Voces y Almas

[El Nuevo Diestro]

((OOC: This happened several weeks ago, but, yeah. Also note, Diego's conversations with the voices are in Spanish, but in the interest of people knowing what the hell is going on...insta-translation!))

"....any idea how we had to apologize to the parents and coach?! You do know you embarrassed more than just yourself! We are not amused that in your first week here you.....young man, are you listening to me?!?"

Diego had begun to stare off into space, and then his eyes had lost focus. When his lips started moving, the Sister had had enough. Unfortunately, she was completely unprepared for the response.

"The boy is aware of his trangressions. We are aware he has need for greater discipline, to obey. There are, however, circumstances here we need to discuss."

It took a second for the Sister to clamp her jaw shut. It took another for her to get her thoughts organized. Diego's mouth was moving, the voice (voices?) had come from him. Nevertheless, that was not Diego. "Plus," she couldn't help but think, "that english was much better than Diego's..."

"Sister?"
Of course, she'd read about the student before she'd called him into her office. That he'd bonded with the souls of his ancestors. That he spoke to them. But...but this!

"Who..uh...are you?" She blushed at the squeak surprised had made of her voice.
"We are the Diestros, masters of generations past. His masters. We appreciate the need for discipline. His case, however, requires particular means. We feel we should discuss this with you, if you would be so kind, Sister."

************

"OCHO PAGINAS! OCHO!"
"We are in agreement. But regulations must be obeyed. The Church must be obeyed."
"I dont have time..."
"Time will be made. You will excel. You will obey."
"But..but...how am I supposed to write about magic?"
"Are you learning nothing? Knowledge is power. Knowing your enemy is vital. For this back talk you will answer to us later. Now. To the library."
Diego did his best to regain control, but an angry sigh escaped as he stalked across the campus. A few people gave him odd glances as he went by, mumbling to himself and staring into space with a blank look.
"But, no sports....at all! It wasn't even my fault! Not really. Not totally. You all know!"
"Yet still, consequences follow actions. If you stand by your actions, you accept consequences. And...you obey."
"Yes, Diestros."
"At any rate, the restriction in your movements, if not the ban on sporting events and activities, will be lessened once you complete the essay. It is a goal, a mission to accomplish with tangible reward. Look at it that way....and give it your all. "
"Yes, Diestros."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Lost....very lost. It's worse right now, but even at its best, I am overwhelmed and shut down, a candle in a gale. I don't know what to do; worse, the ones who have been telling me what to do, dont know what to do.

"Who disciplines these children.." "...had a point, actually" "Perish the thought, surely you don't..." "Well, after all, this is most certainly not Spain..." "....been let down by the Church here, have we not seen the active witchcraft..." "...honestly, we have allied with proper magicians in the past..."

"Diego!"

It rages and rages. In the face of the screaming in my psyche, my soul drifts, and other souls articulate, and gesticulate, through me.

"Diego!"

That's......is that my name? I know the masters aren't talking to me. This is "too important" to involve my say so. Then why am I hearing my name? Maybe something has changed.

"I want to hear from you, Diego."

That's....is that Kelly? That's something she would say. How many times has she held them off, brought me back? Without her, I may well have already been swallowed. I have no idea how she can talk to them like she does. Maybe its different because she only hears them with her ears. No. It has to be something more.

"You have to talk to me, Diego, or we won't get anywhere."

Wait! I remember now...therapy. They pushed it up after the incident broke open in the comm and some other whispers. Of course the concern would be for the American students; the Lord forbid they be the ones made uncomfortable by me instead of the other way around the way it usually is.

I am more aware of me now...Ms. Atwood does actually want to talk to me. And....I have a bond, and a responsibility to that bond. The surge of elation that memory brings is strengthening, too. How ironic. The masters are always making sure I'm aware of how important responsibilities are. Now, this responsibility will help me push them back.

I dont like it...its so much better if they just back out. But their argument is far from winding down. So I push in. I can't help but wonder what it is like to get a....what does she call it?...."whump", from Stasis. Cold and sharp ice and blunt impact at once. I imagine it would feel like what it is like to push my soul into the maelstrom that is the melee of the Diestros.

"nnnn...ahhh....ehhh....Se...Señora Atwood. Sí, Señora, I am...eh...I am here. "

"Diego, we barely spoke today, and we've near run out of time."

"I am essorry, Señora. Es...harder, right now."

"Are these....rumors going around the school part of what's causing this?"

I knew what she was asking. I'm already focused keeping control, and holding back my anger too easy in the face of that. Besides, she really was on the wrong track, and that thought actually made the question a little funny. "No...no Señora. That es no what es cause."

"Then what do you feel might be the cause?"

"They are no sure....they are loud, no seem able to talk en one voice...."

"Mmm. What does...oh, I'm sorry. We'll definately pick up on this next time." Ms. Atwood glances down at her pad, and I see her expression flicker for a second. "Maybe I'll talk to Dr. Conrads about joining us? Would that be all right?"

"Ah...eh, sí, Señora."

"Well, at least it hasn't affected your manners." A brief smile; it actually is reassuring, even when you know its intentionally supposed to be. "OK then. See you soon, Diego. Feel better, hmm?"

"Sí, gracias, Señora Atwood."

**************

"David?"

"Oh, hi Valerie. What's up?"

"I just had a session with Diego Compostelaro."

"That's good, it's been sounding like he hasn't been doing so well."

"I need to discuss something with you."

"What's that, Valerie?"

"This."

She put the drawing pad on his desk. What was on it was more like a sketch from a Rennaisance painting than the usual images that came to her.

A somewhat indistinct male youth knelt in the center of a field, one arm raised upwards in suplication. Another hazy figure, possibly feminine, floated above him, reaching down. Meanwhile, two groups of warriors charged from opposite directions towards the center of that field. Though both sides contained horsemen, men running on foot, and even a few that seemed to be hurtling through the air, one side wore black and also bore torches, while the other side wore grey and held amulets, which in only a few figures could barely be made out to either be some form of stylized star. Or, maybe......a windmill?

"Huh," said Dr. David Conrads.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"Come on, Diego. You know you can. Just tell us," she said. She knew this was the right thing to do, though she was getting the best end of the deal out of the people in the room.

"I...eh...eh....they es....they es say...nnnn.."

"You're here with us, Diego. You're talking to us, here in this room, in your school. Talk to us, Diego." She was focused on him, a unique mix of authority and compassion in her voice, coaxing him into maintaining himself.

"Too...many. Es no...es no make sense."

"Explain it to me, then. Make me understand." They had come very far, but maybe just a little more and there may be a breakthrough, and she was now a little eager.

"They say....I must leave this esschool. They...they say, I can no go...They say I must go. I must esstay. I must learn much, I can no learn here, here is where I must learn, here is where I can learn...."

"They're contradicting themselves?" She was unsure what that meant, exactly, but knew that it was vital to what was going on. That this may be key.

"You will not......ahh...nnn...no..no, she es ask. I....they no contradict...they es...fight."

This was not getting any less strange. "Fight? What are they fighting?"

"Nnn..nnn..no....you no understand. Fight themselves. Lost unity....E Uno Pluribum...."

Fighting amongst themselves?, she thought. With Diego as battleground. The consequences can't be good, unless we can use this to help Diego regain more independence. Make him think about himself more. "Diego, was that Latin at the end? I didn't know you knew Latin."

"I...I no know. I hear him say. He esscream it, so I hear."

He? "He who, Diego? I've always heard you call them 'they'."

"I es hear many they...es some he.....es....es a she? Es so many..."

Knowing this could be a possible minefield, Valerie Atwood looked over at her colleague. After just a glance her face goes pale, however, and she turns back to Diego. "Its ok, Diego. You're alright. We can stop here, for now. We can get back to this next time. You can go."

"S-sí. Sí, Señora." Diego blinked several times, shook his head. He was groggy, not fully there, still in the fog he was still learning how to clear. He left the office and walked towards the Chapel, hoping prayer would bring more focus back the way it usually did.

Valerie watched him go, then turned to Dr. Conrads. "David, are you alright?"

Dr. Conrads held the handkerchief to his nose, sopping up the blood. "Yeah, I'm ok. Some session, huh? You've got a knack for keeping his attention. And understanding that accent of his."

"What happened?" she asked.

"Not sure...maybe those souls of his broadcast a lot more static when they're fighting. Maybe the kid latched onto me when I was trying to isolate him. Some kind of feedback? There was a certain something, I think, at one point."

"Are you sure you're ok?" There was an uncertain tone to her voice.

"You were right, Valerie, we have to keep doing that with him together. It's just a nosebleed." It seemed, in fact, to mostly be gone now.

"If you're sure..."

"I'm fine, Valerie. What did you come up with this time, by the way?" He tried to peek at her pad.

She looked down at it, shook her head, then held it up to him. He winced. "Do you ever get puppies, or rainbows, or kittens or anything, Valerie?"

She laughed at that. "Oh, sometimes. And not always from the girls. I think its going to be a long time before we get puppies from him, though." She looked back down at her pad. A very long time, indeed.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"Is the conclave set?" a voice asked.

"Yes. We are in conclave. If any others approach and attempt to listen, they will be identified and we will be forewarned," replied a second voice.

"Then we shall begin, and at the beginning. 26th, how stand the factions?" the first voice to speak asked.

"There is little change thus far. The Old Ones are quiet, but they rarely intercede except in the very long range, the immediately critical matters, and for decisive turning points. So that is as expected. The Duelists are treading a middle ground at the moment, as it were, more concerned with the boy's day-to-day. The Monks are, of course, praying for intercession, but seem to be closest to us in ideology. The Younglings are disorganized, currently; they could jump any which way. The Blackshirts are on the surface just continuing to fight for the boy to be moved to somewhere else, and to push the boy to be more physical, use intimidation, and seek confrontation. More secretly, they are sending their best orators to others, using logical fallacies to try to win converts. They seem to have well won over the Traditionalists."

"Discouraging. The Politicians and the Spies?" This was the first voice again.

"The Politicians are who they have always been. They've parlayed the situation into more influence, and it doesn't look like they'll loose it regardless of how things turn out. The Spies...have actually been working with the Duelists. Make of that what you will."

"Which leaves the few singletons as wild cards."

"There are always a few. They can't be discounted," replied the one identified as the 26th.

"None of us can. Whatever else, this is a status that is earned," said the first voice.

"And it is our task to assure that the boy has the opportunity to earn it, Sol de España," said a third voice.

"Of course, Mata-piratas, as you say," said the first voice, Sol of España.

"More, we have each faced different tasks. We must make sure that he is prepared as best he can for the tasks in front of him. Even the fiancée has seen and addressed that. That those like the Blackshirts refuse to see reason means we must struggle the harder. Diego is everything right now. I fear this will not end in civil discussion, as so often in the past. This will end in civil war."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"Diego! Could you please try to refrain mumbling to the little voices while I'm trying to teach to the class?" The teacher hadn't realized how the "little voices" comment sounded until the sentence was out, and the class broke out into merciless laughter. The boys in the back had been giving her issues, however, and her patience was at a low ebb. "Enough!"

Diego blushed furiously. "eh....essorry...."

More chuckles and giggles, mostly from the back. A voice loaded with scorn quietly but clearly said, "Theres no 'e' in that word, taco-boy." The friends that belonged to that boy's voice seemed to think that the funniest thing they'd ever heard.

"O.k. class, enough! If you're so sure about these new equations you can interrupt me, then we may as well get to the good part. Clear your desks, quiz time." The chorus of groans and 'aww mans!' and 'not fair!' came right on cue.

The voice in the back wasn't done, though. "Thanks, mexi-can't."

This time Diego turned in his chair, a scowl on his face. The teacher was not in the mood. "Diego! Face forward, now." She looked to the back of the class. "And you, young man, are skating on some very thin ice. That is enough, unless you'd care to share your comments in the office."

Content with the hits he'd scored, the kid in the back only smiled and leaned back in his seat. "Sure thing, teach." The teacher rolled her eyes and began handing quizzes to the kids in the front row to pass back. At least she'd get some quiet while the quiz was in progress.

***********
Diego stalked down the hallway. Lunch had been alright, but he'd fallen back on the basic excersises for training; the voices hadn't come into true focus to run him through the paces. He wasn't at all sure what that meant, but knew he probably wouldn't like it in the long run. Now the afternoon didn't seem like it was likely to get any better. At least he was usually left alone in the hallways; he was definately not a small kid, and not many liked when he turned the full brunt of his masked face at them, either.

He kept his head down regardless, and tried to focus on his own thoughts. At least that was getting easier since he'd been here. Still, assorted little things triggered his awareness, as they always did; whatever the voices got involved in, there were always some keeping vigilant, observing all directions, all angles, sharing their perceptions.

He dodged a kid practically zooming by through the air, a look of wonder and disbelief on his face, as if he couldn't believe he was doing what he was doing. Diego shrugged and kept going; the other kid had probably just learned to do that. Diego had heard that sometimes kids could only barely float or bob along until they got good enough to really fly. Something else made him look up and he saw Sam waving a purse and smiling. That brought him to a dead stop, but things were still weird between them and it probably wasn't any of his buisness anyway. He kept going.

Why-oh-why did this class have to be on the other side of the school? He saw kids talking and laughing, and sighed; then he hopped sideways suddenly, narrowly avoiding running right over a small girl with the biggest pair of glasses he'd ever seen. She blinked and gave him an owlish look. She'd apparently been distracted by the book in her hands. Diego mumbled an apology, then blushed as he remembered the boy's comment from his previous class. He didn't wait for a responce and trudged forward again. He knew he needed alot of practice in pronounciation, and listening to native speakers and mimicking the best way to sound less out of place, but most kids used so much slang he wasn't sure what language they were speaking, let alone how he was supposed to pronounce any of it.

He did his best to ignore the kids who made him tense up and the hair rise on the back of his neck. Not too many poked his awareness enough to actually make him grimace, and he'd gotten much better at ignoring those that didn't rub actual spellcasting in his face. Well, except for maybe Diyar. That arrogant, self-superior, magic-drenched.....At any rate, it still blew both his and many of the Diestros' minds that what appeared to be actual witchery was allowed here. The feedback of red hot rage that came from Diestros who had hunted, and been hunted, by witches and wizards and the like, was almost overwhelming when spellcasters oblivious to what they consorted with spoke about or performed their acts so matter-of-factly. Diego spent very little time in his room, except to sleep.

Ah! There's the classroom. Finally. He went in and sat down at his desk, pulling out his book and homework, then shook his head and sighed. English class. He really hated afternoons.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"Proof positive, this place will poison him.."

"There will be disagreements anywhere, this is hardly so terrible..."

"Outright heresy! Clear and naked! Speaking of the Bible itself as a dead thing with no relevance..."

"They are young, and this isn't old Spain...."

"Obviously, he wouldn't be outcast for Catholic beliefs while under Catholic authority in Spain..."

"A policy of naked aggression is hardly condusive to..."

"Naked aggression? He speaks of how dark magic can corrupt, how those who consort with techniques which turn people away from God's power can harm the soul, and he's treated as a barbarian!"

"Perhaps, but those youths did not see it in those terms.."

"Would you have the boy not see things in those terms?"

"You know there are proper magicians, as opposed to witches and the like, whose techniques are not proscribed, who have aided the Order, the Crown, the Church..."

"They use the word witch..."

"Don't ignore context...!"

"Ten of us have been lost to foul magic..."

"Eleven."

"THE NINTEENTH DOES NOT COUNT! DID NOT EXIST!!"

Silence fell. Eventually, the debate would begin again, but at that near-hysterical cry, silence fell deep and heavy. For the youth within whose mind this raged, however, there was no debate, but just as much turmoil. One acidic series of thoughts raced back and forth, over and over and over...

"They hate me. I don't belong. They don't want me to belong. I shouldn't have gone to Overbrook. This will happen every time. I have to stay away. They all hate me." Training didn't help, and sleep was fitfull when it came. When he woke for early morning training before the school day, he instead headed for the Chapel. Father Montoya would awake before too long, and until he did he would seek comfort in prayer.


((OOC: In the interest of possible progression towards future peace and understanding, I need to post this somewhere, and I figure here'll work since I decided to write this post about Diego's latest confrontation with the rest of the students. So a peak inside the workings of Diego's head.

Part of the problem is Diego automatically reacts negatively towards magic users, and especially those who flaunt spells or defend spellcasters. He very much acts as if guilty until proven innocent. He knows that there are good magics, that not all magic users are bad, and that people have a right to different beliefs. But those aren't his default reactions, and he's not shy about saying what his default reactions are; in this way he provokes people. So far people have, understandably, responded to those reactions. Thus, they try to convince him how wrong he is (or taunt him about how wrong he is), and prove magic isn't evil, rather than even see what or where his viewpoint may come from; after all, why bother with a violence-crazed religious nut, right? The fact that many of the voices in his head are genuine bigots with nothing but hate in their hearts, and that there have been several nasty incidents in his family history, of course doesn't help the situation at all.

But the real root of the problem, from what I think I've seen so far though, is a combination of the language and culture barrier. Thats because people tend to translate words, but not context. Brujo (male) and bruja (female) translate to witch (though brujo is sometimes translated to wizard since witch is often considered to apply only to females). But in english, the word has moved past its old context of evil and curses and the devil, and has become associate with any of a number of religions and belief sets. This is not the case in spanish; the word does not have a neutral connotation, and the most "neutral" a brujo/bruja could be is someone straddling a fine line while playing with evil forces. Witch just happens to be the closest word in english to the concept the word brujo/bruja represents. A spanish-speaking neutral, let alone good, magic user would not ever call themselves a brujo/bruja nor would they allow others to call them that. They would use any of a number of other words, in spanish, that have the proper meaning for a neutral or good magic user. The funny thing is, if anyone ever identified themselves as a real magician, Diego would react very positively. That word is translated into spanish as mago/maga (again, for male/female), and not only has no negativity, but quite a bit of positive connotation. For example, in spanish the Three Wise Men, or Three Kings, who visited Jesus when he was born and gave him gold, frankincense, and myrh as presents, are known in spanish as the Tres Reyes Magos (Three Magician Kings).

So when he says brujos/brujas are bad, he's right; when the people he's talking to say that witches aren't all bad, they're right. Its a clash in the culture combined with language barrier, and it would take someone fluent in both languages and both cultures to catch that that's what's going on. This is actually why Diego always uses the word brujo/bruja, and not ever the word witch unless directly forced to translate, even though of course he's heard and knows the word witch by now; its how I keep it straight in my head and give myself plausible deniability about what he's accusing people of. I know, that's pretty damn subtle and near-impossible to catch, but its worked for me, so sue me. ))

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"....y they es toy with dangerous thing, y, they put they essoul en danger, y, we es all en danger, Father!"

"Slow down, my son. Please. Now, I'm aware you've been having conflicts. In fact, haven't you been talked to about it before?"

"Sí, Father, pero, no es have change that there es danger I can no ignore."

"Diego....please. Calm yourself for a moment. You know none of us here at the school have any interest in putting anyone in danger. So, be calm, and explain to me this danger you see."

Diego, falling back on training and discipline, took several deep breaths and brought himself more under control. He knew coming to Father Montoya was the right thing to do. Now maybe something good could happen about things. He felt better already. "Bueno, Father, there es students, they admit they es do evil magic, y other esstudents they defend this, y..."

"One second, Diego. Excuse my interruption, but these students have said they are doing evil magic?"

"Bueno, no, of course no. Pero, they es have admit to be brujas, y they say es nothing wrong with it, y they have convince others that there es nothing wrong. Es put all en danger!"

"Back up a step. Again, please, be calm. Now. Bruja.....that is witch?"

"Eh, sí, that es word en english...."

"Alright. So, what does that word mean to you?"

Diego blinked; he'd been going off of gut reaction so long it took him a second to actually gather his thoughts. "Brujas, they use evil magics. They use magics from demons, o evil espirits, o outcast souls, o fallen angels; beings like those. Sometimes, they can even be draw power from Devil, himself. O, they use magic, es from places where those being exist. O, they use curse, y evil eye, y direct attack on soul. They do things they do, by use magic from evil beings, evil places, evil method. They use evil magic. That es bruja."

"Diego, not all witches do those things."

The look of utter confusion was practically radiating off his face. "Pero...pero....Father, that es what bruja es."

Father Montoya considered this a moment. "Well then, that is what a...a bruja is. But, that is not what a witch is. Not here, anyway, not always. People often take words, and use them in new ways, giving old words new meaning. That has happened with 'witch'. Can you take my word for it? Trust me on that?"

Diego's expression had shifted, and he looked like he'd been hit by a bolt of lightning, like a grand revelation had just struck him; which, of course, it may well have. His face began to go blank, but he blinked and brought his eyes back to Father Montoya. "Sí, of course, Father. Of course I trust...."

"Good. Then please think on that. It may really help you. The other students are your peers, Diego, and it is your place to treat them as such. It certainly isn't your place to go around passing judgement; that way lies the sins of pride and arrogance, my son."

"Father....sí, I see. Of course!" Diego's eyes were big as saucers; that had been something else he'd never thought of, being used to the authority of the Diestros as his guiding force. Then another thought crossed his mind. "Pero, Father...."

"Yes?"

"What do I do, I see path of evil magic es lie en front of esstudents? That true, es real danger! People, can loose souls, get corrupted, loose connection to Dios Himself!"

Father Montoya saw that the teen wasn't asking for reasons to go after people; this was a real worry, even a real fear, of his. "Diego, why, exactly, are you so concerned over magic?"

"Bueno, es no all magic of course. I say that, pero, no one es hear that. They es only hear I think there es evil magic, because I so worry they say they are brujas. They es try so hard, convince me magic no es danger, magic can no be evil." Diego snorts. "Oh sí? There es mucho good magic. Magic protect from accidents, y dangers. Magic heal the sick, y the lame, y those who es have disease. Magic can let people see truth, y raise fog from mind of men. A person, they can be evil, o selfish, o hateful, pero, they can use that magic, and es still good magic. Good magic es good magic.

"Pero, like there es good magic, there es evil magic. Person, they can be good, try help, have good goal o intention.....pero, they can esstill be using evil magic. Rob cemetery, perform foul ritual, raise dead...y use to them to build hospital for cheap? Maybe es good end, pero, that magic es still evil. Perform human sacrifice, use magic to make good crops? Crops es good thing, magic ritual es still evil. Call demon, creature of pure hate y Hell y destruction, into world, y use it to defeat criminal? Esstop criminal es good, sí, pero magic spell that call such creature into world of life es still evil."

Diego paused to catch a breath to keep going, and Father Montoya leaned back, willing to let him get it all out. The look on Diego's face, remarkably expressive despite his mask, was heart-rending; he was desperate for acceptance at this point, and the despair at the thought that the priest might reject him as well was written all over him. Besides, he'd certainly heard much crazier, and more dangerous, theories on magic in his days at this school.

"That es no worst part. No near worst part. Diestros, they tell me esstory. Many year ago, a Diestro had friend, who was caster of esspells. His essource of magic, was cast esspells through power of Succor-Bemoth, might of Baal, esstrength of Azazel. But, he no use evil ritual, he no summon demon, he no use sacrifice, o curse, o hurt souls. He do much good, y he es ally of Diestro. Nothing bad es ever happen, y he retire en peace. He have esstudent, y esstudent, use same sources of magic, grow y go on their own, also do much good. Many years later, esstudent, have child. Now, esstudent become teacher, y teach child that magic. Pero, child es turn out to be Child of Power. Now, Succor-Bemoth, y Baal, y Azazel, they use magic tie to corrupt child. They know, whole time, from time of friend of Diestro, they time would come. They es evil! Of course they let casters of esspells use them for power, because es good for them, no for caster! Child become great terror, great threat to all Europa.

"The active Diestro by that time was son of Diestro who was friend of first caster. Diestro the son, die to esstop Child of Power. Y, Diestro the father, he have to bury his son. He find out, his friend who was caster of esspells, his soul after many years of use that magic, was bound to those evil beings; he no go to Heaven. Same for esstudent. Y, he know all this happen, because he no do nothing when he could have. Magic can be evil, can corrupt, y no one ever know, y can cost much."

Diego finally wound down, and the mood was more somber. "Ok. I see. I understand. You're not angry, are you? Not really, not deep down. You're worried. You want to try and help them. Diego, I see, but what you're doing isn't the way to do it. Have you ever told anyone here, any of them, that story?"

"Ah....no, Father," Diego said, looking down and flushing from embarrasment.

"Have you ever asked any of the students you've gone after what their source of magic, what their rituals and spells, really are? If they know and understand what they're doing, and so are doing it safely?"

"Bueno, no, but they say they es brujas..!"

"Now Diego, I already told you that witch doesn't mean that. You did say you believed me."

"Ah...sí."

"So then. You have a whole lot to think about, don't you? You need to rethink how you're going about talking to your fellow students. The approach you're trying has failed; its time to try a new approach, isn't it? You'd be surprised how much using concern instead of anger, asking questions instead of making accusations, and being understanding instead of judging will get you better responses."

"Es too late," Diego lamented, hanging his head. "They all hate me already. They no care why I say what I say. They no ask me why I say what I say; they es only care I es different, y I es no agree with them, y how wrong they know I am. You ask me, try understand them. They no care enough understand me, either. Y now es too late."

"I don't think that's true, and you shouldn't think that. They may be angry now, but maybe when everyone's calmed down things can get better. Never give up hope, hmm?"

"Sí, Father." Diego didn't seem entirely convinced, not by a longshot, but it was better than nothing.

"Alright. Well, I'm glad we could have this talk. Feel free to come to me anything, Diego. The Lord be with you."

"Y also with you. Gracias, Father. Adios."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

He'd been here a little over a month, and he'd already made the trek to the office more times than he'd have liked. This time he had no idea what he was being called there for; he hadn't done anything. When he got there and let the secretary know he was there, he was immediately let in. Things became very clear why he'd been called down, very quickly.

"Diego, I believe you've met Mr. Valenzuela?"

"Sí, he work at Espanish consulate en Boston. He was en charge of me when I come to United States to enroll here."

"Ah, good. Well, I'm afraid something's come up. Mr. Valenzuela?"

"Thank you. You probably knew you'd be seeing me again sooner rather than later, yes Diego?"

His accented yet precise english made Diego embarrassed to answer. "Ah....bueno, I es was afraid it would happen. Es bad news?" The tone of Diego's voice made it clear he assumed nothing less.

True to his chosen profession, Mr. Valenzuela sought a diplomatic answer to the question. "Well, things have gotten complicated back home, as we all knew they would, and we need you to make some sworn statements and go through some interviews."

Diego frowned and let out a sigh. "How long es I going to be en Boston?"

"Oh, only a day or so." Diego's relief was obvious, but it only lasted a moment. "After that, we have to fly into Washington to the main embassy. The whole trip should take about a week."

"Ah.....when es we have to go?"

"As soon as possible. I need you to pack a bag right this minute, and meet me out front. We'll drive into Boston and go from there."

Diego sighs, then nods. "Esta bien. I go pack, y I meet you en front."

"Alright. Please dont delay, there's alot to do before the flight to D.C."

"Sí, señor."

**********

Clutching his bag, Diego gave a quick prayer of thanks when he saw Alex coming from the girl's dorms. Running towards her at full speed, he ignored her questioning expression and pressed an envelope into her hands. "Alex! I can no esplain right now. I es no going to be here for week. This es note for Kelly. Please, make sure she get note, sí? Gracias!"

And with that, he was back at a dead run. Running out onto the front of the main building, the white 4-door sedan with diplomatic plates was easy to spot. Mr. Valenzuela seemed relieved at Diego's approach, and opened the trunk for his bag. Once everything was in its place, they got in, and were off. A gnawing fear grumbled in Diego's belly, and the voices were more in synch than they had been in a good while. They went over things he must be sure to remember, sure to say, sure to point out. This was a fight as important as any he had waged, and one the Diestros were especially eager he perform well.

They all knew, Mr. Valenzuela included, that this would be but an opening battle of an ongoing war, but it was an important one. Maybe it was being pulled away so abrubtly, maybe it was the surprising unity of the voices at this turn of events, or just maybe the things Diego had learned that only St. Joseph's School could teach were finally coming into play for him, but as the car turned onto the interstate, Diego gritted his teeth. Whatever happened, he was determined that this time, he would come out on top.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"His status is what? How can that possibly be legal?"

"A neat little trick of precedent. Old Holy Orders like that have as much legal standing as any corporation or organization. Hell, The Sovereign Military Order of Malta is actually an independent subject of international law, and some countries recognize it as a sovereign nation!"

"Okay fine, sure. But this is just a bunch of voices in a kid's head!"

"That's one way to look at it. Its definately the take the families trying to grab up custody based on old noble intermarraiges are using. Course, the problem there is that the voices in this kid's head also have precedent."

"If I didn't know you didn't have the imagination to make any of this up I'd think you were trying to trick me. How can multiples personalities have this kind of legal precedent?"

"Because they've been around that long, and they've been verified as more than multiple personalities."

"Now you're just giving me a headache..."

"No really. Its rather interesting, actually, from a legal standpoint. This Holy Order has had international recognition, thanks to the Catholic Church, for a good long while now. As part of that, the "wisdom of the ancient masters", as delivered by the Order's grandmaster, is recognized as a fully constituted member, en emeritus of course. This gives them legal standing in a legally recognized framework, and there's years and years of cases where their existance has been accepted. "

"So a guy with funny voices gets to be two members of his own order? This is insane!"

"You'd have to get into a theological debate with the Church to prove something like that, because they have verifying authority. And you have to remember we live in a world where people flying and shooting lasers out of their eyes is a legally constituted method of law enforcement. Just relying on how....unusual this all is wont get you very far."

"I really wish you'd stop making sense at me. I'm so going to get hammered when we get off of work tonight."

"I'll go with. I haven't even gotten to all the parties involved in all this and what they have to say about it."

"I shouldn't ask, I shouldn't even look in your direction, but...okay, go ahead. Lay it out. Just, you know, leave out the dirty details."

"We don't have enought time to go over all the details anyway. But, basically, there's obviously the side wanting to keep things the way they are, with the kid being a legal ward of the Holy Order of the Red Lion as a squire, under supervision of the Order's only remaining full member, en emeritus: the old voices in the kid's head. I guess the Order had enough resources and a damn good lawyer to have established that so firmly so quickly.

Meanwhile, the local child services back where the kid comes from, who have been doing lot of the de facto work on taking care of the kid, has a group that just wants de jure authority of him as an orphan ward of the state; that's straightforward enough, really.

At the same time, there's three or four families, all with titles like lord this or baron that or something, saying that they should have custody, cause a cousin of the kid's great to the umpteenth grandfather married the brother of their great to the umpteenth grandmother, so clearly the kid and all his family's stuff should fall to them."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Then, and I dont even know how any of this works, but there's two bishops each saying that they have personal legal authority over the Order, and so because the Order is under their authority, so is the kid and the Order's holdings. And they have tons of examples where this predecessor or that predecessor told the Order what to do, so they're using that as precedent."

"Ok, I dont even want to hear anymore. I think we've got all the files and paperwork the boss wanted anyway. Lets get 'em up to him before he has a cow. Why's he want all this anway? How's he involved?"

"Oh, he represents the school the kid's going to now, and the school wants to know where they stand in all this and what their options'll be depending on what happens. I guess some stuff has started happening back where the kid's from, so they gave him a call."

"Huh. You know, sometimes I'm glad we're just interns right now."

"No kidding. Lets go."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Diego sat in the chapel, his lips moving silently. His initial prayers over, his lips continued moving, taking advantage of the setting to begin his session with no odd looks, no distractions and interruptions.

"For God."

"And for country."

"For Church."

"And for crown."

"For Duty."

"And for honor."

Simultaneous, now.
"O my Lord Jesus! Teach me to be generous; teach me to serve Thee as Thou deservest; to give, and not count the cost; to fight, and not heed the wounds; to toil and not ask for rest; to labor, seeking no reward, save that of knowing that I do Thy will. Amen."

"You are learning the rituals well. You....are showing progress, squire. But have far to go."

"Yes, Diestros."

"You have recently been engaging in much frivolity. Been concerning yourself with....your personal relationships. You are in danger of loosing focus."

"Yes, Diestros. I have a question."

"Ask."

"You...seem less numerous. And, less constant. Maybe...ah, distracted?"

"....."

"Diestros?"

"It is not seemly for a squire to inquire about the workings of Knights. You are aware we are...in debate on important topics. If we deem you are to be included, you will be informed."

"Yes, Diestros. I understand."

"Now. You are ready for today's lesson?"

"Of course, Diestros." In the pews of the chapel, Diego adjusts himself, locking himself into a position alert yet able to be maintained for a while. "The line is long. The line is strong. The line lives."

"In the past as it is today. The Red Lion roars. Listen, squire, to the Tales of the Order.

"We recite today the last tale of he who is known as Mata-Piratas. Lessons are there to be learned, for those who wish to see."

The salt air was sharp, the wind brisk. The far horizon showed the future promise of a vicious storm. But that was a concern for later, and one all the men on the decks of the ships flying the flag of Spain knew may well be moot. There was another storm on the horizon, another bank of white, one which was coming for them.

They outnumbered them two to one, although the actual margin in broadside fire wasn't quite so large. They were smaller ships, even the war ships, as the Brittish and the Dutch were still only establishing themselves on this side of the Atlantic. But they were fairly fast and maneuverable, all eight of those ships. Meanwhile, the Spanish were clearly based around Nuestra Señora de Salvación, which may have a huge advantage as an actual ship-of-the-line, but was an older galleon, and maneuvered like an old lady in a bathtub. The two Spanish sloops more than matched anything in mobility, but their armament a pin-prick in comparison, and the Brig they sailed as a prize ship split the difference.

"Three English flags, two Dutch flags, two red flags, one black flag!" reported one of the lookouts high in the rigging. The man known as "pirate-killer" bared his teeth in something almost too predatory to be called a smile. Two red flags....the pirate flag of "no quarter"! As if there had been any quarter in any fight I've he'd had with pirates. And a third pirate ship. Excellent.

A high-pitched shriek, followed by a much lower grunt, took him out of his reverie. He had feared this; it took all his control not to look. He knew if he looked, he would weaken, and it was much too early for that yet. A wail as more men joined in, and the sound of ship-board activity. He knew she would not loose control like this, especially in public, except she knew his plan....and how dire the circumstances were. It felt like an agonized eternity before the dinghy was lowered with its tiny crew and precious cargo, and set off towards the safety of the fortifications guarding the harbor of San Juan. Finally he turned to look, and nearly lost his heart. She was looking dead at him, cradling her growing belly. His wife...and their future child. His whole world. But at least now they were safe. Back to the task at hand.

"Alright, bosun. Just like we planned. Lets let them see what they want to see."

"Aye, Señor. Alright you lazy scum! You heard 'im! Time to show who owns this sea!" A general cry rang out, and orders began being barked as the little flotilla got under way.

As the ships formed up and moved towards their enemies, the opposing fleet did indeed see what they wanted: the Spanish were coming at them on a course which looked to put them in a parallel line for a standard broadside duel. When the English captain leading the opposing side saw this, he allowed himself a small self-satisfied smile. "Poor chaps. At least if they wont surrender it'll be quicker work than it otherwise could be. Our superior maneuver should let us avoid the worst of their cannon and give them plenty of ours. Alright, leftenant, get the powder-monkies moving!"

"Aye, sir. Loosen hatches! Load cannon!"

"Loosen hatches, load cannon, aye!"

Captain Sir Lord Prestwick Jensen allowed himself another small smile at his crew's discipline. Between that and his overwhelming numbers this battle should provide much glory for little risk, even factoring in three of "his" ships were crewed by local lowlifes who could never hack it in any real navy. His sensibilities were actually rather dismayed that fortune had put him on the side of criminals, but such were the fortunes of war.

And much glory for little risk was how he preferred things. Not to say he was a coward, but he owed his rank more to his status as a lord than natural ability, and he certainly preferred medals he could enjoy to the posthumous kind. Not that he'd ever admit that to anybody, least of all himself. Still, taking or sinking the man the Spanish insisted on calling "pirate-killer", who not so coincidentally also was extraordinarily good at foiling the attempts of the other European powers from exerting influence in the Caribbean, would be a tremendous boon to his career and prestige, and he was eager to see it done.

The two lines of ships crept closer to each other, closing into range at the stately speed of naval warfare. Just as the Spanish brig which led their line began to line up with the lead enemy ship, however, the opposing line altered course. Of course they did; they were counting on their greater maneuverability to let them hand out full broadsides without taking full fire from the galleon. Mata-piratas smiled a grim smile. It was as pretty a course change in formation as he'd seen, and as correct a set of tactics as any captain could use. He was looking forward to proving how wrong "correct" could be.

His brig couldn't fire a full broadside at the opposing ship, just as the English no doubt had wanted. It did fire a few of its smaller cannon, possibly scoring some minor hits. But that ship also returned very little fire, as it was no doubt saving its own heaviest cannon for when his galleon, the biggest threat on the Spanish line, came into position. Mata-piratas had expected that "correct" tactic too, and looked at the one factor in this exchange which would begin to show his foe how bad a day this would truly turn out to be.

Nestled among the brigs masts and rigging, the men in the archer's nests let loose, and flaming arrows soared towards the English ship at the head of the enemy formation. A good many struck home, and it took the English very little time to realize the substances the arrows had been doused in would required them to pull out either barrels of vinegar or sand; water only helped scatter and spread the flames. Better, one or two must have hit dry sail or rigging, for there was a fire beginning above deck. More importantly, the fact that the Spanish had actually brought archers with flaming arrows was something the second English ship wasn't likely to ignore. And it didn't.

The second ship immediately began a sudden turn to open the range between it and the Spanish ships, hoping to put it too far for the archers to reach. This it only partially accomplished, but what it did achieve was to force the ships behind it into hasty turns of their own to try and maintain the line formation. This they managed, to one degree or another, but the formation was no longer the precise thing it had been at the start.

This hardly prevented first the brig, and now the galleon, however, from taking cannon fire. Though less than it might have been, the enemy shots slammed home, and the sounds of the wounded and dying joined the harsh thunder of cannon. Still, the Spanish ships continued on, though refraining from full fire at the imperfect shots the enemy line currently presented.
The third English ship, and first Dutch, did much the same, but by now the distance was finally such that the archers, even more numerous on the galleon than the brig, were neutralized. Still, they'd done the job Mata-piratas had wanted, and it looked like the first English ship had yet to get the fire in its rigging fully under control.

Now came the moment Mata-piratas had been waiting for. "Hard to port!" his voice rang out, and his crew raced to obey. As his line moved, he knew the enemy would be confused, mostly because of how "wrong" the maneuver looked. Gaps had opened in the opposing line, and his line would complete their virtually 90 degree turn in time to give the second Dutch ship a clear broadside at his ships' bows. He would, in essence, be "crossing his own T", considered the worst thing to do: it faced your weakest side to the enemy's strongest. But Mata-piratas was prepared to take that withering broadside in exchange for what would come after.

And the broadside from the second Dutch ship, for all the damage it did, was not as withering as they might have hoped; that ship was for all intents and purposes a converted merchantman, with nowhere near the armament of a true warship. The Spanish brig shuddered as the volley struck home, but continued on. And what it, and the rest of the Spanish line, sailed into after that was the biggest gap in their opponents' line. The next ship in the enemy line belonged to the less capable, less disciplined pirates, who had been least able to cope with the course changes their line had made. Not to mention they were least used to sailing in formation to begin with. This allowed even the slow, bulky galleon plenty of time to place itself to sail through the gap, and finally the enemy began to realize what the Spanish had done.

By sailing their line through the gap in the enemy line, each of their ships could cross two Ts at once: their port broadsides would hammer the rear of the ships which had passed, while their starboard broadsides would hammer the bows of the oncoming ships. All for the price of suffering one full broadside from a converted merchant ship.

The results were what he'd hoped. The second dutch ship shook as it took the brig's broadside, as did the first pirate vessel. But then the galleon, whose firepower greatly outclassed anything else there but which the enemy had been confident they could render ineffective through maneuverability, let loose. The second Dutch ship lost its masts, its rudder, and was clearly taking water. The first Dutch ship, not yet out of range, itself took several hits. The first pirate vessel, sailing straight into the broadside, took a massive beating and was clearly out of action.

The desperation of men who trying to avoid the horrors of drowning death coming upon them death mixed with that of men viciously wounded who knew there was no aid for them was clearly visible, if not audible over the cannon, by any who cared to watch. And Mata-piratas did watch, with satisfaction. His galleon, slow as ever, fired of a second round of cannon. This time, it was only on the starboard side, finishing off the broken pirate vessel and badly wounded the second one. At this, his two sloops broke off from the line, as the brig and galleon now moved to concentrate fire on the two remaining pirate vessels. The third pirate ship tried desperately to break and run, but it was too comitted to a course the Spanish had known it would be taking to do it effectively, and the Spanish sloops had the speed to cut them off and force them to take the fire of the larger Spanish combatants.

Captain Sir Lord Jensen stood open mouthed in confused horror as he watched his line go from eight to four without scoring a single loss on his enemy. His ships were coming around to reengage the Spanish, and part of him knew their brig had to be badly bruised, but the loss of his numerical superiority had him badly shaken. So perhaps he could be forgiven for taking too long to realize the Spanish ships weren't moving to exchange broadsides, but instead were closing dangerously on his line. Then again, perhaps he couldn't be, and either way the point was quickly moot, for as the first shots of cannon flew back and forth from the rapidly nearing ships of the two lines the captain found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time as a piece of the railing launched by a cannonball's impact seperated his head from the rest of him.

The remaining ships, crewed by English and Dutch, however, were the most proffesional and disciplined, and the Spanish had taken a beating to pull of their tactics and specifically isolate and eliminate the three pirate vessels. The damage inflicted on both lines quickly grew more brutal, and ships and men mangled with each roar of cannon fire. The Spanish brig wallowed, finally spent, and a sloop suddenly disintegrated and sank with terrible swiftness. Two English ships joined it, and Mata-piratas took a second to gaze at the horizon as the lines seemed more and more likely to suicide against each other.

What he saw almost made him laugh at the dark humor of it all; the stormclouds he'd noted before the battle began were clearly headed ever faster their way, and it promised to be a savage storm, possible even a full-fledged Caribbean hurricane. Any ships which tried to limp away after the pounding being delivered in this fight would be too wounded to survive what was coming and be claimed by the storm instead.

The fatalism of the situation decided him. Much as he loved the sea, he knew how he wanted to leave this mortal coil if he had any choice in the matter. How he owed it to the legacy he was a part of to seek death. Murmuring first a prayer for forgiveness, then another for the health of his family, his voice then bellowed out to all around him. "Close on the enemy! To ropes and gangplanks! This ship is done, but we'll take 'em anyway! Prepare to board!"

The crew had gone through Hell for him, was in Hell for him, and they weren't about to break from that now. They did as he asked, and the first of his crew swung over as the space between the ships shrunk. Finally the space disappeared, an a teeth-rattling crashed shook one and all as the ships actually collided. Getting his feet under him, Mata-piratas grabbed a rope himself, and swung through the smoke and screams, the pistol and musket fire, the chaos of men on blood-and-sea soaked deck, and landed more smoothly than anyone would have thought possible. He gave it no thought, however; he drew his sword, and his dagger, and simply waded into the melee.

He moved to and fro, not a movement wasted, every motion designed to hurt those he wanted hurt, or defend himself or occasionaly those around him. While the other ships had pounded themselves to driftwood with cannon, the two locked ships stayed afloat longer than they had any right to, and Mata-piratas danced and fought.

In the end, though, he'd been right. War didn't claim all those who fought that day, but it didn't matter, and none would survive. The storm broke over what was now two slowly breaking hulks, and it was a storm to be remembered. Those that weren't claimed by war, were claimed by a master no less fickle: the sea itself. But regardless of which of those two he fought at the last, Mata-piratas died sword in hand, in fulfillment of his duty, the safety of his family assured.

No one could ask for more than that.

"The Lion roars, young squire. Never forget that."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

The background could have been anything. A forrest, desert, the bottom of the ocean. They had long ago left theatrics behind, though, and it was merely a grey plain with grey sky and no noticeable light source. It didn't matter, after all; the place didn't really exist, except in a metaphysical sense it would take a dimensional scientist crossed with a theologist to even begin to grasp. What mattered was it was a place "outside" they could materialize, and so they used it.

Mata-piratas looked around with a wary gaze, more out of living habit than any present need. He'd expected to arrive first, at least as things were measured in a place like this. But it wasn't by much. A faint outline slowly faded into an indistinct form, continuing to appear little by little until the form of a man fully materialized. He immediately looked at Mata-piratas and nodded a greeting.

"Prompt; I'm not surprised. No surprise they sent you, either."

"Then you have me at an advantage. I certainly wouldn't have expected you to be sent, El Puño. No offense, you understand," replied Mata-piratas.

"None taken, certainly. I'm hardly known as a negotiator, but then, perhaps we don't see why we should be negotiating our position," said El Puño.

"To settle our differences, maybe come to a compromise. We can't continue the way we have been, this situation is unacceptable for all of us."

"That last I'll agree with. But I don't think we'll agree on what is acceptable no matter what honey words we try to use. Frankly, the fact of the matter is, we're not sure all of you should even have the say you're trying to claim. I mean, none of you are even known for following any particular path! How could you even guide him?" There was an unmistakeable note of scorn in El Puño's voice, and the smirk on his face looked as if it rarely left.

"Teaching someone to come to know who they truly are is a path. I'm aware you all feel there is some sort of narrow definition of how to do everything, and you have all the answers, but you're deluding yourselves if you think you will force those views on us, or make us force them on the boy."

"Now, why bring up 'forcing'? Taking a hostile stance quite early, aren't you? Or is it that you're the ones planning on forcing?" El Puño's smirk grew wider.

"Oh, is that the course you're charting? Paint us in your own colors to draw support?"

"Were you always so confrontational, or was it your little jaunt abandoning Spain to wander around some barbaric islands that did it to you? I've meant to ask you that for a while now."

"You're one to talk of confrontational! You hardly arrived at your soubriquet because of your measured responces, Puño."

"I responded as was neccesary. I still do. As do we all, and you know this. So know that if you begin hostilities, engage us soul to soul to try and break our ability to exert our wills externally, we will respond as is neccesary."

"This is a farce. I don't know who you think you're performing for, but you should know better than to think I buy any of this. "

"It saddens me to see you so worked up over a little chat. But so noted. Is that all?"

The tone of dismissal was as clear as it was absolute, and Mata-piratas bit back a sharp retort only with supreme effort. Instead he merely faded, and when he finally was gone, El Puño reared his head back and laughed. "They don't have any idea. The others will rejoice at the news." Then he faded too.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Amateurs, he thought to himself with a wry smirk. He then reached into his jacket and pulled out the mask, feeling it fasten to his face, before drawing his sword and dagger. Ah, well. May as well get this over with.

"You stand in the way of the will of the crown of the Two Sicilies. Surrender. This is your only warning."

There was eight of them, with an odd mix of weaponry, from pistols and rifles to swords and plenty of knives. Still, he know from their stances, their nervousness, and now that he had put on the mask and looked at them through soul-sight he knew he would kill these men. His smirk grew just a tiny bit wider.

"The people demand the crown submit to our wishes and grant us the concesions we have put forth! We will not stand for his tyranny! We dont care how many Spanish dogs he brings in from his brother's lands!" The burly gentleman at the front with knife and pistol tucked into his belt, still thinking this might go like protests had for him in the past, stuck to his rhetoric.

"Then be reassured, he has brought but one 'Spanish dog', and I am he." Two steps forward; a few of the rabble stiffened up, or went for weapons; the burly fool in the front stood his ground. "And I intend to teach you a lesson on respect. Of your king, and of Spain as well." It took but a moment: he brought his sword up and plunged it into the man, then twisted. He gurgled a moment, then it was as if a marionette had had its strings cut and he dropped. Into the stunned silence he knew wouldn't last, he projected his aura of supreme confidence, of invincibility, or death himself come for them, and used the power of the mask to transmit it directly to the rabble's souls.

The effect was quite dramatic, as weapons dropped to the ground, and grown men trembled in place. Into this opening he exploded like a powder keg, suddenly a flurry of contant motion, a whilrling dervish allowing none to recover their composure in time to pose any serious risk. Steel glinted, blood spattered, men screamed. With grim focus the swordsman moved through them, those armed with firearms first, those who managed to recover their composure quickly second.

Finally, two men of the rabble were left. One was sobbing; he looked likely to bolt any second, but was too scared to. The second had a glint of hate in his eyes behind his obvious fear, but he was obviously too smart to do anything about it. Good. "Now, peasants, return and let the rest of the peons know that attempting to ambush the king's men on the king's buisness will earn nothing but blood. The Two Sicilies is his domain, and he does as he wills. And yes, his brother, by God's Grace King of Spain, has sent me to assure it is thus. Now go while you still can."

The sobbing man actually collapsed to his knees at the realization that he would get to live, and neither of the other men could suppress grimaces of disgust at his display. The second surviving man gave the swordsman one last look, then turned and walked off into the countryside. The swordsman took a moment to let the thrill of righteous victory wash over him, then returned to the carraige. "All clear. We may proceed with the taxes on to our destination."

"Very good, very good. That was amazing, I have to say! When I was told the only two guards would accompany this carraige, I was..."

"You were afraid for yourself. Nasty habit, that; as likely to get one killed as keep one safe. Fear not. It will be a cold day in the Devil's backyard before any rabble can stand up to one such as I. That is why I was sent, after all. I do so hope your men quell this pitiful lot soon, however. There is buiness in Austria and perhaps Saxony I was hoping to take care of before making my way back to Spain."

"Ah, yes, El Puño, of course. Umm, might I ask a question about your amazing performance just now, however?"

El Puño have the man the courtesy of a grin and a nod as he reclined on his side of the carraige.

"How...um....why did they of a sudden seem so taken in the grip of abject terror?"

El Puño waved a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, that. Well, intimidation, battle of wills, that is always a significant part of any true fight. The mask helps amplify my talents in that arena, and helps it strike home more deeply. The poor fools were so overmatched and never even knew it," a sad shake of his head, "it was almost a pity to slaughter the traitorous sons of whores."

"Remarkable, truly! So would any wearing the mask have such abilities?"

A derisive snort came from El Puño, and he gave a dissapointed look until the functionary across from him was suitably chastened. "Of course not. There is much training, tests to be passed and worthiness proved, before one should even contemplate wearing the mask. I shudder to think what might happen to the psyche of one who was foolish enough to wear it unprepared; they would quite loose themselves, I would think. But I've shared to much already. That was a thirsty fight. Be a good man and pull out the wine."

"Of course, milord, as you wish."

Yes, the swordsman thought to himself with immense satisfaction. Do my duty, and my wishes are commands for those under me. As it should be.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"What do you think, Valerie?"

"I'm not sure what to think, David. He did good. Maybe, too good?"

"That's what I thought. I was seriously expecting a setback after what's happened in his personal life, not progress beyond what we typically make," said Dr. Conrads.

"Any thoughts on why?" asked Valerie Atwood.

"A few....its possible this is a sort of 'calm before the storm', and once things become critical it may hit him all at once. Then again, I have a sinking suspicion we're being fed what we want to see and not what's really going on. That maybe we're being played with, or manipulated."

"Mmm. That would be disturbing...."

"But you disagree?"

"Not neccesarily. But I think there might be something else. If those voices of his are grouped into cliques, then how he's affected, how he acts, may depend on which one is currently whispering in his ear, so to speak. "

"Ugh. That'd be an interesting complication. We'd have to try and figure out who we'd be dealing with each time to know how to proceed at any given session. It'd almost be easier just dealing with a full-on meltdown. How likely do you think that scenario is?" The worry was clear in Dr. Conrads' voice.

In response, Valerie Atwood held up her ever-present pad. The drawing looked more like a collage. One section showed a glowing figure, sword upraised in one hand, the other hand held out as if extending help. Another section on the other side of the page showed a man with a smirk virtually broadcasting a sense of superiority, and in his hands were held a multitude of leashes. Yet another showed a circle of swords in front of a group of shadowy figures. A fifth section showed a group of youths reaching out to each other in desperation as they fell, as if from a great height. The very center bore a very familiar image; the mask Diego wore.

"Well I guess that answers my question well enough. Now what are we going to do about it? He is yours more than mine, especially since your talent has been doing more of the guiding here."

"Well I dont think we could do what we've done without your gift either, David. But the best thing I can think of is more of what we've been doing already; the stronger a sense of self Diego has, the better he'll do regardless of what else is going on. So we keep trying to give him that sense of self."

"Definately. Alright. Maybe we should dig up more of his records from before his family had that accident. Find out more about what he was like, what his interests were, before all this happened. Remind him of all that, talk to him about it."

"I think that's an excellent idea! I'll get on that and catch you up before the next session. Thank you, David."

"No problem, Valerie."

[El Nuevo Diestro]

The gathering was the largest there had been since the emergency succession. They gathered in their groups, as they always did, but these were not typical times, and surprises were there to be found.

That the Adventurers and the Blackshirts squared off on opposite sides of the flat grey gathering site was predictable. However, both groups contained members of the Younglings, despite there being a core group of Younglings off in their own group to the side. And both groups took note of which groups the previously unaligned had gathered with. As well, each of the two groups contained a single member of the faction called the Spies, as did the Politicians who were gathered as if prepared to mediate between those two most hostile groups. None of the three groups were especially happy about it once they noticed it, but neither were they prepared to anger that most secretive of groups by expelling them. Those three were the only members of the Spies present.

Likewise absent were the Duelists, for unknown reasons. The Monks, having pledged support to the Adventurers but unwilling to seek this confrontation, had abstained from attending. As expected, there was no sign of the Old Ones. The Blackshirts gloated over the presence of the Traditionalists in an obviously subservient position within their own ranks.

The member of the Blackshirts known to his allies as the Sea-Lion, and to rivals as the Shipwrecked, stepped forward. Mata-Piratas of the Adventurers was already positioned in front of his faction, Sol de España close behind. El Infante stood for the Politicians, and took up a position between the other two representatives. "This appears to be the sum total of the gathering. We should begin."

"We agree," says Sea-Lion.

"As do we," adds Mata-Piratas.

"Very well. Now, two groups of us have pressed for final decision on proposals they have put forth for us to act on. We will hear what they have to say and call for decision on these proposals. The first speaker will be Mata-Piratas."

"Thank you, Infante. Brethren and knights of the Holy Order of the Red Lion. We are at a crosspoint. A completely untrained, wholly untested youth was delivered unto us as the last of our line. Confused and in imminent danger, he put on the mask representing the living head of our Order, and while saved, was overwhelmed by the tremendous blow of the soul-bond this formed. We have, through dint of much effort, managed to retain control while we guide and train the youth. But we knew, knew, that we alone were not enough, and sought a worthwhile repository wherein our charge might develop. This search neccesarily led us away from Mother Spain, and we found this place. While here, he has developed, he has trained, and he has grown. None can deny that. He has lost, certainly, it hasn't been an unending string of victory, but I think we all can agree that sometime loss is a better teacher than victory.

"Some claim he is in danger, that potential enemies abound, that he will learn wrongly, or be led astray. I say, this is nonsense. If others could lead him astray so easily, it is only because we are not performing our task as his guides. If there is danger, is it not his job to overcome it? If there are enemies, all the better, that he learn to handle enemies, rivals, and other adversaries both in and out of combat in a structured setting. We must have faith, brethren. Faith in the last of our line; faith in the school that hasn't failed us yet; faith in ourselves, to guide him truly.

"We propose that his future at this place be cemented and confirmed, and that the proposal to take him to a place that is more authoritarian, where we can control his actions moment by moment, would be detrimental. That he is strengthening, making more decisions unpredicted by us, is a testament to the job that is being done with him, and not a flaw to be excised. He will be his own knight, his own diestro, his own man, as were we. This is our proposal." As he closed, he crossed his arms and scanned the groups.

El Infante nodded, then turned to Sea-Lion. "And now you sir."

Sea-Lion smiled and gazed over the gathering. "Our proposal is much simpler. Do as we say, or we will force you."

Dead silence followed for a moment. El Infante's brow was still furrowed as if trying to comprehend what he heard when Mata-Piratas said, "What are you--"

But it was too late. The Blackshirts as one rushed towards the other factions.

<<To Be Continued (i.e. too much typing for one day)>>

[El Nuevo Diestro]

"This is the second appointment he's missed."

"His teachers say he's started having tardiness and attendance issues with them as well. And a few of the kids I've talked to say they haven't seen him around as much as they're used to."

"What do you think this means, Valerie?"

"I think we both know what it means, we just dont want to say it."

"Ok, fair enough. But what do we do?"

"Well, David, we have to try to get him to come to his appointments. Other than that, maybe warn the rest of the staff he's probably going to be very erratic, explain as much as we can without betraying any confidence."

"Should we just have him sent here next time he shows up in class?"

"I'm worried how he...they...whoever, would react to that. I think its best for right now we try and talk to him and see whats going on, exactly. After that, see where it takes us."

"Alright, I'll follow your lead on this."

"Thank you, David."

"Don't thank me yet. First we'll see how things turn out."