know about my affliction. Women simply cannot resist me, no matter how hard I’ve tried in my life to overcome this defect. How can I help it? I was simply born beautiful.” Violet rolled her eyes. “The nerve!” she repeated, and wagged a long finger at her assistant. “Talk like that, and you’ll not be meeting anyone, Mister Hart. Part of being the elder sibling is making sure my younger counterparts never, ever look at or meet any eligible suitors, ever. That’s practically rule one in the sibling handbook.” She yawned again, her eyes drooping more. “To be frank, that’s probably why I can never arrange any dates for Madelin. All the potential applicants are too terrified, I’d think.” “Of her?” It seemed like a fair assumption to Proximo. “No, of rule one in the sibling handbook. Did you know that she has five older brothers?” “It isn’t altogether surprising, my lady.” Violet chuckled. “No, I suppose it explains a lot. Five older brothers, though, and all of them with the same blood as Maddy. I’m no strategist, but that must be worth an army or two. But seriously friend, what would you have to say, were you writing a letter to a little sister like mine?” Proximo thought carefully, glancing down to the wooden floor. He understood what Violet was asking, but at the same time he began to wonder what he would say were he confronted with his own sisters — the thought made him weary. He doubted that Gallia missed him much, but it had been too long since he had seen Aloysia smile. “I would say… I would say that I miss her. Every day.” Violet realized immediately what he was thinking, and looked at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Proximo. I didn’t mean to bring that up, truly.” He swallowed his sadness and waved a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself, my lady. There’s nothing to apologize for, I’m truly fine.” She reached across the table and put her hand on his softly. “You don’t need to lie, Proximo. We’re friends, and much of that means being able to share our problems. Have they been on your mind?” Proximo nodded, grasping her hand in a reassuring squeeze. “I can’t help it. Two years… it feels so much longer now that I’ve thought about it. I had to leave, there was no other choice to me after the duel, but at the same time…” He ran his fingers through his hair, nervous. “Perhaps, if we’re in the Painted Sea,” she ventured carefully, “it would not be out of the way to see them? I’m sure that they would welcome you back, Proximo, and if not then at least—“ “No,” he said firmly. “No I… I miss my little sister a great deal. But Gallia and father, they… they don’t want me home. It doesn’t matter. My place is here, by your side.” “But does it have to be one or the other?” Lady Violet asked, moving closer. “You know I love you, Proximo, but if I could never see my family again, I don’t know what I would do. I don’t want you to feel that way, not if there’s anything I can do to help.” “You don’t need to worry about me, my lady. With the matter at hand… it’s better that I not dwell on it.” He turned away from the look she was sending him, and focused on the star-globe nearby instead. “Our mission, then. How do you feel about it?” “A fine way to change the subject,” Lady Violet said as she stood from her seat. She acquiesced nonetheless. “We will succeed. I have no doubt about it.” “Now you’re the one that’s lying,” Proximo pointed out, standing from his own chair. Violet crossed the room, and stood in front of the windows at the rear of the cabin. There was little to see, it being so late at night, other than the starry sky reflecting in the dark indigo waters below. “Come now, my lady. I shared my thoughts, and now it is your turn.” She folded her hands behind her back, and sighed. “Truthfully, I’m not sure what to think. There are lives at risk here, and not just those of Greenglade and Dabrius in their cells, either. Should the Authority rule against us, it could mean an entire new policy on our fandom and friends. We’ve worked hard to raise the Collective up these past few years, win us allies, secure us a home in the Internet, let people know that we mean no harm. I’ve helped build that, but now? Now I see it at risk again, and I’ve been tasked to set it right. Mars asked me to go, but if I cannot succeed…” “You’ve been through worse, my lady,” Proximo said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve been through worse too. You aren’t alone in this — ask any man or woman that’s accompanying us, and they’ll say the same.” She smiled. Looking at her, Proximo realized just how tired she was — her eyes were more than just bleary now, but red and rheumy as well, with the beginnings of dark rings under them. Her hair looked more tangled than before, and flatter as well, and she seemed to be swaying slightly as she stood. “Thank you Proximo. I know that you’re right, but sometimes I forget myself, really. When I know there’s work to do, well, I can find it hard to close my eyes. The past few days… haven’t…” She yawned, and rubbed her eyes. “What I need is…. I need....” “What you need,” her assistant said gently, “is some sleep. Just sit down a moment, my lady.” She took a seat in the small bed that lay against the wall, straightening out her nightgown as best she could while she sat. “Yes,” she said, yawning again. “Yes, for a moment, at least. Thank you, Proxi. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her eyes started to close once she sat, and she began to rock to the side before shaking her head to keep awake. “Before I sleep. On the shelf, a book I’m reading. On the top shelf, left side… Mars wrote it…” Proximo walked over, running his finger over the spines of the books, until he found a purple book with the symbol of a six-pointed star on the cover. The title was “Analysis and Further Readings Concerning Morals Gained From the Six During the Season of Discovery,” and the author was printed as “Feylen Mars.” The title certainly matched the Warden of Magic’s style. “I have it here, my lady,” Proximo said, “but after this you really must sleep. You know that I—“ He turned around, and saw that Lady Violet was lying on the bed, sleeping. Placing the book back on the shelf, Proximo smiled and sighed. “I live to serve now,” he finished, before grabbing a blanket that had fallen on the floor. After placing it over her, he walked out the door and shut it softly behind him. The deck was even quieter than before, with a few of the crew from before retreated downstairs. A handful of Loyal Friends were looking out at the ocean quietly, and a man wearing orange and gold sat by the railing, humming softly to himself. At the stern of the Wonderbolt II, the Warden of Honesty still stood alone, cape sweeping up behind him from the wind. Does he ever sleep? Proximo wondered as he stared at the giant figure. As he began to walk down the stairs to go back to his own room and rest, however, Proximo heard a noise coming from across the ship. Very quietly, a voice was crooning through the dark night. “Out here, alone Growing beside the trees, I see your night, Made as a gift to me. “I see your sky, left up there hanging for me. You love, above, Painted for centuries. Maiden of night, I’m still down here.” Looking around, Proximo saw that it was the man sitting by himself in an orange uniform, his feet dangling and swaying over the side of the ship as he softly sang. “I see your moon, A white face looking at me. Your tide abides, Ebb-flow for centuries. Lady forlorn, They left three down here. “I see two stars, falling, they’re yearning for me. Their souls, aglow, above these apple trees. Mother of dark, I ask, I ask you please. “They’re away from day. Why couldn’t they just stay?” Proximo went back below the ship, and hoped that he wouldn’t dream again. * * * * * * “If you only knew what all this cost What she gave up just to save her art What is fashion, fashion without love? Like an odradek, a spool without purpose There are holes in every last dress. “Do you not like this color?” — And The Rainfall, and SoGreatandPowerful {}