A droplet of water seemed to land on a point within; just as the snail-float swept in again. To the point that he was aware of the blades of grass, rather than the road surface on the ground behind him. That what seemed to be a floral crest made of blossom hung in the air above the Vane like a banner. That the single droplet had become a spring extending to the endpoints of his limbs; even up his neck to the back of his head...
Blink, and usual pace returned; complete with Jo still flying backwards. Only, he was sliding rather than flying; hands and feet in contact with the grass as if he were in a crouch rather than on his back. Sliding, then coming to an all-fours stop as the Vane returned to ground with a pulse that crossed the grass and went up Jo's hands. Hands and arms that still had the water-swirl, yet also had a sensation of dull pins and needles. Both of which began to shake, even as he stared at the Vane, but couldn't find the sequence, or moment, between him shooting towards the ground and him sliding in a crouch along the grass...
Stared at the Vane, then opened his mouth as it became airborne once more; rotating in the air as more petals seemed to be drawn to it. Time enough to begin to get upright, but arm trembling whilst he raised Worrsdowth; ruby, pink and white to the descending orange of the executioner's sword.
Or would have been, were it not for an outburst of sparks and the Vane was catapulting to the right; a transluce wrecking ball swinging back and forth in the previous spot.
"Where did - that - come from," he gasped as the impact came from the Vane's connection with the ground.
"Nevermind that," Suzé shouted from his left, arm outstretched but returning to her side as she grabbed it with the other arm, "Finish it!"
"On it," Jay called from further away, going into what could only be another intercept-half circle. Tightening his grip on Worrsdowth, Jo did likewise. Or tried to; almost going over after two steps and having to slow at the third and fourth before speeding up; a trail of torn grass and soil where the Vane had crashed; its great sword further away and no longer glowing. Suzé was right. It had to be now whilst it was separated from its blade and struggling to get back up.
Have to move faster; Jay speeding up; Dolcreige brighter with every step or bound. The sense of floating on air returning, even as Worrsdowth seemed to gleam as if in answer; flowing past disorientated petals and air currents as he took to the air at the same time as Jay. At the same time the sparking Vane began to rise; no longer bright, but dull as if something had been knocked out of it; arms crossed as if it were trying to stop its static trembling. Head bowed as if it were accepting the downward paths of both Dolcreige and Worrsdowth.
Sword connecting, not with neck or shoulder, but a shadow-wreathed, yet light-cored shield with the fragrant, burning emblem reminiscent of the one on the Vane's scarred shoulder guard. Almost like an ethereal extension. But flickering, spitting and holding; just like its counterpart that had stopped the descent of Jay's strike.
Translusce enough for Jo to see a new flow return to the Vane's eyes, plus a voltage third over the spot over which its arms crossed its body. That, and a cavernous voice that hissed into Jo's very being:
"Sun... Moon... Sixfold!"
Jo began to open his mouth. But the roar was lost in the flush that erupted from where the Vane had had its arms crossed. A flash that forced him to close his eyes, before they burst back open in tune with the wave smashing through and carrying him at the same time. Worrsdowth in a flight of its own as hands and feet moved in and out of his vision of their own accord; all surfaces for furious static. A static that mirrored the internal channels of stinging surge fire that had replaced the swirls of water as he continued to fly, and fall, through space...
Until a pendulum struck his side. Pause. Followed by another strike. Then a series of rolls; ending with some part of Jo continuing to tumble as he looked up at the swirling star-speckled sky.
Looked and coughed. But no sound of expelled air registered; even though the air was more akin to a tongue of flame. Enough to make him roll over and try to curl into a ball. To put a free arm around the centre; to stop or ease the sense that field, trees and sky were spinning. Although the spiced apples laced with anise had not gone; joined by a note of burnt cinders. The source of the fragrance, and the gentle swirl of rose blossom, walking - no floating - towards him; great, orange-channelled sword back in its hand. The pale clothed form of what had to be Jay behind it: the curled, crumpled shape of Suzé diagonally to the side.
He opened his mouth to cry out. Tried to force himself onto an elbow out of the invisible, restrictive water and shake off some of the shifting landscape. But only the dread sensation from each step of the metallic and shadow victor. Each pulse from the would-be executioner. One with eyes and sword that were no longer pale aqua like twin stars; or ominous saffron. But a transluce green that flashed from its centre.
In fact, the steps of doom had stopped, and the Vane was looking - not at Jo - but toward the lantern–intervaled path and the lake, further shore and sky beyond. A single word erupting from its light and dark lips:
"West..."
Jo's elbow almost gave way. But he wasn't sure whether it was from what the Vane had said; the point it wasn't standing over him and about to use that - that sword; or that he had even heard what it had said. Even the rose petals were landing on him as if they had lost their power; as their master took a step in that same direction.
A step, coupled with a burst of sparks from what had to be its chest armour. As if something had shot out of it.
Or shot through it.
Shot through and stuck halfway: the cold, twinkling head and toothed shaft of a moon-sheened lance; the rest extending out the Vane's back; flickering as if lit by a force more than moonlight. Sparks began to erupt from the front and back of the Vane; as its sword fell onto the grass and sparks increased. Increased, then became bursts of orange flame as the lance flashed white and flew backwards out of its target as the figure fell forward; metal erupting. Flames leaping. Shadow dying. Another crash, and flash, before the monster was a heap of flames upon the grass; sword burning like the falling fireflies - no - petals. As Jo would also have fallen; were it not for the sight of the fire blossom.
And the lunar-jumper'd lady to whom the lance had returned. Gaze fixed upon him.