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Choices by Richard Lawson Kurt Skillingstad leaned against the cold metal wall, regretting this more and more. When his attempt to get one picture too many in Tunis made him miss his flight to Athens, he'd gone into full panic mode. If he didn't get his pictures developed and placed on the editor's desk by tomorrow, there was going to be hell to pay and him without his checkbook. He'd managed to make some friends in the military - the press and the military have a strange relationship, often acrimonious on an organizational level, but as strangers in a strange land, quite warm on a personal level when stationed near to each other away from American soil. Kurt had called a Colonel in Athens, who had sent the word that he was to be allowed on a military flight leaving that afternoon. What he hadn't realized was that the flight was for enlisted personnel and cargo, and the military does not go out of the way to make things comfortable for either. Kurt was sitting on a bench along one side of the airplane, listening to a dozen GI's exchanging crude jokes. They treated him with disdain bordering on contempt, and he had no interest in making their acquaintance. So he was stuck on a cold, noisy aircraft on an exceedingly uncomfortable seat with no one to talk to, nothing to read, and bored out of his mind. This, he decided, was perdition. The aircraft jumped. Kurt looked around in alarm. While the aircraft ride had been far from smooth, that had felt like a serious jolt. The soldiers, too, were quieting down, looking worried. One of them, a large man who looked as if he could bench press Arnold Schwarzenegger, called forward. "Hey, Wernz, what gives?" The pilot shouted over her shoulder. "Just a bit of clear air turbulence, boys. Don't tell me you can't take it? Throw up on my plane and I make you put it back where it came from." Some of the other soldiers laughed raucously as the large man grinned and showed her the back of his hand. "If you weren't a woman, I would-" "Ask her out?" This from a small man with a thin face, smiling wickedly. The big man whirled on him. "Juarez, I oughta-" And then the engines stopped. Kurt found his mouth suddenly very dry. He looked at the pilot, hoping she was playing some kind of joke. All he saw was her flipping switches like mad and swearing profusely. "Wernz!" This from a sergeant, the highest-ranking member of the passengers. "What's going on?" She cursed again and grabbed the wheel. "Strap yourselves in, boys, we're going down." Kurt heard cursing from all around him and found that he was just as afraid as they were. He hastily put the harness on as the plane began to tilt ominously downward. The pilot was shouting a frantic mayday as the craft began to accelerate. Kurt closed his eyes, wondering how long the end would take in coming. He felt the plane level out slightly as the pilot tried to regain control. She cried out over the continuous stream of curses the other soldiers were still muttering. "We may be in luck! There's an island dead ahead, and something that looks like a clearing. If I can get us aligned, and if it's long enough, we might just live through this." Kurt opened his eyes and craned his neck, trying to see forward into the pilot's compartment. The harness held him back, however. He blew out a fearful breath and gripped the harness tightly with his hands. The plane began to waggle from side to side. Kurt wondered whether this was intentional or not. It evidently was as the plane suddenly straightened. "Hold on to whatever you've got! This is going to be rough!" The pilot sounded grimly determined. Kurt tried to clear his mind and think good thoughts, but all he could wonder about was how painful this was going to be. He heard landing gear being dropped. He idly wondered where the power was coming from if the engines were dead. Then the plane shuddered as contact was made with the ground. No smooth runway this; the plane bounced frightfully on the ground. Suddenly it pitched forward, its nose digging into the turf. The scream of metal and people, shocks that rattled his bones, and then silence. Kurt was afraid to breathe for fear that he would somehow precipitate a further disaster. Then relief flooded him, leaving him weak. He was alive. The voice of the sergeant - Smith, his uniform said - bellowed through the cabin. "All right, everyone out, now! This crate could go up like a firebomb. You there - Winston. Help out the civvie." "Yes, sergeant." The large man came up and almost tore off the harness around Kurt. "Let's go. First class passengers first, then us grunts." Kurt shook his arm from Winston's grip and half walked, half slid forward to the cockpit. The windows were smashed, and it looked as if the console had been pushed forward into the pilot's seat. Another man - Corporal Canton by his insignia and uniform - was already there, his hand at the pilot's neck. He looked up at Kurt and shook his head. A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Nothing we can do for her. Out, now." Kurt allowed himself to be dragged forward to the hatch even as his stomach twisted. Damn. He jumped out onto the ground and ran a few yards away before turning around. The plane was in rough shape - buried nose-first in the ground, looking very crumpled. He could see no smoke, nothing that looked like it was burning or was about to. The other men were leaving in an orderly fashion, and Kurt had to admire their brisk professionalism in this unplanned disaster. He could see that they were very shaken up, but they were doing what was necessary to get everyone away from the plane. One man had a nasty head wound, another appeared to have a broken arm. They were being tended to by Canton and the medkit. Kurt walked up to him as he was gingerly bandaging the head wound. "How is he?" Canton looked up. "I'm not a doctor, I don't know. I *do* know he needs a hospital, and soon. Both of these guys do." For the first time Kurt allowed himself to think beyond the immediate goal of survival. They had fallen into the middle of the Mediterranean. Trees surrounded the clearing they were in, which meant that the island had to be of somewhat decent size. Very likely someone lived here, someone who could get them help. Almost as he thought of that, he heard people calling a greeting. He turned to see a group of women step out of the forest behind him. He blinked at them. They were all dressed in what looked like togas, but with a lot more grace and form than he'd seen at the few frat parties he'd attended. Almost all of them were carrying wooden staves as tall as they were. They were, to a person, stunningly beautiful. Their features were difficult to trace to any one ethnic origin, but definitely seemed Middle- Eastern. They had lightly tanned skin, and black hair seemed the norm, although there were a couple of blondes in the group. Kurt found that he was staring, and shook himself. "Uh, hello. Do you have a doctor on this island? This man needs help." The women, who were gazing at them with something like amusement, all seemed to regard him at once. Kurt realized he'd been speaking English, and was about to try Arabic when one, slightly taller than the rest, spoke. "We will attend to them." Her voice was dulcet and musical, with an accent he couldn't quite place. "Nora, Genor, see to it." Two of the other women stepped forward to kneel beside the men. Canton was still gaping, and was pushed aside by a staff. Kurt looked towards the tall woman again. "Hi. I'm Kurt Skillingstad, with the AP in Athens. We've had a bit of a problem, as you can see." She nodded serenely. "I am Anna, leader of this island." She looked around. "Is this all of you?" Kurt sighed. "Except for the pilot. She's dead." The words were like a lightning bolt that went through the women. Two cried out, and Anna fixed him with a cold gaze. "You lie." Kurt blinked. "Uh, no. Why would I?" Anna thumped her staff on the ground, seemingly out of annoyance. "This is... unfortunate. Tholia, Mana, Texi, see to our sister." Kurt frowned as three women strode towards the plane. Something very strange was going on. He looked towards Smith, hoping the sergeant would take control at some point. He was still gazing at the women. Kurt could actually understand why. He felt like staring. The women were... alluring. Something deep in his hindbrain wanted those women very badly. He shook it off and decided that he would have to be the one to take charge. "Do you have a phone or a radio or something? We need to call this in, get some help." Anna flicked her eyes around the group. "Indeed. Come back to the village with us." She turned without a word and walked back into the trees. One by one the women came up to the men and took their arms. They spoke softly to them and began to lead them into the trees. Kurt watched as the women who had been attending the wounded men got them to their feet. The man with the broken arm seemed as entranced as the others, but the man with the head wound looked barely conscious. Kurt was about to go up to him when a hand was gently put on his forearm. He turned to find himself staring into twin pools of chocolate framed by black curls that flowed on forever. A gentle smile on soft lips tugged at his heart. A voice, a pleasant tenor, spoke with a cadence that made each word an individual joy. "Please, sir, come with me." Kurt's chin moved up and down several times. The woman's smile grew wider and she tugged gently on his arm. He stumbled after her for a moment, and then dug in his heels. "Wait." Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. "What?" The mild distress she was radiating put him on the verge of uttering profuse apologies and doing whatever she wanted if only she would be happy. He bit his lip, the pain helping to focus his mind. "That man needs medical attention right away. He has a serious head wound. We've got to get him to a doctor." She smiled again. "Do not worry, sir. She who was with him is an excellent healer. She will take care of him." Her smile threatened to dazzle his brain. The word "healer", however, had connotations he didn't care for. "Do you have a hospital here? He may need X-rays." One wrinkle on her perfect forehead indicated mild irritation. "Do not be deceived by our simple attire. We have methods of dealing with such wounds that are easily the equal of your hospitals." A large part of him was telling him to shut up and stop arguing with her. He tried to ignore it. "What do you mean, '*your* hospitals'?" A second wrinkle joined the first. She reached her staff halfway towards him, then stopped. She sighed and replaced the staff at her side. "We are a small society, having lived here for thousands of years, depending on the outside world for very little. It sometimes makes us think in terms of 'them' and 'us'. I meant no disrespect." He sighed. "Thank you." "For what?" "For explaining. I feel better if I know what's going on." She stared at him a moment, then looked up at the sky. "It will be dark soon. Please, let me lead you back to our village." "Okay." He turned and began walking into the trees. She said something like "Eep!" and ran to put her hand on his arm as he was entering the forest. He looked into her startled face as she peered intently into the gloom of the forest. "I, too, meant no disrespect. I'm not used to thinking of doctors as 'healers' and made the unwarranted assumption that you were talking about things like herbs and poultices. I apologize." She turned to look at him. "You are a curious man." "Am I?" He wondered about that. "And you are a mysterious woman, uh... may I know your name?" She nodded. "Lassandra." "Lassandra." Even her name was perfect. "Where are we, exactly?" "At the village." This she said as they stepped from the trees. Kurt looked around in surprise. The village seemed a medieval fanatic's fantasy. Small, quaint-looking cottages along an even dirt path, separated by small fields of grain and pastures. Each of the cottages emitted a soft glow from fires inside. In the rapidly fading sunlight, he thought he saw a couple of the soldiers being led into separate cottages, each with a female companion. He tsked, a little annoyed. "We've got to get our priorities straight. Can you lead me to a phone?" "Why?" "Why?" Kurt was flabbergasted. "Because I've just survived a plane crash that killed one person and seriously injured two others. We need to bring in some serious help, rescue choppers and the like." Also, he needed to call in to his editor and give him a scoop, but that was far down his list. "I am sorry, Kurt. We have no phones." "Hmm? What about a radio?" "No radios, nothing. We have absolutely no desire to communicate with the outside world." "Well, *I* do." He peered through the gloom. "I've got to find Smith. Maybe the radio in the plane is still working." "Kurt." Her voice seemed somewhat pleading. "It is late and you are tired. It would be dangerous to grope through your broken plane in the dark. You can do nothing further for she who has died -" her voice caught for a moment - "and those who are wounded are being tended to. We can find ways of dealing with your problems in the morning. Will you not have a little patience?" Kurt drew in several deep breaths while he considered Lassandra's words. Given the constraints of the island they were on, they seemed wise. "Okay." He indicated the path in front of them. "Lay on, McDuff." "Lassandra." "Sorry." She led them down the road, which wound its way through the heart of the village. Kurt saw Winston through the window of one cottage as he passed. He appeared to have one of the women engulfed in his arms and was kissing her passionately. Kurt quickly averted his eyes, disgusted and just the tiniest bit jealous. "Here, sir." She indicated a cottage. "Please, just call me Kurt." He opened the door and looked inside. It was a very pleasant interior. The bed, chairs, and table were made of wood and appeared to have been grown rather than manufactured. Small plants placed strategically around the room complimented the organic feel of the cottage, making it seem as if it were deep in the woods. A small fire burned in the fireplace, providing welcome warmth from the growing chill of the night. "Wow." He shook his head in amazement. "This is wonderful." "Thank you." Lassandra stepped past him into the room. "I have worked hard to make it so." His jaw dropped open. "This is *your* cottage?" "Of course. It is our custom to take strangers into our home and make them feel welcome." Kurt eyed the one bed in the cottage, remembered what he saw Smith doing, and wondered how far that "welcome" extended. "I, uh, think I'll go sleep in the plane. That way I can try the radio at first light." She smiled prettily and grabbed his wrist. "Please don't. It would dishonor me greatly in the eyes of my sisters if you were to refuse my hospitality. You wouldn't want that, would you?" His mind began to drift again at the sight of her smile. "No." "Then please, sit." She gently tugged his wrist, and he allowed himself to be guided over to the table and placed in a chair. "Good." Lassandra went over and closed the door. Her staff she leaned against the wall. She then took a pot, which appeared to already have something in it, and put it over the fire. Kurt spent the time admiring her small, lithe, perfect figure as it moved about the cottage. He frowned briefly at the fire, finding something to focus on besides his growing desire. "Um, is it safe to leave a fire burning unattended?" "The fire would not harm this place," she said confidently. She stirred whatever was in the pot, humming contentedly. Kurt closed his eyes. His mind was thinking inappropriate things, and he needed to bring it under control. "So, what is it you do in this village?" "Whatever is necessary. We live as a cooperative, helping each other out as needed." "Oh. And, uh, what are the cooperative's goals?" "Simply to live here in peace and harmony." He frowned, wanting to say that it sounded boring but not wanting to offend her. She laughed, that musical laugh that sent tingles up his spine. "I know what you are thinking. We find ways to occupy our time. We stand a watch of sorts, waiting for our time." "When will that be?" "We do not know. Probably not for more centuries." "What are you waiting for?" "Ah, Kurt, that is a village secret we do not share with outsiders. Here." A strong scent of something wonderful drifted into his nose. He opened his eyes to find a bowl of stew in front of him. He smiled at her. "Thank you, Lassandra." She nodded. "My pleasure." They stood looking at each other for a moment. Kurt shifted a little in his seat. "Won't you join me?" She shook her head, the long curly tresses moving graciously along her robes. "It is our tradition to serve guests in our village." He mulled those words over. "I mean no offense, but I would rather not have a servant. Instead, I would greatly enjoy a dinner companion." She looked surprised. She seemed to do her own bit of thinking. "Um. Okay." She ladled some more stew into another bowl, then came and sat opposite him. He smiled and picked up his spoon. He lifted up a bit of broth, vegetable, and meat and ate it. It tasted great. "This is wonderful!" She smiled over the spoonful she was holding in front of her mouth. "Thank you." He chuckled. "I'm repeating myself, aren't I?" Her eyes crinkled as she chewed. Kurt gave up on conversation for a while as he dug into the stew with gusto. He hadn't realized how hungry he was, and it was *good*. Finally, he emptied the bowl and sighed. "Thanks again. It was delectable." She put down her spoon, even though her bowl was only half-empty. "Are you finished?" He nodded and watched as she picked up the bowls and spoons and took them over to small basin. She emptied the remainder of her stew into a pail, then poured water from a pitcher into the basin and began to wash the bowls. Kurt sprang to his feet. "Let me help." "No, Kurt." For the first time, she sounded less than serene. "Let me do this. You would be more of a hindrance than of assistance. Besides," she said as she wiped her hands on a woven cloth, "I'm done." "Oh." He supposed he *was* playing the helpful guest a bit too hard. For lack of anything more intelligent to do, he sat back down. Lassandra continued to stand, looking at him curiously. Kurt raised an eyebrow. "What?" She shook her head. "You are unlike any man I have ever known before." "Really? In what way?" He hoped it was good. She didn't answer. Just stood there with perfect eyes in the most beautiful face he'd ever seen, her robes draped over her body, giving hint to a figure that fired his blood... He forced his eyes closed again and began to seriously wring his hands. She sounded alarmed and somewhat frustrated. "What is wrong, Kurt?" He laughed somewhat self-deprecatingly. "I am having inappropriate thoughts." His eyes flew open as he realized what he'd just confessed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." "Yes you did." She smiled to take the sting out of her words. Then she walked up to him and bent her head over to put her face in front of his. Her scent filled him, reminding him of woods and earth. Her gorgeous eyes were right in front of his, looking at him frankly. Her position let him see deep into the curve of her breasts, and he had to use all of his willpower to keep his eyes focused on her face. He had all of two seconds to react to this before she kissed him. Her lips were soft and wonderful, and suddenly he was kissing her ferociously. He was as aroused as he had ever been in his life, and he clutched at her. She lost her balance and fell, pulling him off his chair. They ended up on the ground together side by side. He broke off the kiss in a panic. "Oh God, are you all right?" "I'm fine," she said somewhat breathlessly. She reached out for him. "No!" He rolled away and sprang to his feet, leaning against the wall. "Why not?" She sat up, staring at him in shock. "Because! Because..." Her disheveled look was singing to his lust. He closed his eyes again. "Because... I mean, I'm no puritan, but I don't do one-night stands either. Because sex means something to me." He gathered as much of his willpower as he could and opened his eyes again. "Because the only reason I want to have sex with you is because you're beautiful and you're willing, but that's not enough. There's got to be love in there somewhere." "Fascinating." She brought her knees up to her chest, still sitting on the floor, and wrapped her arms around them. "And you don't love me?" "Oh God, Lassandra... I mean, the possibility is there. Certainly, it's there. But I don't *know* you. To me, 'love at first sight' is hogwash. Certainly you can be strongly attracted to someone - right here we have a good example - but real love only comes when you get to know the other person's mind. And... I don't know you. Not yet." She tilted her head to the side, considering him yet again. Her whole body sang of desire, and he wanted to tell her to forget what he'd just said and meet him on the bed. He clamped his jaw shut and tried to focus solely on her eyes. Which were, unfortunately, the most attractive thing about her. "Kurt Skillingstad. Would you like to get to know me?" "Yes!" The word escaped his lips with a desperate velocity. She chuckled. "Then let us talk. Perhaps, if given a little time, you will love me and let me love you." He swallowed. "D-do you love me?" She looked to the side. "No. I just wanted to have sex with you." She looked at him. "Is that so bad?" "Uh, no. I mean... sex isn't a bad thing. It's just a lot better if you have it with someone you love, that's the point I'm trying to make." "I see." Her eyes flicked across the room for a moment. "I believe I could force the issue. I think if I tried hard enough, I could make you have sex with me." "No!" He grit his teeth. "I mean... if you forced yourself on me somehow, that wouldn't be sex, it would be rape. And I would hate you for that." He loosened his jaw. "I, uh, didn't mean..." "Yes you did." She smiled. "And, as it happens, I could not have an unwilling partner. So, as I said: let us talk until you are willing." He laughed. His brief spurt of anger had done wonders to clear his mind. "Sounds good. But I make no promises." She nodded. "Of course not. But I hold such high hopes." Kurt slid down the wall until he was seated, a nice, safe distance away from Lassandra. "So... what should we talk about?" "Tell me of yourself, Kurt. I would like to know how a man such as yourself came to be." He chuckled again. "I'm not as unusual as you're making me out to be." "I am not so certain." She crossed her ankles. "Please, tell me." "As milady wishes." He bowed his head, smiling, and began to talk. --- Kurt knew he should have been tired. Exhausted, even. He'd started by running around scrambling to find an airplane ride. He'd then sat for over an hour in an uncomfortable, noisy plane. He'd then survived a plane crash only to have a beautiful woman try to wait on him hand and foot and have sex with him. He'd just spent the past few hours talking to her. It had to be nearly dawn. But instead he felt refreshed. Peaceful, even. He wasn't sure if it was the soup or Lassandra. Hopefully the latter. He'd been talking about his life as a photojournalist and how he'd ended up in Greece. She seemed extremely interested and asked a lot of questions that showed how little she knew about how the world worked. She hadn't been lying; this island really *was* isolated. She knew the name of a few countries and that was about it. He finally ground to a halt. "Well, enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do *you* think of me?" She blinked. "What?" He smiled thinly. "Sorry, bad joke. What I really want to know is more about you. Who are you? What do you do every day? What is life like here on the island?" She quirked her mouth from side to side, a mannerism he found extremely endearing. "Well, there's not a lot I can say." "Tell me what you can." "I... I get up every morning and help tend the plants and animals. We work to better ourselves, and then we go to bed." "Uh... that's it?" "It is more work than you know." She recrossed her ankles. "Long ago, we were given power and an imperative. We must prepare ourselves or be found wanting." "Power?" A kind of disquiet settled into his stomach. "What kind of power?" She shook her head. "I cannot tell you now. Indeed, I've probably told you too much." She tilted her head towards him. "Have I made you fall in love with me yet?" "No. But you're scaring me." "I am? Why?" Kurt sighed. "There is so much going on that I don't understand. I feel like I've stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone." "The what?" "Never mind." He mulled it over. "You know, I liked you best when you stopped and explained yourself. If... if you're so keen on having me fall in love with you, I'd suggest that you try telling me the truth." He gulped, hardly daring believe that he'd said that to her. She seemed equally flabbergasted. She stared at him, real anger and frustration beginning to grow on her face. She jumped and strode over to her staff. She grabbed the top with both hands and touched it to her forehead, talking angrily into it in a language he didn't understand. He frowned and stood up. "What's wrong?" "You are!" She whirled on him, gripping the staff so tightly her knuckles were white. "You are so annoying! I am not going to fail because of you!" "Fail? At what?" She thumped the staff against the floor. "Never you mind! Just fall in love with me right now!" He couldn't help laughing. "It doesn't work that way." "I know! I know! I don't need *you* to explain to *me* what love is. But-" She suddenly cocked her head, as if listening to something. Her expression at once grew sad. "It is time." "For what?" "Never you mi-" She snapped her mouth closed and looked steadily at him for a moment. Her utter loveliness threatened to dazzle him again, but he kept it in check. "To honor our sister who has fallen." He frowned. "You mean the pilot? Wernz?" "I must go." She turned and opened the door. "If you value your safety, stay here until I return." She stepped through and closed the door behind him. Kurt stood in the center of the room, utterly confused. Lassandra was a riddle around an enigma wrapped by something he didn't understand at all. But he intended to find out. He looked out the window, to see more of the villagers streaming along the path. The were all carrying staves and moving silently. And, he realized with a start, they were all women. Some young - he saw girls of eight or nine - and some old - well into their nineties, he would guess. But they were all beautiful, at least by his standards. And, he guessed, most of the rest of the world's. He stood silently, not moving, until they were all gone. He waited another minute, then opened the door and walked down the path. He came to the edge of the forest. He looked through it, unable to find the easy path he and Lassandra had strolled down last evening. He sighed and pushed through the brush. It was extremely difficult; the branches were tough and unyielding, and he tripped and was scratched more times than he cared to count. But he kept at it until he reached the clearing. The woman were gathered near the plane and were singing. A beautiful song that filled the air and hushed the world. Kurt moved around the edge of the clearing, trying to find a good view without stepping out into the clearing. The trees continued to pull at him; he tried to ignore them. He finally reached a point where he saw Wernz being lifted from the plane. He blanched; she looked terrible. Much of her rib cage was so much meat hanging from bones. Fortunately for his gorge, she quickly disappeared amidst the mass of women. The singing continued for a few more minutes, then stopped. A voice called clearly over the crowd - Anna, Kurt thought. She was speaking the same language he'd heard Lassandra mutter not too long ago. She was speaking something clearly ritualistic by the cadence. She spoke for a long time, using words that held no meaning for Kurt but nevertheless succeeded in conveying regret and sadness. Finally, she quieted. Nothing happened for the moment, and then the women began to sing again. But this was different than their last song; this seemed to be another language altogether, with many guttural sounds and a peculiar vibrancy behind them. The air became thick and Kurt's skin crackled. "Power", Lassandra had said. Kurt was certain he was feeling it now. Something began to rise above the women. As Kurt watched with disbelieving eyes, a tree began to grow. Right there in front of him. It continued to reach for the sky, branches forming, leaves unfurling. It went up for about fifteen feet and then stopped as the singing slowly faded away. Kurt's mouth was completely devoid of moisture. He tried to swallow and couldn't. The women began to wander away, back towards the village. He distinctly heard Anna call out, "Lassandra." Kurt was watching the group carefully. They left in ones or twos, not staying closely grouped together. There was no body left behind. A helmet, some tatters of cloth, but of the pilot Wernz nothing was evident. Except the tree. Suddenly weak, he reached out for support. Something scratched his palm, and he snatched his hand back and looked at the tree. Trembling, he continued looking around, wondering how many dead women it took to make a forest. "Lassandra." Anna sounded annoyed. She went on to harangue the younger woman. Lassandra stood with her eyes downcast, uttering the occasional monosyllabic response. Kurt regained a bit of stability by watching her. Finally, Anna strode off, leaving Lassandra alone. She stood for a while, gazing thoughtfully at the tree, then turned to look directly at him. "Kurt, it is safe now." Kurt bit his lip and stepped forward into the clearing. He walked up to Lassandra, watching her closely. He moved past her to look up at the tree. "Magic. You can do magic. That's your power." "Yes." "Is... is she alive?" "Not in the way she was, no." He reached out and stroked the bark. "Rest well, Wernz. You saved my life, and I'm grateful." He rested it there for a moment, then turned back to see Lassandra watching him carefully. Kurt drew a breath. "So this is your secret. Magic." "Yes. We are perhaps the last remnant of true power on Earth. We were bound to this island and told to practice our art against the time when it will be needed." He raised an eyebrow. "And when will that be?" "When we are called. There are things yet that I cannot tell you." He sat on the grass with his back resting on the tree that had been a pilot. "So, what can you tell me?" She sat cross-legged, her staff on her lap. "Well. We are capable of great magic on this island, as you just saw. But it is a magic only women can wield." Kurt ventured a guess. "Which is why there are only women here?" "Yes. All things that are born here are born female. It is part of the magic." "Interesting. That also explains why you know so little about love." Her eyes flashed. "That is not true. I love as well and as deeply as you do." He spread his hands. "Forgive me, I said that badly. I meant, that's why you don't know the correlation between having sex with a man and love." "I know perfectly well what part sex plays in love. I don't need the wise outsider to explain to the young innocent what sex is *really* like." Kurt guffawed. He spoke through spurts of laughter. "Touche. My apologies." Her anger slowly cooled. She lifted a corner of her mouth. "I accept your apology. And... you had every right to make certain assumptions based on my behavior. I just have... different expectations from our interaction." Kurt sobered. "Can you tell me what you mean?" She quirked her mouth from side to side again. "Let me start with this: our island exudes much magic in a highly localized area. Anything 'scientific'" - she said the word like a curse - "entering the field ceases to function." He made a little "O" with his mouth. "Which is why the plane's engines stopped working." She sighed and bent her head down. "We... I... the death of the pilot was not what was intended." "I... I think she knows that." Lassandra sighed again and raised her head. "When things like this happen, we do what we can for the survivors. Treat them, make them feel welcome." Suddenly he knew where this was going. "Serve them." "Yes. And we ask for so little in return." "To father your children." Breeding stock, he thought. "Afterwards, we let them go with no memory of what has happened. And we carry their children and continue our work." Kurt grimaced. "And you were assigned to me? To make me have sex with you?" "I already told you we cannot accept what is not freely given. And I was not assigned to you. I was drawn to you." "Hmm? What's the difference?" She began absently stroking her staff. "For every man that comes across our island, one of the woman feels an urge to go to him and draw from him his seed. The man usually feels something similar. Conception always results. Again, it is part of the magic. The last time men came, I was too young to be feeling such urges. When I saw you standing there speaking forcefully to Anna - and few can, even among the women - I felt a need to be with you, to take you and serve you and bring your child into the world." She quirked a corner of her mouth. "You had to throw love into it." He looked at her curiously. "This urge - you have no choice?" "No, women are always given a choice. If I did not want to be with you, I would not. But we so infrequently have opportunities to get pregnant - any woman who is so blessed is greatly regarded by the rest." Kurt sighed. "So that's your job, raising my child?" She smiled. "I could think of no better." He laughed. "This is a wondrous life you lead." Her voice teased. "You keep mentioning that." "So I do." "So I've told you much about what I do. About what we do. Do you love me?" Kurt looked at her. The black-haired witch with the face of a goddess. Who was willing to talk with him, tell her of herself. Who was drawn to him, in a deeply magical way that spoke of destiny. He shuddered and finally let loose a floodgate. "Yes. I think I do." "Great!" Lassandra sprang from the ground knelt in front of him, reaching for his shirt. He gently grabbed her wrists. "Do you love me?" Her jaw dropped open. "What?" "Do you love me? It has to work both ways." "You never told me *that*!" She gave a disgusted snort and rose, turning away from him. Damn. Damn damn damn. "I thought you knew what part sex played in love." "I *do*. I mean... well, what I feel towards you is ultimately irrelevant." His heart lurched. "What?" "Kurt." She lifted her head to look at the sky. "Women are given a choice. Men aren't." He frowned. "What does that mean?" "It means... it means that men are not allowed to live on the island. Soon we... will be forcing the men to leave." "Dammit!" He rose to his feet, feeling a deep hurt. "You... you told me all about this wonderful magic and this idyllic life and the possibility of raising children here, you make me fall in love with you, and then you tell me I can't stay?!" She turned and looked steadily at him. "I'm sorry, Kurt. For so many things." "Lassandra!" He began walking somewhat unsteadily back towards the village. He'd had enough of the emotional roller coaster to last him a decade. Just as he was about to reach the trees, Lassandra came running up and put her hand on his arm. "If I am not here to guide you, the trees might try and hurt you." He looked up at them. "They hate strangers?" "They hate men. Many of them do." He looked over at her. "Do you?" She refused to meet his gaze. "I... you are the first man I have ever truly met, Kurt. I think you're a remarkable person." He finished the sentence for her. "But I am a man." She sighed. "The magic of this island is uniquely female. Men would disrupt it, cause disharmony. We... we cannot allow ourselves to... to like men. Our work would suffer, and our work is paramount." They reached the village. Kurt shook her off. "I would like to see the wounded men." "Certainly. But, speaking of which... if I may?" She raised her staff, looking at him for permission. Slowly he nodded. She reached over and tapped him on the forehead. A gentle wave passed through his body, leaving behind a soft ecstasy. He gasped, then looked down. His cuts and scrapes were gone, his body healed. He felt wonderful. He couldn't help smiling foolishly at her. "Thank you." Something deep and sad in her eyes gave him pause. She looked down and moved past him. "Let us see to your friends." Kurt followed, puzzled. There was something she still wasn't telling him, something that bothered her. Perhaps there was a price she would have to pay for failing to seduce him. Before he could pursue that line of thought further, he came across Winston leaning against a wall with a beatific smile on his face. Evidently Winston had no qualms about fulfilling his required service. Kurt nodded to him. "Sleep well?" The big man nodded. "Let me tell you, never better. Never, ever better." Probably another part of the 'service'. Kurt sighed. "Shouldn't we be getting back to the plane? Trying to put everything in order?" Winston's smile dimmed. "Do we have to? Lady inside says we'll be going soon." Kurt nodded. "At the very least they'll want the flight recorder, don't you think? We should have it for them." He could tell that Winston wanted to repeat his previous statement. Then he growled, ingrained discipline reestablishing itself. "You're probably right. I'll go find the sergeant." "Good." Kurt walked on with Lassandra, who had been patiently waiting for him. He smiled an apology at her, which she ignored. Eventually they reached a cottage where Kurt recognized the man with the broken arm. Or formerly broken arm, as evidenced by the fact that he had it around the neck of a pert blonde woman, who was smiling in satisfaction. Juarez, the uniform said. Kurt waved at him. "Feeling better?" "I never felt better in my life," Juarez said in unconscious imitation of Winston. Kurt snorted and looked around. "Where's the other one? The guy with the head wound?" "Wilson? Don't know." The blonde woman spoke up. "We were unable to heal the man's wounds. He is gone." Kurt clasped his forehead and closed his eyes while Juarez cursed. "I am sorry," the blonde woman said in a neutral tone of voice. "Please know that he did not suffer long." Two dead, because of this island. Kurt suddenly didn't feel so good about staying here. "Juarez," he said quietly. "Winston is rounding up the rest of the men. You might want to go help them out. Let them know about Wilson." "Yeah." He looked down at the blonde woman, and a brief look of regret mixed with disgust crossed his face. "Pardon me." He strode off glumly. "It truly hurts you." Kurt turned at the sound of Lassandra's voice. "It causes you pain, the death of strangers." He felt a bit of anger rise. "As much as it caused you grief when you learned that Wernz was dead. Men feel as strongly as women do." She held his gaze for a long moment, and for once his bones didn't turn to jello. He met her gaze straight on, seeing in her the person she was and letting her know of his strength as well. Suddenly both women tilted their heads, listening to something Kurt couldn't hear. "It's time," the blonde woman said. She began walking towards the center of the village. Lassandra sighed, sadly and with regret. "I must leave you now, Kurt. You will not remember me. I only wish I carried your child to remember you by." He had so much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to tell before she moved him and the others off the island and took away his memories of the too-brief moment they had shared together. "I love you," was all he could think of to say. She looked at him again, and he saw a tear fall from her eye. Then she turned slowly away and began walking down the road, going off to perform who-knows-what feat of magic. Kurt stumbled across the road and leaned over a fence, his mind reeling. He had so many regrets, so many things he wished were different. It was perhaps a blessing that he would not remember this. A pig came up to him, trying its best to look up into his face. Kurt chuckled and scratched its neck. The pig was a big one, obviously a breeder. Kurt wondered how much longer it would be before it was given over to bacon. A breeder. Something bothered him about that. He looked up over at the henhouse across the yard. Chickens, and chicks, were pecking at the ground in front of it. What was wrong with this picture? He couldn't figure it out. He looked back down at the pig. It was nuzzling his hand, demanding attention. He scratched behind its ear. And stopped. The big had a very large scar around its ear, along its forehead and down its jowl. It looked recently-formed, too. Very recent. Everything born on this island was female. But there were baby chicks and male pigs. The magic of this island could turn dead bodies into living trees. Men weren't given a choice. And then, a word, something that he had heard in both the tongue Anna had used when addressing her troops, and the chant the woman had used to turn Wernz into a tree. A word mixed in with the other meaningless syllables, for some reason standing out sharply at this particular moment. Circe. Dread froze him in place as he heard the singing begin. He wrenched himself into motion and began stumbling along the path. "Smith! Winston! Juarez! Anyone!" He shouted over and over until he heard an answering shout. Juarez and the medic - Canton - were running up to him. "What's wrong? What's with the singing?" Kurt grabbed Juarez's shirt. "We have to find the others and leave. Right now." "But-" "Now! Where's Smith?" "I don't know. What's going on?" "We have to find him." With extreme reluctance, Kurt turned back towards the village center. "We have to find them all." A terrified shout rose from somewhere in the village, a male shout that quickly faded. Kurt gasped. "Oh God." Canton sounded panicked. "Are they out to kill us?" "Worse. We'd better stick together." He ran down the path, the others shouting and quickly catching up. They came across a tall, thin man whose name Kurt didn't know. He almost fell into his arms. "Smith! Have you seen Smith? Or Winston or anybody?" The man was obviously controlling his fear with difficulty. "The sergeant told me to wait here while he and Winston went off to see what the singing was about." He pointed down the road. "Damn! Come with us." He pushed himself off the man, took two steps, and stopped. He could see them, Winston and Smith, about three hundred yards away. They were standing next to each other as singing women with staves moved slowly towards them. Kurt drew in a deep breath and shouted as loudly as he could. "SMITH! GET YOUR MAN OUT OF THERE, NOW!" Smith looked back at him, ahead to the women, and apparently made a decision. He barked at Winston before turning and running towards Kurt. Winston merely looked at the women, evidently wondering what the big deal was. Kurt tried again. "WINSTON, RUN!" Winston looked back at him, a puzzled look of disgust on his face. He turned back towards the women just as one touched him on the forehead with her staff. Winston stumbled back with a shout. He appeared to explode, his clothes ripping off him in a few seconds. He was growing, his already-dark skin turning black and sleek, hair growing fine and thick all over it. His shouts were now of terror, and his voice was changing, loosing coherency. He brought his hands up in front of his eyes and watched as the palms began bulging outward, swallowing the fingers. His rib cage bulged, and suddenly he fell forward. He reached out with his changed hands and landed easily on all fours. His legs and pelvis changed configuration, allowing him to easily lift his rear off the ground. At the base of his spine, a tail emerged and quickly grew. Winston looked at Kurt with a face that was mostly human. He shouted a cry for help, except it sounded like a deep bellow of animal noise. Then his jaw began to protrude and his nose to widen and flatten. Horns poked through his temples and over eyes that had become huge and dumb. Winston bellowed one more time in a panic before another touch of a staff calmed him down. "The Virgin Mary, Mother of God." This from Juarez, in a tone full of fear. Smith, who perhaps fortunately hadn't seen the transformation, finally reached them. "Let's go, troops!" He barked with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. The soldiers complied and began running. Kurt examined the women, looking for Lassandra. He didn't see her, but he did see the other women moving towards him. He spun and ran. The other men, professional soldiers, were able to keep their lead until they came to the forest. There they waited for Kurt. Smith called out to him as he came up. "Juarez thinks you might know about these witches. Any ideas?" Kurt tried to stave off the panic. "We have to get off the island. Is there anything in the plane?" "Yes," the tall man said. "A raft, big enough for all of us." Another cry of despair was all the urging they needed. "Good enough," Smith said as he forced his way into the forest. Kurt and the others crashed after him. The branches tore at them, the roots tripping them and making the way dangerous, the leaves whispering anger. Kurt could feel the hate emanating from the forest, and knew that the remaining men on the island didn't have much time. A cry from behind stopped them for a moment. The tall man had his foot trapped in the roots. He cried out as he frantically tried to untie his boot. And then a staff appeared from behind him and tapped him on the head. His cry quickly went up the register. His nose collapsed into his face as his lips began to protrude and grow hard. His eyes slid along his shrinking face until one was on either side of his head. Spines appeared all over his body, quickly becoming black and red feathers. His legs turned into toothpicks and his body became very small and plump. He crowed and crowed as he vanished inside his clothing. Kurt wondered what the man's name had been, and swallowed hard at the realization that it didn't matter any more. He looked beyond the squawking pile of clothing to see more women stepping easily through the forest. He turned and pushed at those in front of him, who had been watching in horrified fascination. Winston and Juarez needed no further impetus. They began clawing at the foliage frantically. Fortunately, the clearing quickly came into view, and they stumbled into it. They ran for the plane in full panic mode. They had almost reached it before it was consumed in flames. The fire sprang up all at once, the heat driving the men back. Juarez pointed. "The ocean! This way! Genor showed me!" He ran, Smith hard on his heels. Kurt took a few steps towards the front of the plane to look at the tree of Wernz. It seemed... shielded somehow, unaffected by the intense flames. Kurt knew one, brief moment of relief in the nightmare his life had become. Then he looked at the women who were strolling steadily towards him, singing, before he turned and ran for his life. Or his humanity, which was much the same thing to him. Ahead, he saw Juarez and Smith jump off what was evidently a cliff. That was good enough for Kurt; he didn't break stride as the ground fell away beneath him. He fell about ten feet before hitting the sand rolling. He sprang up to see Smith and Juarez at the ocean's edge. Kurt ran up to them and looked out. "So what do we do? Swim two hundred miles to safety?" "Better than being a rooster in my book," Smith said, a wild look in his eye. He quickly took his boots off and began wading into the water. Kurt and Juarez looked at each other. Kurt spoke grimly. "We need better options. He won't last an hour out there. We need to find a boat or something." Juarez looked behind him. "We just ran out of options." Kurt whirled to see women walking up the beach, their song just becoming audible over the pounding of the surf. Kurt saw Lassandra among them, and his heart lurched. He whirled with Juarez to see other, more distant women coming up the other side of the beach. Juarez looked behind him, but Kurt already knew he'd be seeing women at the cliff's edge looking down at him. Juarez grabbed Kurt's shirt. "Man, anything's better than what *they* are gonna do to us. I say we chance it with the sergeant." Kurt nodded. "Maybe the three of us..." A roar washed over them. They turned to see tentacles rising in the water around Smith. He had time to shout once before one tentacle grabbed him and pulled him under. The rest of the tentacles waved in the direction of the beach, as if beckoning them in. The singing grew louder, and Kurt looked around to see the women of Circe surrounding him. His terror and despair were complete. He could see no escape, he had no hope. Juarez snarled, a feral look on his face. He pounced at Anna. She merely met his attack with her staff. It struck him in the chest and he fell back. "Nooooo!" Juarez cried and tried to gather himself for another attack. Unfortunately, his positioning on his hands and knees only made it easier for the magic to do its work. "Nyyyaaaaeeeeee!" His legs shrank. Two of each of his fingers grew together and his thumb moved up his arm. His cheeks grew vast and his ears become high and pointed. His skin was turning pink and leathery, and two of his teeth grew into short tusks. Kurt was absolutely frozen. Evidently the women needed more than one pig. The pig, still mostly in his uniform, was led away. The rest of the women closed in on Kurt. He looked from side to side. He saw no emotion, no pity in the singing faces around him. Magic rippled in the air, waiting for release. And staves, staves everywhere, waiting to take his humanity from him. Kurt turned to consider taking his chances in the ocean, slim as they were. Some of the women, however, had waded into the water and had him cut off. His panic and terror were at their height and his rationality was a distant memory. He wanted to gibber, but some voice wanted his last human act to be intelligent. What, he didn't know. He clawed at his throat, wondering if he could rip out his jugular before they could touch him. At least he'd die on his terms and not theirs. He was about to try it when the singing stopped. There was no silence; the crashing surf easily filled the void. But the surfeit of song made the air seem clear and still. He looked around, very frightened. He wondered how many seconds of rationality he had left, and the very thought alone almost made him lose his sanity right then and there. Anna spoke from his right. "This is all your fault." He looked at her face; she seemed irritated. "It's never been this difficult," she continued in a scolding tone of voice. "We usually just change them all at dawn, after the chosen have conceived and the men are still sleeping. We waited a while this time because we were grieving for our departed sister, and because Lassandra wanted another opportunity to try and convince you to father her daughter." She shook her head. "And then you made us chase you halfway across the island. We've used more magic today then we've used all year. And that magic is dearly bought. Plus we lost one of our breeders. You can't imagine how much we need good ones." Kurt tried to kick his brain into gear. Anna was trying to tell him something. He had no idea what, and he needed to figure it out. She studied him for a moment, then sniffed. "In all of our history, only three men have refused our service. One actually managed to escape. But then he had the power of the gods backing him; you have none such." He tried to ask something resembling an intelligent question. "And the other?" Anna gestured towards the ocean. "He killed three of our sisters before being subdued. He was given the task of defending our shores. This is the first time he's acted to prevent an escape, however." Kurt's returning calm quickly vanished. He wondered what special task they had in mind for him. Anna sighed, the sound of one who has to suffer unfair tribulations. "And yet, hard as it is to believe, there is one who begs for you to be spared. She says she loves you and does not want to see you pressed into service. After all, you did not allow her to serve you and you committed no crime. Indeed, you showed compassion, not only for your fellow men but for our sister that we had raised to the sun. How can we, in good conscience, allow you to share your friends' fate?" Kurt moved his eyes to look at Lassandra. He had not wanted to look at her, had not wanted to see her cold face as his humanity drained away. Her face was still neutral, but her eyes glistened as she stared fixedly at him. Kurt looked back at Anna, who shook her head. "I cannot allow it. Such a thing would be obscene. I can, however, give you something no other man has ever been given. A choice." He heard splashing in the water. He turned to see that the women had left the way free and clear to the relatively tranquil ocean. Anna's voice drifted over his shoulder. "You may attempt to leave. We cannot offer you a boat or a plane, for we have none such ourselves and yours were destroyed. We can, however, still our guardian so that he will not attack you as you go by. Your fate will be in your own hands - and the hands of the gods, should any still exist. Or you can stay here and be touched by a staff of the Disciples of Circe, as has already happened to your companions. The choice is yours; we only insist that you make it quickly, for we must use this power we have garnered one way or the other, and soon." Kurt studied the ocean. He saw no tentacles. He also saw no land masses, no indication of which way he should go, what he should do. A needle in a haystack somewhere in Andromeda. Fairly certain death. Or stay and be a pig or a duck or something. Perhaps be allowed one final tup before changing the number of his gene pairings. A hell of a choice. Footsteps in the sand made him whirl. Lassandra was walking up to him. He wanted to run screaming into the ocean, but managed to hold his ground. He could not take his eyes off her staff. "Kurt." Her voice was as neutral as her face. "Do you trust me?" This shocked him out of his stupor. "Trust you? *Trust* you!" He looked into her eyes. "You lied to me and tried to have sex with me just before turning me into something less than human and you want to know if I trust you?" Her eyes were liquid and her voice was shaking. "Yes." "You want to know the damnedest thing, Lassandra? The one truly horrifying thing? The answer is yes. Yes, I still trust you. Yes, I still love you." "G-good." She raised her staff. "Then let me touch you." Anna began to chant. The others joined one by one, each lending her voice and power to the gathering magic. Kurt felt it thickening in the air, hovering over him like a thundercloud. He looked back to the ocean and the way was still clear. He looked one last time into Lassandra's eyes. Tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks. Yet she stood straight and her gaze didn't waver. She stood there and stared love and regret into his soul, and he would do anything for the first. Even accept the second. He closed his eyes and knelt at her feet, his head bowed. Each second was an eternity, yet all too soon the staff touched his head like the fall of an executioner's axe. The magic exploded within him. The staff was lifted away and the magic was left behind. Fire flew along every vein, every nerve, every atom of his being, screaming, screaming, hurting. Falling forward on his hands - how much longer to have hands? - as his stomach was shredded from inside, choking him, the pain omnipresent, battling his terror for the remains of his sanity. Cows had five stomachs; how many had he now? Shifting, moving, rearranging, his insides altered, his humanity slipping, oh God in heaven help me. The changes were spreading, bubbling from beneath from the boiling cauldron of his insides - stew, she'd served him stew from a boiling cauldron, he should have known she was a witch, someone please make it stop. Up to the surface the changes came, he didn't want to see he desperately didn't want to see but his eyes flew open of their own accord as his body began to shift. His hands. Flesh was being drawn from them, making them slimmer. Claws - they would be claws, he was certain. Claws or wings or something, they were melting but they still looked like hands for now and he tried to will them to stay hands. Creaking, something was creaking, *he* was creaking his bones shifting his rib cage contracting his hips were widening. His balance changing - fear and terror at the thought that he would never stand upright again. Wanting to sob but not, for fear he would not sound human, also trying to accept his fate well in front of Lassandra, oh Lassandra why why how could you do this to me does it have to hurt this much? Flesh growing on his chest, panic rising even further, more horrible changes, horrible things happening to him. Falling on his side, trying to use what remained of his hands to prevent the new growth. His new flesh filling his hands through his shirt stop growing go back please stop I want to be human go back go back slowing, stopping, finished? Not finished; something jerking hard on his groin his flesh enfolding, the pain exquisite. He wanted to shout his resolve gone but so much pain and panic and terror that he couldn't move he couldn't breathe. The magic leaving. The pain receding. Still can't breathe, fear and memory of pain and lack of rationality stealing his breath. His head lifted; a hand slapping him, hard. Gasping and breathing great lungfuls of air. Sanity slowly beginning to creep back. One thought consuming his thoughts: what exactly had he been turned in to? Trying to remember the changes he had undergone, trying to fit them in with known animals, nothing making sense, his mind racing racing racing. He lay there, his head on someone's lap, for a long time, trying somehow to regain his equilibrium. He idly heard people moving away, but so long as the lap remained under his head he didn't care. Finally, his heart began to resume a normal beat, his breath was even, and his thoughts were no longer going around in rabid circles. It was actually a moment of peace, a hard-earned one he knew would only last until he opened his eyes. He opened them. As he had known, it was Lassandra's face looking down at him. She was smiling gently. She reached down to cup his jaw. "Are you all right, love?" Unsure if he had a voice, he nodded. "I'm glad. We've never done anything like this before. It was extraordinarily difficult, more so than we had imagined. We didn't mean for it to be so painful, but you bore it rather well." Kurt looked to the left and right without trying to move his head. There was black fur on either side and he decided that was all he wanted find out about his new form for now. Lassandra quirked a corner of her mouth and stood up, pulling Kurt to his feet as well. His *feet*. He was standing. Standing. She was holding his hands. Actual, honest-to-goodness hands with opposable thumbs. There were still plenty of differences. His balance felt wrong, and the flesh growths were still hanging on his chest. He also had to look up into Lassandra's eyes, where before she had looked up at his. Lassandra sighed. "I am so sorry, love. But men are not allowed to live on this island. A true shame, for I would very much have liked to have carried our daughter. But at least you are alive and human and I can love you." And at long last, Kurt understood. He looked down to see small breasts protruding from his chest. His hips were much wider, and he didn't have to reach down to feel that things had changed significantly in his groin. He looked up at Lassandra, noting in passing that he now had long hair similar to Lassandra's, straight instead of curly. Lassandra laughed. "You like your hair? I chose it myself, knowing that you would enjoy it. The rest was pretty much dictated by the magic inside of you." "My-" He stopped, his voice so different in his ears, high and soft and most definitely feminine. "My genes?" he forced himself to finish. "That's the 'scientific' word for it, yes. We have other ways of seeing such things. I will teach you, love. For now you are a daughter of Circe, and you must work with us to prepare for the Return." Kurt's mind had finally had enough. It was all too much for the past twenty-four hours. It shut down and dragged him into blessed unconsciousness. His last coherent thought was to wonder if he should have chosen the ocean after all. ~*~ Awareness was reluctant in returning. Kurt was equally reluctant to accept it. Kurt's mind was buzzing as he opened his eyes. A thick layer of unreality was wrapped around him like a blanket, keeping him from doing nothing more than stare numbly at the ceiling. Wooden, with natural grains flowing together. As if a tree had been grown in the shape of a house. The thought that it probably had been bounced comfortably off the shield he'd erected around his brain. Just a hallucination, Kurt. You're in a coma somewhere in Athens and you'll be coming out of it any day now. Just don't become too caught up in the fantasy world you've created for yourself deep in your subconscious. Remember, none of it is real. His head was gently lifted up and a cup brought to his lips. "Love, please, drink." Kurt couldn't deny the voice. He parted his lips and allowed the liquid to pass over his tongue. Water, of a kind he'd never drank before, sweet and satisfying. He found himself drinking greedily, bringing his hands up to take the cup and drain it. When he wa