Ten Thousand Years Ago - muddy_puppy (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

Rita Repulssa awoke gently from a peaceful slumber, much to her surprise. Her nights had been increasingly peaceful ever since she came home to her parents' domain in M-51, but each nightmare-free night still startled the young witch. She stretched slowly and yawned widely, savoring the tranquility. Then she remembered what day this was.

The next instant, she was running about her room in circles. What to do first — hair? She paused in front of her dresser mirror to examine the state of her tresses. They were tangled from her night’s sleep. A detangling charm set them in perfect order again. She gave them a highly critical look. The pale blond color of her hair was so un-Dark, but she refused to color her hair and give her rivals a chance to say that she was insecure about her looks. Her hair wasn’t all bad, though. She hadn’t cut it in decades, and the thick, shining locks formed loose waves that reached past her hipline. She smiled. If it couldn’t be villainous, at least it was beautiful.

Before she could get as far as thinking about an actual hairdo for the day, she was off again. This time she was drawn to her closet. She opened the giant armoire magically before she even reached it, too impatient and excited to open it by hand. The vast variety of clothing she possessed normally delighted her, but this morning the closet presented more options than she wanted to consider. She forced herself to slow down and think. The right costume was vital to today. She must select a gown that would make all the other girls hiss with jealousy when they saw her. Something ornate was the obvious choice for such an important day... but there was always a risk of someone else wearing something even more opulent, making her own outfit instantly unimpressive by comparison. No, simplicity was the key...

“Aha!” she cried in triumph. She pulled from the back of the closet a floor-length gown of pure white. A sprinkling of emeralds decorated the hem and train. It was gorgeous on her, of course, like all her other clothes, but the fabric color was why she chose it. White would turn heads no matter what anyone else wore. Perfect!

She clasped the dress to her and twirled around with it before dumping it unceremoniously on the bed and running again for her dresser. Jewelry! She examined a fire-opal-and-ebony pendant critically before tossing it aside. Obviously, she thought, more emeralds were the way to go. Why mess with a good thing? An emerald-and-diamond necklace sprang into her hand with a snap of her fingers. A moment of painful deliberation followed when she remembered that she also owned an emerald tiara — would she put up her hair and wear it, or leave it behind?

“Simplicity!” she reminded herself and tossed the tiara back in its drawer. Her hair was most stunning when she simply let it fall.

At last, she performed a cleaning spell on herself and found a delicate perfume to put on, then slipped into her gown and put on her jewels and delicate silken shoes.

“Mistress Rita?” a tentative voice called outside her room. “Are you awake?”

“Of course I am, Jorett! Don’t be stupid!” she yelled at her slave.

“Will you want breakfast?” he asked.

She gave a cry of rage — merely because it felt good and scared Jorett. She couldn’t possibly feel rage on this day, on her day. “If breakfast isn’t here in two minutes, it’ll be your head for lunch!”

Her slave’s frantic fleeing footsteps made her laugh. She walked to her full-length mirror to examine the results of her work. There, at last, she paused.

This, she thought – this was how she looked on the most important day of her life. She let that just sink in for a few breaths. Let her appearance be etched in her memory forever. The thought of her rivals’ faces when they saw her radiance brought a different, darker laugh out of her. “Take that, wannabe Empresses of Evil!”

*****

The assembly began to gather in the ancient hall an hour before the ceremony was due to start. Everyone wanted a good seat. Her fans — mostly young males — wanted to drink in her every detail as she arrived, her thwarted rivals wanted to be able to spot anything imperfect about her to gossip over later, and everyone else wanted to make sure that they got a seat close to the front of the large hall to show how important they were. There was intensive rank-pulling and several violent if brief scuffles over who would get the best seats.

Ten minutes before the ceremony was to start, the Vilus clan arrived en masse. They displaced the entire front row and sent the whole assembly into seat-grabbing chaos.

Mistress Vile exchanged a smile with her husband’s left head. It was so easy to upset inferior beings, and yet so fun! She snapped her single, fanged head in the opposite direction to glare at several of their daughter’s younger cousins, who were playing games with each other. They stopped playing and slouched grumpily into their front row seats. She cleared her throat and they instantly pulled their shoulders back and sat up straight, their chins up and their bright, scared eyes facing the elaborate obsidian altar at the front of the hall.

“I still wish we’d been able to work a sacrifice into the ceremony,” Mistress Vile sighed quietly to her husband.

“As do I, my love, but the procedure is clear. We wouldn’t want anyone to say that we didn’t perform the ceremony correctly,” Master Vile replied. “We’d have to do it all over again.”

Mistress Vile shuddered at the thought. It had taken enough money just to get this far. First they had to hire a very expensive assassin to kill the current Empress of All Evil — expensive because he had to be an incredibly good assassin to manage the deed. Then they had to pay off the dead assassin’s family to keep them from investigating his last job. Of course, the most expensive bribe of all was to the King of All Evil to choose their Rita and then perform the ceremony. The King, Redwath by name, asked so much money that she’d contemplated having him killed, too, and replaced with a more controllable entity. But that would mean hiring another assassin. So much trouble, so much expense!

But it was worth it. It was worth nearly anything. Having their daughter installed as Empress of All Evil would erase the stain of Light on the girl’s reputation and boost their family’s prestige enormously.

King Redwath, a four-legged half-cephalopoid of imposing dimensions, arrived at last with four minutes to spare and an entourage so large that it made her want to snort with disgust. His underlings looked every bit as haughty as the King himself. When they reached the front of the hall, they looked possessively at the front row as if they expected to take the Vilus Clan’s seats. With the combined glower of herself and Master Vile turned on them, the underlings quickly changed their minds and took the second row seats instead. This again threw the assemblage into disorder as the displaced second row of social climbers warred with people in the third and fourth rows. With one minute to go before the ceremony, half the attendees were standing and bickering.

That wouldn’t do. Mistress Vile rose majestically and crossed the hall’s aisle to where her husband’s youngest sister sat with her young brood. “If you wouldn’t mind, Firete,” she requested quietly.

Firete Repugna’s red eyes gleamed happily. “Of course.”

Mistress Vile returned quickly to her seat and plugged her ears.

“QUIET!” Firete’s shout reverberated painfully against the matriarch’s skull. Afterward, absolute silence fell upon the hall. Beings of all descriptions picked themselves off the ground and meekly took the nearest seat available.

Just in time! Mistress Vile heard the soft swish of a gem-laden skirt just outside the hall and turned eagerly. Taking her cue, the rest of the hall did the same.

“Ahh!” The soft sigh of admiration swept through the hall like a tidal wave. Mistress Vile was surprised by her daughter’s choice of adornment. Rita seemed to be throwing her betrayal in her parents’ faces. Mistress Vile was intelligent enough, however, to look beyond such a simple explanation. She noticed the melted expressions on the faces of the young men, the shock and outrage in the young ladies’ eyes, the pinched look of many in the hall which meant that they desperately wanted to gossip about Rita’s attire but couldn’t. *Well done, my little horror,* she thought.

Rita looked neither right nor left, but kept her chin up and her face toward the King at the opposite end of the long hall. He stood just in front of the altar, at the top of the three great stone steps which separated the head of the hall from the rest of it. Rita stopped herself not an inch too soon nor too late and sank perfectly into a low reverence at the foot of the stairs. Master Vile’s heart melted with pride.

“My King,” Rita said softly as she rose, “most base representative of our Grand Monarch. You summon me and I come. Tell me your desire.”

“Rita Repulssa,” he replied, “daughter of Vilus. You have faced the Enemy and killed. You have faced temptation and resisted. You have faced danger and won. For all the evil which you have done and for the evil which you are, I dishonor you, true paragon of Darkness. As I stand here and He does not, in the name of the Grand Monarch of us All, I give unto you the most ignoble title of-”

“Wait!”

The entire assembly gasped as one. Rita let slip a small cry of horror herself. She spun around to see who had dared to interrupt the ceremony.

A single girl stood unabashed above the sea of heads, all their eyes on her. A single girl... whom Rita knew far too well. Pianal Wittera, her fine black hair still settling about her after her sudden jump to her feet, smirked back at her soon-to-be Empress.

*Pianal? What is this?!* Rita thought in outrage. Pianal was a childhood friend. Only two generations before, the entire Witter line were mere slaves to evil, still thought of as the descendants of good though they had served their masters and the Dark faithfully for centuries. Even in Rita’s youth, the freedmen Witteri were ashamed to walk amongst older, “true” evils. And yet Rita had chosen Pianal as one of her playmates, lifting her entire family out of the Light-stained underclass. Unlike most of her childhood friends, Pianal had been unfriendly since Rita’s return. She’d acted like one of her rivals instead of a friend. But that Pianal would disrupt her ritual was unthinkable!

“On what grounds?” King Redwath boomed loudly to be heard over the shocked audience.

Pianal’s smile turned ferocious. “She didn’t complete her atonement!”

The hall broke out into incredulous chatter. “How dare you-” Rita hissed. How could Pianal possibly bring up her betrayal to Light here? And to speak such a falsehood before the King himself-

The rest of the Vilus Clan was speaking out now, too, and their words were far less kind than Rita's. “Sit down, slave spawn,” Firete growled, heard above the rest as usual, “or I’ll slit your throat!”

“No,” Pianal said simply.

About half of the Clan rose to its feet, murder in their eyes. Their threats were lost, though, among the rest of the babble.

“Be quiet!” the King roared. Reluctantly, the assembly quieted. “Sit down, Vilus!” Not able to gainsay him without risking his dearly-bought favor, the furious family did. “This being has brought a claim to me,” he said. “I will hear it.”

“Five years,” Pianal began, addressing the assembly as much as the King, “only five years it’s been since she was one of Them!” She pointed a finger at Rita accusingly. “A Power Ranger - of Eltare, no less! Have you all forgotten? Our memories may be short where Vilus is concerned-” she ignored the cry of outrage from the first row “-but I can’t believe I’m the only one who remembers! When she returned to Evil, she swore by the heartblood of a human that she would atone by destroying every member of her ‘Power Team,’” Pianal mocked.

“And I did!” Rita cried.

“No,” Pianal said, “you didn’t.”

“Liar!” Rita returned.

“How dare you grace this unhallowed hall and our King with your impurity!” Pianal spat with revulsion in her eyes. “One of your Teammates lives, and yet you dare to raise your head in his company!”

“Who?” Rita sneered. “Who lives?”

“Zordon of-” Pianal shuddered “-Eltare.”

“But... no!” Rita cried, but it was clear to the shocked audience that she was no longer sure of herself. “If he’d survived Zedd’s beating, he would’ve been on that ship with his Teammates! I killed everyone on that ship!”

“He wasn’t on it,” Pianal replied with a shark's smile. She addressed the assembly again: “Five years she’s masqueraded as one of us, while he lives in safety on Terra!”

Rita’s frightened eyes darted to her family. Her mother and father looked back at her with mistrust in their faces. The triumph of Her Day began to slip away. “But... I... I didn’t know! I was so sure!”

“It is clear,” began the King, and Rita whipped around to face him with wild, terrified eyes, “that Rita failed her atonement not intentionally, but due to lack of knowledge. Pianal Wittera, I hear your claim against Rita Repulssa. I respond: Rita.”

“Y-yes?” Rita said, shaking with fear.

There was actually some warmth in his humanlike eyes. “I cannot give you this title today. However, I still feel that you are the best — the only-” he glanced at Pianal and saw her sink into her seat with disappointment “-candidate to succeed Empress Quter’nat Ivenec. My ruling is thus: this ceremony is not voided, but suspended. I give you one year. Complete your atonement and return to this spot in four-hundred ten Negrim-standard days, and it will be as though none of this happened.”

Hope bloomed again in Rita’s heart, and she sank to her knees before him. “Just and wise King,” she said, “it will be as you command.”

His heavy tentacles smacked on the ancient stone steps as he descended to the stair above her. The tip of one limb touched her downcast head, covering most of it with a soft weight. The touch was gentle, comforting. “Now, begone, filth!” he ordered as the tip of his limb smacked her across the cheek. She rose, lifted her white skirt, and fled.

He and his entourage followed her out at a much more regal pace. The Vilus Clan followed impatiently on their heels. At last, with both King and Vilus gone, the remaining guests exchanged excited glances. This was better gossip than they could’ve dreamed!

*****

Pianal was treated to a lavish party by a baker’s dozen of delighted young ladies. They told her repeatedly that she was the most brilliant, cunning, and fearless girl they’d ever met. Even the King’s proclamation that he wouldn’t consider another Imperial candidate for a year only dampened their spirits slightly. After a wonderful hour, though, Pianal decided that she was pushing her luck too far and returned to her own dwelling to get her bags. With any luck, she could still get out of there before a Vilus came for vengeance.

She had hardly picked up her bags when she discovered that she'd never had that chance.

“What was that supposed to accomplish?” asked a silky voice from a corner of the room. Pianal knew it well. She didn't look – she knew that there wouldn't be anyone to see. The Vilus clan were extraordinary mages, and few more so than Mistress Vile. “Did you really think that he would choose you for Empress if you could discredit Rita?”

“Good grief, you came yourself?” Pianal replied boldly. “Don’t you have servants to do your threatening for you?”

“You are the most ungrateful mongrel child which my eyes have ever gazed upon,” Mistress Vile spat out.

“Oh, and I suppose you’d rather find out she’s unclean after she’s Empress and have to bribe the King a second time?”

In half a second, Pianal was shoved into a wall with a dagger pressed into the back of her neck. “Learn when to hold your tongue,” Mistress Vile hissed in her ear. “You should be on your hands and knees, begging me to spare your life!”

“I don’t beg anything of slime!” Pianal cried, and then said as fast as she could, “I invoke the King’s protection!”

An invisible force pulled the enraged matriarch off of her victim and threw her across the room. Pianal felt the back of her neck. Sure enough, Mistress Vile had already sliced her shallowly before she could get the words of protection out. For a few seconds her heart all but stopped beating for fright, but she felt no ill effects.

“Come now, you threatened someone with an unpoisoned dagger?” Pianal said, trying to hide her trembling. “And you should’ve guessed that I’d get his protection.”

“Well done,” Mistress Vile said as she rose. “And just how long does that protection last?” Pianal hesitated, and Mistress Vile grinned. “Ah, only the year, then? Good. Now hear some advice of my own: pray that my Rita completes her atonement and gets back here safely. If anything goes wrong, we will kill you and send all your family so deep into the dregs of slavery that it will take them a thousand generations to gain their freedom.”

“Are you finished?” Pianal asked contemptuously.

Mistress Vile spat a few more insults at her and then swept from the room. After a painful moment of hesitation, Pianal gave in to the advice and sank to her knees. “Our Father who art in the Abyss, curséd be thy name...”

*****

“I’ve readied our fastest ship with enough supplies for a full year, though I don’t expect you to be gone that long,” Master Vile said. “Choose whichever servants and slaves you want from our collections, but don’t take long in choosing. Each day is precious. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” Rita said. Her voice was dull and quiet, and she had yet to look him in the eye again after that one glance at him in the hall. He hesitated.

“Daughter, tell me you didn’t know that Zordon lives.”

“I swear it!” she cried instantly. At last she raised her head to look at him, and her face was full of pleading and even a hint of childish wetness about her light brown eyes. “Papa, I swear!”

“All right,” he accepted. “Then do not let your head droop nor your step falter. You are my daughter, and you will be our Empress!”

Rita’s face broke into a smile.

The door of the lavish living quarters opened and Mistress Vile entered. She, too, smiled at Rita. “Is Pianal dead?” Rita asked hopefully.

“She invoked the King’s protection,” her mother sighed. “But she’s terrified, at least.”

“I’ll return soon, Mother,” Rita promised.

“Do,” Mistress Vile replied softly. “I will... miss you.”

Surprise and gratitude filled Rita at the un-Darklike words. “Zordon will be dead before you have time to miss me!” she proclaimed.

Both parents smiled. “I do believe you, daughter dear,” Master Vile said. “I truly do.”

(End Prologue)

Chapter 2: Book 1: Peace -- Chapter 1: Little Berry

Chapter Text

Ten Thousand Years Ago, Book 1: Peace

In another galaxy very, very far away from theirs, a young man was worried. He had no inkling of the oaths which had just been taken on his life. His worries were of an entirely different nature.

“Oh, come on, where are you?” he muttered. The Command Center’s sensors had tracked his quarry to within a mile radius around the grove into which he’d teleported. Unfortunately, this was a grove in the middle of an ancient, bearded forest, and his quarry could be up any of the trees or under any of the berry bushes.

“Berry bush, probably,” he said. “You do love your berries.” He spotted a massive bramble covered in large, deep purple berries and grinned. The bramble was moving.

“Epona!” he called out and heard a moan of disappointment. Laughing, he ran to the bramble and lifted its outer vines. Hidden deep in the bramble’s shadows was a three-year-old girl with pale skin and blackest hair and eyes... and berry stains over nearly every inch of her face, hands, and clothes. Her pout faded when she saw who had discovered her. She crawled out of the bramble eagerly.

“Father!” The little face glowed with surprise and adoration. “You found me!”

Zordon knelt, and the child ran into his arms. “I always do, sooner or later!” he laughed. “Where did you go today, my little berry?”

“To the Tigris!” she grinned. “Father, they made a whole town there! It’s beautiful!”

“I think so too,” he smiled, “and you can go visit it again tomorrow. You’ve got to get cleaned up now, remember?”

Epona looked at him in puzzlement. “Why, Father?”

“Some important people are coming today. Don’t you remember?” he admonished lightly.

“Oh. No. I forgot,” she admitted with a giggle.

“That’s all right.” Honestly, he didn’t mind in the least that his daughter had more interest in Terran berry brambles than she had in ceremonies and social events. He’d lost most of the little interest he used to have in them since he became Protector Solus of Terra. His wife, however... “Hurry now. Mommy’s waiting to braid your hair.”

For a moment, Epona looked as if she would roll her eyes, but she rethought it. “Father, why does she always want to braid my hair?”

Zordon hesitated. There were a dozen reasons for a mother to braid her child — honored traditions wrapped in legends of times so ancient that even Eltare had no true record of them. One of his own earliest memories was sitting in a warm, sunny autumn window while his hair was gently plaited by the loving hands of his caretaker, acting out a scene that millions of children and parents before them had scripted. He had clung to the memories of his caretaker's iding rituals whenever he had doubted that he was worthy of a parent's love. But what would he tell Epona? Burden her with traditions she neither wanted nor needed? Remind her that she was forever different from all the other children of her birthworld?

“She thinks it makes you look pretty,” he said.

She tilted curious black eyes up at him. “What do you think?”

No need to hesitate now. “I think you’re always pretty,” he said, and she grinned.

*****

“Father, where does our home come from?” Epona asked. They’d just crested the last hill on the path home. The glistening white buildings were in full view in the grassland below them. “It doesn’t look like the other homes.”

“It wasn’t made by Terrans,” Zordon told her. “My Teammates and I made it when we first came here, before you were born.”

“And you came here to protect the Terrans?” Epona half-asked. They’d gone over this point before.

“That’s right. That’s why we’re still here today, too.”

“Protect them from what?”

“Anyone who wants to hurt them.”

Epona suddenly squirmed around in his arms so that she could look at him. “One of the villages I go to is going to be attacked by barbarians tomorrow. You can help them, Father!” she said excitedly.

Zordon sighed. He'd figured this would come up soon. “No, dearest. I’m not here to protect Terrans from each other. I just protect them from people who aren’t Terrans. I make sure that no one interferes with the Terrans’ evolution. If I interfered myself, it would be the same in the end as if someone evil did.”

Epona looked startled. “But you would help them!” she said.

“Yes. But I would still be interfering. It’s always better for a people to figure things out for themselves, no matter how difficult. If you do it all for them, you take away the purpose in their lives.”

Epona looked up at him with a frown and bit her lip. “Why?”

“It’s difficult to understand, but-”

They were still quite far from the Ranger of Earth’s base, but a figure darted out of it as suddenly as if alerted by a trumpet’s fanfare and ran up the hill toward them. Zordon stopped himself mid-sentence to watch her. Her glistening dark hair was curly and streamed out in her wake as she ran. It wasn’t braided, but delicate red ribbons as long as it was lay on top of it, attached to a half-circle of narrow gold metal which was pinned across the back of her head. Also trailing in her wake was the full, front-split skirt of her red dress. Beneath the red overdress was a dress of a cream-colored, embroidered cloth with red ribbons criss-crossed round the lower sleeves. The color of the cloth was like a pale echo of her own coffee-with-creamer skin. Zordon couldn’t help but smile a little. His wife really was beautiful.

“Kiori!” he shouted down to her in greeting.

“Finally!” she exclaimed impatiently as she neared them. She lifted Epona out of Zordon’s arms, then smiled breathlessly at Zordon. “I was getting worried about you two! My, what a mess. And only an hour left before they arrive. What do you think?” She twirled about for him. Her overdress, hair, and hair ribbons again twirled out in her wake. He smiled at her to assure her that she was stunning.

“I sense a meaning behind the color,” he said.

“I thought it might be nice,” Kiori replied, “to show them that you’re not the only one who knows a little about their race.”

“Clan,” Zordon corrected automatically.

“Oh?”

“They’re a clan, not a race,” he said patiently. They began to walk together toward their home. “They aren’t different from others because of pure genetics, but because of clan secrets and very close blood ties to one another.”

Kiori nodded a little, distracted. “Right. Now, what do you think?” She bounced Epona gently on her hip to indicate that she was talking about their daughter. “I know red’s the color of youth for them, but what about childhood?”

“The same. Their colors are like the colors of stars with relation to their temperatures. A flame is cool at birth, so it’s red. The younger, the darker, for children. Then orange, yellow, white — and the height of life is...” he paused.

“Blue,” she answered. “Like the hottest stars. I understand. Red it is, then. But should I have dressed in orange?”

Zordon chuckled. “No. We’re all babies in their eyes, you see. They don’t reach orange for many thousands of years. That’s not to say that you have to dress Epona in red, too, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we don’t have to all match. And she looks so pretty in yellow....” he said. Kiori’s expression suddenly soured. “What?” he asked, surprised.

“She’s not Terran!” his wife hissed. She glanced at Epona and visibly swallowed her next comment. He and Kiori both tried not to fight around the children — Epona was getting old enough now to understand and be hurt. Instead, Kiori quickened her pace, and soon mother and child had left him far behind.

He stared after her, stunned. “What?” he asked helplessly. Then he looked up and felt a weight drop into his stomach. The Terran sun burned brightly overhead. The yellow Terran sun. “Oh.”

*****

No sign of them could be found when he reached home. He sighed deeply and went to his own rooms in the complex to get himself ready. Only briefly did he contemplate presenting himself in Morph. Though it would’ve been vastly simpler than any other formal garb and certainly appropriate, he knew that the best way to start getting back into his wife’s good graces was to put effort into dressing for the occasion. Kiori adored formalities, and since she’d been chosen as his mate when they were both in Heat almost four years ago, she’d been marooned with him on Terra. This had robbed her of almost all opportunity for ceremony.

He selected a tunic of a glistening black cloth which he knew she liked. It was a traditional Eltarian style, just as her dress was — and, doubtless, as their two children’s costumes would be. As he passed his dresser, his mirror gave witness to the disorder of his hair. With a sigh, he grabbed a hairbrush and set about organizing the shoulder-length jet mess.

“Zordon?” a voice asked hesitantly.

He braced himself before turning to her. “Kiori?” he replied neutrally.

“Epona and Kiren are ready,” she said softly. It was obvious that this was not why she was here.

“Good,” he said neutrally.

She sighed softly. “I’m sorry. You didn’t realize what you were saying, did you?” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that. It’s just... I wish you’d try to remember what she is. I wish you’d help me teach it to her.”

Zordon frowned. “Why?”

She looked at him incredulously but tried to keep her voice calm. “Zordon, love, she’s three years old and she doesn’t understand what she is. Don’t you think that there’s something wrong with that?”

“Why should she know? Why cut her off from her world?”

“Because it isn’t hers!” Kiori burst out. “She’s so much more than these creatures!”

Zordon went rigid. “What?”

“Oh come on!” Kiori cried. “Stop pretending that these filthy little beings are as good as we are! You may see potential in them if you like — and maybe, someday, they’ll be worth associating with-”

“Stop,” Zordon said quietly. He was trembling with the effort of holding his temper. “Right. Now.”

“Epona’s an Eltarian! I won’t have her grow up not knowing what that means! She will know what she is!”

He stood. “She’s human,” Zordon spat, “nothing more or less.”

Kiori’s deep brown eyes narrowed on him in disbelief, searching his expression. “You can’t mean that. You can’t believe that being Eltarian means nothing more than being Terran.”

*I’m married to a racist,* he thought. He was stunned. On occasion, she’d seemed to prize Eltarian blood too highly, but never had she said anything so obvious... so he’d explained other comments away. Now.... Suddenly he couldn’t bear to look at her. “We have to go meet our guests,” he managed to say after a long moment.

“Love-” she said softly, shocked. She reached out to stroke his hair. He jerked out of her reach.

“Get the children,” he ordered quietly.

*****

His guests had chosen the meeting spot a week ago, when they’d first asked Zordon’s permission for a visit. It was a pretty hill a half-mile from the Eltarian base and sheltered enough from Terran settlements that their ship could be concealed there safely. Zordon, Epona, and Kiori carrying their one-year-old son, Kiren, reached the base of the hill just as the expected ship broke through the last layer of clouds. The vessel touched down at the top of the hill about two hundred yards away from the four of them. *Great,* Zordon thought, *I get to walk to him. Don’t trip,* he reminded himself nervously.

The door of the ship opened with a soft, almost musical whoosh. Zordon didn’t look at it but immediately set off toward the ship with his head slightly downcast as procedure demanded. Zordon was determined to show his visitor every respect he was due — and he was due quite a few.

The Protector of Earth stopped three paces from the feet of his guest. At last, Zordon could look at the other man.

He was tall and trim, of a light but strong build. A tunic of some thin and supple cloth rippled around him like water in the slight Terran breeze, though its flowing blue-red dyes brought to mind tongues of flame, not liquid. Twisting lines of gold embroidery about the yoke and hems of the tunic glinted in the sun. Below it were practical tanned-hide leggings and boots. The man’s face was a bronzed brown and held faint lines of age. It was set and cold as it looked upon Zordon. The young Eltarian wondered if he’d never smiled in his life.

Zordon’s eyes settled unavoidably on his visitor’s hair. The locks were short and stood up from his scalp in every direction, though they were trimmed closer on the sides. Their sparkling white color deepened at the roots into a brilliant blue like the core of a flame. That change in color signaled to any observer who, like Zordon, knew enough of the man’s clan that the man was entering the highest peak of his physical and mental ability before a quick descent into death. By Zordon’s timescale, it also meant that the blue-headed man was old almost beyond conception.

Zordon cleared his throat nervously. Unfortunately for him, his visitor’s clan gave each of its members more names as they grew older, and Zordon had decided to attempt a full address. “Lord-Regnant Naatam sorr Wirril Autteroj...”

The Lord’s deep scarlet eyes grew slightly wider, though no warmer, as Zordon rattled off his eleven names in correct order. His two attendants exchanged impressed glances when Zordon then continued the address in their own language.

“...Zordon of Eltare welcomes you to Terra. Truly,” Zordon said, at last switching from Ignan to Eltarian, “you are most welcome here.”

Lord Naatam was silent. He did not, to Zordon’s disappointment, look any more friendly. “So,” he said at length, “you are the man who saw my son die.”

Zordon’s throat locked up. For a moment, all he could do was stare. What kind of a response was that for a formal address? He hadn’t known for certain whether they would bring up their kinsman Lord Zedd at all, but he certainly hadn’t thought that the Lord-Regnant would do so in his first breath... and he had not known Naatam’s relation to Zedd, though he had guessed it. “If you mean,” he said at last, and felt a flush of embarrassment when he heard how small his voice suddenly was, “that I saw him turn to evil, I don’t know that I did. He seemed to already have that glint in his eyes when he came to my room.”

Another tense moment fell between them, then Naatam’s icy stiffness melted. “I have never experienced or imagined such betrayal. I know it won’t take away your scars, but I offer you my personal apology for his cruelty.”

But Zordon shook his head quickly. “Lord, you had nothing to do with it. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Lord Naatam drew back, surprised by Zordon’s refusal. His lips spread into a satisfied smile. He gestured to his ship with a wide, fluid motion. “My people have traveled long. They and our ship need rest and rejuvenation. May we find those here?”

Zordon stopped himself from cheering aloud. “I would be honored.”

“Good,” Naatam smiled.

*****

Lord Naatam quickly found the largest room in Zordon’s command base and pointed many of his kin into it to prepare a grand feast. Naatam would not let Zordon or his family help. He would not be gainsaid, either, not even by Zordon’s surprised wife. This, he said, was payment for Zordon’s leave to stay on Terra for a time and for the couple’s company before dinner. Besides, as he correctly guessed, Zordon was not equipped to serve a hundred hungry nomad sorcerors. Instead, he and his eight closest kin kept the pair occupied while Epona ran about happily with her half-dozen new, scarlet-haired best friends. Naatam told a few tales himself, but most of the time he and his eight kinsmen listened intently to tales that Zordon or Kiori could tell them of current events in the nearby galaxies. No one, to Zordon’s surprise, asked for the story of Zedd’s betrayal. None of them mentioned their lost “prince” again at all.

Zordon pulled Naatam and his entourage outside to see the Terran sunset. Happily, the Zagros Mountains put on a good show that night. He led them to a scenic spot overlooking the Rangers' base, where the view extended past the mountains themselves down into the rolling green hills below. Wispy clouds near the hilly horizon lit up in brilliant oranges and reds, and the dying yellow light formed a thin band of green in the sky just above the horizon. The visitors were very pleased.

“Ah, how long it’s been since I saw a yellow star falling through a nitrogen sea,” Naatam sighed. “Like a sky of fire.”

A faint sound of hooves caught Zordon’s ears. He turned quickly and spotted the source. “Look, my Lord,” he said and pointed. “Another of Terra’s treasures.”

In the rolling hills below, dark specs of a herd of horses were galloping by. A murmur went through the sorcerer nomads.

“Beautiful,” one murmured.

“Have they a name?” Naatam asked.

“In Eltarian, no. I’ve named none of this world myself. A language of Terra calls them ‘horses.’”

“So large. They could transport a man on their backs,” a young kinswoman said.

“Yes, and will,” Zordon said before he could stop himself. He realized what he’d done immediately and kicked himself. Had all his inter-planetary training vanished? One simply didn’t throw such things in other races’ faces! Wincing, he turned to see the reaction which his careless temporal comment had brought.

His guests had gone quiet. Naatam did not conceal the gleam of envy in his eye, but neither was the gleam a powerful one. “I will take your word on that. There are powers which are beyond our magery still. Truly, you are a gifted race.”

“Every people is gifted,” Zordon replied, “in many ways. That is merely one of our gifts.”

Naatam smiled and patted Zordon’s back. “You’re a well-spoken stripling, that’s for sure!”

Another flame-headed person emerged from Zordon’s home. “My Lord-” she began, but stopped when she noticed the display in the Terran sky before her. “Wow,” she breathed.

That set Naatam laughing again. “That is among the shortest messages I’ve ever been delivered, Pirrwe!”

The woman shook herself and took her eyes from the sky. “Pardon, Lord. My message is from the ‘kitchen.’ Dinner is ready.”

“Ahh,” Naatam said with deep satisfaction. He turned to the Eltarian couple. “Now, my friends, you will eat a meal!”

Chapter 3: The Lay of Retallia

Chapter Text

It must at least be said that Zordon had never experienced a meal like it. More than anything, he was reminded of a line that would be written by an English playwright: “Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.” It was not controlled chaos, as no control seemed to exist. People got up and sat down whenever they wanted, summoned new courses at different times and in different orders, and so on. The noise was so great that no order could possibly be forced upon the table, even if Zordon had been inclined to try. No one could hear further than a few seats away. And yet there were patterns to the movements. No one bumped into each other or spilled their food or drink, and everyone could talk contentedly as much as they wanted to without the noise of the others ruining their own conversations. It was all so seamlessly coordinated that, after a time, Zordon began to feel as though he were watching a dance instead of a meal. He decided to step back and study the interplay. Not five minutes into his study:

“Ha! None of that!” Naatam said. “I know you analytical types, and I’ll not let you sit back and watch and miss all the fun! Come on, give us a song!”

Zordon gulped. Music was not a subject covered at the Eltarian Rangers’ Academy. He didn’t know many songs, and none of the ones he could recall at that moment seemed at all appropriate.

“Well? Pitch-deaf, are you?” Naatam demanded with a laugh. The ballet around them fractured a little as some of the clansmen paused to look at their nervous host.

One occurred to him at last. He let out his breath in a relieved whoosh and said, “No, Lord. Have you heard the ‘Lay of Retallia?’”

“Hmph. Can’t say that I have,” Naatam said with some surprise.

Zordon cleared his throat a little, self-consciously, before he began.

“Whither are you going?
Whence have you come?
The war isn’t over,
Your story’s just begun.

Protectors we once knew, they,
Far mightier than thee,
Left us no defense.
Now it’s stay and fight, or flee!

Sword and shield both in your hand,
Stay and fight for a dear, precious land!
Worlds enough they’ll take away,
But here you’ll bring the light of day!

Magic has she none; nor
Great Power can she wield.
Yet thousands can she save
With her heart and sword and shield!

We feel your hesitation
You know what you should do,
But can you leave your home behind
And be to your Light true?

Perhaps it's all too much to ask
for those you barely knew.
Would any of us brave the Dark
if we had the chance to choose?

Sword and shield both in her hand,
Stays and fights for this fair, foreign land!
Bravery? Hers is without bound!
The Light’s own strength Retallia’s found!

For a time, we are all were free
From their heartless villainy.
Forever sing Retallia’s name!
She never saw her home again.”

The hall was quieter after the song than it had been all evening. After a few seconds, Zordon’s guests burst into heartfelt applause.

“That,” Naatam said, “was about the Time of the Black Tide, wasn’t it?”

Zordon nodded. “Just after the Masters of the Power died.”

Naatam’s weren’t the only eyes that shone on him with interest at that comment. “I’m glad that you acknowledge their existence,” Naatam said. “Too many even of your world doubt that they were ever more than a myth. How quickly the worlds turn...”

Zordon was struck suddenly by the idea that Naatam, as old as he was, might have known of Masters of the Power personally. It had been twenty-seven thousand years since the Masters’ Power broke, touching off a horrific period of destruction throughout the Prime Dimension. The Black Tide, as the massive surge of evil had been named by history, was led by the Dark magic-wielders which ever since had dominated evil. The time had meant the end of any sense of peace in the Prime Dimension: since then, evil had been continually assaulting Light worlds throughout most of the Primus Mensura. The Time of the Black Tide had, too, forever changed the importance of Eltare. His homeworld had become an untouchable sanctuary against the Dark, a beacon that promised Light would never wholly fail. The idea that there was still someone alive who remembered the Masters and a time of relative peace for the Primus Mensura floored the young Ranger.

Before he could articulate a question out of the hundreds he suddenly realized that Lord Naatam could answer, the Ignan clan leader asked one of his own. “This Retallia — what manner of person was she?”

Zordon hesitated. “Perhaps only a myth, but I think not. For myself, I consider her the first Power Ranger. When the call went out to return to Eltare so that Light mages could seal it off and protect our dimension from the Black Tide, someone named Retallia of Eltare stayed behind. Two hundred years later, when the first Rangers emerged from Eltare and fought back the Tide, they found this song on one of the worlds they were able to liberate. It’s our only record of what happened to her.”

“She sacrificed herself to hold off the Tide... and yet you consider her the first Power Ranger?” asked an orange-haired kinswoman across the table from Zordon.

“Absolutely,” Zordon said without hesitation. “I only hope I would’ve done the same.”

This set the whole table to murmuring. “Really?” Naatam said with wide eyes. “Good! Very good...” The only one who didn’t look as though Zordon had just risen in their estimation was Kiori. Zordon knew her reaction without looking and made a point of avoiding her horrified gaze.

Rangers of Eltare were trained to do the best that they could for any world they were sent to protect, but within strict limits. If they found themselves in a situation where they might die in the effort, they were taught to abandon the project and return to Eltare. Some battles couldn’t be won. The millennia spent fighting back the Black Tide across the Prime Dimension had taught the Rangers of Eltare that, no matter how they might wish, evil could not be defeated everywhere.

Zordon had learned this well during his training on Eltare. He’d unlearned it in the weeks following Evelyn’s death. His Teammates, led by an enraged Lord Zedd, were ready to sacrifice anything, including their lives, to avenge Eve and stop the monsters who’d killed her from hurting anyone else. “Some things,” he said quietly, surprised to be saying it aloud at all, “are more important than your own skin.”

A low note reverberated around the room. Zordon realized after a moment that each of his guests was humming it. The sound was grave and sad, and so rich that Zordon felt he could reach out and hold it in his hand.

“But enough solemnity,” Naatam said. The note broke instantly and dissolved away like so much smoke. “Our host has favored us with a song! Who returns the favor?”

A trio of young people, one red-haired and two orange-haired, jumped out of their seats instantly. They began a lively and, apparently, well-known song, as most of the table started singing along. It seemed to be about two jugglers and a very clever donkey. Even Kiori was laughing easily before it was over. It was followed by a comedic magic show from a yellow-haired woman and her russet-mopped assistant. The show ended in a shower of fireworks which set the kids’ table squealing with delight.

“Most impressive!” Naatam said. “Don’t you think that the displacement method was particularly novel, Zordon?”

Zordon blinked at him. “I’ll rely on your expertise, lord. I don’t know anything about magic.”

“Oh, don’t be modest!” Naatam said. “You’re quite the talent.”

“What?”

Naatam frowned. “You mean... you don’t know? Why, I could feel it burning in you the moment I saw you. But that we never teach our magic outside of our own clan, I might offer you an apprenticeship myself!”

*It's a compliment, it's a compliment...* Zordon tried to remind himself – but he didn’t care. He had to struggle to keep his anger under control as he said, “Lord, I mean no disrespect to you or your interests, but I will never be a mage.”

The rest of the clan had noticed how quiet their Lord’s section of it had suddenly become and turned with interest, hoping, perhaps, for another song from Zordon. Instead, they saw their Lord’s face filled with confusion and concern.

“What do you mean? Do you... dislike magic?” Gasps went up around the table at this idea. Kiori had gone very tense, eyes darting between her husband and Naatam.

“No,” Zordon said at last.

“Then explain,” Naatam demanded. A little of the ice he’d shown Zordon at their first meeting returned.

Zordon took several deep breaths to calm his anger before attempting a reply. “I once had the chance to save the life of a Teammate and dear friend. I had no Power Coin with me. Her life could only be saved by my own abilities. I failed, and she was murdered in front of me. I will never put trust in my personal abilities, mental or magical. I care much more about the lives of my loved ones than any mystical ‘talent.’”

Naatam sighed. “I wish you would not let such a scar keep you from what you are, but, right or wrong, it is your decision to make. If you reconsider-”

“I won’t.”

Naatam nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. “But if you do.”

Someone cleared her or his throat. “My Lord,” said an orange-headed individual, “did you hear the one about the Swamp Krelp and the Triforian?”

Naatam grinned. “I don’t believe so. Please, enlighten us.”

*****

The dinner finished off merrily, and Naatam’s people went off to their ship and sleep with good cheer. Epona argued at volume with her parents against leaving her new friends. By the time she gave up and descended into exhausted sobs, she was so nearly asleep that Kiori had to carry her to her room. The pair tucked Epona in, then went off to their own bed.

“You know,” Kiori said softly as they changed into their night clothes, “that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say about her.”

Zordon shut his eyes wincingly. Why? Why this conversation? Why now? Especially, why with Kiori?

“You were in love with her, weren’t you,” Kiori said. Zordon’s eyes snapped open in surprise. “After three years, don’t think that I can’t read you,” she said, brow furrowed. “Nothing else could have affected you so much.”

Zordon tried to laugh, but his muscles didn’t seem to remember how it was done. “That’s pretty insulting. You think I’d only hurt if I lost a lover?”

“That’s not what I said or meant,” Kiori said. “I know you were too young to be lovers. You insist on misunderstanding me today — why?”

But Zordon didn’t reply. Her comment about the day reminded him of their earlier argument. His annoyance redoubled as he recalled what she’d said about Terrans.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I,” Kiori said. Her voice was quiet and pained. “I’m sorry, love, truly. I just didn’t know how you feel about this race.”

“And now that you do?” Zordon ventured to ask.

Kiori hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “I never want to see you in pain. But it’s late — let’s talk about it later. All right?”

Zordon sighed. Part of him was grateful that she didn’t want to talk. “Sure,” he said. He climbed into bed with her, but neither of them failed to notice that he didn’t lie quite as close to her as he had in the past.

*****

The Clan’s visit was over too quickly for Zordon’s tastes. Only two weeks after they arrived, Naatam told him that all their repairs were finished and their stores replenished — Zordon had allowed them to hunt Terra’s wildlife for food, so long as they did so in Terran fashion — and the lord and host bid each other farewell. Zordon couldn’t help but feel loneliness close in on him as he watched the ship disappear through Terra’s clouds.

Chapter 4: Çatalhöyük

Chapter Text

Life settled too quickly back into its former routine. Epona spent her days playing happily across Terra, Kiori fussed over Kiren, and Zordon monitored the planet for signs of alien interference and studied via the computer database. Kiori and Zordon did not have the “talk” she’d postponed.

Over the next weeks, a handful of visitors stopped by Terra on their ways to various places. They never stayed longer than a night, but they broke up the monotony. Zordon’s best guess was that Lord Naatam had spread the word that travelers could find welcome on Terra. He was unspeakably grateful.

One of the visitors was a fascinating gelatinous green creature. Zordon and it had lively dinner discussion about its chemical makeup and its planet. Another time, a small ship turned out to contain fifty travelers — which made sense only after Zordon learned that they were only three feet tall each and were wizards. The Liarians, as they called themselves, had such a fascinating language that Zordon spent all evening learning the basic grammar from them and determined to learn the rest of the language after they left. Another visiting ship was a scout vessel from a space-faring culture which had just entered the colonization phase of its development. Zordon was worried that he would have to stop these Kerovans from making Terra a new colony until he learned that Kerovans were among the purest Light races of the galaxy. After that, he had a wonderful and rather drunken time with them and their stunningly ancient wines.

The guests were not all so pleasant. There was a bright-eyed, eldery woman who stopped by at, Zordon was sure, Naatam’s specific request whom Zordon wished hadn’t turned up at all. The woman, one Sorcha Darraghi, was a wizardess. Unlike the pleasant Liarian visitors, though, Sorcha spent the evening trying cheerfully to shake Zordon from his anti-magic stance. This had no effect besides putting Zordon, Kiori, and eventually even their jovial visitor out-of-temper. Zordon and Kiori had a blazing row that night because Kiori had come to the sudden conclusion that Terra should be off-limits to visitors (as she put it, “space trash”). This put Zordon in such a mood that he glared at her for hours straight over the next several days. The thought of having no outside contact again made his insides crawl. In the morning, Sorcha mumbled her regrets and departed hastily. To Zordon’s intense irritation, though, Sorcha also, like Naatam, told Zordon to contact her if he changed his mind about magic. An evening-long argument had not convinced this infernally cheerful woman that Zordon would not change his mind!

Zordon noticed as the weeks wore on that he was spending more and more time studying the planet and the databanks and less with his family. He tried to worry about this but failed. He spent a lot of his time watching the Terran proto-civilizations and trying to put his finger on the nameless quality that drew him to them. They were still amazingly primitive, of course, but something already shone through their floundering attempts at civility. He couldn’t help but believe that they would become something wonderful — if they were allowed to. It would take someone like Scorpina all of ten minutes to conquer the planet if Zordon weren’t there to protect it. So he would be there.

He just wished that his job weren’t quite so... well... boring.

*****

“Zordon?”

It was late at night, far beyond even Kiori’s bedtime. Thus, the sound of another’s voice behind him startled him badly. He was halfway to his feet before he saw that the intruder was Kiori.

“Oh,” he said, relieved, “what’s wrong?” She’d never come into the sensor room before.

Her pale brown eyes were full of sadness. “I told you once,” she began softly, “that I don’t want you to be in pain. Do you feel the same way about me?”

Alarmed, he was quick to respond. “Of course I do!” he said. “Are you in pain?”

Her face twisted as if holding in tears. “Yes,” she whispered.

Zordon shut off the monitor he had been watching and pulled out a second chair for her. She sat wordlessly. He sat across from her and waited for her to speak.

“I know,” she said, “that a lot of marriages only last until Heat ends. It’s just a fact of life. You don’t have to like a person to love her until then. We’re passed that time now. We’re both adults. I came,” she said softly, “to ask you if you want me to leave.”

The proposition didn’t hit him for several seconds. By then, she was already talking again. “I’ve packed all my things. You can keep Epona, of course — she’s always been more your daughter than mine. Just say the word, and-”

“Kiori, no,” Zordon said, pained. He reached out to hold one of her hands and found that she was trembling. “Why would you think I’d want that?”

Her whole body shook with bitter laughs. “For such an brilliant man, you can be awfully dense. I’ve seen you barely once a sun since Naatam left. It’s been days since you’ve touched me. You don’t even play with Epona like you used to, and she’s dearer to you than breath! This family is crumbling.”

“I... you're right. I’m sorry.”

“No!” Kiori said firmly. “It’s as much my fault as yours, if it’s even that complicated. I don’t know that it is. Love is different from lust.”

“It is,” he said, “but I do care about you. I just don’t understand you sometimes... a lot of the time... and I’ve been running away from that.”

“I don’t understand you, either,” Kiori admitted. “But I guess I care, too. Else...” she said, but she couldn’t finish. She looked down at her lap to hide her face, but he saw the silver glimmer fall from her eyes anyway.

“Else,” he finished softly, something rigid melting away inside him as he did, “why would you be crying? Oh, Kiori.” He embraced her fiercely. He was shocked: that tear showed more feeling for him than he’d seen in all the time since they fell out of Heat a year ago. He’d become quite sure that she had never felt anything natural for him. In his arms, Kiori began to shake with silent tears, and he felt horrible for assuming that he'd understood her feelings. “I’ve been an idiot and a coward. I can’t let this go without a fight.”

“But I don’t want to fight you,” she moaned. “I’m sick of fighting!”

He was caught between laughing and hitting himself. “So am I. Let’s talk instead. Let’s try to be more than lovers. At least we can try.”

Kiori’s sobs eased. “Can you stop holding these secrets?” she asked, pulling away from the embrace enough to look him in the eye. “You guard your past like a treasure hoard. How am I ever to know who you are?”

Zordon shivered but nodded. “I see. You’re... you’re right.”

They sat and talked long into the morning. Zordon was startled and dismayed to discover that they had never really talked before. They took turns telling each other about themselves, everything from the beginning, and Zordon found that he had known precious little of her life. He held back certain details of his Teammates and his losses that were too painfully private to share with her yet, but he told her far more than he ever had. They moved on gradually to discussions of art and literature, where they found passions that they shared, and into the dangerous waters of philosophy. They had little in common there, and the differences were too dramatic to be reconciled in one night. But when Kiori left to see to Epona’s and Kiren’s morning needs, she gave him a kiss and a promise to continue the “fight.”

The pendulum of his habits began to swing in the opposite direction: less and less time went to his duties. After all, they were practically ceremonial, he found himself thinking. He knew that Scorpina and Goldar didn’t want to conquer Terra anymore, that they’d only said so to imprison one of their enemies on the planet as a watchdog. The odds that some other villain would choose this primitive, strategically useless planet as a conquest were negligible. Who would bother to conquer Earth?

*****

He and Kiori explored the realms of literature, music, and art together, and he grew to understand and appreciate her tastes in each. One night, he (not quite legally) opened the computer’s extratemporal Terran database and showed, played, and read to her pieces of the beauty that Terrans would create — records that he had studied with his Teammates five years before that had originated his respect for the race they guarded. Kiori was afterward a little less disturbed by his love of the “barbarian” species. They were still, a week after their first night of talk, not ready to discuss such thorny subjects as Epona’s upbringing, but they were far closer to becoming friends.

She often met him in the sensor room in the evening to talk, so he was not surprised when, on that seventh day, he heard her delicate footsteps running toward the room. He was, however, quite surprised when she cried, “Epona! Find Epona!”

He turned and stared at her. “What’s wrong?”

“She hasn’t come home! It’s after dark, there are predators out everywhere. She’s never come home after dark!” she said hysterically, though he knew that as well as she did. Epona ranged so freely about the planet because she was extremely responsible with her freedom – she had never disobeyed the rule about when to come home. He turned quickly back to his sensor array and set up the scan.

“Hairbrush,” he said as he did. She ran from the room and returned with Epona’s hairbrush a bare minute after. He pulled a hair off of it, fed it into the computer, and set it to scan for her DNA Signature through the Morphin Grid. “It’ll probably take a few hours to find her, unless she’s close by,” he told her. Her scared eyes drew tight with horror. Anything, anything could happen in a few hours. He stood. “Come, we’ll look for her together.”

“But — the scan!”

“The computer will teleport us back here when it finds a match. Come on,” he urged, taking her hand.

“Th-thanks,” she said tremblingly. He gave her hand a squeeze. Neither bothered to mention how unlikely it was that they two would find a three-year-old child who could be anywhere on the planet. This was no time for logic. They would find her because they were her parents, and sense be damned.

*****

But they didn’t. By morning, both were scared stiff. The computer should have found her DNA and teleported them back by then whether she was alive or not, so long as she was on the planet. When they came home, weary and confused, Zordon found that the computer had highlighted a dozen near-matches in the night. This was impossible. Terran human DNA was too different from Eltarian human for the computer to recognize a near-match between them, and there were only four Eltarians on the planet, not a dozen. At worst, there should have been four near-matches. Something was scrambling the computer or their daughter’s Power Signature itself. Nothing he could think of that could do the latter was something he wanted anywhere near his planet, let alone his daughter.

He performed a computer diagnosis without turning up a single malfunction. Kiori returned with Kiren in her arms — Zordon felt that she wouldn’t let the baby out of her sight until Epona was safely home. Zordon set the computer to scan simply for non-Terrestrial life signs. Within a half hour, it found forty near-matches.

“What the Dark?!” he swore. “They’re either Terran or they’re not! Find my child, you stupid hunk of junk!” he yelled and kicked the sensor array. He went on kicking at it for half a minute before sinking, exhausted and defeated, into a chair.

Kiren chose that moment to cry. Kiori offered him food, checked his diaper, tried to play with him, but he wouldn’t stop crying. To his parents’ distress, they soon realized that his was not a normal infant cry: it was a soft, long moan. After a while, they both simply sat and stared at him. What else was there else to do? Neither had the energy to continue the search, but they could not sleep without Epona.

“She’ll come back,” Zordon said. “I know she will.”

Kiori gently bounced their moaning son and said nothing.

*****

Toward sunset, Zordon rallied his strength for a second search. Kiori, pained, asked him to stay or at least sleep or eat first, but he refused. He had no desire for comforts. Besides, where he was going, there would be food and drink if he needed them, if not a daughter. It had occurred to him that most days he’d gone out after her to bring her in early, Epona had been in or near the same village on the Tigris River.

He changed his costume into a form that drew Kiori’s astonishment. He began to ignore her questions and simply leave... but he stopped himself. Kiori was not reassured of his sanity or safety when he told her his plan, but both were silently glad that he hadn’t just dismissed her questions this time. He kissed her soundly before he left. For a moment, Kiren’s moans paused, and Zordon bent to kiss him, too.

“Stay here,” he ordered Kiori, “no matter what happens. This whole thing reeks of trouble.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said sarcastically. “Now I can worry about you even more.”

“I’ll come back, I swear,” Zordon vowed.

“Don't swear. Just hurry,” she sighed.

“I will. This won’t take long.”

*****

*Damn the luck!* Zordon swore angrily an hour later. Epona’s favorite band of Terrans had invented the concept of Market Day a generation or three ago, and this happened to be the day. Instead of a small, quiet town of people who might all know Epona, Zordon had a sprawling marketplace overflowing with strangers. He wandered the streets, looking for people who seemed like natives to the city, but he didn't really know how to tell. No one he asked had heard of Epona. He refused to give up, though, mostly because coming there was the only useful idea he’d had. He couldn’t stand the thought of going home to worry and do nothing.

“Kill your own pig!”

“Gems! Gems for every class and budget!”

“Weapons and tools, the best obsidian!”

Zordon chose the last of these options. “Excuse me-” he began, but stopped abruptly and jumped back when a long blade of black volcanic stone swung at him.

“You like it, stranger?” the merchant asked eagerly. “It suits you, indeed! Only ten-”

“I’m sorry, I’m not here to buy,” Zordon said swiftly.

The merchant’s manner turned icy. “Well, I’m not either, so go peddle your goods somewhere else.”

“Please, sir, I’m looking for someone.”

He frowned. “Who, then?”

“A child. Her name is Epona. About five years old,” Zordon fudged to bring his daughter’s chronological age closer to the equivalent Terran mental age, “but very small. Black hair and eyes, pale like me.”

The merchant thought carefully, but shrugged. “I think I see a girl like that sometimes, but not today.”

“Well, keep an eye out, if you would,” Zordon said hollowly. Disappointment was becoming harder to stomach each time.

“I can do that. What’s the name again?”

“Epona,” Zordon sighed.

“Epona!?” cried a new voice. Zordon turned and found a woman rushing toward him through the throng. “Do you know her? Have you seen her kinsfolk?”

Zordon marveled. This woman sounded nearly as frantic as he felt! “Yes, I-”

“Do you know where she lives? I have no idea where to take her, and she refuses to leave by herself!”

Zordon tried to squash the hasty leap of hope in his heart. “What — you've seen her? She’s all right?”

“Yes, yes! Are you kin?”

A warm, wondrous rush of relief flowed into him. In his exhaustion, it staggered him, and he set out a hand to brace himself on the corner of the sword-merchant’s booth. “I’m her father. Please, take me to her.”

“Of course, gladly! Oh, thank the gods!” the Terran woman cried. “We must hurry.”

The merchant cleared his throat. “A word?” he half-asked. The woman and he whispered back and forth while Zordon tried to restrain his impatience.

“Nonsense, Mudu!” she burst out suddenly. “You can’t seriously say that I shouldn’t help a man find his daughter! If that’s what you mean, Gods’ vengeance on your head!” Without letting Merchant Mudu get another word in, she touched Zordon’s arm and then started off through the crowded market. Zordon caught up with her quickly.

“What was that about, if I may ask?” he said.

“Oh, you know,” she said, sounding peeved, “the standard drivel about a married woman going off with a stranger. But you’re no stranger. I can tell just by looking at you that you’re Epona’s father.”

“Not a very common look, I know,” Zordon said, noting the bronzed skins all around him. By comparison, his own pale hue seemed to glow in the dimming light. He realized now that Epona must be very distinctive among these people. If she’d come out a nice, predictable blend of her parents’ appearances, she would have looked rather like them, but, thanks to the quirks of Eltarian genetics, she looked very little like her mother.

“No. In fact, I used to wonder...” she began, but stopped herself with a laugh. “No, never mind, it’s just silly.”

“No, go ahead,” Zordon said with interest. For all his studies of Terrans, he’d never interacted with them directly. He had no idea at all what the woman was going to say next, and that was fascinating.

“I used to wonder if she’s... you know... a little god.”

Zordon blinked. Well, he hadn’t predicted that one. He knew, distantly, that Terrans based a huge portion of their understanding of the cosmos on religious concepts at this point in history, but to actually hear it was entirely different.

“You know,” the woman continued embarrassedly, “she looks so different, and she’s always so nice to everyone, and so cheerful — it didn’t seem quite natural. But now I see you, and you’re so clearly her father.” The woman’s step faltered. Softly to avoid drawing attention, she said, “You’re not a god, are you?”

To his relief, Zordon laughed it off easily. “No, I’m not. I’m just human.”

The woman seemed relieved. “I’m Kubaba, by the way.”

“Zordon,” he replied.

“A strange name for a strange face,” she said, but she smiled. “You are truly blessed to have a child such as Epona.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful — I am very happy that you’ve kept her safe — but why did she come to you?” he asked.

“Oh, she comes to our house often. She and my son, Pimri, are great friends. I was away when she arrived, but Pimri says that she was hours late for their playdate and that, when she did get there, she was shaking all over and staggering about, muttering gibberish. He got her to stop shaking and sit down, but she hasn’t moved from the chair since. She won’t eat or drink or even talk to us. If I hadn’t found you, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

While Zordon tried to swallow the rising lump of renewed panic, Kubaba stopped before one of the mud-brick conglomerations. “Here,” she said. He followed her up a ladder and through their roof-hole entrance.

Chapter 5: Cold as Ice

Chapter Text

“Pimri!” called Kubaba. A boy of about eight ran in, skidded to a halt, and gaped open-mouthed at Zordon for all of two seconds.

“You’re her kin!” the boy half-stated.

“Her father.”

“Hurry!” Pimri said, then turned on his heels and ran back the way he’d come.

Zordon followed him into a windowless room lit by a few dim, smoky candles. Despite the faint light, he spotted her immediately. Epona sat curled into a chair too large for her, which made her look even smaller than she was. Her hands were clasped tightly around her legs, pulling her knees to her chest. Zordon had never been happier to see anyone in his entire life. Pimri stepped quietly to the periphery as Zordon kneeled on the packed earth before his daughter.

All he wanted at that moment was to pull her into his arms, but he held himself back. There were shadows in Epona’s blackest eyes and fear in her tense body that didn’t ease with his approach. The elation of finding her faded into fear. Nothing ever scared Epona. What had happened?

After a moment, Epona’s bowed head lifted. Her eyes met his. “Daddy?” she whispered.

She hadn’t called him “Daddy” in six months, after she informed him one day that she was too “grown-up” for the endearment. He opened his arms, and she flew into them, shaking like a leaf. ‘It’s all right now, I’m here, it’s okay,’ he murmurred in their native Eltarian. Epona held on to him with stunning strength. He curled his arms gently around her tiny body and lifted her with him into the chair. Then he rocked her as if she were a newborn again. She wasn't one to cry, as a rule, but she clawed at him and shivered so hard. After many minutes of his voice and his embrace, Epona’s body relaxed into his.

“She... she wanted to kill me,” Epona whispered. “She said so. But she needed me to give you a message. She says to meet her at the top of the first cataract of the Nile when two days have gone since she... she... touched me.” This recitation made Epona start shaking again.

Someone had hurt his child to send him a message. Someone had hurt Epona. His insides burned with rage. “Who?” he asked, forcing his tone calm. “Who did this?”

Epona shook her raven-haired head. “She didn’t say her name. Father-” she began, fright filling her eyes.

“She will not kill you or anyone,” he said. “Whoever she is, she won’t hurt any of us ever again.”

She buried her face in his shoulder. “Thank you, Father,” she said with perfect trust.

“Let’s go to Mother, okay?” Zordon asked. She nodded, rubbing her face into his dark Terran clothes.

“Is she gonna be okay?” long-forgotten Pimri asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” he told the boy. “I thank you and your mother. I am in your debt.” The boy bowed his head in acknowledgement. Zordon carried Epona up the ladder and down another into the narrow street below. She guided him verbally out of the mazelike Terran town. Anxious to get home, once beyond the town walls he hurried down the Terrans’ trading path. The path led quickly toward a small forest. The trees would mask his teleportation well enough. As they neared the forest, however, Epona’s head suddenly popped out of its sleepy pose.

“No, Father!” she cried. “Not there!”

He stared at her. “But, darling, we’ll be seen leaving if we don’t find cover. We don’t want to scare your friends.”

“No, Father,” Epona moaned, “pleeese.” She retreated into his arms again.

Zordon knew better than to ignore a warning, no matter who the source was. He circled around behind a boulder large enough to offer some camouflage, checked to make sure that there were no Terrans nearby, and Morphed silently to teleport them home.

****

A short time later, Epona sat up in her own bed, huddled under every soft blanket they possessed, with a parent on either side of the bed, sipping at a hot, sweet Eltarian drink.

“Do you think you could tell us anything about the woman now, sweetheart?” Zordon asked gently. Epona took a sip and nodded.

“She has hair the color of rich wet earth, but with bits of blue in it. Very pale, like Father and me. Her dress is the blue of the eastern sky at sunset, and it rippled. She sang to me from the trees, asking me to come... her voice was so pretty that the birds stopped to listen. But then she touched me and... her hands were like ice. I tried to run away, but... but she held me down and... and....” Epona shuddered as she tried to force herself on. The cup nearly fell from her hands, forgotten. Reflexively, Zordon took it from her.

“It’s all right, love, you don’t have to say any more,” Kiori said softly. “Why don’t you rest now?”

“Yes, Mother,” Epona said, her eyes already closing. In seconds, she seemed peacefully asleep.

Kiren gave a moaning cry. “Oh, bother!” Kiori hissed, rushing to the cradle. She took him out of the room so that he wouldn’t rouse Epona. Kiren didn’t care for that plan, though: he started howling. Epona’s eyes opened.

“Bring him here,” she called out. Though surprised, Kiori was in no mood to refuse Epona anything. She put Kiren beside his sister in her little bed. Epona rolled on to her side to face him and put one arm gently around his middle. His cries turned fitful, then slowly faded as both children fell asleep. The two stunned parents heard Epona mutter something as she dropped off. Though Zordon couldn’t make out anything but a few vowels, a wide smile broke on to Kiori’s face.

“What did she say?” Zordon whispered as the two left the room.

“‘He just missed me, that’s all,’” Kiori quoted. Zordon smiled with happiness and amazement.

“Do you think it’s true?” he asked softly.

Kiori looked at Epona’s closed bedroom door speculatively. “I think,” she said, “that a lot of things are possible that I haven’t heard of yet.”

A powerful urge to kiss her came over him. She looked at him in wide-eyed astonishment after he released her. It was the first passion either had felt for the other in a year. Zordon wondered into the shocked silence if he should apologize.

“Well,” she said for lack of anything to say. A tentative smile flickered onto her face. He laughed softly. The two started down the hall away from their sleeping children. After a few steps, Zordon circled an arm around her waist. She glanced at him in surprise, then, shrugging, put an arm of her own around him.

*****

Dawn was cloudless and bright over the Nile river valley the next morning. The coming sun revealed to observers from the top of the most southerly waterfall tiny tan figures below in white clothing already toiling in fields of dark river mud. The Nile had flooded the week before, and now the inhabitants of the miles-long strip were working against time to get their seeds into the fertile riverbed soil. Zordon, kneeling at the fall’s edge, watched their efforts in fascination as the sun rose higher. Despite the limits of their primitive tools, they were remarkably efficient.

“Such tiny, futile creatures. How like ants they are,” said a beautiful voice behind him.

Zordon spun, stood, and moved away from the cliff’s edge all in one swift motion, cursing inwardly for putting himself in an exploitable position. Behind him stood the woman whom his daughter had described: a pale brunette with dark blue streaks through her hair which matched her blue dress. Her Terranlike skin and hair unhelpfully placed her in any of a hundred species, including his own – though he doubted very much that she was Eltarian, given what she’d done. Epona hadn’t mentioned that she was as beautiful as her voice suggested.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” he answered.

The woman smiled like a cat might when thinking of mice. “I could become their queen in a day. They would worship me as a god. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why, then?” Zordon asked, hiding his relief that she didn’t plan to deify herself to his Terrans.

“Just like your little girl,” she said, grinning at the mention of Epona, “I am a messenger. My message is from... you could say a mutual friend.”

“I doubt it,” Zordon said.

“You shouldn’t. You used to be quite close to her. Unfortunately for you, she's coming to sever that bond. My message is this: fear her. She will kill you as easily as if you were the lowliest insect. You cannot stop her. But if your fear is overwhelming enough, abject enough, she might let you live a while longer to amuse her.”

“Rita.” The old name passed his lips in a whisper that pained him. “Why?”

The woman smirked. “You’ve lived this long on borrowed time, Ranger. You were meant to die by Zedd’s hand the night they turned. She thought you had. Your wife should never have known you, your children should never have known life — and don’t think that they won’t all suffer for it. Rita Repulssa will end what should have ended five years ago. The only choice you have is whether to die immediately or be granted a few days more so that she may bask in your fear. That’s my message."

The woman's lips twisted in a vicious smile. “Now here’s some advice of my own: my lady Rita’s only laid claim to your life. I’d keep that gorgeous little girl of yours indoors from now on.” She closed her eyes and shuddered with pleasure.

That fury rose up in his belly again, poisonous and hot. “You won’t hurt her,” Zordon said, his voice trembling with it.

“Oh?” she said with a laugh of contempt. “Do you have any idea what kind of being you’re talking to?”

The question startled him. No, he didn’t know what she was, other than evil. Zordon looked at the streaks of blue in her hair, the full, rippling skirt of her dress, and at her two eyes like sapphires. He looked at the roaring river beside them, the longest in the world, her choice of meeting place. It clicked. “You’re a water mage.”

“Ice,” the woman corrected with surprising ferocity. “I’m an ice mage! Get it wrong again and I’ll turn one of your Terrans into a frozen block to prove my point. I am Brinlen of Tarus, a name you’d do well to remember, Ranger.”

“Sorry,” Zordon said, for once not pausing to consider the intelligence of his words, “I assumed you were a nobody, since Repulssa has you running errands.”

A javelin of solid blue ice missed his ear by an inch. “I run errands for no one!”

“Oh?” Zordon goaded her. He briefly wondered what, by Power, he was doing. An image of Epona huddled in a reed chair, nearly catatonic with terror, answered his question. “You sure seem to be her errand-girl.”

“There is no shame,” the ice-mage said, all but spitting in fury, “in swearing fealty to a family so powerful as Vilus!”

“If you’re a willing slave, why so touchy?”

“How dare you!” A mass of swirling, churning blue-white energy formed between her hands. Zordon’s breath caught in his throat. He knew enough about magic to know that this would hurt, even if he Morphed fast enough.

The ball evaporated abruptly, vanishing into steam. Brinlen took several deep, ragged breaths, slowly calming again. Zordon stared in amazement and confusion. “By Power,” he said, realizing suddenly, “you can’t hurt me.”

“I can!” Brinlen cried, her temper quickly rising again.

“But Repulssa will punish you if you do. She might even kill you. A servant — practically a slave of her family ignoring her orders...” Zordon advanced on Brinlen. The wild light in his eyes made her back away. Here, here was a way to make her pay for Epona’s terror!

But he stopped himself after a few paces. Epona was safe now, Brinlen couldn’t hurt her, and the last thing she needed was for her father to get himself killed. “Just remember,” he said calmly, “that if you hurt my babies, I’ll make sure that Repulssa finds a reason to make you suffer.”

“Dear man,” Brinlen said, breathing hard with something other than anger, “you’re much too good at this for a Light. I believe we understand each other.”

She shut her crystalline eyes and dove like a fish into the Nile hundreds of feet below. He looked into the water and saw a blue-white blur racing upstream. He smirked at it.

Then his knees suddenly turned to jelly. He found himself on the ground, shaking.

Rita Reylassa had been the equal in power and skill of any member of their Team save Zedd, and yet she had rarely tapped her greatest ability, her magic. Evelyn, her best friend, had told him once that the power of Rita’s destructive magic was almost boundless, and it was only Rita’s pure heart that stopped her from unleashing awesome cruelty upon their foes. Eve was pretty sure that Rita could have killed Scorpina and Goldar outright if she used the full breadth of her magic.

If Zordon came up against Repulssa, he’d be dead in seconds.

It was a nightmare. Coin or no Coin, he couldn’t survive against her. He couldn’t protect his family. He certainly couldn’t protect his planet. “Why me?” he asked despairingly.

That was somehow easy to answer. Part of him had known it would come to this ever since the day that Rita Reylassa fled from his rejection of her love. The day that Zedd had beaten him and left him to die and Zedd and she had left Terra to join evil. It might well be Zordon’s refusal that pushed her back into Darkness, just as it was his injuries from Zedd’s near-fatal beating that made the ERO choose him to stay behind on Terra instead of going to war alongside his Teammates – rendering him in short order the only survivor of his Team. Their lives were twisted around one another too tightly to expect anything else.

In time, a more concrete, useful thought came to him. Repulssa wanted to play with him. Why else have Brinlen torture a little girl who was utterly inconsequential but that he loved her more than any other living being? Why else tell him to fear her? She didn’t just want to kill him, she wanted to enjoy his death. She wanted to make sure he had time to feel helpless and afraid. Time might be the most valuable weapon she could have handed him. One Ranger Coin stood no chance against Repulssa, but he wasn’t the only Ranger of Eltare, and Repulssa had given him the time to bring his people's weight to bear against her. He Morphed and teleported, for once not worrying whether Terrans saw.

Chapter 6: The Princeps Negrum

Chapter Text

“Expect company,” he told Kiori as he passed her on the way to the central communications room.

“What?” Kiori said, startled.

“The good kind,” Zordon said.

“Love, what’s happened?” Kiori gasped, seeing something in his face that scared her.

“I’ll explain everything. Later. There isn’t a second to spare yet!” He left her gaping and continued on to the communications room. It was one of the many disused areas of his former Team’s base, full of complex Eltarian technology designed to let them contact anyone, even across dimensional boundaries. It had been five years since he’d needed the most complex of these, but Ranger training was thorough and he remembered perfectly how to use it.

The spacio-temporal coordinates went through perfectly, and another young Eltarian face sprang up onto the device’s communication screen. [Desired transfer point?] the young man asked in a bored tone.

“The Princeps Negrum,” Zordon answered.

The man blinked at him. This was an unusual and impertinent request. Rangers in the field didn’t just up and ask to talk to a Princeps. [Who are you?] he asked suspiciously.

“Just a Protector Solus. Look, it’s an emergency. Please.”

More of his anxiety must’ve shown in Zordon’s face and voice than he’d guessed, because the receptionist didn’t protest further, merely scowling as he transferred Zordon’s call. Zordon took a deep breath and tried desperately to calm himself in preparation for speaking with the Princeps Negrum.

The Princeps Negrum was the chief Black Ranger of the ERO – the most skilled, most renowned, most powerful. She was his ultimate superior save only the Council of Worlds of the Eltarian Alliance itself. He’d spoken to her only once before, at his Team’s formation ceremony, but she’d struck him as kind and wise. Though it wasn’t correct by the chain of command for him to call her now, Zordon had no desire to speak with his immediate superior, the Ranger whom he’d apprenticed with, ever again. He needed advice and aid from someone he trusted.

[Yes? Hallo?] his Princeps answered. At first, all Zordon could see were black robes with tiny highlights of green, but in a moment the Princeps sat down. Apparently she was in the middle of brushing her hair — quite a complex task. Her hair resembled nothing moreso than thin, weeping-willow-like branches accented with tiny, fuzzy leaves and minuscule flowers.

*Must be spring in the capitol,* Zordon thought. That meant fall in the Plain of Kri’nal, where he’d grown up. A pang of longing answered that thought, but he shoved it aside.

The dryad Ranger regarded him, a faint frown crinkling her barklike skin just between her eyebrows. [I know you,] she said after a moment, her voice low and husky as he remembered. [Zordon of Eltare.]

“Yes, sir,” Zordon replied.

[What’s happened?]

Unprepared for her to skip the usual preamble, Zordon stared at her.

[Come now, anyone can tell from your face that you don’t need to go through ceremony right now. Has someone attacked... Terra, it’s called, isn’t it?]

“Yes, sir. Called Terra, I mean. No one’s attacking it. Just me. And my family. They’re attacking us, I mean.” Zordon forced himself to take a deep breath and organize his thoughts. “Rita Repulssa of Vilus is coming to Terra. She’s sworn to kill me and my family.”

The Princeps gave an aggravated sigh. [Vilus grows more bold by the day. Assassinating a Ranger... Very well.] She put down the wide-toothed brush she’d been using to straighten out her spring hair and sat up tall, instantly formal. [I hereby terminate the position of Protector Solus of Terra. Ranger Zordon, you are released from all duties and obligations of said position effective immediately. You and your family are instructed to return to Eltare at once, where you will receive reassignment as best forwards the cause of Goodn-]

“Wait, wait!” Zordon cried out. “I don’t want reassignment, just protection!”

She looked startled. [The best protection is always the safety of Eltare. Your life has been directly threatened; you must return home.]

“But who knows what Repulssa will do when she finds out I’ve left? I can’t risk the Terrans’ lives like that! If you terminate...” Her words caught up to him. “Wait, you’re not even going to send another Ranger in my place, are you?”

[It hardly seems necessary. There have been no threats against the planet in five years and none in the forseeable future.]

“And you’ve consulted the mystics on that, have you?” Zordon shot back.

[Ranger!] she snapped. Zordon sucked in his breath and reeled inwardly: how had he gotten out
of line with a Princeps? [Panicked or not, you will control yourself. Yes, this is only a guess. However, it is in the best interests of Light to assume that Terra is in no danger and to not risk any more Rangers on that world. I understand that as Protector Solus you may have developed a fondness for the Terran humans. It is quite natural to grow attached to one's charges. But you are neither obliged nor permitted to die on the off chance that your death will protect them. Is that clear?]

“Yes,” Zordon said hollowly.

[You will apologize for your manner.]

“I apologize, Princeps.”

[You will return to Eltare at once.]

Zordon hesitated painfully. “Isn’t it possible to just send some reinforcements? Just briefly, to scare her away?”

[Possible, yes. My orders stand.] Her manner softened. [Trust in the Power – all will come out as it should.] Zordon nodded automatically to the cliché phrase. [I will see you soon, Ranger,] she said, and shut off communication.

Zordon sat there for a long, confused moment. *What did you expect?* he asked himself. *You know procedure. You haven’t been away from home that long.* He thought again of the Princeps Negrum’s hair. *It’s autumn in the Plain...* he thought. He’d longed for home so often that the thought of Eltare had become like a little, nagging pain in his side. The image of playing with Epona in piles of falling golden leaves of his childhood home swelled his heart. Why shouldn’t he go home?

Wait... why?

There was an answer, he realized abruptly. It was there, tickling at him just outside the bounds of logical thought. Zordon took a deep, steadying breath against what he knew he must do. For the first time in years, he thought back to his lessons with Lord Zedd.

According to the ERO and their Teammates both, the Red Ranger had only taught him linear history. It was from Zedd, in fact, that he'd learned about Masters of the Power, which an Eltarian instructor certainly wouldn’t have prioritized. But on occasion Zedd had taught more than fact – quietly, he had tried to teach Zordon to sense the flow of time itself. Precognition was a skill of Zedd's that came neither from his Ranger training nor from his Clan's wealth of secrets, and its incredible rarity was matched by its power. Though Eltarians could learn general facts and occasional details that lay in the future, the ability was completely undirected. If some bit of the future course occurred to an Eltarian, the information never had relevance to that Eltarian's own life and rarely even made sense without discovering the known posthistorical context first. What Eltarians knew of future linear history was a patchwork fabric woven of a hundred million tiny insights. Zedd's future insight, however, was directed: he could choose how far ahead he wanted to sense and about which people or planets, and, in the most critical moments, insight could come to him all on its own to tell him what would happen next. His leader thought he might be able to train Zordon to direct his innate extratemporal nature similarly. Zedd claimed that in this way one could even change the course of the future — though this didn't tally with Eltarian temporal physics, so Zordon had always dismissed it as one of his leader’s frequent boasts.

Now, for the first time, Zordon wondered if Zedd had been serious. Some sense inside him beyond all logic told him that if he left now, the Terrans would suffer. Thousands... millions... maybe every one of them would die to punish him for his escape. And Rita's rage wouldn't end there....

Zordon dropped his head into his hands. He’d never guessed that Repulssa’s anger was that intense, but now he was certain — and terrified. "What by Power do I do?" he asked himself. "Can't leave... don't want to die... can’t fight her off..."

He needed someone to protect him. If the ERO wouldn't... well, he had other friends now, didn't he?

The young Black Ranger sprang back to action. He rushed across the small room to a far-simpler communication device but input a very long sequence of commands before, at last, the blank screen dissolved into a new face.

The person who answered his call had clearly been asleep. He half-mumbled something at Zordon which had to be a string of curses, though Zordon’s Ignan wasn’t good enough yet that he could follow the exact sentiment. Zordon waited patiently, and the yellow-haired man calmed down after a minute or so. He then blinked at Zordon: [Oh. I know you. How did you find us?]

This was always the first question that callers to this ship were asked. They didn't get many. “With much difficulty,” he replied. It wasn’t true — Naatam had given him a direct-line code to their masked, ever-moving ship in case Zordon needed him — but it soothed the other man. “Please, I need to speak with Lord-Regnant Naatam.”

[That’s not a good idea. He really hates to be woken up.]

“It’s a matter of life or death.”

[Of course it is, it always is.] The man sighed. [All right, but on your head be it.]

The screen flickered. The connection resolidified a couple of minutes later and Naatam’s angry face filled the screen. [What on the Seventeen Moons of Omicron-Janp is worth waking me up for?]

"Repulssa of Vilus is coming to kill me."

Lord Naatam blinked twice. [Say that again.]

"Rita Repulssa's coming to kill me. My Princeps ordered me to abandon Earth. I can't. I need help."

Naatam thought about this a moment. His sleepy rage was resolving into an expression that was closed and unreadable. [And why not run to Eltare?]

"She might hurt the Terrans if I do. No... no, she will hurt them if I do.” Naatam looked at him skeptically, and Zordon realized that he would have to explain how he knew. “It's something your son taught me, sir."

Naatam looked at him in sharp astonishment, but he didn’t seem angry. At last, his surprise broke into a smile. [You really do take after Retallia and it wasn't just talk,] Naatam said wonderingly. [Of course we'll help. What’s the situation likely to be? Come to think of it, how do you even know she's planning to kill you? I assume she's not already on the planet or we wouldn't be having this discussion.]

"A servant of hers passed on the message. Brinlen of Tarus."

Naatam's entire aspect changed. He stared at Zordon speechlessly for three full seconds, then his hair exploded into foot-tall white flames and he gave a yell loud enough to raise the dead. It was directed not at Zordon but at his sleeping crew. For a second time, Zordon could barely follow the rapid-fire Ignan words, but the general idea was, “Turn this ship around!” [We’re a couple galaxies over, but we’ll be there as fast as we can. Please stay safe until we reach you! Stay inside your base; it's reasonably protected even against...] Naatam sighed and let out a string of vehemently angry Ignan curses. [Call someone closer just to be sure. The Kerovans; they're worth their fuel in a fight.]

"Lord Naatam, please, slow down. What don't I know about Brinlen of Tarus?"

[She's an ice mage from Tarus!]

"No, I knew that."

[Fifteen years ago, she led an army of Tarusians on a murdering spree that ended in 20 billion civilians and two hundred fire mages dead.]

"Oh." Zordon reflected a moment. "I'm going to call the Kerovans now."

[Good man. Do you trust me?]

Zordon stared at him, startled. "Yes. Why?"

[As many friends as you have, you may find yourself alone with Repulssa or-] he shuddered angrily [-with Brinlen, and in that fight flashy costumes and laser weapons won't help. One Ranger of Eltare has never won against a Blooded mage. You may only have a few days before Repulssa gets there, but even in that time Sorcha could help you learn to stand against a mage in a fight, at least for a few minutes. You can use magic only as a last resort, but if that time comes it could save your children's lives.]

Zordon flinched at that image. "I see your point. If I'm asking you to risk your own safety for me, I can't say no to doing what I can."

[Well, you could, but you'd be an ass for it. We'll be in contact again before we land.]

"Thanks," Zordon said just as Naatam reached forward and turned off his communication screen. Zordon's screen went black again. With a sigh of loathing, he put in the still-simpler coordinates of Sorcha's ship.

It took several minutes for the call to go through, but Zordon didn't mind: he had a lot to think about. At last, the black of his screen faded to the murky colors of a poorly-lit co*ckpit, and Sorcha's cheery face sprang into view.

[Hello, how can I hel... Zordon?] Her cheery smile vanished in gaping shock.

"It wasn't my idea; Naatam told me to call you. Remember how I swore I'd never learn magic?"

[Um... yyes?...] Sorcha looked understandably clueless.

"Well, I have to learn magic. I just found out that a really powerful witch is coming to kill me and my family, the person I thought was just her flunky mage is actually a famous mass murderer, and Lord Naatam's already on his way to help fight her off but I told him I'd learn whatever I could to defend myself, too. He, ah, said to call you," Zordon petered out lamely.

[You're asking for an apprenticeship?] she asked cautiously.

Zordon winced. "I guess so. Do you think you can teach me... I don't know, something useful... before Repulssa gets here?"

[I'll give it my best shot!] Sorcha replied brightly. [We’ll start today! Luckily, I’m not far from you. Please, Zordon, stay safe 'til I arrive? Tarusian ice mages can be nasty.]

“All right,” Zordon agreed. Oddly, as little as he cared for Sorcha, her closeness and promise to help made the knot of panic he’d been ignoring ease some. “Thank you.”

[Not a problem!] she smiled. Zordon shut off that connection and quickly called Kinwan, the leader of the Kerovan expedition that had stopped on Earth a few weeks ago. The grandfatherly man promised his aid as readily as Naatam and Sorcha had.

[I'll send out the three ships under my command straight away. Beyond that, I'll have to talk with the Governing Council, but given my stunning talent at public speaking, I'd wager there'll be a good-sized fleet on its way within a day.]

"Thank you so much," Zordon said, deeply relieved now. "I didn't think when Naatam suggested it that you'd want to get involved at all."

Kinwan smiled. [Something you'll learn about yourself soon enough, young man: you inspire loyalty.]

"If you say so," Zordon laughed at the idea. "I'll see you soon, then."

[Without a doubt,] Kinwan replied and closed the comm channel.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on or just leave me to worry?" Kiori asked behind him. She sounded vaguely hostile.

*Loyalty. Right,* Zordon sighed to himself. He turned to face his wife. Her slender figure was outlined against the doorway to the lit hall beyond, her curves apparent through the thin, backlit fabric of her dress.

"He's right, though," she added. "You do inspire loyalty."

Zordon blinked at her. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Since you invited that horrible woman back. Though I'm sure she'll seem less horrible once you two aren't fighting constantly." Inwardly, Zordon sighed with relief: she hadn't heard the Princeps Negrum cancel the Terran mission and order his return to Eltare. If the idea of ignoring the ERO’s orders was stunningly rebellious to him, she, who had never known Zedd’s righteous fury, would be horrified. "But why aren't we going to Eltare? She couldn't possibly hurt us there."

"She'll kill the Terrans if we do," Zordon said.

Silently, Kiori walked into the room and took the seat next to him. "You scare me sometimes," she said quietly.

"I what?" Zordon asked, alarmed.

"You're going to risk your life — our lives — for creatures who don't even know you exist? Who might be wiped out tomorrow by another giant meteorite?"

Zordon was much too tired emotionally to feel any anger. "If... if you want to, you can take them to Eltare. I'm the only one who has to stay."

Kiori didn't answer for a long moment. "Epona too?"

"Yes. Why not?" Zordon said calmly, though inside he was screaming at the thought of being separated from her again.

"Thanks," Kiori said. "That means a lot to me. But no." Zordon looked up at her, daring to hope. "They shouldn't be without their father and... I don’t want to be. If this is what you have to do, I'll help however I can.” She hesitated, but went on quietly, “But I'm scared."

Without another word, Zordon wrapped her in a powerful hug. "Me too. Stars, me too!"

End Book 1: Peace

Chapter 7: Book 2: War -- Chapter 1: Sorcha

Chapter Text

The first ship to arrive was Sorcha Darraghi’s, about four hours after Zordon’s call to the wizardess and three hours after he’d finished talking with Kinwan and Kiori. They’d spent the intervening time playing Epona's ever-inventive games to stave off her confusion and boredom at being kept inside all day instead of roaming Terra. They were just leaving Epona’s room when...

ReeeeeEEEEEIEIEBOOM!

The ground shook violently under their feet, drawing a pained cry from Kiori. Instantly, both were running for the nearest exit from the compound. When they saw the scene outside, they were stunned motionless.

A massive plume of gray smoke rose from about fifteen feet above the grassy ground up into the sky and out of sight. Beneath the plume, there was a triangular dent in the ground about ten feet on a side and a foot deep. But between the dent and the base of the column of smoke, there was absolutely nothing.

Before the two Eltarians had stopped gaping, something appeared in the middle of the nothing. The something looked like a door. The door opened, and Sorcha’s long, thick white hair swung out, followed by the rest of her trim body. The old woman landed spryly on the ground some ten feet below, turned, and stared up at the nothingness with a door in it. Her hands went to her hips, and she shook her head.

“Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere,” she said with a light sigh. She turned to Zordon and Kiori. “Greetings!” she said with a lopsided smile. “Not quite the entrance I’d planned, but you seem to have gained a rather nasty orbital defense system since I came last. I probably wouldn’t have made it at all if the ship hadn’t been invisible.”

“Orbital defense system?”

“Invisible?”

Sorcha grinned. “Oh, come now, you two look as though you’ve never seen an invisible spaceship crash-land before!” she said in tones that made it quite clear she knew they hadn’t. “You didn’t know about the defense system?”

“Absolutely not. Brinlen must’ve put it up,” Zordon theorized.

“Ah. Who would that be?” Sorcha asked.

“She’s a servant of the Vilus family. An ice mage.”

“Ah yes, the mage. An ice mage, is she? Naatam’s going to have a fit. Have you told him yet?”

“Yes, and he did. She's some sort of Dark war leader, responsible for a massacre 15 years ago.”

“True enough, but that's not why he had a fit."

"There's a better reason?" Zordon asked blankly.

"Your magical education’s got some holes in it!” she frowned. “None of the four elemental mageries are more opposed than fire and ice. They’re opposites in principle, effect, mood, even in Power: the first elementalists of ice were from a Black world, and the vast majority of fire mages even outside Naatam’s clan are Light. The two groups are constantly out for each other’s blood.”

Zordon blinked. “Right then.”

“But let’s focus on more immediate problems,” Sorcha said. “We need a large, empty area for the first lesson.”

“There’s a meadow a few miles from here,” Zordon suggested. “Kiori, would you please call the Kerovans about the orbital defense system? I don’t want anyone hurt by it.”

“Of course,” Kiori said.

“Then let’s get going!” Sorcha said, rubbing her hands together excitedly.

*****

It took four half-day sessions for Zordon to master the six basic wizard spells, which were all too trivial to help him against Repulssa. Sorcha said that it was nothing to worry about, but Zordon could tell that his progress was unusually slow. The anxious look in Sorcha’s eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking told him as much. He began to wonder whether Naatam and Sorcha had been wrong about his talent, despite the wizardess’s frequent reassurances.

At the end of those two days, though, something came to distract him. He was just outside the compound, watching an unusually beautiful sunset before going in to dinner, when a flash of light to the northwest made him turn. A light like a firework half the size of the moon was fading from the sky that he recognized as the afterglow of a large explosion in orbit. He cursed.

Another explosion soon followed the first one, this one dead north. A third burst upon the night even as Zordon was running inside toward his sensors. As soon as he entered the hallway leading to the room, he saw Kiori running toward him.

“It’s all right, love! Come on!” she said excitedly, and she pulled him back outside.

In the dying sunlight, Zordon could see two spaceships descending toward his base. He strained to make out the details of their shapes through the half-darkness. “Oh!” he gasped.

“Yes!” Kiori confirmed excitedly. “It’s the Kerovans!”

The ships disappeared between the trees nearby. Zordon grabbed Kiori’s hand and ran toward them. About fifteen people met them halfway. Zordon picked out Kinwan in the dim light and eagerly clasped forearms with him in the Kerovan fashion.

“Sir, the explosions-” Zordon began.

“Sorry if we startled you,” laughed Kinwan, “or the Terrans. That was the orbital defense system going ‘boom.’”

“It was a sophisticated system. This Repulssa of Vilus must truly hate you,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Whatever did you do?”

"Ah yes. Zordon, may I introduce my good friend, Captain Atalanta," Kinwan said, laughing. “She decided to come along with her crew rather than wait on the Governing Council.”

A tall, curvy figure stepped out from the small crowd and bowed. “I’ve heard much about you, Zordon of Eltare,” said a melodious alto voice.

“A pleasure. Why don’t we move this inside so that I can see you,” Zordon suggested.

The dozen Kerovans laughed merrily in agreement. They had springs in their steps as they headed off into the compound, and more delighted laughter issued from them at random intervals. It was as if the only sadness in their lives had been a lack of blowing up orbital defense systems and now they could be perfectly happy. Zordon gave a small sigh of pleasure. No problem could seem quite so dire with Kerovans around.

Kinwan hung back to walk with Zordon and Kiori. “My speech on your behalf was one of my better speeches before the Governing Council, if I do say so myself. I must regale you with a full recitation over dinner. Even I myself was a bit surprised by its effectiveness, though: they sent twenty good ships straight off, and I imagine that more will come.”

“Twenty ships?” Zordon worriedly scanned the darkening sky for new stars. Terrans were startlingly observant of the night sky, and someone was bound to notice the sudden appearance of new, extra-bright dots of light.

Kinwan laughed. “No, no, we know better than that. All but my flagship and Atalanta’s ship are in orbit around that fourth planet, what-do-you-call-it...”

“Mars,” Zordon supplied with relief. “Named for a god of war.”

"Right! Devil of a place. I've never seen a water-rich planet look so dry! Nothing compared to that second planet, though. Such a mess! No wonder the Venusians left! Did you hear, they're in the Pegasian sector now. Yes, they found a nice little Class A world, a ringed sub-giant around a binary system, quite unusual, and full of the oddest flying bat-turtles..."

*****

A defining attribute of Kerovans was their gift of banter. Combined with their irreverence and joie de vivre, a Kerovan party had an enthusiasm so infectious that it was impossible to be unhappy — and for Kerovans, every dinner was a party. Zordon couldn't recall when he'd last laughed so much. Naturally, then, when Sorcha appeared suddenly at his elbow not two hours into the party and told him it was time to leave, Zordon was less than enthusiastic.

"What do you mean, it's time to leave?" Zordon said indignantly. "You're going to order me out of my own hall?"

"You have lessons tomorrow," Sorcha said calmly.

"So what?!" Zordon demanded.

"So there's no point having lessons if you're tired. You need the energy of a good night's sleep to-" Sorcha was cut off by Zordon's harrumph of annoyance.

Atalanta, overhearing them, laughed. "Like an old married couple," she said to her neighbor. Zordon's cheeks reddened.

"Ah now, young one, you should do as the lady says," Kinwan reproved Zordon lightly. "There'll be plenty of time for parties once we've actually got something to celebrate. By the way, how go the magic lessons?"

"Fine," Zordon said automatically. If Sorcha wasn't ready to tell him the truth, he sure wasn't ready to tell Kinwan. However, the thought of his almost complete lack of magical progress succeeded in killing his party mood. He left without further protest.

*****

It seemed to Zordon that he had only just lain down to sleep when a knocking at his door woke him. "Wha?" he mumbled. He sat up, noticing as he did so that Kiori now lay next to him. He wondered jealously how late she'd stayed at the party.

Sorcha's long white hair swung in the room ahead of her smiling face. "Time to get up!" she whispered.

Zordon frowned. It seemed very early.

"Come on!" Sorcha whispered, motioning to him enthusiastically.

Zordon followed her reluctantly out of the room, collecting his outer robe from a chair and his sandals from under the dresser as he went. He paused momentarily at the dresser mirror to try to organize his hair. It didn't work, and he decided quickly that it was too early to care. He tied the robe around himself as Sorcha led him out of the barracks complex. To his surprise, no one else was in the barracks halls.

"Wait a moment, how early is it?" Zordon asked.

"Early enough," Sorcha whispered, "to keep your voice down."

She opened the outer doors, and Zordon groaned: the eastern sky was just lightening with the approach of dawn. "Why?" he groaned.

"Because you'll want to be at the strategy meeting in four hours and that's no excuse to shorten a lesson."

Zordon was too sleepy to argue, so he simply bobbed along in the cheerful wizardess's wake.

Chapter 8: The Memory

Chapter Text

"What's the point, exactly?" he asked as they entered their usual practice spot a half-mile from the complex.

"What's the point of what?"

"Of studying magic. Of still pretending there’s nothing wrong."

Sorcha paused. "Whatever else may be said about you," she said quietly, "you're not a fool.” She knelt on the dewy grass, and Zordon took his position across from her as if for a lesson.

“I don’t really have talent, do I?” he asked quietly.

Sorcha looked startled. “No, no, that’s not it at all!”

“It’s... it’s not?” Zordon said, confused. “What else could it be?”

“You don’t want to learn magic.”

“Oh.” It was undeniable.

“Why?” Sorcha asked.

Zordon sighed. “When I was a child, I had the chance to save the life of someone I loved. I had only my mental abilities to call on. I failed. She was murdered.”

“Interesting,” Sorcha said. “That’s almost word for word what Naatam told me about you.”

Zordon shrugged. “He has a good memory.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Zordon stared at her, offended. “What?”

“Well... if my abilities failed me so that I couldn’t save a loved one’s life, I imagine I’d work desperately hard to hone them, to make sure that I never lost anyone else that way.”

Zordon felt his face flush. “Maybe that’s what you’d do,” he said, “but we’re very different people.”

“Some things are universal. No... it's a convenient explanation, and it may even be what you believe, but it doesn’t fit.” Sorcha stared silently at the grass. Slowly, she said, “Tell me about what happened. As many details as you can remember.”

Zordon nearly refused to answer — he’d always refused that question before — but shouldn't he trust his teacher? “Eve — my Teammate — and I were walking in the hills a few miles to the south of the complex after lessons. We were having some pathetic squabble...”

“About what?”

“What? I... I don’t remember.” Zordon was thankful he didn't blush easily. He didn't want to share his would-have-been-first-kiss with anyone. Sorcha nodded at him to continue, either unaware of or unworried by his omission. “Our enemy Scorpina caught Eve by surprise, trapped her. Some kind of a binding spell. I ran for help. Scorpina’s partner Goldar caught me. I got loose, but then Scorpina...” A little shudder passed through Zordon. “Scorpina brought me back. She and Goldar talked over silently what to do about me. They decided to beat me, to cripple our healer long enough that they could kill Eve and get away with her body without being pursued. They did. Right before I passed out, Scorpina cut Eve's throat. I woke up in the complex three days later.”

“That’s all you remember?” Sorcha asked.

“It was years ago.”

Sorcha nodded. “True. Doesn’t it strike you as odd, though, that nowhere in your story did you actually use your powers to try to help Eve?”

For a moment, Zordon didn’t understand. Then he stared at her aghast. He’d honestly said everything that he remembered except the almost-kiss. “I... but I know I did...” he said desperately. The thought that he hadn’t tried to help Eve was repulsive. He tried, for the first time in five years, to remember more about the encounter. Nothing else came. “What’s going on?” he asked, frightened.

“You repressed the memory. The experience was so painful, so shattering that you repressed it — and everything connected to it. Zordon, what’s your talent?”

“What?”

“You’re Eltarian, aren’t you?” Sorcha laughed.

“Of course!”

“So what’s your talent?”

“I... don’t have one,” Zordon said it aloud for the first time. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he did. Who’d ever heard of an Eltarian who didn’t have a talent?

“I think you do. Just like you have telepathy and magical talent, just like you have the extraordinary temporal abilities of all Eltarians. You lost more than you think the day that Eve was killed.”

Zordon stared at her. He had also had trouble lately with even the most basic Eltarian extratemporal exercises, but he’d never told anyone. “What do I do?”

"Give me your hands.”

Zordon placed his hands in her outstretched ones. Nothing happened, so he looked up at her to ask what he was supposed to do next.

The instant his eyes met hers, he was rooted in place as firmly if he had never moved in his life. Panic filled him as he tried to struggle and nothing happened. “Ssh,” Sorcha whispered, staring into his eyes. “Just let go. Relax.”

A force pushed at his mind, trying to throw it off balance. Desperately hoping she knew what she was doing, Zordon stopped struggling. In only moments, his consciousness collapsed.

*****

The Black Ranger awoke in a very similar place. The trees around him were familiar ones, though it was now full daylight instead of the pale pre-dawn it had been. He was lying on his back, so he stood up.

Something about standing up felt wrong. He looked down at himself. Instead of a fit, adult body, he found a short twelve-year-old’s. As he examined it, he found that his right palm was scraped. He recognized the scrape. It looked just like the one he'd gotten while running from Goldar....

“Oh no. NO!” he yelled at the sky. “Sorcha, stop it! Now!”

Sorcha appeared in front of him, looking strangely tall now. “No,” she said calmly.

“It’s not a request!” Zordon said furiously, though the commanding effect was diminished by his alto child’s voice. “I refuse to do this! End it now!” He knew that there were magical effects that could force someone’s consciousness into its own past memory, as vivid as it had been the first time. It was a way to help someone recover details of a treasured moment – not relive a traumatic one.

The look on Sorcha’s face was neither cheerful nor thoughtful. It was something he’d never seen there before: coldly triumphant. “What makes you think you can order me around?” she said. “You are my apprentice. That means that your mind belongs to me until I see fit to release it. I can do whatever I like to you.”

Fear flooded through him so he could barely stay on his feet. “You can’t do this,” Zordon said. “I barely survived it once. It’ll destroy me!”

“I know." A vicious smile slipped on to her pale lips – something far Darker than belonged on that cheerful face. "Been nice knowing you."

She shimmered out of existence. At the same moment, Zordon heard footsteps behind him. Old terror filled him. Just as he had five years ago, he ran.

The footsteps caught up to him quickly. A low, smooth leg sweep knocked Zordon’s feet out from under him. He scrambled to get up again, but a knee slammed into his back.

‘Stop squirming,’ Scorpina’s voice said, silky with triumph. She turned him onto his back, then shoved her knee into his gut to keep him there, drawing a groan of pain. She regarded him, a small smirk playing on her lips. ‘I’m not like Goldar. You know that, don’t you, little one.’

Zordon nodded.

‘Goldar would probably make some stupid mistake right now, and you’d be off and running again. I’m not going to give you a second chance. You run from me...’ Scorpina drew her long, curved knife and pulled up Zordon’s black tunic. She drew the point of the knife in a swift, straight line down from Zordon’s collarbone to his navel, slitting with incredible precision just the top layers of his skin – deeply enough to sting but not to bleed. The pain, skill, and the maniac grin on Scorpina’s face terrified the young Black Ranger motionless.

‘That’s better,’ the villainness said softly. ‘Now get up.’

Zordon got up. Scorpina wrapped her free arm around his middle, lifting him off the ground, and put the knife at his throat — again pressing just hard enough to cut without drawing blood. She carried him back up the path.

When Goldar had carried him back, Zordon had been too intent on escaping to notice anything else. Now, with that thought scared out of his mind, he saw what they’d done to Evelyn.

The Green Ranger was standing totally motionless, surprise frozen on her face. Her own blood was dripping slowly down her cheek from three small gashes across her cheekbone. Eve, the strongest fighter he’d ever known, was defenseless.

Despair washed over him. Eve had always saved him before. Who’d save her?

*You. You have to,* he realized. Panic filled him immediately, but he pushed it aside. He had to do this. Who knew what would happen to Eve if he didn’t...

"Effective," Goldar said to Scorpina.

"Now as for what to do with him..." Scorpina put him down carefully, keeping her sword at his throat at all times. She crouched next to him. "I'm terribly sorry, but we simply can't have any witnesses," she smirked.

Zordon looked up at Scorpina. The world seemed to swirl around him as he realized what kind of danger he was in. "But...but the Rangers will know if you kill me. You'll never get away before they get here," he said desperately.

"He's right," Goldar said. “That stupid healer would sense it.”

"Whose side are you on, Goldar?" Scorpina snapped. Then she grinned. "There are... ways of making sure Adam doesn't tell anyone."

Goldar started to laugh. He stood on the other side of the captive Black Ranger. "There are at that."

She and Goldar started plotting silently, but Zordon payed no attention. He had to save both his and Evelyn’s lives, and he didn’t have much time.

Time.

They’d barely touched on it yet in his lessons. Sure, they’d covered how it worked, what had happened so far — mechanics and history — but there was a lot more to it than that for an Eltarian. These weren't skills taught to children, even extraordinarily talented ones already serving in the field as Power Rangers. In his latest lessons, Lilith, his extratemporal mechanics tutor, had told him over and over again that Rangers only practiced extratemporal skills for extreme emergencies, that it was dangerous to use any of them in the Primus Mensura… but Lilith had also trusted him with a few more lessons than Eltare had authorized for his age.

*If this isn’t an emergency, what is?* Zordon wondered.

He’d only managed this a few times in practice, but he’d give it his best shot now. He threw all his concentration into that moment. *Stretch it out... make it seem longer and it will be...*

Something around him snapped, pulling him out of the meditation. He looked around for the source of the strange sound. At first, nothing seemed different... then he realized that the leaves of the trees weren’t rippling in the breeze anymore. Zordon whirled around to look at Scorpina and Goldar. Their animated silent discussion had paused in mid-movement.

*I did it?* Zordon thought, stunned. *Ha! I did it!* he extolled. *Now what?*

He knew it was desperately dangerous to the dimension's integrity to leave any obvious sign of a time shift, like moving toward Eve. Non-physical changes were usually ok, though – for instance, he could contact other extratemporal beings with no risk. [Eve? Eve, can you hear me?] Zordon asked, trying to focus the message despite his panic. If Eve heard him, though, she didn’t answer. Maybe Scorpina’s magic was blocking her telepathy? [Adam? Ceyla? Lilith, can you hear me?] he tried his other Eltarian Teammates. He wasn’t sure whether he was concentrating right on the telepathy. For whatever reason, no one answered.

Panic set in. What if all he could do was slow down the moment? Make this awful minute last for an hour? How would that help Eve?

He looked to her as he always did for guidance. Something strange caught his attention. The air around her glittered palely in the sunlight. He frowned - he was sure that shimmer hadn’t been there before he paused the moment. A stunning thought struck him: *Can I see the spell?*

If he could see it, maybe he could do something about it! Maybe. *Like what? Oh Rita, why couldn’t you give me practical magic lessons?* he moaned silently, though he knew why: Rita had no more guessed than he had that he could be any good at magic. He tried to focus on the almost-a-shimmer around Eve. Maybe if he knew what it was, he’d be able to get rid of it.

To his surprise, information came to him. He felt the structure of the shimmer, its composition from beginning to end. Nothing had ever come so easily to him before! He’d found even the hardest lessons at the Eltarian Rangers’ Academy simple, but this was more. This — magic — this was his talent!

He laughed with joy. It would be the easiest thing in the world to break that spell off of Eve and-

[You will never touch her again.]

Zordon’s breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice. Disbelieving, he turned slowly to look at Scorpina. Though Goldar was still paused in mid-word, Scorpina had twisted around to look at him. He stared back at her open-mouthed, speechless with horror. It was impossible. Socrpina was temporal! How could anyone but an Eltarian slow her presence in time?

Too late, he realized he had lost focus. Before he could re-center, the moment slipped out of his grasp. Suddenly Goldar was moving again, leaves in the trees above them were rustling in a light breeze. Lightning quick, Scorpina’s head whipped back around to face Goldar — so quickly that Zordon doubted Goldar saw her move at all. With a great effort, Zordon focused on Eve again — he had no chance of stopping time again, rattled as he was, but if the two kept talking, he might be able to help Eve anyway. He could still see the shimmer trapping her.

"Very good, Goldar. I agree. The little brat has caused us quite a bit of trouble, hasn't he?" Scorpina said. He looked from Evelyn to her, unable to stop himself. There was a predator’s gleam in her eyes that brought panic racing to the forefront, wiping away his plans. "Now hold still. This won't hurt a bit." She drew a long, narrow, serrated knife from somewhere and pushed the point against his throat, forcing him to lie down on the grass.

"Actually, it’ll hurt a lot,” Goldar added with a chuckle. “But don’t worry. When it’s over, we’ll let you die.”

Zordon had only another second to struggle. Scorpina shoved the long knife to the hilt into his abdomen, shattering his thoughts with agony and pinning him to the ground.

“No more running away,” Scorpina whispered through his scream.

As the two villains laid into him, Zordon desperately focused all his adult strength and all Sorcha had taught him about meditation to pull away from the reality surrounding him. Faintly at first, then more substantially, he began to feel a floating sensation, as if he were drifting away from his body. The pain faded, his surroundings became less real... he knew again that this was just an illusion, that he wasn't really being tortured to death... but only briefly. Goldar’s voice pulled him back into his body. The horrible physical pain crashed over him all at once.

The two villains had stopped, but his body was already battered beyond any use. Zordon guessed it was only their skill at inflicting pain that had allowed them to hurt him this much without killing him. “Because,” Scorpina answered Goldar, rolling her eyes at her partner, “if we handle it now, he might live long enough to tell his Teammates what we did to her.”

Goldar looked down at him and snorted. “He won’t — he’s practically dead now!”

“Zordon!” Scorpina said sweetly.

Zordon shut his eyes. He was falling... spinning... *I’m so sorry, Eve. I tried...*

And then suddenly the world was in sharp focus. Even some of the pain was gone. Zordon stared up at her in confusion. She smiled and pulled her hands away from his head. Scorpina had healed his head injuries.

“Hold him so he can see,” she ordered Goldar. Zordon felt Goldar’s powerful, armored arms grab his shoulders and lift him to a sitting position. The knife still in his abdomen drove itself deeper into him as it came free from the earth. He willed himself to pass out, but somehow he couldn’t now. Scorpina was walking away... walking toward Eve. A bronze scimitar gleamed in her left hand.

He was now willingly alert. “No... Eve...” he groaned, struggling weakly against Goldar.

Scorpina stopped in front of Eve, blocking Eve from Zordon’s view. She lifted the scimitar to throat height and sliced it across in a swift horizontal motion. Eve fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, a red stain blooming across her throat.

“NO!” Zordon somehow found a last scream in him.

“How.... Impossible!” Scorpina gasped.

“What?” Goldar frowned.

“The other Rangers! Drop him, we gotta get moving!” Scorpina cried. She pulled her serrated blade out of his belly, then Goldar lifted Zordon off the ground and flung him at a tree. Blackness slammed in around him.

Chapter 9: The Wizard

Chapter Text

The moment Zordon was released from the memory, he scrambled to his feet and ran faster than he’d ever run before. The tears stinging his eyes blinded him, but it didn’t matter — he didn’t care where he was going. He had to get Away.

His lungs had long since started burning with effort when a tree root tripped him. He went sliding and rolling down a dewy hill. When he tried to get back up, his ankle couldn’t support him — whether it was sprained or broken, he couldn’t tell. He swore angrily at it for stopping him.

The tears caught up. Furious, he tried to shove them away. *Your tears didn’t save Eve, did they?* he thought harshly. But thinking the name only made more tears come.

How had he ever forgotten this pain? It was sharp as the day she’d died now, burned into his soul... burning up his soul. It had cost him nearly everything he had to keep it away before: timesense, telepower, his own talent... and now, even if he could sacrifice so much again, it wouldn't be enough.

The killing flood of emotion crashed over him at long last. Zordon curled in on himself and screamed.

*****

“It’s only five minutes after. He’s probably out with Sorcha,” Kinwan said to the assembly. The two Kerovan captains, their lieutenants, and Kiori were all seated around a large round table for the first strategy meeting. They had repurposed the Rangers’ Simuroom into a conveniently customizable meeting space.

Kiori shook her head. “He’s never late,” she said softly. “Not ever. Something’s wrong.”

The conference room door opened. They all turned hopefully. At first it seemed Kinwan’s theory was proven... but Sorcha stood in the doorway alone. The wizardess was disheveled, her airy smile replaced by worry and fear.

“What’s happened?” Kiori gasped, rising from her chair.

Sorcha hesitated, then, softly, she said, “I have either done great good or great evil this day, and only time will tell which.”

“What do you mean by this?” Kinwan asked.

Sorcha’s head dropped a moment as if embarrassed or at a loss for words, it was hard to tell which. “Zordon...” she sighed deeply, “His progress has been very slow. I discovered why this morning. I searched his mind and found a vast gash across it. The story he’s told about his Teammate’s death is a lie. What those villains did to him and to Evelyn was so traumatic that he repressed it and everything that connected to it: telepower, timesense, magic, even his talent.” At this last thought, Sorcha looked stunned, but she recovered quickly. “I found the true memory and forced him inside of it.”

“Forced? You mean... but of course you asked permission?” Atalanta asked, wide-eyed. To do otherwise was a great crime.

“No,” Sorcha admitted quietly. “He begged to be released, said re-living it would destroy him. I made him do it anyway.”

“Monster,” Kiori whispered, horrified.

Sorcha looked at Kiori. “We’ll see,” she said softly. “I saw the memory as he did. On that day, in his desperation to save his friend, he awakened his talent. It’s magic.”

There was dead silence in the room. Everyone stared at Sorcha aghast. “You’re wrong,” someone suggested.

“No,” Sorcha said softly.

“But... there hasn’t been a mage-talent in over ten years – over five thousand Eltarian years!” Atalanta exclaimed.

“Not since Gulemn’ira,” Sorcha agreed.

“A mage-talent has more raw power than the darkest Blooded mages of evil. More than Rita Repulssa — than Master Vile himself!” Kinwan said.

Sorcha simply nodded. “I know. And Zordon is a mage-talent.”

“Well... well that’s wonderful!” a young Kerovan man ventured, looking at all the worried faces in confusion. “Isn’t it?”

“What happened when you released him?” Kinwan asked grimly.

“He fled like wraiths pursued him. I’ve searched for nearly four hours with all the magic and technology I can access, and I can’t find him.”

“Why not?” Kiori asked, alarmed.

Sorcha shrugged morosely. “Because he is Awake again, and he doesn’t want to be found.”

*****

There was nothing to do but wait. Sorcha stayed with them but hovered at the edge of the room, refusing her seat at the table. Most of the others tried to busy themselves with silent strategies or quiet talk. Kinwan left once to take an urgent call, then quietly resumed his seat, his anxious expression unchanged. Kiori did nothing but stare at Sorcha, hatred in her eyes.

"Shouldn't we be out there looking for him?" Atalanta asked finally, directing the question mostly at Sorcha.

"He could be anywhere on the planet. He could be on another planet, power like his," Sorcha said sadly.

"Or," rumbled a deep voice dark with fury, "he could be the least of your concerns."

Everyone turned. The open double doors of the council hall were now filled with dozens of flame-haired people. At the very front stood Lord-Regnant Naatam, both his hands and white-blue hair crackling with fire. “One move and you’re ash,” he growled at Sorcha.

The wizardess blinked at him. Her sad, distracted manner vanished into a smile. "Oops," she said lightly. "How did you find out?"

“What?” Atalanta blinked.

"Where is he?" Naatam growled.

She laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. "I can't find him and neither can you. It's all down to a foot race to happen upon him before Brinlen takes him to her mistress. Even if you do get there first, he’s not worth protecting: his mind's in a thousand tiny little fragments."

"You bastard, what did you do to him?" Naatam demanded.

Sorcha simply smiled. Naatam signalled to two of his clansmen, and they rushed forward to seize Sorcha by the arms.

"What's going on?" Kiori asked, frightened.

"This is not Sorcha Darraghi," Naatam said simply.

The being who looked like Sorcha laughed again. "You thought you could just walk in and save him from Rita Repulssa of Vilus? He will die at her hands and there's nothing you-” she looked at Kiori “-your Clan-” she smirked at Lord Naatam, then at Kinwan, “-or your pathetic twenty spaceships can do to protect him."

"Tell us what you did to him or-" Naatam began, but the Sorcha-shaped being simply laughed.

"You idiot. I'm not even here." And, with a puff of freezing air, Sorcha's image dissolved into nothingness. The two fire mages holding "her" cried out in pain and cradled their chilled hands. Naatam cursed soundly.

"How?" Kiori asked.

"Lord Naatam's crew spotted Sorcha's ship floating derelict as they were coming to Earth," Kinwan answered gravely. "Sorcha was inside, dead. Had been for at least 4 days. That's what Naatam called to tell me just now."

"Then... who was that?" Atalanta asked.

"There's only one person I know of who'd go out of the way to kill Sorcha and have the skill to impersonate her afterward," Naatam said, his voice still resonant with anger. "One of the people who would have been Zordon's mage-brother. Sorcha, his teacher, was probably the last person alive who remembered his birth name. After he turned to evil, he became known as the Wizard of Deception."

"And all this time, it's really been this evil wizard helping us? Teaching Zordon?" Kiori asked.

"And now he’s betrayed him. Killed him, for all we know," Naatam added grimly.

"Thanks. That explains a lot," said an unexpected voice.

Gasps rose from people near the door. The swarm of fire mages backed away from the door quickly, revealing...

“Zordon!” Kiori gasped joyfully, rising. Kinwan grabbed her arm to stop her from running to him. The ancient Kerovan, like all the wise among them, was staring at the young black-haired man warily. Little about him other than the purely physical looked as it had a matter of hours before. There was no way yet to tell whether he was sane.

Zordon’s odd black eyes were downcast, and his manner was slow and thoughtful. “I’m sorry,” he started slowly, “if I scared anyone. I was hurting. I had to think. And now I’m back.” He straightened and looked up at them, and a little smile of triumph spread his lips. Very differently, he said, “I’m back.”

A collective sigh of relief went around the room. Naatam’s hair stopped flaming at last. Kinwan released Kiori, and she bounded forward and threw her arms around her husband. “Ow!” Zordon cried, buckling slightly under her weight. Kiori backed off immediately.

“What’s...” she started to ask, but spotted his swollen ankle and stopped. “Oh, love, I’m sorry!”

“It’s all right,” Zordon smiled at her through a wince of pain. “I missed you, too.”

“But... with your ankle like that, how did you get back here?” Kinwan asked, frowning.

Zordon’s expression clouded with confusion. “I’m not sure. I just wanted to, and I did.”

The assembled Kerovans and fire-mages exchanged looks of wonder. “Come, let’s get you to the infirmary,” Naatam said, striding forward. Leaning heavily on Naatam’s tall frame, Zordon was able to walk. Kinwan and Kiori followed them from the room.

“When can I start lessons again?” Zordon asked the Lord-Regnant.

Naatam laughed incredulously. “Now you want lessons?”

“How did I see the spell around Eve? Could I do that again? What would that mean? How did I get back here?” In his eagerness, he forgot about his injury and put his weight on his ankle. “Ow!”

Kinwan laughed. “Young one, let’s focus on one thing at a time,” the Kerovan leader said.

Chapter 10: Escalating the Battle

Chapter Text

“The Liarians have consented to run scout for us between galaxies. We just received the latest intelligence from them two hours ago,” Captain Atalanta said. The black-and-silver-haired Kerovan woman was standing in front of a map of their galaxy cluster at the head of the quickly-enlarged Simuroom council table. 20 yellow- and white-haired mages had joined the dozen Kerovans around the table with Zordon, Naatam, Kiori, and Kinwan, listening intently to her report.

Atalanta pointed to a spot on the map just over halfway between Andromeda and the Milky Way. “They put Repulssa’s lead ship here. Given known data on Vilus technology, she should reach the outer bounds of this galaxy in two days. That, of course, will require taking the ship into hyperrush, slowing the rest of the journey. Assuming she chooses a standard direct route just skirting the galactic core, our best estimate places them here in 5 days. That gives us time to organize.

“The problem is, she’s not alone. Preliminary reports two days ago showed that she was accompanied by only two other ships, clearly Vilusian as well. Now…” Atalanta tapped the flat model of the galaxy cluster on the wall, and it shifted to a close-up view of the dot that was Repulssa’s force. The single small dot turned into thirty.

“Kirj,” a fire-mage swore softly in Triforian.

“She picked up troops as she flew through M-51 and Andromeda. These ships are Vasukiin,” she motioned to a cluster of eight, “these Jortur, and these,” she pointed to the three largest dots, “are Negrim warships.”

A murmur of fear went around the table. Negrim was one of the blackest planets the Light knew about, a prominent advanced world in their neighboring galactic cluster which was entirely fallen to evil. Negrim warships, when they made a rare appearance in the War, were among the most powerful ships of either side.

“We can only assume that the Dark in our midst was feeding her information on our forces. She knows who we are and what we’re planning, and she’s assembled a fleet that will destroy ours easily,” Atalanta said quietly.

“The Wizard of Deception was right,” Kiori said. “It’s not enough.”

“We bring twenty ships, they bring thirty. We bring a fleet of mages, they bring Negrim warships,” Kinwan said. “We bring in the entire Kerovan fleet, and she’ll match that too. Simple escalation, and we lose.”

“Do we?” Zordon asked. Eyes flicked to him curiously. “Do we know that we’d lose? If we really escalate this?”

“Zordon, love, we can’t. It’s against all the rules,” Kiori said gently. “The Princeps Council would never allow it.”

“I’m done being afraid, and I’m done with the ERO,” Zordon said. As everyone gaped at him, he went on, “We’ve been thinking small for too long. What would happen if we stopped playing by these rules that keep ending with Light planets destroyed and Rangers killed or scared off? If we really fight back?”

There was a long silence. The Lord-Regnant was the first to speak aloud what all the galaxy natives knew. “You’re talking about war,” Naatam said.

“War? Just to save the four of us?” Kiori protested, eyes wide with horror.

Zordon stood. “No. Not to save us. To save the billions Vile’s already enslaved, to save M-50 and M-43 that he’s moving to conquer now, to stop Vilus and warn all those like him that their free reign is over! There are more galaxies under the thumb of some villain or other now than are free, and we’re doing nothing to stop the spread, not really. The Rangers of Eltare must have lost half the ground we ever gained back from the Black Tide, but you all keep pretending we haven’t. Leaving it to Eltare isn't working. It hasn't worked for centuries.

“But if we all strike together? Eltare isn’t the only planet with strength – you’re strong too! There must be dozens of worlds in the Milky Way alone that could and would join a war for your own liberation. And then... who knows? If we fight back, who knows who’ll be stronger?”

The rest were silent for a long moment. “I never expected,” Kinwan said slowly, “to hear war from Eltarian lips.”

“But that’s just the point! It’s been so long since any of the Light thought to fight the way they do that they’ll be completely unprepared for it.” Zordon looked around the table. “Or an I the only one here who’d like to kick Vilus’s ass?”

“Hardly!” muttered a “young” Kerovan commander. Some laughed, and, slowly, all admitted it, even, very quietly, Kiori.

"My good fellows,” Naatam said, “I believe we just started a War.”

“I should alert the Governing Council,” Kinwan grinned and departed for another room.

“So what do we do next?” asked one of Naatam’s kin.

“I know,” Kiori said, to their surprise. She turned to Zordon. “Do you remember when I told you about Great-Uncle Rae’nor?” Zordon nodded vaguely; he remembered that the name had been mentioned in Kiori’s story of her life. “I didn’t tell you much about him for a reason: he asked me not to. He’s a Voyaging Ranger of the ERO, and he bears the White Coin of the Brachiosaurus.”

“What?” Zordon demanded, shocked. The White Brachiosaurus Coin had belonged to his Teammate Ceyla. More, their seven Coins had all been bonded to work together – if her great-uncle had the Brachiosaurus Coin, the rest of his Team almost undoubtedly held the other four.

“That’s why he asked me not to say anything about him. He knew it would be hard on you to know that your Team’s Coins are already back in service. It was an emergency situation, a small partnership of Vasukiin trying to enslave a Class E planet....”

“So why tell me now?” Zordon asked. “I’ve already said I’ve no use for the ERO anymore.”

“That’s just it: neither does he. Great-Uncle Rae’nor is the oldest Voyaging Ranger in service, and one of the most talented Rangers alive. He refuses to be promoted into our dimension because he doesn’t agree with Eltare’s stance on the War between Light and Dark. And he picked his new Team from youths who feel the same way. They’ll join you gladly -- and if there’s one person I’d want to have with me in a fight, it’s him.”

He thought about this. An odd smile crept over his face. “Is the Blue Triceratops Coin on his Team?”

“Every Coin from your set except yours and the Green Dragon. Why?”

Zordon smiled. “If I don’t like the idea of the Coins being back in action, that’s nothing to how Repulssa would feel about someone else in ‘her’ costume.”

Smiling, she said, “You and Uncle Rae’nor will get along famously.”

Chapter 11: Teammates

Chapter Text

In the same galaxy but still far, far away, a man of about six times Zordon’s years was having a horrible day.

Reflecting in the privacy of his study, Rae'nor of Eltare realized that it was so bad partly because the week had started out so well. He and his Team had been fighting the Vasukiin on Horoth for four months. In the last week, it had seemed as though their opponents were finally giving up and leaving. The retreat had been a trick, and he’d fallen for it. In a battle that began with an ambush on his Team by the Vasukiin’s mind-controlled Horothian slaves, the Vasukiin had critically injured one of his Rangers. They could do nothing for her but send her back to Eltare for care. In the hours since their colossal victory, the would-be overlords of Horoth hadn’t attacked once. In fact, they seemed from the Rangers’ best surveillance to be packing up to leave. It sounded like another trick. Trouble was, the Vasukiin knew he wasn’t dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. Rae’nor knew that he was missing something crucial, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out what.

He also wasn’t looking forward to the call from Eltare that would come at any minute – his pretext for sitting in his study. The call would probably involve both chewing him out for “letting” a Ranger be hurt and an attempt to force an empty-headed, ERO’s-pet replacement on him. Worse, he’d be hard-pressed to think up a reason to refuse the appointment, given that the intensity of battle on Horoth would never permit him to travel to Eltare to choose someone himself. He’d barely managed to scrape together a Team radical enough to suit him; he hated the thought that it would soon be polluted by an ERO lapdog.

“Incoming call, Rae,” said a voice from the doorway of his room.

“Thanks, Laise,” he sighed without looking. Allaise of Eltare, the Pink Ranger, was the only one of his Team agile enough to sneak up on him. She slipped away again, and he activated his viewscreen. “Just get it over with,” he sighed without looking up.

The person at the other end didn’t answer right away. [Did I call at a bad time, sir?]

The honorific startled Rae’nor. An ERO representative didn’t typically start out a reprimand with such respect. He looked at the screen and saw, to his surprise, a very young man with a nervous expression. “Who are you?” he asked. Had they decided to insult him further by handing off his reprimand to a junior Ranger?

[Zordon of Eltare, sir, Protector Solus Terrae. Your grandneice asked me to call you.]

“Zordon of...” he began, puzzled. The title clicked moreso than the name, and he groaned. “Why by stars did she tell you?”

[I do appreciate your consideration, sir, but we have larger worries at the moment.]

Rae’nor looked at the young man closely. He saw exhaustion, fear, and a deep excitement. “Say what you’ve called to say.”

[Do you know the name Vilus?]

He scowled. “As well as you do. I lost two good friends in that half-baked mission to stop their takeover of M-51.”

[Master Vile’s daughter has sworn to kill me. I think she means to kill Kiori and our children as well.]

Rae’nor stared at him aghast. “Are you serious? Now they think that they can march through other galaxies and kill off our citizens?!”

[Sir, how would you like to stop Vilus? I mean really try, not just send a few dozen of us to die.]

“I can’t say I haven’t dreamed about it. But it’d take full-out war to do it.”

[Yes, sir. Care to join?]

Rae’nor examined the young Eltarian’s expression carefully but saw no hint of sarcasm. He decided suddenly that he liked his grandneice’s husband. “It would be an honor, young one. Unfortunately, our hands are full here. We took a casualty not three hours ago, and our enemies seem to be planning a second deception as we-”

“Rae!” Laise cried as she skidded to a halt outside his room. He spun to face her. “Rae, they’re gone!”

“What?”

A tall, Yellow-clad young woman skidded in, nearly knocking petite Laise over.

“Ow! Ferin!” Laise admonished.

Her Teammate ignored her completely. “The Vasukiin! They’re gone!” Ferin cried.

“Both ships just went into hyperrush with full crew compliments! They even left behind most of the Horothian slaves!” Laise exclaimed.

Rae’nor took only a moment to process this. “Where’s Aemil?”

“In the sensor room trying to figure out why the sensors are malfunctioning. He’s a little doubtful,” yellow-clad Ferin said.

“When isn’t he? Get him in here, Laise. All three of you should have a part in this decision.”

As Allaise sped off, Ferin asked, “What decision?”

“Whether we join a war.”

“A war?” Ferin repeated, frowning. “Between who? Where?”

“No, Ferin: a War. Between Light and Dark. Primarily against the Vilus family.”

Ferin examined her leader closely, as if trying to discover whether he was serious. “Well,” she said at last, convinced that he was, “I’m in.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rae’nor exclaimed, pleased though surprised. His Red and Pink Rangers, when they returned, needed no more convincing than she had. Even Red Ranger Aemil, skeptical of the simplest proposals, agreed readily. “What’s got into you all?” he asked them frankly, torn between confusion and pride.

“You’re not the only one who hates Vilus, Rae,” Aemil said simply. His dark eyes glared silently at the floor.

“Where’s the war starting?” Ferin asked quickly, as if to divert attention from her friend.

“I don’t know. Zordon?” he asked, turning back to the viewscreen.

[I haven’t thought about it,] Zordon said. The question had caught him by surprise. [It can’t reach Terra, though,] he said after a moment’s thought. [The planet can’t take a war.]

“Primitive civilization?” Rae’nor asked.

[Neolithic.]

“By Power,” Rae’nor groaned. “No, we’ll have to shelter them from it. What’s your situation there? I take it that Vile’s daughter hasn’t reached Terra yet.”

[That’s right, sir. Two of Vilus’s servants are here already, but we’ve got about a fiveday before her main force arrives.]

“That’s something. Have you thought about which worlds you’re going to invite to join the war?”

[Some,] Zordon said. [Kerova’s pledged its full support, and Liaria should — they’re already running scout for us. I’d like to keep the fighting localized to this galaxy if we can to minimize its impact on civilians, so asking worlds from other galaxies is out – unless we really have to, I guess. The only one of the major Light powers here who might need to be left out is Edenoi.]

Rae’nor winced but nodded. “Their strength would be a boon to any conflict... but we don’t need to start a fight within the Eltarian Alliance.” Zordon nodded; that had been his reasoning. Edenoi, the most advanced planet in the galaxy, was also the galaxy's only member of the Eltarian Alliance. “But you’re being vague, Zordon. Whom do you count as ‘the major Light powers’?”

He and Zordon together ran through the potential allies to come up with a list of forty more which they felt could and possibly would join a war of this scale. Zordon included several worlds in the list which Rae’nor hadn’t thought mature or powerful enough to consider. This inclusive spirit surprised the White Ranger and increased his respect for Zordon again. Zordon was even more radical on this issue than Rae’nor himself, and that was delightful. “Is that everyone you can think of?” he asked Zordon.

[For the moment,] Zordon shrugged.

“We can get started on contacting these worlds en route to Terra. We can even swing by a couple of them,” he said. “Sauria’s practically on the way, for one.”

“But wait. What if the Vasukiin come back when they see we’ve gone?” Aemil asked worriedly.

“The Horothians will send us a distress signal, and a few dozen ships from the Light fleet will drop by and scare the Vasukiin scaleless,” Laise answered immediately.

“Oh.” Aemil’s swarthy cheeks tinted with red. “Right.”

Rae’nor said, “Let’s start packing. Everyone meet up at the ship, ready for takeoff, in half an hour.”

Allaise’s jaw dropped open. “Half an hour? To pack all my stuff?”

“Oh, Laise,” Aemil said, smiling, “you can always synthesize new clothes.”

“Easy for you to say,” Allaise retorted. “All you want are shorts and pants and a couple shirts with slashes down the backs. And you don’t even wear the shirts half the time!”

“Oh!” Ferin cried. “Aemil, what about your world?”

[His world?] Zordon asked in confusion. Red was a traditional color for Primus-native Voyaging Rangers, who also were quite often Team leaders for that same reason, but Aemil looked as Eltarian as the rest of the Team.

“He’s Volarite,” Rae’nor answered.

“You mean you can’t tell?” Aemil asked, astounded.

“When you’ve got them folded in like that, you look Eltarian,” Laise told him.

“I do??” the red-clad Ranger said. He looked stunned but rather pleased by the idea.

[I’ve never met a Volarite,] Zordon said, frowning slightly. [I thought Volarites have-]

Aemil screwed up his face in concentration. A moment later, a double set of red-gold wings burst from his shirtless back. When the gossamer wings finished unfurling, they were taller than he was, translucent, and colored in a striking marblized red-gold pattern.

[-wings,] Zordon finished after staring open-mouthed for a few seconds. [Oh, dear. My daughter’s going to adore you.]

Aemil grinned. “They’re just for short distances and gliding,” he said humbly, pleased. “We’re a lot heavier than our ancestors were. But I don’t know about asking Volaren to join,” he said worriedly. “We’re not very outgoing...”

“The species is shy,” Laise clarified for Zordon. “Not scared, or paranoid, just shy. They’re Developmental Class I already and practically no one’s heard of them. Aemil’s not really shy, though, just suspicious; that’s why he left Volaren.”

[Volaren is Class I?] Zordon asked with surprise. He’d read about the world and its sentients, but he’d thought that they were far too young and primitive to be considered. This was clearly wrong. Sauria, one of the greatest powers in the galaxy after Edenoi, was only Class G. Most Class I worlds had been in the Eltarian Alliance for thousands of years. An unAllied Class I world would be an incredible boon to the War, nearly as powerful as Edenoi but without the Eltarian Alliance complication. [And you’re sure that they won’t want to join?] he asked.

“Well... no... not sure...” Aemil said, thinking hard. “I’ll talk to our leaders. I suppose I might convince them.”

“Good. Now get packing, everyone!” Rae’nor ordered. The three young Rangers raced out of the room. Aemil’s wings refolded as he ran, disappearing into long, narrow slits in his back just before he passed through the doorway.

“It’ll take our ship about twenty-five Standard hours to reach Terra. Take care of Kiori for me ‘til I get there, all right?” Rae’nor said quietly. “I’m rather fond of her.”

Zordon nodded. [So am I, sir.]

Rae’nor smiled. “That’s a little backward, don’t you think? You are commanding this war, not I. Call me Rae.”

[Absolutely, sir,] Zordon said, smiling.

Chapter 12: Black and Blue

Chapter Text

By the time Rae’nor and his Team arrived the next day, Zordon’s war was already shaping up. Although the Kerovan and mage forces were too small now to take on Repulssa’s coming fleet, they’d been more than sufficient to root out and chase Brinlen and the Wizard of Deception off of Earth. Twenty-five of the forty-two planets had pledged to join the war with little or, in a few cases, no debate. This included all the planets above Class F, the most advanced and powerful of the galaxy, except Volaren, which had timidly refused, and Edenoi, which was still in the dark about the entire operation. Everyone was hoping they would stay clueless for as long as possible – for as soon as Edenoi knew, so would Eltare. It was unlikely that the Council of Worlds would physically stop the war, but if they chose, they could put political pressure on many of the worlds which had already joined and force them to back out.

In the meantime, though, Zordon’s war was going full steam ahead. In consultation with their many allies, the war council of himself, Kinwan and Atalanta, Naatam, and, marginally, Kiori had chosen a site to meet Repulssa’s initial force. Their first confrontation would take place around Morpheon, a Class F planet of shape-shifting oozoids which happened to be directly in Repulssa’s projected flight path. Morpheon’s military force wouldn’t be much help in the confrontation, but the location was ideal and the people enthusiastic despite the danger. The other planets which had joined the war were sending forces there already. The Kerovan fleet, fire-mages, and Zordon and his family were just waiting on the arrival of Rae’nor’s ship before leaving to join them.

Zordon got the message of the ship’s arrival just after sunset and ran outside to meet them, Kiori close behind. They caught a glimpse of an Eltarian-design ship before it disappeared between the trees nearby. Zordon grabbed Kiori’s hand and rushed toward the trees. Four people met them halfway across the field. Kiori broke away from Zordon and ran to one of the visitors. The tall figure swept her into a hug that lifted her off of her feet.

“Granduncle, I’ve missed you,” she exclaimed.

“And I you, Kiori,” answered the man in Rae’nor’s baritone.

A burst of laughter from the open door of the compound made Aemil roll his eyes. “Do we really have to ally with Kerovans?” the Red Ranger asked.

“Yes,” Ferin said quellingly. She explained to Zordon, “The thought of two hundred Kerovans in the same solar system as him annoyed the socks off of Aemil all the way here.”

Allaise released a little, half-smothered giggle.

“It did not!” Aemil said immediately. Rae’nor turned to him. “Well, all right, so it did. They’re just so... cheerful!”

Zordon did a head count as the two female Rangers tried to restrain more giggles. “Rae’nor, sir,” he said as they headed back toward his base.

“Didn’t I say to call me Rae?”

“Yes, you did.... Sir, where’s your Blue Ranger?”

The giggles of the female pair died abruptly.

“She’s on Eltare for extended medical treatment,” Rae’nor said. “She was the casualty I spoke of.”

“I’m sorry,” Zordon said automatically. He really was sorry — and not only for her. Having the Blue Triceratops Coin in the fight could’ve helped immensely.

“How so?” Rae’nor asked.

“What?” Zordon said, startled.

“If Diriel’s Coin can make a big difference, I believe she won’t mind us putting it back in the field. But why would it?” Rae’nor asked.

After vowing privately to become more used to his thoughts being read, Zordon explained his plan for the Triceratops Coin. As he did so, they walked inside the nearest building of the Rangers of Earth’s base. The four visiting Rangers of Eltare looked eager as he wrapped up the explanation. “I like it! She’s been trying to undermine you emotionally; she should get a little of her own back,” Rae’nor said.

“But who could wield the Blue Coin?” Laise asked, hanging up her Pink cloak on a peg near the building entrance.

Automatically, the four newly-arrived Rangers turned to the only Powerless member of the group: Kiori. “No,” Zordon said immediately. “No, absolutely not!”

“I wouldn’t mind being a Power Ranger,” Kiori said mildly, surprised by his reaction. "I’d be able to do more to help. I don't have the training, but..."

“It's not that. Whoever takes on the Coin will be a lightning rod for all Repulssa’s rage. I won’t put you in that position... and it wouldn’t be wise to put any new Ranger in that position. The person would really have to know his stuff...” Zordon gulped when he realized that he’d used a male pronoun. He’d been subconsciously referring to himself.

The others were just as quick to pick up on his slip. “Well,” Rae’nor said slowly, “there’s no doubt in the Academy instructors’ minds that you ‘know your stuff.’ Some of my instructor friends’ve called you the most talented Ranger in a century. But are you sure, lad?”

“We’ve got to have it in the war,” Zordon said, fighting his own dread at the idea. “And... well, she’s already coming to kill me and everyone I love. How much more upset can she get with me?” The other four Rangers gave wry smiles and laughs.

“True enough,” Rae’nor said. "Let's do the Power Transfer right away, then. Kiori, will you take the Mastodon Coin that Zordon is setting aside?"

After a moment's hesitation, Kiori nodded. "It's just that I don't know anything about fighting..."

"And after five years' training I'm still lousy," Allaise said, grinning. "That's what the Coins are for."

"Hand it here, then," Rae'nor asked Zordon. Zordon quickly pulled his Coin from its hidden pocket in his tunic — after Zedd's attack years ago, he hadn't gone anywhere without his Coin. Zordon looked at the Mastodon symbol glinting in the faint light, then handed it over with a faint sigh. He'd miss being Black.

Rae'nor withdrew a second Coin from his boot. "Got to find a better way to store these," he commented with a chuckle. Then he focused on the two Coins. A White light sparked through each of them. This was part of what made White Powers special and vitally important: White Rangers alone could facilitate a Power Transfer. Rae'nor passed the two Coins to their new bearers. Zordon felt an indefinable strangeness as the Triceratops Power settled into him.

"Oh my Light," Kiori breathed as she felt the Power for the first time. The other five Rangers laughed gently at her.

"Welcome to the 'club,'" Ferin said.

"Welcome to the Team," Rae'nor amended pointedly, and his gaze took in Kiori and Zordon both.

"It's an honor, sir," Zordon said with a solemn smile.

"Now let's hurry up, we're missing a party!" Laise cried.

"How do you know?" Kiori asked curiously.

Aemil groaned. "Because Kerovans are always partying," he replied unhappily.

"What are you, part Seghti?" Rae'nor rebuked the Red Ranger. The five Eltarians broke up laughing as Aemil glared huffily.

"Come on!" Laise said, taking Aemil's arm and pulling him toward the Command Center.

"Power protect me," Aemil groaned as he allowed himself to be dragged off.

"They're actually desperately in love," Ferin told Zordon with a rogueish wink.

"Are not!" Aemil cried.

"Ew!" Allaise exclaimed, wrinking her nose. "Take it back!"

"Ferin, let them alone," Rae'nor sighed. "Honestly, what'll I do with you, child?"

"I'm not a child!" Ferin said indignantly. "I'm eighteen years old and just as much an adult as you are!"

"When you act like that, you're a child."

"Oh, what do you know, old man?" Ferin replied with a joking huff.

Zordon held in his gasp with difficulty. Even on his old Power Team, which had been somewhat unusual in that everyone was sociable and friendly outside of battle, manners had never been so informal. He'd never have said such a thing to Zedd. Rae'nor's was a whole new breed of Power Team.

*****

Dinner was a riotous, rollicking affair. Zordon had loved the controlled chaos of meals with Lord Naatam's Clan, but when combined with the irreverence and joie de vivre of the Kerovans, the effect was so profound that even grumpy, suspicious Aemil was drawn into the activity and was laughing reluctantly inside of ten minutes. For the second time that week, however, Zordon was pulled away just as he was beginning to relax and enjoy himself.

“Come along,” Naatam said to him softly.

Zordon remembered his reaction when “Sorcha” had told him to leave. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to protest. He had some idea of the depth of the code Naatam was breaking on his behalf. The rule to never teach magic to outsiders was as central to Naatam’s people as... well, as the rule to abandon unwinnable fights was for Eltarian Rangers. These were exceptional times, it seemed. Zordon quietly slipped out of his chair and followed Naatam from the hall.

“Take my hand,” Naatam said once they were away from the noise of dinner. Zordon did.

*****

“Whoah!” Zordon gasped, reeling from the seamless teleportation. He hadn't even felt a sense of movement. It was as if the world had changed around him while he held totally still. “Where are we?”

He looked around and found nothing but sand on all sides save one, where a small pond supported a few scraggly trees and bushes. Here, the sun was still hovering above the horizon, spreading the first sunset hues across the sky. Zordon could feel the day’s heat rising into his feet from the sand.

“One of those deserts in the continent south of your base,” Naatam answered. “We draw our power from places like these, so this is where we begin to study. I thought the green over there might make you a bit more comfortable.”

“Thanks for doing all this,” Zordon felt he had to say.

“Thanks for giving me the chance. If the Wizard of Deception had broken you like he expected...”

Zordon wavered for a moment before voicing the thought that nagged at him. “People keep hurting me. I don’t know why it just makes me stronger.”

Naatam didn’t even blink. “It doesn’t. It makes you more aware of the strength you have. Come,” he said, motioning to Zordon to sit next to him. “There’s no way to know yet whether the Wizard of Deception taught you anything at all worth knowing, so we return to basic principles.”

Naatam began a directed meditation to get Zordon to find his inner mage power. After several minutes, Zordon hadn’t gotten anywhere. “Relax. Let your mind empty,” Naatam said.

“My mind hasn’t been empty for days. Feels like I’ve been running since Epona went missing,” Zordon said.

“Empty it anyway.”

“It’s not easy!”

“Of course it’s not easy,” Naatam replied sternly. “It’s not meant to be. To use magic in combat, you must be able to clear your mind of thoughts at any time, no matter what.”

Zordon sighed. “Meditation figured into a couple areas of Ranger studies. I never liked it.”

“Then now is the time to practice,” Naatam said. He completely ignored Zordon’s foul look at him. Naatam shifted the focus of the meditation slightly, simplifying it. He continued without another pause until, finally, Zordon was able to focus only on his voice. Slowly, with incredible patience, he moved back toward the original goal.

“It lies within you, waiting for you. Search for it and you will find. It is a glow of energy, a warming place deep inside.”

“I think I see it,” Zordon said slowly. “But I don’t see it at all...”

“What color is it?” he asked softly.

“Blue, of course,” Zordon replied, surprised by the question.

“That is only the glow of your Power Coin. Your own Power is deeper still.”

Doubt creased Zordon’s jet brows, but he tried to search “deeper.” At last, under Naatam’s careful direction, he found a little prick of light.

“What color is it?” Naatam repeated softly.

“White, I guess,” Zordon said, frowning with concentration. “It’s hard to tell...”

“Good!” Naatam said happily. He stood and stretched. “I was getting a little worried there, Zordon! But you’ve found it now — you’ll be able to find it again easily when you want to use it.”

“What is it?”

Naatam stopped stretching abruptly and looked at the young man in surprise. “I’ve had sixty-seven apprentices, and never once has that been their first question after the Finding.” Zordon shrugged noncommittally, not sure whether his oddity was supposed to be good or bad. “It’s the little piece of the Power that exists inside each of us. To a mage, it’s our truest ally, the source of all our skill. Without it, we’re not mages.”

“But it’s so small,” Zordon said, remembering the minuscule dot of sparkling light.

Naatam smiled. “You’re in the realm of magic now. Size doesn’t mean anything.”

Zordon thought a moment. “What do they usually ask?”

“Hm? Oh.” Naatam laughed. “Usually? ‘Can I go to bed now?’ The fact that you’re not exhausted by the Finding is amazing.”

“Then can we keep going?”

Naatam looked at him blankly for a moment, then sank back to the cooling sand, facing Zordon. “Absolutely.”

Chapter 13: Bonding

Chapter Text

“The hardest part was just getting through the first six spells,” Zordon explained enthusiastically to Kiori as the pair prepared for bed many hours later. “Everything I knew was wrong, but once he sorted me out, the spells were just so easy!”

“I’m glad to hear it. Really,” Kiori added around a yawn. She paused in front of the dresser mirror to braid her hair for bed. Her fingers flew through the curly tresses, quickly weaving a complicated pattern with dexterity common to Eltarians – at least, those who hadn’t spent half their lives training for battle.

“How was the party?”

Kiori laughed. “Better than last night’s!”

“Wow,” Zordon said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be going on like this; you must be exhausted.”

“Do you remember the first day after you got your Coin?”

“Oh. Right. So, after the six, Lord Naatam taught me this amazing spell to change-”

Kiori finished braiding and turned to him. She put a finger on his lips. “Instead of talking about magic,” she said, “why don't you show me?”

Zordon smiled. He muttered a brief incantation. In a shower of light like sparkling sapphire crystals, the two were lifted gently into the air. Kiori gave a gasp and looked down at the fountain of dark blue light cascading under their feet. She smiled at Zordon in wonder, and he pulled her to him in a kiss.

*****

“Come on now, Epona, you’ve got to concentrate. Do you have all the toys you want to bring?” Kiori asked two days later. “We can’t come back for them if you decide you want the others.”

“I don't want any! And I don’t want to leave!” Epona repeated angrily. “Why should we? The ice lady went away!”

Kiori balanced Kiren more precisely on her hip and shot Zordon a frustrated look. She and Epona didn't exactly speak the same language. She tried again. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but we have to leave anyway. I’m sorry, but we just can’t leave you behind.”

“But Pimri could-”

“Sweetheart,” Zordon said, kneeling in front of her, his tone soothing, “all of your friends will still be here when we get back. I promise. And then you can run around Sumeria again all you want, just like before all this happened.”

“I can?” Epona asked doubtfully. She looked around the enclosing walls of her bedroom with great distaste. “Okay,” she said.

“That’s my girl,” Zordon grinned and scooped her into his arms. [She’s never going to forgive us for spaceships, you know,] he sent to Kiori.

Kiori smiled, primarily at the mode of communication rather than the message. It was stunning how badly the Wizard of Deception’s plot had backfired. Zordon was already occasionally using telepathy, which he’d never used once in the four years she’d known him. [Oh, she’ll forgive us eventually. Maybe by the time she’s sixteen,] she laughed back.

A Kerovan lieutenant met the pair in the hallway. “Sir, preparations for departure are going as scheduled,” he reported.

“On our end as well,” Zordon said in serious tones, exchanging a tiny glance with Kiori that only she could read as filled with laughter.

“Sir,” said his new Teammate Allaise, running up to his other side in a cloud of swishy Pink skirts, “The Pride of Kings has just reached a decision.”

“And?” Zordon asked anxiously. The oligarchic leadership of Fel’Har, in defiance of their species’ reputation for quick, decisive violence, had been locked in debate about the War for the past 3 days. They were fairly advanced and very militaristic, and their decision would change the resources available for the War massively.

“Fel’Har’s in!” Allaise grinned. “They’re sending five troop carriers to Morpheon right away.”

“Oh thank the Power,” Zordon sighed. “Repulssa’d better hope this war stays ship-to-ship; nothing can match a Fel’Hari on land.” The felinoids were not only fantastic warriors, but they were also entirely immune to Vasukiin mind control. The leading explanation was that Fel’Hari were just too stubborn.

“Sir, the Lord-Regnant needs you in a teleconference,” said a yellow-haired fire-mage as she walked out of a doorway ahead of them.

“As soon as we’re in the air,” Zordon promised.

“It really needs to be now,” she replied. “The Liarians are having some kind of problem and we can’t figure out a word they’re saying.”

“I don’t like all these people,” Epona muttered angrily.

“Hey, we’re not so bad,” Allaise said. She winked at Zordon. He put Epona down reluctantly and left to see to the Liarians. Epona stared after her father angrily but didn't, even now, cry. Allaise extended a hand to Epona, who glared at it for only a moment before taking it. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Morpheon.”

“That’s right.”

“Is it like Earth?” Epona asked hopefully.

Allaise hesitated. “A bit. There’s lots of space to run around in, but there’s almost no wind there, so the trees are a thousand feet high but only about as big around as you!”

“No way,” Epona frowned skeptically.

“So way. And because of the iron oxidation in the upper atmosphere, the sky looks purple.”

“Purple?” Epona said incredulously. “Wow!” She tried not to smile and failed spectacularly. “Do you want to play tag?”

“I’d love to,” the petite Pink Ranger said, “but first let’s get on the ship, okay?”

“Race you!” Epona giggled and took off at once for the silver-gray Eltarian ship parked nearest the compound. Allaise took off after her, subtly adjusting her stride to be just shorter than the 3-year-old’s.

“Fast friends,” Ferin said to Kiori.

“Oh Goodness! I didn’t see you there!” Kiori said, jumping a little.

“Sorry. I’m good at blending in.” As Kiori watched, Ferin turned slightly translucent, so that Kiori could make out the trees behind her. The Yellow Ranger returned to normal and gave a lopsided grin. “I've never quite learned to control it; half the time I don’t even know I’ve changed.”

“That’s quite a talent.”

“It comes in handy sometimes,” Ferin shrugged. “Yours?”

“Never!” Kiori laughed. “Tremorsense.”

“Really?” Ferin asked with interest. “How does that work?”

“There are sixty-three people still moving around in the compound, Aemil just started the ship’s pre-ignition engine test sequence, and you’re standing on a rabbit warren,” she said without a second’s pause.

Ferin jumped and looked down, but saw only grass. “Okay, I’m impressed,” she said.

Kiori smiled a little. “Not useful, but sometimes fun. I can ‘hear’ Zordon coming from a mile away. He clomps.” Ferin laughed. “What about Allaise?”

Ferin watched her running Teammate for a moment. “Dance.”

“What?”

“I know, it sounds strange! But if you never see her dance, you’ll have missed one of the ‘verse’s truly beautiful sights. Her parents wanted her to go into performance, of course, but she wanted to help people. So she joined the Academy.” Ferin’s smile was very soft.

Kiori was silent for several paces. “Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

Ferin froze. She turned and stared at Kiori with wide, horrified eyes. “What? How... no, I-I’m not-”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Kiori said. “It’s all right, I won’t tell her.”

Ferin stared at her for another frightened moment before she started walking to the ship again. “Please don’t,” she said very quietly. “Not ever. She’s not interested in.... I can only be friends with her, so that’s what I’ll be. If she knew, she’d never look at me the same way again. I couldn’t stand to lose her smile.” Ferin looked near tears, and Kiori surprised herself by reaching out to put a hand on Ferin’s shoulder.

“You’re talking to a woman in love, too. Maybe less... overwhelmingly than you are, but I do understand.”

Ferin was very quiet until they reached the ship. At the edge of the ramp up to the ship’s open bay door, Ferin turned to Kiori. The Yellow Ranger looked vulnerable and frightened but grateful. “I’m glad you’re on the Team,” she said simply.

Kiori smiled and followed Ferin on to the Rangers’ ship.

*****

Four Days Later...

“Liarians report ETA of the opposing fleet: 30 minutes,” said Allaise from communications. The six Rangers were gathered onto the bridge of the Team’s ship, which was an anonymous part of the 500-ship wall forming just outside Morpheon’s solar system.

“How long ‘til they see the fleet on sensors?” Zordon asked.

“The Negrim ships should pick us up when they’re still 20 minutes out,” Rae’nor said.

“And it’ll be another five minutes before Repulssa believes them,” Zordon said. “Damn, that still puts us nowhere near weapons range.”

Rae’nor put a counseling hand on Zordon’s shoulder. “We only have to scare her. She’s a Vilus; she won’t run from the fight for long.”

“It would just be so easy...” Zordon sighed.

“But it wouldn’t be fair,” Ferin said. “Better to defeat her in a fair fight because the Power’s behind us. Only then will Darkness know it can never win.”

Zordon smiled. “Well said,” he admitted.

The six waited tensely for ten minutes. “They’ve stopped,” Allaise reported suddenly. She made a face and pressed the earpiece to her ear. “What... no, they’re moving again. Toward us.”

“What?” Kiori gasped.

“It’s nothing; Repulssa doesn’t believe the Negrims’ reports,” Aemil said.

Zordon stared intently out into the starry blackness on the bridge’s large viewscreen though there was nothing to see yet. “Come on... be that stupid...” he urged quietly.

A few more minutes passed in tense silence before Allaise again broke it with a report. “They’ve stopped. Holding position... and turning tail! Sir, the Fel’Hari are giving chase!” Allaise said, shocked.

Sure enough, five massive ships were racing through the viewscreen’s field of vision as they broke formation and sped ahead. This was not any part of the Fleet’s plan. “Are you ordering them to stop?” Allaise asked anxiously.

Zordon merely laughed. “Let them go! Pity there’s no chance they’ll catch up.”

“An interesting view of fleet discipline,” Rae’nor said quietly.

Zordon looked at the White Ranger with humor in his eyes. “One of the basic laws of this galaxy: never try to discipline a Fel’Hari warrior.”

A few minutes later, the five ships came back, somehow flying in a dejected manner. The massive fleet broke formation and headed back to Morpheon to wait.

And prepare...

Chapter 14: Martial Training 101

Chapter Text

*****

“Welcome,” Aemil said proudly, “to Martial Training 101.”

It had been three days since the “first battle” of their War, and Zordon and Kiori had only just begun to suspect their Teammates of plotting something when Aemil and Allaise had called them down to specific coordinates on Morpheon. Aemil had greeted them at the doorway of a large athletic complex, led them to a closed door, and now, with a parsec-wide smile, stepped aside so that they could see within.

Zordon gasped. The huge room beyond was an exact, smaller-scale replica of the main training room at the Eltarian Rangers’ Academy, right down to the pure, gleaming white of the light streaming in from the high windows.

“So, what do you think?” Allaise asked, walking into view as she mopped a faint sheen of sweat off her brow with a fluffy, pale pink towel. For once, the Pink Ranger was dressed as practically as Aemil: instead of her typical short, floaty dress, she was wearing a Pink tank top and gray shorts with only a very small, very frilly Pink skirt over them. Zordon had been deeply amused when the new Team had first Morphed together to find that Allaise's feminine preferences were so thorough that a tiny skirt had added itself to her costume. Lilith, the Coin's first holder, would have torn off any skirt that dared infiltrate her Morph.

“How?” Zordon managed.

“The Liarian wizards helped out with renovations. We figured it’d be fun to bring Kiori up to speed in appropriate settings,” Aemil said, nodding respectfully to the new Black Ranger.

“And I always need the practice, I'm terrible,” Allaise said cheerfully.

“Oh,” Kiori said. She looked suddenly intimidated. “There’s speed to be brought up to?”

Laise smiled sympathetically. “Just some basic training, no need to-”

“All right, what’s so imp- oh dear Stars!” Ferin gasped as she came up behind the Blue and Black Rangers and saw the room. Aemil and Allaise laughed, delighted at her dropped jaw. “It’s perfect!”

“Where’s Rae?” Aemil asked her. Zordon again quietly boggled at the lack of formality in Rae’nor’s Team, that they would refer to their leader by a nickname.

“Yeah, and about that, you should get with the program! Er, uh, no offense,” Allaise added hastily, her cheeks tinting the same delicate pink as her skirt.

Zordon looked at them in confusion. Aemil blinked, too, and put a finger to his head, to which Allaise nodded – yes, they were talking about something based in telepathy. The Volaren Ranger rolled his eyes but looked unoffended; clearly, he was used to missing part of the conversation as the only non-telepath on his Team. Ferin shot Allaise an amused smile, and both she and Aemil grinned back at her. “I think she means that there’s no point being stuffy around Rae’nor — he really does prefer it this way. Bit of a transition, though,” Ferin said to Zordon.

“I can’t see the point of making people stand on ceremony just because I’m old and in charge.” Rae’nor’s deep voice made Ferin, Zordon, and Kiori jump and Aemil and Allaise fight down bursts of laughter — they’d seen him teleport in and hadn’t said anything, letting him startle their Teammates. Ferin stuck her tongue out at the Pink and Red Rangers in mock annoyance. “If I’d wanted that, I’d’ve taken the Princeps Albi post when they asked me to. Either time. I mean, are we friends or not?” Rae’nor contined.

“We’re certainly friends, si-” Zordon hesitated as he caught Rae’nor’s admonishing glare. “Rae. 'Nor,” he added the click and final syllable a second later, unable to help himself.

Rae’nor gave him a tolerant smile and patted him on the back. “It’ll do for a start. Now get out of my way, I can’t even see the place with you lot standing in the door!”

The rest of the Team filed inside. Everything about the gym was precisely as Zordon remembered. Just to check, he stomped at the hardwood floor — and it softened from the sudden impact. He burst into a full grin.

“Like I said, we got it as close as we could,” Aemil said, spotting the test.

“That floor saved me so many bruises,” Zordon said with a chuckle.

“What, you?” Ferin blinked at him. “To hear the Academy instructors talk, you never fell once in all three years.”

Zordon burst out laughing. “Do they really say that? I hated martial — thought it was a waste of time once you got a Coin.”

“Really?” Kiori asked. “Do you still think that?”

“I thought you were really good,” Allaise said, a little crestfallen.

Zordon took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then turned and ran for the punching-bag targets halfway across the room. At just the right moment, he launched forward into a high spinning kick that would’ve boggled his instructors completely. He opened his eyes when he felt his feet touch the bag, let his feet brush the ground, and immediately back-flipped to get out of the way of the bag as it swung back at him, adding a half twist to the flip so that he landed facing his Teammates.

The five of them stared open-mouthed.

“What?” Zordon said innocently. “I hated martial. I never said I wasn’t good at it.”

Aemil let out a delighted whoop, and Kiori gave a faint blush that Zordon decided to ask her about later — privately. “So, training,” Zordon said casually, trying to keep his grin of pride small. He’d been stubborn about his stance on fighting arts for so long that the last person he’d impressed with his full skill had been his caretakers – the two women who’d raised him. He hadn’t even shown Evelyn.... Brushing aside the pang of grief, he jogged back to his Teammates. He looked at Rae’nor expectantly.

“Oh, no,” Rae’nor said, “don’t look at me like that. This is your class.”

“Come again?” Zordon asked.

“I’m too old for all that running-around nonsense,” Rae’nor said primly, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the nearest wall.

“No fair!” Laise cried, looking utterly betrayed and making Ferin and Aemil snort with laughter. “You should have to do this too!”

“Perks of being the leader,” Rae’nor smirked.

“How did you land the kick with your eyes closed?” Kiori asked.

Zordon hesitated, looking at Rae’nor’s three proteges, but none of them showed anything but eagerness at the prospect of being instructed by him instead — except Laise, who was still outraged that she had to train but Rae’nor escaped. “Well, it’s just a matter of calling on your Coin’s connection to the Morphin Grid. The Power knows exactly where the bag is.”

“You can’t do that out of Morph,” Aemil asked, though doubtfully.

Zordon smiled. “I just did. Come on, I’ll show you.”

The session was more fun than Zordon had expected. He found that he actually liked teaching the subject, and he enjoyed deeply testing and displaying his unMorphed martial skill for the first time in his adult life. Also, the joviality and friendship between Aemil, Allaise, and Ferin kept even Kiori cheerful. It was as tight as the bond between Lilith, Adam, and Eve had been — Zordon suspected that these three had trained at the Academy together as well — but in some ways it ran even deeper. They seemed more like friends than Teammates, and the warmth of their connection paled that of his own Team. That bond had somehow started to include Zordon and Kiori as well, and, though Zordon knew perfectly well that the feeling was helped along by the intrinsic bond between their Coins, he also knew that it didn’t happen if any of the Coins’ bearers didn’t want it to. They weren’t fifteen minutes into the lesson before Zordon was privately praising Aemil and Allaise’s intelligence. Something far more important than combat training was happening: in the little time they doubtless had before the next attack, they were becoming a Team.

He was also very glad to have the chance to try to get used to his new Coin in motion. It was very strange to hold a Coin that hadn’t been made for him. It was overlaid with someone else’s energy; Diriel’s, he guessed. It felt like the Triceratops Coin had its own personality, entirely separate from his: sarcastic, bookish, very loyal to the other Coins’ bearers, overwhelmingly feminine, and with a vague undercurrent of doubt or guilt. The last bit began to bother him, less because of what it was than because it was faint enough that he couldn’t decide for certain which emotion it actually was. He got so curious that when they took a break he decided to ask: “Is Diriel shy?”

The trio of younger Rangers snapped their heads up, suddenly tense. Zordon winced: he hadn’t ever brought up Diriel after learning that she’d fallen in battle, and now he’d caught her former Teammates off-guard. “Sorry,” he said.

“It's ok,” Aemil said firmly. “But Diriel, shy? Never. She likes books better than people any day, but pull her away from her library and she’s... well....”

“As much fun as a Kerovan on Founding Day,” Allaise finished. Aemil scowled at her, then shrugged at Zordon, admitting the truth of the analogy.

“That’s weird,” Zordon frowned. “All the rest of it fits, but there’s this weird feeling of insecurity...”

“Are you talking about her Coin?” Rae’nor asked, joining his younger Teammates. Zordon nodded. “That’s not from Diriel. She had a hard time adapting to the Coin. I’m glad that what you’re getting is only faint. She said it was like being blasted with sorrow and doubt 28 hours a day at first.”

Zordon stared at him. “No one else held this Coin before her, right?”

“Just you, Diriel, and-” Rae’nor stopped short, realizing.

“Rita,” Zordon said, and for the first time in years the name brought a smile to his face.

“You mean... you’ve got a back door into Repulssa’s psyche?” Ferin asked wonderingly.

Zordon shook his head quickly. “No, not Repulssa’s. But Reylassa... I never guessed she was this sad or insecure. And whatever she felt, it’s still inside Repulssa somewhere. This could get very interesting.”

End Book 2 Part 1

Chapter 15: Book 2 Part 2: The Shard -- Chapter 1: The King of Edenoi

Chapter Text

"Six months the moon had filled her horns with light/And still the fate of war hung in the balance/With Victory hovering over both sides."

"What's that?" Kiori asked, returning from their bathroom with brush in hand, midway through her morning hair ritual. She was already dressed for the day, a cheerful smile on her face, and Zordon was still in bed, staring up at the ceiling morosely.

"Ovid. A Terran writer," Zordon clarified. With a sigh, he climbed out of bed at last. "Owh," he complained at once, cradling his injured right side. "Stupid bulkhead," he muttered. He was referring to the one he'd been knocked into during the last space battle. "You'd think after six months, we'd have decided something, wouldn't you?" he asked in annoyance.

"Well," Kiori said diplomatically, "we've decided that you're a talented general and a briliant wizard trusted throughout the galaxy."

"Brilliant, hardly! Competent."

"Yes, you are – and competent wizardry usually takes years. You've had almost no time to practice. You're leading a war; it's okay. What's wrong today?" Kiori asked, frowning, as none of her words seemed to lighten Zordon’s mood.

"Everything." Zordon sighed. "I had to divert a regatta to help Kerova yesterday. I can't get a good report on the situation, but I think there's a land war there. Repulssa keeps hitting sore spots. I'm just getting so tired of seeing my friends hurt."

"Morpheon wasn't your fault," Kiori said at once. "And we'll get it back. Wars go back and forth; we've hurt her forces, too. Onyx backed out just a week ago, remember."

Zordon snorted. "Oh yay, she's lost the power of drunken scoundrels. I just... I hate the feeling that the balance could tip either way so easily. Kiori, if after all this she still wins..."

"Then at least we'll have tried, and that's more than most anyone's done," Kiori interrupted firmly. In the last 6 months, she’d gradually abandoned her Eltarian traditions around self-sacrifice in favor of the more Primus mentality of their allies. Zordon smiled to think about how she’d changed. "Now get dr-"

"Zordon!" Aemil came skidding into the bedroom, wings half-unfurled in either haste or panic.

"What on Earth...?" Zordon said in alarm, turning to the Red Ranger. The other Rangers had never intruded into the Blue and Black Rangers' bedroom before.

"Negrim is joining!"

Though Repulssa's original force had contained three of the immensely powerful Negrim warships, in all the battles since no more than those three had shown up. They'd realized eventually that the king of Negrim hadn't actually joined forces with the Vilus, that he'd just sent a few ships in exchange for not being harrassed by Repulssa. If Negrim actually joined... Dark only knew how many of those warships Negrim actually had.

Paling, Zordon told Kiori, "The balance just tipped." He cast a spell to get dressed instantly and moved to follow Aemil to the bridge, but-

"Beep beep beep beep beep beep!" chimed his quarters' communication terminal. He hesitated, then tapped the terminal's receiver. "Zordon here," he said.

[There's a call coming in for your eyes only,] Ferin's voice said. [Marked urgent.]

Zordon rolled his eyes. "What for me isn't marked urgent?" he asked. "Put it through."

“Should I-” Kiori asked, but he waved her off.

“No, it's fine,” he answered and sat before the darkened viewscreen set into a wall in their quarters.

A moment later, it clicked on. It showed a face almost completely obscured by white-streaked auburn hair and beard. [Greetings, Zordon of Eltare,] said the man.

"Greetings. May I help you?" Zordon asked the stranger. Little of his confusion showed in his face or tone, though he was plenty confused. Six months of a leadership position that was as much about diplomacy as it was about battle tactics had brought him a lot of social grace.

His caller’s mustache crinkled upward as though the man were smiling. [I admit the possibility. It is more likely that I can help you. Do you know who I am?]

"I'm afraid not," Zordon said.

The mustache crinkled upward again. [My name is Lexian. By grace of the People, I am King of Edenoi.]

Zordon froze. Automatically, his eyes moved upward and found the small, glittering crystal in the man's forehead that identified him as Edenite. "Oh." Though there had been four large-scale space battles so far, they’d all maintained the hope that Edenoi and, by extension, the Eltarian Alliance hadn't noticed that those battles were part of a larger War. Apparently, Edenoi had. *Is there any way, at all, for this day to get worse?* he groaned inwardly.

[You won't protest if we join your War, will you?]

"I... what?" Zordon asked haltingly. He blinked at the ancient ruler. "You want to join?"

[Certainly.]

"But what about the Alliance? You... haven't gotten permission from the Council of Worlds, have you?"

King Lexian smiled. [I have their permission to the same degree that you have the permission of the ERO. There are a lot of angry people there, by the way.]

"Of course," Zordon sighed. The ERO was as predictable as the wardrobes of their graduates.

[But talks in the Counci1 sound hopeful.]

"Er... what?"

[Talks. The debate over your war. Surely you've heard — there's a motion to make a formal statement of support for you and your war.]

Behind him, Kiori gasped, but she didn’t interrupt. "A statement of support... No, we had no idea. None of our allies have had time to attend Council in months. Do you think the motion can carry?" Zordon asked in amazement. The concept that they might gain the backing of the Eltarian Alliance itself was staggering to the point of absurdity.

[There's a new Princeps or Magister in the hall every day to call you a traitor and your war a pointless bloodbath. But my opinion? Yes, it'll carry.] King Lexian’s tone grew tender. [I wish you could see it, Zordon. No one on the entire planet can talk about anything but your War. You’ve struck a chord that’s needed to be heard for an age. Been a long time since someone captured Eltare's imagination the way you have.]

Zordon struggled for something to say to this, but he couldn't find words. He'd assumed that after the war became known on his homeworld, if anyone talked about it at all, it would be to bad-mouth him in passing before moving on to more important subjects. "Are you saying I'm some kind of a... a hero?"

Lexian laughed at his incredulity. [Yes, young man, to a great many. Just because your people are safe from Vilus, that doesn't mean they are blind to Vilus's atrocities or the ERO's inability -- or lack of ambition -- to stop them. Your people must now confront the limits of their heroes. They begin to place their faith in you instead.]

Lexian allowed Zordon a moment to try to absorb this before continuing, [But if you will allow me to return to an earlier point: I'd hoped to talk to you months ago, but politically it was impossible. Now, with this motion before the Council of Worlds, I can move Edenoi into the war without much fear of reprisal. What do you say?]

"Thank you," Zordon said instantly. "Yes! Thank you! You've no idea how much better you've made my day!"

[Glad to hear it. Now, if you don't mind, I will bid you farewell. I must begin mobilizing our fleets. Good morning,] Lexian said, signing off with a slight bow of his head. Zordon sat there, stunned, for a long moment before even reaching forward to turn off his blank viewscreen.

"And the scales tip to us," Kiori grinned.

"They do at that!" Zordon smiled, and he rose from the chair to sweep Kiori into his arms. They kissed passionately, then they ran together to spread the word.

*****

"You'll never believe it!" Kiori began as she burst onto the bridge. "Edenoi's joining!"

"What?" Rae'nor gasped.

"Oh thank the Power," Allaise sighed, wilting with relief. "They'll balance out Negrim, if not more."

"That's not all," Zordon beamed. "The Council of Worlds itself is-"

An alarm blared to life.

"The proximity alarm?" Aemil said in surprise. "Why..."

"Uh-oh," Ferin said. She looked up from her post at sensors. Her dark eyes were wide and scared. "Grab on to something!"

Her seated Teammates did so easily, grabbing at the consoles in front of them, but Zordon and Kiori had only a couple of seconds to search for handholds before the ship rocked violently to one side and both were thrown off their feet. The lights flickered and went out.

Seven seconds later, they came on again. "Main power restored," said the light, female voice of the ship's computer. The five Rangers looked around.

"Is everyone all-" Aemil began to ask.

"Zordon!" Kiori cried.

Zordon was nowhere to be seen. A quick search revealed a small, fresh stain of blood on the bottom corner of a console as if Zordon had crashed into it during the power failure. “But that doesn’t explain...” Aemil said.

Ferin turned back to the sensor console. A few quick keystrokes later, she stopped and stared at the readout in shock. “While main power and shields were out, the computer registered three teleportation signatures. One coming in, two going out.” She turned to her Teammates. “Zordon's been kidnapped.”

Chapter 16: Bound

Chapter Text

Beyond the splitting pain where he’d hit his head, Zordon was aware of little else. He knew he was walking, but he had no idea where or why. He barely registered the change when he was pulled to a stop and pushed down on to a cold, horizontal surface. His consciousness swam, and the shapes around him blurred into a senseless mess.

After an immeasurable time, a strange prickling started at the back of his head. Slowly, the pain faded. The world came back into focus.

It wasn't a very pleasant world to wake up to.

He was lying on a black stone table, held to it by restraints at his ankles and wrists. Faint yellow light danced randomly off the walls from candles stationed all around the room. At first, he couldn't see anyone in the room. He tugged hard at the chains holding his wrists over his head, but he couldn't move his hands close enough to form a spell.

Light, delighted chuckling came from above his head. He strained to look that way, but he didn't need to bother: the source came quickly into view. The laugher was Rita Repulssa.

Throughout the war, she'd been only a faceless menace, and even before that Zordon had never seen her since she turned — returned — to evil. Her hair was still long and pale blond, the delicate color of the Terran sun on a winter morning, and the features of her face were achingly familiar. But her pale brown eyes, though she laughed, were cold as death, and she wore a flowing velvet dress of inky black that highlighted her figure as nothing he’d seen on his Teammate ever had. His first thought, unbelievably traitorous, was that she was beautiful.

"Welcome, Zordon," she smirked.

Zordon again struggled at the restraints on his wrists. Repulssa laughed. "What a mighty and fearsome wizard you are! Can't even form a spell without your hands yet? What a pity," she taunted.

"If you're going to kill me, just get it over with," Zordon said, trying to look bored instead of humiliated. This was why — this was exactly why he’d been learning magic, to defend himself from Repulssa. Now that the moment came, he was helpless. He just hoped that the war would go on without him...

"Here's the funny thing." Repulssa snapped her fingers, and a servant appeared and handed her something small that Zordon couldn't identify in the dim light. "I'm not going to kill you. I never had to do that. See, it occurred to me some time ago that it would be much more fun for me and much worse for your allies if I didn't."

"Then what? Hold me prisoner?" Zordon asked.

She laughed lightly. Without any warning, her voice dropped suddenly into a chant. It took Zordon a few seconds to recognize, more from the shape of the black aura forming around her than the language, what it was.

"No!" he cried. He started the counter-chant at once, but a servant quickly gagged him. He pulled desperately at the restraints, cursing himself for not finding the time to practice stilled magic, the hallmark of wizards. The restraints didn’t give an inch. [Stop, please!] he cried out in his mind, and it was only when Repulssa answered that he realized he’d sent it instead of just thinking it. Her delighted laugh echoed through his mind.

In only another few seconds, the chant was finished. The black aura coalesced into a slender, glittering crystal shard in Repulssa's hands. It had the same general shape as the Rangers’ Power Crystals but came to a sharp point and was solid black. She smiled at it lovingly, then stepped forward and drove it into Zordon's chest. The tip tore into him with a pain like Scorpina’s daggers. She pressed the long shard into him very slowly, her beautiful face glowing with a sad*stic smile as he screamed through the gag. At last, the Shard vanished into him. It left no wound to show that it had ever existed.

"Sabotage the shields," she ordered. "Just enough to let his Team through." She smiled down at him. "See you soon, Zordon." She left, a half dozen servants trailing after her.

Alone in the room, Zordon had nothing else to focus on but the Shard's energy running through him. He used every trick he knew to fight it, but he could feel his Light falling almost at once. With a moan of grief, Zordon felt his mind slip away.

*****

A tinny, whining voice pulled Zordon out of Dark dreams. Disoriented, Zordon came awake slowly. The strange voice continued, "You'll see! When my mistress comes, you'll all pay for this!"

"I don't believe it. You actually think Repulssa will risk a single soldier to rescue you?" That was one of his Teammates’ voices. Which one?

"Ha! The Glorious One measures not by size or power, but by the depth of our loyalty! She will send for me, and you will all die for your audacity!"

"Out of all those slaves on her ship we could've made help us find Zordon, how'd we pick the one who's actually devoted?" one of them groaned. Ferin.

"Look, you just helped us rescue the leader of her opposition who she’s sworn to kill," Allaise said. "She's not gonna want you back any time soon."

A whining, snorting laugh rang out. "Fools! You think I acted against her wishes?"

There was a moment of silence broken by a sigh. "I knew it was too easy," Aemil said morosely.

"Why? Why did she want us to rescue him?" Rae'nor's deep voice demanded.

More chuckling. "He's had a Shard of True Evil in him for the last hour, and none of you even noticed!"

"A Shard?" Allaise repeated, frightened. "Then he's..."

"Kiori, slowly, stand up and walk away," Rae'nor's voice ordered with forced calm.

A sound of a chair being pushed back very close to his ear. Zordon opened his eyes and smiled. "Don't go, love," he said softly. Kiori hesitated, looked down at him. She stood only two feet from his bed. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him roughly. "I won't bite."

"It won't make a difference where you are!" laughed the small, scaly Saurian across the cramped Sickbay. "Power like his, he could kill you all from across the ship!"

Zordon looked at Kiori's delicate creamed-coffee-colored wrist. She tried to pull away, but he held her there effortlessly. He knew now that the tiny scraps of strength and Power she had were nothing. He was filled with all the strength of Darkness, and it was unimaginable how much weaker the Light was in comparison. Why had no one ever told him how wonderful it felt, how much more powerful and more pure evil was? Knowledge and the strength to use it flooded into him at his slightest request. Lazily, he contemplated how best to rip apart the slender wrist in his hand.

"Please don't," Kiori whispered, her voice choked. He looked curiously at her face and saw tears of terror running down her cheeks. They startled him. A rush of confusion filled him. Why did he want to kill her? He couldn’t remember....

"And he will! He'll kill you, one by one-"

"No," Zordon said vaguely, dizzy with confusion.

"-you'll all die screaming, and he'll enjoy hearing your pleas for mercy-"

"No..."

"-before he guts you!"

"NO!" Zordon screamed. He released Kiori to strike his hand sharply through the air between him and Rita's slave. An invisible knife sliced deeply across the creature's chest. It gave a single scream gargled by blood and slumped back in its chair, dead.

The kill filled him with deep, visceral satisfaction... but only for a moment. He stared at the dead Saurian with confusion, then fright. "No... no... no no no NO!" he yelled. He curled in on himself as he struggled to banish the images of his dying Teammates from his mind, tried to banish the delight soaking the images of murder... *I won't hurt them, I won't... I will!* he thought in anguish. He reached out with the dark Power coursing through him and focused.

A long, graceful sword of silvered steel coalesced in his outstretched hand. He brought it to his own throat.

A hand came down over his and pulled the sword down. Zordon looked up, shocked, to find Rae'nor standing over him. "That's not the way," the White Ranger said. His leader – former leader? – looked angry. "Don't run from what you've done."

"I killed him," Zordon said. "Did I kill him? Why did I kill him?!"

"You're strong enough, Zordon: don't let this thing win. Fight the Darkness in you. Throw it out!" Rae'nor urged.

"You have no idea... I'll kill you all!" Zordon cried. "Let me do this, please! I can’t fight it back much longer!"

"No!" Rae'nor growled, dark eyes flashing with anger. "It is not stronger than you, Ranger! It can't defeat your Light unless you play the coward and let it. You have a choice. Make it!"

Zordon stared at him for a long moment of terror. Rae'nor released his sword arm, but Zordon ignored the sword now. He ignored everything in the world around him and reached inside instead. He knew there was a reason he felt this way — why he wanted to hold Kiori in his arms 'til her tears went away and fight along side Aemil, Allaise, and Ferin and drop to his knees before Rae'nor to beg forgiveness for taking a life in rage... The Darkness coursing through him fought against him, tried to banish every image. He held on desperately against the flood of boundless power that felt so natural... so very natural.... and at last, the flood subsided. Drenched but alive, Zordon came back to the world.

No one moved. His Teammates just stared back at him. None of them mages, they couldn't tell that he'd defeated the Shard’s evil.

Kiori quietly sobbed in terror. She was standing between him and her Teammates. Was she planning to shield them if he attacked? The notion brought pangs of horror and love. At last, Zordon found his voice. "Hi guys. I won," he said simply.

Kiori gave a little scream and turned to Ferin. The two held each other tightly as Kiori let out a hurricane of tears. Rae'nor sank into the wall next to Zordon's bed, looking exhausted and suddenly very old. Aemil finally folded his wings, but instead of touching lightly back to the ground, he collapsed to it in a heap. Allaise, however, ran straight to Zordon and threw her arms around him, crying, "I knew you would!"

Zordon hugged her back desperately, unspeakably grateful for her faith even if misplaced. "But it's not," Allaise said quietly in his ear. "It's not."

Zordon released her and looked at her, struggling to believe. The Pink Ranger smiled at him. "You're the only one who can't see how strong you are. Well, you and that idiot witch," she smirked. Unsure what to make of this, Zordon turned instead to Rae'nor.

"Forgive me, please," he begged.

"I forgive you," Rae'nor said instantly. "But I'm not the one whose forgiveness you need." He nodded to Zordon himself.

Zordon touched his own chest. He felt his spark of Power... and remembered the feeling of naturalness at the height of the black flood within him. "I need Naatam here. Now," he said. Though startled, no one protested. Aemil left at once.

"Wait, why is this still here?" Allaise asked, frowning at the slender sword lying forgotten on Zordon's bed.

"I made it," Zordon said.

"You mean... it's not an illusion? You didn't summon it?" Rae'nor asked. Even a magicless Ranger knew that actual creation was the realm of True Magi and the Darkest blooded mages alone.

Zordon nodded, somehow unsurprised. He was beginning to understand. "It's the Sword of Darkness," he named it quietly. He looked up at Rae'nor's shocked face. "We keep it."

Rae'nor lifted the sword cautiously and gaped. "Stars, it's so light!" Despite himself, he swung it a few times experimentally. "I've never held anything like it!"

Zordon smiled. "Take care of it. But be careful — there's more magic in it than that."

Last, almost unwillingly, he turned to Kiori. Ferin, still holding her as she sobbed, gave him a pained, helpless look. [Kiori,] he sent gently. She gave a loud sob. [Kiori, please, talk to me.]

After a moment, Kiori let go of Ferin and walked to Zordon. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed, to his surprise. "I'm sorry I didn't stop that sword! I didn't think you'd win!"

Zordon wrapped her in his arms, fighting the urge to laugh. "I didn't think I would either."

"Rae," Ferin asked quietly as husband and wife embraced, "how did you know Zordon could fight off a Shard?"

Rae'nor shrugged. "I didn't. But I believed he could."

"But no one's ever done it before."

Rae’nor laughed softly and patted the Yellow Ranger on the shoulder. “That’s why I’m the leader.”

Chapter 17: Ask. Promise. Trust.

Chapter Text

A man-height cyclone of flame sprang up in the middle of the room and quickly went out, leaving behind Lord Naatam. Zordon released Kiori. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked her quietly. She nodded, sniffing back a last few tears.

"What happened here?" Naatam asked, shocked.

"Repulssa planted a Shard in him," Allaise explained. Naatam dropped into a casting stance instantly, then straightened and stared at Zordon in confusion. "He got better," Allaise added with a helpless shrug.

"By the Seven Sisters," Naatam gasped.

"There's more," Zordon said. "I felt something, while I was fighting the Shard. I think I know what a Talented mage is."

"An Eltarian with a magic Talent?" Rae'nor asked blankly.

"What one is to the Power. It's hard to explain," he said apologetically to his Teammates. "But I need your help to be sure," he said to Naatam.

"Anything I can do," Naatam promised.

"Leave us alone for a minute, please?" Zordon asked his Teammates. Kiori leaned in for a little kiss, then she and the other Rangers left quietly.

"What do you need?" Naatam asked.

"When I was fighting that thing, it sent all the Power of Darkness running through me. It... it didn't feel strange," he struggled to find words. "I think I know why. I think I can find out. I think, if I'm right, this war's going to change completely. But if I'm wrong, I need you to be here, to know right away, because I'll need you to kill me."

Naatam cursed. "What the Dark are you talking about?! I can't-"

"There's something in me that's like what I felt from the Shard. I'm going to let it out. If I'm wrong and what I release isn't Light, I'll be able to kill everyone and none of you will be able to bring me back, not ever. I can't let myself hurt you. Promise me."

"What are friends for?" he sighed. “I promise.” He put a hand to Zordon's shoulder. “It's been an honor.”

“The honor's been mine, sir,” Zordon replied at once, then closed his eyes before he could lose his nerve.

He reached deep inside as he had to fight the Shard. He touched his spark of Power carefully. {Can you hear me?} he asked.

The response wasn't in words. Something answered that was too vast to contain its thoughts in words. The feeling seemed to rise up from every corner of his mind and every cell of his body, all at once: <yes.>

{Am I right? Is that why I can talk to you?}

The great force responded <yes> again — though he'd expected it to whether or not it was tricking him. Pushing fear aside, he asked, {What do I have to do?}

<Ask. Promise. Trust.>

{I ask for the gift. I promise always to honor it. I-} Zordon hesitated a moment on the last condition. {I place my life and soul in your hands.}

Zordon opened his eyes. The flood of boundless energy filled him again, as when he was in the grip of the Shard. It extended beyond him as well. He could feel the Power moving through the entire room, drawing on the strength the Light warriors around it gave. He saw the dazzling knot of it inside Lord Naatam, felt its shape and beautiful Light, its source and the reason it chose Naatam. On an entirely different level, he saw Naatam staring at him with jaw hanging open in shock.

He didn't want to ask; he just wanted to bask in it all. But, wonderful as it was, he was terrified of it. "Is it evil?" he asked.

Slowly, Naatam shook his head. "No.” Zordon sighed with deep relief. “Did you... you didn't just... did you talk to the Power?"

"I think so. I only get to once." Zordon shut his eyes and basked in the strength filling him and the relief overwhelming him. He smiled. "Once is enough."

*****

The next battle of the War was one for the record books. Everyone expected it to be a pivotal moment in history as well as the war. Despite being among the most advanced worlds in their galactic cluster for several thousand years and theoretically deeply opposed to each other, the forces of Edenoi and Negrim had never fought in battle against one another. Now they clashed for the first time at the heads of massive coalition fleets. Very few had anticipated that neither planet's space navy would be the deciding factor.

"Liaria 12, fire primary weapons at 114.6.35 in four seconds. Kerova 51, at 63.79.140... mark! Rae, straight ahead, now!" Zordon directed into a headset. He was sitting in the captain’s chair of the Team’s ship, staring hard at nothing his Teammates could see. With each of the three commands, as throughout the battle, a strike caught one of the fast-moving opposing ships in a critical spot, incapacitating if not destroying the enemy vessel despite its shields. Under his direction, every ship on his side was shooting one-in-a-million shots.

"The left flank is routing!" Ferin said at sensors.

"I know," Zordon took a moment to smile with deep satisfaction. "Sauria 316, drop 2027 feet and fire at 94.70.200."

"HA!" Ferin crowed. "Repulssa's lead ship is breaking. She's running!"

"Fel'Har 8... Damn!" Zordon said instead.

"What?" Rae'nor asked.

"She just went into hyperrush," Aemil sighed in explanation.

"Fire at will," Zordon said with disappointment into his headset, then took it off. "Damn," he repeated, dropping his head into one hand.

"Zordon, we won," Allaise reminded him.

"We had a shot at her," Zordon said. "I wasn't fast enough."

"Nobody's perfect!" Kiori said, laughing.

"I need to go," Zordon said, standing abruptly.

"What? Where?"

"Kaola Prime. Her forces are..." Zordon broke off and fell dizzily back to the captain's chair.

"This spell of yours is sapping all your strength! You need sleep, not another battle," Ferin advised.

"We can send them reinforcements," Aemil pointed out.

"What if it's not enough?" Zordon said, though allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment as he talked. "I have to go. Head them off before they reach the capitol..."

"Love, you can't even stand," Kiori said worriedly.

"I can pull the Power again," Zordon said stubbornly.

"Your body needs sleep, not some metaphysical stimulant! Zordon, you know what happens to this war if you kill yourself fighting it," Rae'nor said sternly. "Send me; I'll tell them where to counter the attack."

After a moment, Zordon nodded reluctantly. After relaying the needed tactical information, Zordon sank into his chair in exhaustion and watched Rae'nor Morph and teleport. He thanked the Power thoroughly for the omniscience spell he'd cast on himself and then ended the spell. Instantly, a new wave of exhaustion hit him, along with a ringing headache. "Ohh, I'm not doing that again for a week," Zordon groaned. "Or two."

"Yeah, well, neither is she!" Allaise laughed.

Chapter 18: Book 3: Blood -- Chapter 1: Counting Aces

Chapter Text

(Prologue)

The Battle at Sirius would be the last of the massive space battles that had dominated the first six months of the war. After her spectacular defeat, Repulssa abandoned her large-scale strategy and fragmented her remaining forces, redoubling the attack on the Kerovans and targeting other key allies' systems whenever they seemed vulnerable. This gave her the advantage that Zordon could never again effectively use the omniscience spell because small but pivotal battles were taking place throughout the galaxy all the time. Her strategy had the marked disadvantage that now, for the first time, the hundred-odd Power Rangers of the various allied worlds, the several thousand mages, and hundreds of thousands of Fel'Hari warriors came into their own in land battles. The Fel'Hari, led by Pridechief Mrroundn himself, liberated Morpheon within the first week, while simultaneously Lord Naatam's clan obliterated Repulssa's long-held base on one of Sauria's colonies.

Repulssa reacted to this last triumph by sending Brinlen's Tarusian ice mages into the field en masse for the first time. The opposing elemental mages quickly got embroiled in savage, merciless battle. Both sides forgot that there was a bigger war going on or even that such a creature as a civilian existed and ought not be hurt. The fire mages didn't bat a collective eyelash when a single confrontation left Sauria-Panga's moon in fragments. It wasn't until Zordon teleported in to the Lord-Regnant's ship and forbade his mentor in person from continuing that the fire mages stopped.

The six Rangers on Rae’nor's Team formed the core leadership of these fractured battles. Rae'nor continued to lead the brutal fight for Kaola and its three colonies, “creatively” named KO-12, KO-27, and KO-35. Ferin directed a counter-assault against a thoroughly unprovoked invasion of Volaren. Allaise and Aemil were kept almost continually running to head off new invasions before they could gain footholds on the targeted planets. Kiori was rarely a commander in the field, but she did find an unexpected talent to put to use: she was remarkably clever at putting out diplomatic fires throughout their own alliance. Zordon himself tried to maintain a neutral post of command, but he was drawn — goaded — several times into battles against the Wizard of Deception. Sorcha’s former apprentice and murderer had come to the fore as one of Repulssa’s chief commanders. Apart from bringing an often deadly element of illusion magic to the battles, the Wizard did his best to play on Zordon’s emotions using what he'd learned from Zordon's confidences by taking on the forms of Sorcha, Scorpina, and, most effectively, Evelyn.

Still, their opponents weren’t winning. The War was massive, and millions of civilian lives had been lost despite the war-leaders’ best efforts, but they were holding their own. What pundits across the dimensions would have expected to be a simple victory – the strength of an entire Black galaxy and dozens of evil alliances at the Viluses’ disposal against an insignificant, politically-unorganized vaguely Light galaxy – had turned into such a fight that the ascendancy of the Vilus clan suddenly seemed unsteady. The Vilus had to end it, quickly, or face rebellion from within. It had become time to count their aces and consider how to play them.

So, while Zordon and his Team carried on in battles across the galaxy, their enemies were planning ahead.

*****

“How sure are you of this offer?” Rita narrowed her eyes critically at the Wizard of Deception. The two were meeting in person on her flagship. She’d insisted he come himself, concerned that Zordon’s staggering new magical skill might allow him to overhear their meeting if the Wizard projected an illusion of himself.

The black-robed individual tapped one finger on the arm of his chair in an annoyed manner. He was out-of-sorts for some reason. “I told you,” his distorted, gravelly, aggravated voice answered. “It’s unlikely, but I’m convinced. You can guess how much convincing I needed, considering the source. For the right price, we’ve got someone in Zordon’s inner circle ready to betray them all.”

Rita dared a small smile. The idea was unbelievable, but so far the Wizard had given her only trustworthy advice. “All right. Seal the deal. I’m sure Father has enough of whatever kind of treasure’s needed.”

But the Wizard shook his fiery head. “Oh, no. Not treasure. This one’s smarter than that.”

Rita frowned. “What, then?”

“Magic. Something unusual, unreachable by the resources he’s already got at hand, but that won’t immediately read as evil. Something that will let our new ally seize control of his planet.”

“What kind of magic is that?” Rita asked. She was starting to feel annoyed at having to waste time teasing the situation out with all these questions, but she was trying not to show it. The Wizard was probably doing it deliberately and would surely be delighted if he thought he’d annoyed her back.

He simply shrugged. “Don’t know.”

At that, Rita’s temper did snap. She let out an angry shriek. Far from looking satisfied, though, the Wizard tumbled out of his chair in surprise. “You idiot! Figure it out, or I’ll bind you to him as payment! And next time, don’t bother me with a plan you can’t act on!”

“Y-yes, Empress,” the Wizard said, hurrying into a bow.

Rita regarded him from the corner of her eye. Technically, he couldn’t use that title with her – it was an affront to King Redwath and, irrelevantly, to the Grand Monarch, if he still existed somewhere. However, she really liked the sound of it. “I didn’t hear that,” she said with a smirk. “Now get out!” she screeched. He bowed again and fled.

After the door of her palacial study closed behind him, Rita let out a twisted grin. Now she knew how to manipulate the Wizard of Deception: apparently he was a little short of courage when meeting in person. Useful.

The signal light had blinked to life on her communications screen sometime in the last few minutes of yelling and plotting. She glanced at the readout on the screen, then gaped at it as if the computer had gone insane. Here was one being she’d been quite sure would never contact her.

With silky wariness, she slid into her seat and activated the screen. A familiar blueberry-and-gold simianoid face filled it. [I give you greetings, daughter of Vilus,] Goldar said.

“What the heaven gives you the nerve to contact me?” Rita replied with a contempt she hoped was menacing enough. It was unnerving to see her old enemy again.

[You want to secure this,] he said instead of answering. She glared at him for a long moment, but he kept silent, and at last she muttered and gestured her way through a basic ward on the communication line. When it was complete, Goldar smiled and continued, [I hear you’re looking for advantages against Zordon. I also hear you pay well.]

Rita blinked. “You think you have something that would interest me?” she said, keeping it haughty. Privately, she wondered: she knew that Goldar and Scorpina were some of the wealthiest and longest-surviving villains of the Milky Way galaxy, and yet they were independent, not connected with the Alliance of Evil. They held little territory, largely thanks to Edenite counterattacks, but raiding and short-term conquests could leave someone with all manner of resources. Plus, they’d been around for several centuries at least - the first Eltarian record of them was some six hundred years ago. She had very little idea what Goldar could offer her against Zordon, but there was every reason to believe it was useful.

[Information. Something Scorpina’s hiding from you very carefully.]

“Oh? And what do you think this information is worth?” she asked in a bored tone.

[A lot more to your enemies in the Alliance of Evil. But Vilus is strong, and I like that. And I like watching you smash Zordon. So I’m coming to you first.] He paused for dramatic effect – or maybe because he’d run out of things to say for a moment. He was about as slow-witted as Scorpina was quick. After an infuriatingly long pause, Goldar continued, [I’m tired of destroying worlds one at a time. I want to join you. Official first henchbeast of the Empress of Evil, if – I mean when you get the title. I keep my favorite few planets here and get some in M-51. Five is a good number.]

Rita sputtered a moment before words came out. “You want what?! First henchbeast?! Five planets!”

[And in exchange, the King doesn’t find out what I know, and you can use the Green Dragon Coin any way you want.]

A shock ran through her from her lips down to her toes. It halted her indignant screech and rooted her in place.

Green Dragon.

Evelyn.

*Eve.*

They only had Zordon’s word. There were any number of ways Goldar and Scorpina might have tricked the child Ranger. Was Goldar really saying….

“If you’re lying,” Rita said, pleasantly surprised to hear her voice was steady and cold as ice, “I swear, I will rip you into so many pieces each planet in this galaxy can have its own bit.”

Goldar didn’t so much as flinch, and that told Rita all she needed to know. [Do we have a deal?]

Strange emotions stirred within her – twinges of love, kindness. A brief fantasy of her breaking Eve out of whatever prison they’d locked her in. Hugging her old friend close.

She crushed them. She and Eve weren’t friends anymore. This was tactics. If she refused Goldar, he’d call up King Redwath next and tell him another way she’d failed her atonement. A second failure would lose her far more respect. It could shatter her alliance and hand Zordon victory, and neither she nor her family would ever recover.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Where?”

[Palantea Dimension. The only entrance is on Europa, around Jupiter. It’s guarded, but I’m sure you can handle it.]

“Does Scorpina know I’m coming?”

Goldar laughed out loud. [I’m alive, aren’t I? Once you have her, you call me about my payment.]

“Soon.” She closed the channel, thought a moment, and opened another. “Brinlen, you have an hour to get to me from wherever you are. Bring some apprentices. I’m going to an ice planet, and you’re going to back me up.”

Chapter 19: Europa

Chapter Text

Europa shimmered and splintered away…

*****

…into a village square. Birds were singing. The air was warm and carried the scents of fresh-baked bread and distant flowers. A dozen people bustled about the cobblestone square from as many species. A green-skinned villager, toting a large basket of some sort of cloth on their head, paused, curtsied to the four mages, and then went on their way.

The four straightened slowly out of casting stances and exchanged wary looks. “Rita?” Brinlen asked.

The would-be Empress shook her head slowly. “If it’s trying to eat us,” she said, “I can’t see its teeth.”

She performed a small healing spell on herself to reverse the cold damage she’d taken, then looked around more carefully. “Hm. It’s modeled on villages of medieval Europe. About 9,000 years in Earth’s future. Looks like Scorpina did hack the Eltarians’ extratemporal database after all.” She grabbed the nearest passing villager by the arm. “Where’s Scorpina?”

The villager was seven feet tall and had spikes growing from his skin in all directions, but he cowered. “Don’t speak the Sorceress’s name!” he hissed, twisting out of Rita’s grip.

Rita gave a small sigh and glanced at Brinlen.

In one fluid motion, Brinlen ripped the man away, slammed him into the nearest wall, and froze him to it with conjured ice. “Where’s-“ she started to growl.

“The tower, she’s at the tower!” he practically squeaked.

“Urgh,” Brinlen complained, “I didn’t even get to threaten you properly.”

“Stay away from there, please. If you don’t attract her notice, it can be okay, but…” The villager shuddered. “She does terrible things.”

“Look into my eyes,” Brinlen said.

He did so. He quivered all the way down to his spikes. “Please… please don’t…”

“Torruas,” Brinlen said in a bored tone as she turned away, “make an impression.”

The three women didn’t pause to observe the details of what Torruas did to the man, but his screams still filled the air long after Torruas caught up. Brinlen rewarded his cruelty with a small smile.

*****

Scorpina’s tower was, fortunately, an obvious feature: an imposing place like a narrow, tall palace, on a hill above the village. A quick spell from Rita brought them to the foot of it. They found themselves in a lovely marble courtyard surrounded by a well-manicured garden.

“Are we sure she’s actually a villain?” Akara asked skeptically. “This is all very… pleasant.” She said the last word with a sneer of distate.

Brinlen shook her head. “She isn’t Light. She’s subtle.”

“How do you know, mistress?” Torruas asked, his tone by contrast deferential and eager.

“Every plant in this garden is poisonous,” Brinlen said.

“Oh.”

“Cover me,” Rita ordered.

The three fell into a protective ring again, Brinlen at point facing the tower gate. The master ice-mage darted a glance over her shoulder at Rita’s work. One glance was enough to be resoundingly impressed. Rita had started a second spell before quite finishing the first one, and Brinlen was pretty sure Rita was setting up ingredients for a third, major working from her satchel – a bag linked to a tiny spacial fold – while still incanting the second. The magical talent and mental discipline that took staggered Brinlen.

“Damn,” Brinlen said under her breath. Mage-bloods were always impressive in some way, but Rita Repulssa was in no one’s league but her own. Brinlen let a little, wry smile leak onto her lips. However little she liked serving anyone, at least she was bound to the most talented Black witch alive.

Much to her annoyance, something distracted her from her mistress’s beautiful spellwork. The something was a woman Brinlen didn’t know. She was pale-skinned, with flowing black hair and eyes that tilted at the corners, and she wore flowing yellow silks embroidered with spell glyphs in gold thread. She was striding out of the tower gate beside herself with rage.

“Whoever the Heaven you think you are,” the woman snarled, “you’ve got a thirty second head start before I rip you to pieces.”

“Scorpina, I presume? My name is Brinlen of Tarus. These are mine: Akara and Torruas, apprentices of my lineage. Your reputation precedes you,” Brinlen replied, utterly unruffled.

Scorpina’s eyes narrowed. “As does yours,” she said, and there was a note of caution in her voice. “But you don’t want the kind of fight you’ve been asking for. Wrecking my defenses, barging in uninvited, killing my slave…”

Brinlen laughed, a small, soul-chilling sound. “Come now. You know the only law that holds between we of the Dark is the right of strength. We could come in. We did. Be more upset your defenses weren’t up to the task.”

The anger in Scorpina’s eyes didn’t cool – if anything, it intensified – but it boiled down into small, brutally hot flames contained just within her eyes. “What do you want?”

“What’s mine,” Rita said as she ended the first spell: an invisibility spell hiding herself.

Scorpina’s eyes popped when she saw Rita. Never slow on the uptake, it took Scorpina maybe two seconds to put together what was happening, then her hands were flying in spellwork.

“Ah ah,” Rita cautioned. “You don’t want to do that. Look again.”

Scorpina’s eyes flickered across the diagram Rita had laid out on her courtyard. She sucked in a breath and, with great reluctance, lowered her hands to her sides. The third, most complex spell Rita had worked was an enslavement spell, and she’d completed all but the last gesture and word. It was a loaded gun pointing straight at Scorpina.

“Rita,” Scorpina said, her tone straining to be friendly, “there’s no need for all this. If you wanted to talk, you could simply have asked. I have plenty of time to speak to an old friend like you.”

Rita’s smile was nearly as wintry as Brinlen’s eyes. “I’m evil, Scorpina, not an amnesiac. I remember how slippery you are. If I have to walk into your stronghold, I’m doing it on my terms.”

“Then why come here at all? There are many other places we could speak,” Scorpina replied smoothly.

“I told you. You have something that’s mine,” Rita replied.

Scorpina gave a small, incredulous laugh. “What would I have that’s of any value to you?”

The middle of the three spells Rita had cast came to fruition then. Out from the same marble archway walked a second figure. This one was thin, female, and slightly short, like Scorpina, but she was dressed in rags that redefined the word “filthy”. Her mousy brown hair was tied up away from her middling-tan face in a dirty white cloth, revealing round, confused eyes of piercing green. Exhaustion seeped from her every pore. “Why…” Evelyn of Eltare murmurred in confusion.

Scorpina glanced behind her, then winced and shut her eyes. Now that Evelyn was outside, she could read the compulsion spell that had brought her prisoner out, face-to-face with the one person who couldn’t find out that she lived. “How did you know?”

“Goldar told me,” Rita said.

Shock showed on Scorpina’s face for only a moment, then it was replaced by disgust and disappointment. “What did he get for it?”

“First henchbeast, a few planets, and his free will. Less than you could have gotten if you’d joined me, instead of holding this little bitch to use against us. I should kill you.”

“Akara,” Brinlen ordered. Her apprentice gave Scorpina a wide berth as she jogged over to grab Evelyn by the arm and pull her toward Rita. The former Ranger offered only token, disoriented resistance. Scorpina tracked them, fury blazing in her eyes, clearly wanting to attack.

“It wasn’t like that,” Scorpina protested in mild tones instead. “I wasn’t even thinking about you. She’s mine.”

Rita flicked her a small smile. “Not anymore.”

Rita spoke a word so evil that it made Evelyn moan in pain. The prepared magics flew out and around Scorpina. The sorceress tried to throw off Rita’s spell, but even as prepared as she was for it, she only held it back for a few seconds. When the metaphysical dust cleared, Scorpina was on her knees, head bowed, panting hard.

Evelyn stared at Scorpina as she was dragged past. It wasn’t until Akara had brought her all the way to Rita that the exhausted girl realized who she was being brought to. “Rita?” she gasped. Hope lit in her green eyes.

A little, terrible smile flickered on Rita’s pale lips. Her fist caught Evelyn in the gut and winded her effortlessly. Evelyn sank toward the ground in Akara’s grip.

“I’d love to drag this out,” Rita said, “but that would be about the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Goodbye, Eve.”

There was something in Evelyn’s eyes as she looked up at Rita that was utterly like Dulcea. It could have been her own child looking up at her, her horror and betrayal and confusion. Bitter rage filled the witch. Rita’s mouth twisted into a snarl as she formed the spell to kill her former best friend.

“Wait.”

It was Scorpina’s voice. A few minutes ago, such a protest wouldn’t have given Rita pause, but now Scorpina was compelled to act in Rita’s best interests. Rita paused.

“What is it, slave?” she said.

“There’s a spell,” Scorpina said. “Old magic. Way to corrupt a Power Coin, create an evil Ranger. She has to be alive.”

Rita slowly let the terrible light of her spell dissipate. “Well,” she said, smirking down at her former Teammate, “isn’t it your lucky day.”

Tears were rolling down Eve’s cheeks. “What’s wrong? Rita, please. Help me…”

Rita’s face lit up with malevolent joy. “You didn’t tell her?” she asked Scorpina. Her new slave shook her head. She laughed. “Oh, Eve. This is going to be fun.” She turned then to the servants she’d brought with her. “I’ll have a mage pact from each of you on your secrecy.”

The two apprentices paled. “Is that really necessary?” Brinlen protested on their behalf. A mage pact was a huge thing to ask another mage for – binding a promise into one’s magic so that the magic itself would forbid them from breaking their word. It was especially frowned upon because Light mages were wont to use them to “build trust and cooperation.”

“Only if you want to leave here alive,” Rita replied. “I’m not throwing away a chance at an evil Ranger, and I’m taking zero risks about letting Evelyn live. Now, or die here in her place.”

Brinlen bowed her head obediently. A few incantations and drops of blood from each of them later, the compulsion to keep silent about Evelyn settled in them like a silken cord gently squeezing their hearts.

“As for you,” Rita said, turning to Scorpina, who was still kneeling, “once we leave, you can go back to whatever petty plots you were up to. I’m keeping you in reserve until I find the right use for you.”

Scorpina’s right hand twitched as if longing to draw her sword, but the spell wouldn’t let her. “And Evelyn?”

“Oh, she’ll stay here, for now. I can’t have anyone finding out about her.” Rita paused and looked down at Evelyn. The former Ranger was sitting on the ground, staring up at her in utter horror but not acting. Rita frowned. This wasn’t like Evelyn, and it wasn’t from Rita’s spellwork either. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She hasn’t slept in a month,” Scorpina replied obediently. “I put an immortality spell on her. It gave me more options.”

“You can work an immortality spell?” Rita asked with a slow blink. Scorpina had never let on she had that level of magical skill. The sorceress didn’t look happy to admit it now, either, but she nodded. “How interesting. We’ll talk more on that soon. And perhaps,” she said with a twisted smile for Evelyn, “I’ll have to come pay Eve a visit every now and again. You won’t object, of course.”

“No, mistress.”

“I thought not.” Suddenly, she shot one foot out to hit Eve in the chest. The strike, far from perfect, still sent Evelyn toppling to the ground. Rita planted the foot on her chest and pressed down with sad*stic delight. “Mine,” she hissed. Beneath her, Evelyn let out a single, broken sob.

She released Evelyn and spun on her heel. “Come,” she ordered her ice-mage servants, “we’re done here. I have an appointment to keep.”

And Rita strode away, flanked by mages powerful enough to destroy worlds in their own right as her honor guard. From within the spell imprisoning her, Scorpina fumed. Maybe turning Rita to evil hadn’t been her greatest triumph after all.

(End Prologue)

Chapter 20: Picnic

Chapter Text

As a physical and psychological break, Rae’nor’s Team met up once a week, if not all together, at least in twos or threes to spend a few hours doing something other than leading a war. Besides the strain of leadership itself, it was hard for the bonded Coins' bearers to be apart. The end of the eighth week of this pattern and ninth month (by Eltarian reckoning) of the war found Allaise and Kiori with the children on Morpheon.

*****

“Because I don’t like sunpar greens,” Epona replied stubbornly, glaring at the food she’d never tasted. Allaise sighed.

“Look, they’re really yummy. Watch,” Allaise said, and ate a spoonful of the cooked Kerovan plant dish. Epona wasn’t moved even slightly.

“Honey, you can’t have just Terran food,” Kiori said, shifting to the frontal assault. Epona promptly pouted. “We can’t get it regularly enough. You’d be so hungry you couldn’t play with Kiren.”

“Play?” Kiren asked hopefully, looking up from his plate of greens. Now nearly a year old, he had worked out a vocabulary of around a hundred words, only half of them Eltarian. That one was a Terran word he’d picked up from his sister, and one of his favorites.

Epona looked at him, then at the greens, then plopped down and started eating. [Finally,] Kiori sighed to her friend with relief.

“How go the Horoth battles?” Allaise asked. Kiori had just soothed a tense incident with their Horothian allies over Repulssa’s invasion of one of their outlying worlds.

“Surprisingly well. There really aren’t enough troops opposing their forces to even break through the front lines,” Kiori answered.

“I’m having the same problem,” Allaise sighed.

Kiori stared at her. “I’d hardly call it a problem.”

“Yeah, well... it just feels like... I dunno, like we don’t have the full picture. This can’t be all she’s plotting. If it were, she’d put her best generals in the field, plan a coherent strategy.... As it is, the only general out in the open is the Wizard, and he’s just there to pick on Zordon. I can’t shake the feeling she’s got something else brewing, something we don’t even know about.”

Kiori laughed. “Come on, we’re winning! That’s all.”

"Maybe."

After their picnic, Allaise was quickly pulled into one of Epona's games, which she'd kindly modified so that her still-wobbly-legged brother could play, too. The game dissolved at various points into a tickle-fest that set all three laughing. "Get over here!" Allaise called out through giggles at one of these points.

"No thanks, I'm going to go exploring," Kiori said with a smile at her children and Teammate.

"You don't know what you're miss-eek!" Allaise yelped as Epona tickled her.

Kiori laughed but stood to walk off anyway.

"Just don't get lost and make me come find you again like last time!" Allaise called after her.

The Black Ranger slipped between the towering, slender trees of Morpheon. Kiori meandered about at first, giving the impression of a casual stroll. Once sure that she had moved far enough that Allaise couldn't see her, she lifted her trailing black skirts and ran. There'd be hell to pay if she were late.

*****

Though she did arrive on time, Rita Repulssa was scowling at her before she even came to a stop. "Empress," Kiori said, bowing low.

"Where's the child?" Rita asked.

"I... I couldn't."

Repulssa's eyes flashed furiously. She took two long strides to stand in front of Kiori, examined her closely, then slapped her. "You've been fighting my spell. How dare you! I'm generous enough to bring you to the winning side, under my personal control, and you try to fight me?" Repulssa shrieked.

"Please don't hurt Epona. Anyone but my children. Please."

Rita considered for a moment. "Allaise."

Kiori shivered in disgust but nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Empress."

"But if you ever try to resist me again, I'll make you cut your daughter's throat. Understand?" Rita said coldly. Kiori nodded. "Good." Rita put one hand on Kiori's chest and muttered a complex incantation. Black light traveled from Repulssa's hand to surge through the Ranger, traveling into her brown eyes, which glowed black for a moment before returning to normal. "Do it now, immediately."

"Yes, Empress." Kiori bowed and left, rushing back through the trees. Repulssa sighed in aggravation as she watched the Ranger leave.

"She's strong-willed," said Brinlen as she walked up to her side, releasing her invisibility spell.

"Eltarians,” Rita said with disgust. “I've got the most powerful spell I can hide from Zordon running on her, and she still fights." Rita sighed. "I'll have to use the Morslucis ritual to keep her. Tonight: I've put too much energy into her now; Zordon will know the moment he sees her, and he can undo any spell I could cast. If only I had something to seal the spell with, I could’ve... ah well."

"Is she really worth the Morslucis?" Brinlen asked.

"What is it worth to have Zordon's wife permanently, irreversibly evil?" Rita laughed. "It could win me the war."

*****

"Back already?" Allaise asked, spotting Kiori emerge from the trees with a handful of purple flowers in her hand.

"Mommee!" Kiren cried happily. Epona rushed forward to hug her mother. Kiori crouched down and received the hug, holding her child for a slow ten-count. When Epona wiggled away impatiently, Kiori handed her the flowers.

"Now go play with your brother, there's a good girl." Kiori kissed Kiren’s forehead gently, ran her fingers lovingly through his curly black hair, straightened, and motioned to Allaise to follow her.

"What's up?" Allaise asked once they were out of the kids' earshot.

"It's a little embarrassing," Kiori said quietly. "Those mobile pocket dimensions Zordon set up for us to keep our Morphers in — I can't seem to open mine. Could you show me the stance again?"

Allaise smiled. "Sure thing!" She reached behind her, focused, and pulled out her Morpher. "Does that- hey!" Allaise changed her words entirely when Kiori snatched the Morpher out of her hands. "What was that for?" she asked, shocked.

Kiori reached her right hand behind her back. When she withdrew it again, instead of Allaise's Morpher, she held a silver dagger. Allaise's eyes bugged out. "What the Dark?" she swore, backing away. Kiori pursued her, forcing her to move away from Epona and Kiren into the forest. "Kiori, you're scaring me.”

"Now," Kiori said, her voice low, "would be a good time to run."

"What?"

The Black Ranger struck out at Allaise. The knife sliced her shallowly across the chest. Allaise gave a scream and ran. Kiori calmly pursued at barely a jog.

On feet made for dance, Allaise easily outpaced Kiori. But the Black Ranger didn't need to see Allaise to chase her: her tremorsense told her every time Allaise's delicate, dexterous feet touched the ground.

[There's nowhere to go, 'Laise. We're miles from everyone,] Kiori sent.

[Why? Why are you doing this?!] Allaise asked, her "voice" teary and terrified.

[My Empress commands a sacrifice.]

It took most of an hour for Kiori to catch up to Allaise, but she did. For all her speed and grace, at a full-out run Allaise tired quickly. The Pink Ranger put on a fresh burst of speed when she saw Kiori closing behind her, but she couldn't hide from Kiori’s senses and she couldn’t outstrip her any longer, only stay just ahead. Allaise focused desperately hard on the forest floor beneath her — even her feet could trip when she was this tired, and if she fell, it was all over.

On and on they ran through the forest, across a river, up and down gently rolling hills. Allaise lost all sense of time and had to force herself every second to keep running, keep breathing....

She slipped. Kiori was on her in an instant. She felt the knife stab into her back and screamed with what little breath she had left. Kiori pulled the knife out and forced Allaise on to her back. High over Kiori's head, Allaise saw with a thrill of horror Rita Repulssa herself hovering on a strange two-wheeled machine. For a second, Kiori just held the knife above her Teammate. Was she hesitating?

[Kiori, please, for the love of Light-]

Kiori brought the knife down, and both Rangers blacked out.

Chapter 21: Eye for an Eye

Chapter Text

"What do you mean, she's missing?" Zordon frowned at the Horothian commander over the viewscreen. "She was supposed to be there two hours ago."

[She is not. I have spoken with the Morpheon coordinator. He located your children, alone, and taken them into safekeeping. They are the only Eltarian Signatures on the planet.]

Zordon felt a thrill of fear. He’d be quite disappointed in Allaise for leaving the children unsupervised -- but there was nothing in all the worlds that could make Kiori leave them like that. "Thank you," he said to the Horothian.

He switched the communication off, then called Aemil. [Hi, Zordon!] the Red Ranger greeted happily.

“Has Allaise checked in with you yet?” Zordon asked. The two skirmishing Rangers were keeping in constant contact to coordinate their movements.

[No. I was just about to call you,] Aemil answered, smile fading to his usual worried frown.

“Kiori’s missing, too. They were supposed to have lunch together on Morpheon, and the children are there, but neither of their Signatures are showing up on the planet.” Zordon considered a moment. “Call Ferin. The two of you meet me on Morpheon.”

[What about Rae?]

Zordon shook his head. “Can’t; the battles on Kerova are too fierce right now. Just leave a message at headquarters for him to find next time he’s there.”

[Zordon... what do you think’s happened?] Aemil asked.

Zordon hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

*****

“And this is where you were eating?” Zordon asked Epona gently. The four-year-old nodded.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“We’ll talk about it later, little berry. I need you to go back to the base, find Kiren in the nursery, and take him up to the ship with you. Will you do that for me?” Epona nodded. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” Epona hugged him, then ran back the way they’d come. Zordon smiled fondly. She always refused to teleport until she’d run herself out of breath first.

Red and Yellow teleportation streaks landed within seconds of each other. “This is where they were last seen,” Zordon said without preamble. “Let’s look around here first.”

“But if their Signatures aren’t on the planet, then they’d only be here if... if they were dead,” Aemil said haltingly. Zordon nodded.

“I don't expect to find them here. But this is the last place they were; no better place to find clues,” Zordon said.

“I’ll talk to transport control,” Ferin said. “I’m no good at ground-work anyway, and if any teleportation signals were registered in the area or going to someplace they shouldn’t...”

“Good idea,” Zordon agreed. She teleported in a brilliant Yellow streak, and Zordon and Aemil set to work. They hadn’t turned up anything but breadcrumbs — literally — before Ferin returned a half hour later.

“Anything?” Aemil asked hopefully.

“A long shot. It’s about 5 miles from here, but it’s the right time frame: 90 minutes after Epona says she last saw them. And it’s the only one remotely near by at the right time.”

“Let’s get going,” Zordon said. The three teleported in primary-colored streaks of light.

*****

They landed in a stretch of unremarkable Morpheonic forest. “Great,” Aemil sighed.

“Spread out,” Zordon said. “Maybe there’s something...”

It took them only a few minutes of searching this time. “Here, quick!” Ferin called to the other two. They rushed to join her, catching up just as she bent to examine gingerly a bloodied towel.

“What?” Zordon frowned, puzzled. He knelt next to her. Ferin lifted an unstained corner of it. Something inside it jingled. Wincing at the necessity of touching the towel more, Ferin unfolded it. The two missing Rangers’ Power Coins shone eagerly within. The Yellow and Blue Rangers stared at each other aghast.

“This makes no sense!” Zordon said, his frustration breaking the surface. “Any of Repulssa's servants would’ve taken their Coins, too!”

“At least we can run a deoxyribonucleic acid test on this,” Ferin said.

“Guys,” Aemil said faintly. He’d stepped a couple paces beyond the towel and had spotted what the other two hadn’t: a Pink-clad body lying on the ground some hundred feet away. He ran toward it at top speed as the other two stood, confused, to follow. Ten paces away, Aemil stopped cold.

“What?!” Zordon called ahead to him.

“It’s her,” Aemil tried to say, but it came out only a whisper. Zordon ran up and likewise stopped in his tracks to stare at the blood-soaked body. She was not only clearly dead but mutilated. Ferin paused, took in the sight, and ran to Allaise’s side.

“Laise! Laise! Come on, baby, wake up!” Ferin said, cradling Allaise’s head in her lap as her Teammates looked on in horror. “It’s me, baby, it’s Ferin... oh please...”

Even as his eyes flooded with tears for Ferin’s suffering, Zordon felt a rage sweep through him hotter than any he’d known save under the Shard’s power. “This isn’t how to fight a war,” he said furiously.

“It is if you want to win,” a very familiar voice taunted in his ear. Zordon spun reflexively to strike, but his constant opponent caught his wrist. “You think that’s anger, what you’re feeling?” he said in Sorcha’s cheery voice before shifting to his common form, a black-robed man with long, dark hair, wearing a mask with fire where his mouth should be. The Wizard of Deception laughed. “You have no idea what anger is. Rita’s only just begun.”

“Where’s my wife?!” Zordon yelled, ripping his arm free and launching into attack. The Wizard of Deception dodged several blows until at last, Zordon landed a powerful side kick... that went straight through his opponent’s illusory torso. Zordon spat a curse.

The Wizard of Deception laughed. “Nowhere you can reach her.”

“*Where is she*?!” Zordon screamed.

“Go bury your dead,” the Wizard answered, and his illusion shimmered out of existence. Zordon stared at the vacant spot. Behind him, Ferin descended into broken moans.

“What... what do we do?” Aemil asked desperately through tears.

Zordon fingered the two Coins in his hand. “Eye for an eye.”

*****

Lord Naatam was just settling down to sleep after a long, hard day’s battle in the Orion sector when a flash of blue-black fire in his darkened quarters brought him to his feet again. “What- Zordon?” he gasped. Thanks to highly unorthodox training, only one mage alive had a teleportation spell that looked like Zordon’s.

His room lights came on, revealing his apprentice. His young face was grim. “Brinlen’s hiding on Panga’s larger moon. She has 8 of her apprentices there with her.”

Naatam stared at Zordon with deep suspicion. In the month since Zordon had ordered him to retreat from Brinlen and her Tarus mages, he’d carefully kept all information about the ice mages’ whereabouts out of Naatam’s hands. “Why?”

“I want you to kill them.”

Naatam stared at him. The next second, he scrambled to his feet, rushed to his comm panel, and ordered his second-in-command to start the mages’ fleet moving to Panga. “Why?” he asked again, turning back to Zordon. Only then did he see the still-wet tear streaks on Zordon’s face.

“Laise is dead. Murdered. Kiori’s missing.”

“And... you think Brinlen did it?”

“I think Brinlen’s one of the few people Repulssa cares about.”

“I see.” Naatam looked troubled for a moment, then nodded. There was a savage, alien look in the Lord-Regnant's eyes that echoed Zedd’s fury after Eve’s murder. For the first time, Zordon knew exactly how they felt. “About damned time.”

*****

Atalanta had just finished the morning battle conference on Kaola and dismissed her lieutenants when a person-height burst of black-twined blue fire erupted in the commanders’ tent. She jumped back and cried out before the fire died away to reveal Zordon.

“Zordon?” the Kerovan captain asked in amazement. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t mean to usurp your authority, Captain,” Zordon said, “but I’m going to usurp your authority. I’m taking command of this outpost effective immediately.”

“Yes, sir!” Atalanta said enthusiastically.

“What’s the situation?”

“Not good, sir,” she said. She motioned him to the battle map that she’d just been going over with her assistants. “Repulssa’s forces control the eastern continents and the Archipelago, our major population centers. We’re fending them off on both shores here in the west, but we can’t keep it up.”

“And the people?”

“Here, scared but fighting. There, captive but very few harmed, from what we can tell. Our orbital forces are still sufficient to keep them from taking our people off-world, but that won’t last much longer.” Atalanta gave a shudder. Kerovans were incredibly valuable on the Dark slave markets because they lived naturally for about forty thousand years each. For the same reason, slavery was a horrifying fate for a Kerovan. “If her generals can get even one slaver ship out of the galaxy, she’ll have more money than she knows how to spend on this war,” Atalanta said quietly.

“Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

She gave him a pained look. “You sound very certain.”

Zordon smiled. He studied the map briefly, then asked, “Their headquarters are in the capitol, right?”

“Yes,” Atalanta said, staring at him. “But we don’t have the forces to assault it…”

“And where’s Rae’nor?”

She pointed out the single white marker on the board. It had about twenty black, red, and yellow markers hemmed in against a mountain range at the edge of the western continent.

“Good. That leaves plenty for me.” In another flash of blue-black fire, Zordon was gone.

*****

“Retreat! *Retreat*!” called a Dark lieutenant not fifteen minutes later. His forces didn’t need the encouragement: they were fleeing in complete disorder in the face of hundred-foot arcs of fire swinging through the air from Zordon’s hands as he advanced. As they reached the opposite end of the tiny Archipelago island, the troops jumped in panic into the ocean, swimming toward the next island.

The lieutenant paused to look in horror at his fleeing forces, and a powerful blow caught him at the nape of his neck. He fell to the ground, groaning. Someone turned him over on to his back, and he realized with a thrill of dread that it was Zordon himself. The war-wizard’s pale young face was flushed with rage.

“Please, no...” the lieutenant had time to beg before Zordon broke his neck.

Zordon scanned the sea before him and spotted the next of the Archipelago islands not three miles away. He lifted himself effortlessly into the air and flew toward it, swirling the ocean below into whirlpools as he went so that the fleeing Dark soldiers drowned.

*****

The Kerova invasion commander, Thurn Abhorro, hardly looked up from “his” desk in the President’s office in Kaola’s capitol when he received the first report about the Archipelago. Thurn looked a lot like Firete Repugna, Master Vile’s youngest sister: generally ogrelike, with nicely demonic red eyes contrasting with long, braided blue hair. Though he was Firete Repugna’s eldest son, this similarity was quite remarkable: in the Vilus family, soaked as it was in the richest Dark magics, children rarely resembled their parents. His mother had been shocked when her eldest had volunteered two months ago to join his cousin’s war, as few Viluses had yet dared stick their necks out, but she couldn’t protest. It was an excellent chance for the young man to make a name for himself. Though physically powerful and excellent at combat strategy, Thurn, like Master and Mistress Vile’s toddler son Rito, was embarrassingly inept at magic.

He did, however, have the family knack of overconfidence. “What do you mean we’ve lost the Archipelago. There are 87 islands in the Archipelago, ninety thousand troops. Be more specific, soldier.”

“No, ssir. We’ve losst the Archipelago. All of it.”

Thurn Abhorro looked up at the Vasukiin lieutenant, who looked as terrified and angry as someone should who just drew the short stick in the contest to avoid telling their commander extremely bad news. “How?” he asked in blank shock.

“We’re... ssir, we don’t know. There aren’t any ssurvivorsss.”

The wonderful dreams of glory and wealth Thurn had been immersed in shattered. “WHAT!?!” he demanded, rising to his feet and towering over the Kerovan president’s puny wooden desk. The wood splintered slightly where he gripped it.

The Vasukiin whimpered a little but forced herself to continue. “Ssome sort of... forsse swept through the Archipelagoss in the last two hourss. S-s-s-sssensorss read it as magical,” she stuttered in reptilian terror.

“A mage. What kind of mage can destroy ninety thousand beings in 87 islands in TWO HOURS?!” Thurn roared. He grabbed a beautiful marble statuette from the desk and hurled it at the Vasukiin. The dexterous serpentoid slithered aside automatically, and it shattered against the book-lined wall, dusting books with pulverized marble. She stared at the marble dust in horror.

“This kind.”

Thurn spun around. A pale, black-haired human in dark blue wizard’s robes leaned casually against the wall behind him.

“That concludesss my report,” the Vasukiin said in a small voice and slithered toward the door. The small, fragile-looking human merely glanced at the retreating lieutenant, and she gave a high, squealing hiss of pain. Thurn turned to look. The Vasukiin was writhing in pain and terror as she was slowly transformed into stone from the tip of her tail up. Thurn watched, transfixed with curiosity and horror, until her last cry was cut off. The young Vilus shut his eyes and thought of his mother, then mustered his courage and faced the mage.

“And who are you?” he asked.

“I?” The man looked faintly surprised. “I am Zordon Sorchae Naatami, Wizard of War, Voyaging Rangerum Caeruleum Eltari, Protector Solus Terrae, and the last person you’re ever going to see.”

Thurn Abhorro nodded slightly. “I’d guessed that last part,” he said quietly.

“I just have one question,” Zordon said. He pushed himself off from the wall. The moment his arms uncrossed, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists, belying his casual, calm voice. “Where is my wife?”

“Don’t have a clue,” Thurn said icily.

Zordon smiled. “Oh, I was really hoping you’d say that.”

*****

Atalanta was just getting the first unbelievable reports about the Archipelago herself when the blue-twined black fire flared again in the middle of her tent. The messenger who’d been giving her the report cried out. “No, no, it’s just Zordon,” she reassured him confidently. Sure enough, when the flame vanished, Zordon stood there. He looked dishevelled and terrifying in his anger.

“Um, if you don’t mind, Captain, I’m still gonna run away,” said the messenger, gulping. The messenger took four long strides and exited the tent.

“What’s wrong?” Atalanta asked. “You... you just did a thing I’d have sworn was impossible — a miracle. You saved us.”

“He didn’t know,” Zordon said. Atalanta hesitated, not sure whether the young Eltarian was talking to her or himself. “I was so sure he’d know...”

“Who?” Atalanta asked.

Zordon staggered suddenly and had to catch himself on the rim of the 3-D continental battle map. “Are you hurt?” Atalanta gasped.

“No, it’s... I’m just a little tired...”

“Well sure you-” Atalanta said with relief.

Another messenger skidded into the tent. “Captain! Captain!” the teenage Kerovan called out in a panic.

“I’m here,” Atalanta said, striding to him quickly. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Rae’nor!”

Zordon looked up slowly from the battle map to the messenger, his eyes filled with dark, furious disbelief.

Chapter 22: White Magic

Chapter Text

“RAE!” Zordon spotted the still, white-clad figure below him at the base of a sandy, weedy hill. He ran down so fast he lost his balance and slid down the hill, coming back to his feet instantly at the bottom and stumbling across the remaining distance. Zordon collapsed at the White Ranger’s side, too breathless to talk and almost too panicked to breathe.

The elderly Eltarian man opened his eyes. “Zordon?” he asked, puzzled. His voice was very weak. Zordon looked him over quickly but found only a few energy weapon burns and a shallow stab wound in Rae’nor’s side, none of it life-threatening. Zordon felt faint with relief. “I’m sorry... they took your sword...” Rae’nor said softly.

“I don’t care,” Zordon said fiercely, “just don’t trick me again! They told me you were dead!”

Rae’nor smiled ruefully. “Timing's a little off. There’s poison in that.” Rae’nor lifted a hand feebly to indicate the stab wound.

“Okay, I can work with that,” Zordon said. He hadn’t tried healing magic yet, but he hadn’t found a kind of magic he couldn’t do since he spoke to the Power. He focused deeply on the wound. With frightening slowness, he felt the knowledge come to him. “Just hang on,” he told Rae’nor. The new knowledge told him how far the poison had spread, how much pain it was causing... Zordon reeled in fright from the new sense, but he gathered himself together firmly; he had no time to be scared. Zordon reached out with his Power.

Nothing happened.

Zordon stared at his empty hands. There should’ve been a little ball of light between them, ready to heal his friend. Confused, Zordon tried again, and again nothing happened. “Rae, I... I don’t understand,” he said.

Rae’nor’s keen brown eyes found the stain of Thurn’s blood on Zordon’s dark robes. “You’ve killed someone in anger,” he said quietly. “The Power never lets White magic follow Black.”

“Okay... okay, I’ll get you back to camp. Find someone else...”

“No time,” Rae’nor whispered.

“Of course there is! I’ll-”

“No!” Rae’nor’s voice was weak but angry. “I’m old and I'm ready, son. Let me go.”

Zordon stared at him. “No. You can’t. I can’t...”

“You can,” Rae’nor said sternly. “You have to learn this! You’ve given us such hope — fighting back, changing Eltare itself! Don’t ruin it now. You’re better than this.”

It sank in: Rae’nor was going to die not because of Repulssa, not because of the Wizard of Deception or Brinlen or any of their enemies... but because of his anger. His leader would die because Zordon had killed a man who’d pleaded for mercy... thousands who’d pleaded... The enormity of his crime crashed over him, and suddenly no amount of pain or grief justified it. “I’m sorry,” Zordon gasped through tears. “I’m so sorry...”

Just as he had after the Shard, Rae’nor said without hesitation, “I forgive you.” Zordon knew the second part, though Rae’nor was too weak to say it. Rae’nor smiled a smile of deep calm. “Tell Kiori I love her,” he whispered. His eyes closed. With the smile still on his face, he died.

At those words, Zordon couldn’t fight any longer. The storm of grief broke through him. He collapsed over Rae’nor’s white-clad body and cried bitter, unrestrained tears.

A familiar voice chuckled behind him, but Zordon ignored it. Eventually it stopped. Long minutes after that, when the storm within had subsided into gently gray skies, Zordon wiped his eyes and nose magically with a wave of one hand, and with the other teleported Rae’nor’s body back to the Kerovans’ camp. He stood, turned, and walked away, passing within inches of the Wizard of Deception without sparing him a glance. The Wizard watched him walk by with speechless confusion.

End Book 3

Chapter 23: Book 4: Weapons of War -- Chapter 1: The Intergalactic Peace Force

Chapter Text

Book 4: Weapons of War

Zordon stayed on Kaola for two days. Aemil and Ferin joined him there. Ferin hardly said a word to anyone, but otherwise she was reacting just like Aemil and just as Zordon had at first: ready to rip apart anything evil she could find in vengeance. In the course of that first, long afternoon together, Zordon told them why Rae’nor had really died and what he’d used his last breaths trying to explain to Zordon. The three remaining Rangers helped each other heal enough to celebrate Rae’nor’s and Allaise’s honor rites.

With their Teammates’ memories laid to rest and Ferin and Aemil returned to their missions, Zordon fought back Thurn Abhorro’s remaining forces from Kaola very differently: using magic to intimidate and trap instead of kill, he offered each Dark minion a chance to surrender. Though a few of Thurn’s lieutenants fought to the death, the peons were desperate to take Zordon’s offer: tales of the slaughter on the Archipelago had spread like wildfire as a tiny handful of survivors surfaced on the mainland to recount it. The invaders' morale was shredded, and nearly every evil being on the planet surrendered to Zordon at the first opportunity.

Within a week, Zordon had traveled to and accepted surrenders from all the invaders and had orchestrated corralling them safely together in a few large prison zones. This created a problem that, for the first time since he began the war, required Zordon to contact his own dimension. After he took the capitol, the last stronghold to fall (to its knees and beg for mercy), Zordon rallied a wholly different sort of bravery and used the Kerovan Parliament House’s interdimensional communication system to call home.

[Greetings from Eltare, the pinnacle of all Light and Goodness, how may I direct your call?] the receptionist asked cheerily. She glanced up at her caller and gagged. Struggling powerfully to maintain professional dignity, she managed to re-plaster the pleasant smile on her face in a few seconds.

“Headquarters of the InterGalactic Police Force, please,” Zordon said.

[Um, sure. I mean,] she said, flashing a nervous smile, [please wait one moment while your call is transferred, and may your day be filled with Peace and Joy. Seriously,] she added with a wink.

“And yours as well,” Zordon replied politely just as her face faded away. In its place appeared a helmeted and visored blue and white robot head.

[Time-critical, temporal non-critical, or atemporal situation?] the robot asked.

“Temporal... time critical, actually,” Zordon said with a sudden thought to the amount of food the prisoners would need for dinner.

[Transferring.] The head faded out, to be replaced by the image of an identical blue and white head in an identical room. Zordon withheld a sigh; being transferred around the IGPF was especially boring.

[Location of temporal crisis,] the new head requested.

“Capitol city, Kaola, Kerova system, Persean sector, Milky Way Galaxy, Primus Mensura-” Zordon had to glance at the Kaolan Prime Minister’s table clock to continue, “4:15 post-meridian, 12th-diurn 5-moon.”

Another transfer, another identical police android. [Nature of temporal crisis.]

“260,000 Dark beings just surrendered to me.”

After a long pause, the android said, [Transferring.]

Like most Voyaging Rangers, Zordon had occasionally dealt with the IGPF. They were the authority to which any captured evil beings were delivered to be rehabilitated or imprisoned, in the rare event that Rangers caught one alive. Zordon had never, ever been transferred to a live person. He hadn’t thought there were organics serving in the IGPF. And yet, a face replaced the last identical policebot head that was very much human.

The person he was transferred to seemed as surprised as he by the call. [What in Prime Space-] the woman muttered, putting down a piece of paper she was reading to look at him. She gave off a powerful impression of a librarian: thin-lipped and sharp-eyed, graying hair pulled back into a severe bun, with a deep scowl on her brown face as though someone had just giggled out of turn. Seghtu, perhaps? A moment later, she drew back and straightened. Had she recognized him? [Zordon of Eltare, are you aware that you are currently in violation of 3 major and 16 minor Council codes?]

“Not the precise numbers, no,” Zordon said, withholding a groan. One major violation was grounds for immediate arrest. He wasn’t really surprised, but he hadn’t thought it through. It really wouldn’t help the war effort at all if he were arrested by the IGPF. At least Repulssa's forces would be too busy for the first day or so laughing their heads off to take advantage.

[Well, now you are. What can I do for you?]

Zordon reeled: he’d expected her to call in his arrest orders. “Um... well, I’d be quite grateful if you’d take the 260,000 Dark prisoners who just surrendered to me off of my hands.”

The woman considered. [Two hundred and sixty thousand?] she asked with delicate emphasis on each word of the figure. Zordon nodded. [Well. I’ll see what I can arrange. A representative should arrive within one local hour.]

“Will the representative arrest me too?” Zordon asked.

One corner of her mouth tugged upward, but she banished the smile before it really formed. [That won’t be necessary. At the moment.] She quietly terminated the communication link.

Zordon sat stock still for the three seconds he had in which to cope with the idea of a commander of the IGPF throwing aside her own regulations on his account. At the end of those three seconds, a Kerovan came rushing into his room. “Zordon, you’re needed. There’s a new offensive shaping up in the Geminid sector.”

“Who’s leading it?” Zordon asked after firmly shoving the IGPF out of his thoughts.

“We don’t know yet. But that’s not the problem.”

Zordon turned in his chair to frown at the messenger. “Problem?”

Chapter 24: The Nafto's Last Transmission

Chapter Text

“This is all we’ve been able to recover so far of the Nafto’s last transmission,” King Lexian’s war council representative, his heir Prince Dregon, explained in the Kerovan Senate House. It was the next day, and the venerable hall was now filled with a representative from each planet, clan, and Team fighting in the war. With Kaola free again, it was quickly named headquarters for the Light forces. Now, all the allies’ representatives had a place to gather in person. 74 representatives nearly filled the stadium-style seats set into three of the four walls of the grand room. Though it would be unfathomably useful to have all the representatives together and talking face-to-face, Zordon hoped that this “problem” wasn’t worth quite this much fuss.

Prince Dregon tapped a massive screen set into the one wall without seating and then took his place among the representatives to watch. The recording showed a blank starfield for a few moments, then a long, narrow, very large black-and-silver something went by in the corner of the screen with an odd undulating motion. The recording faded into snow, then cleared enough to show beams of golden light, the recording ship’s weapons, go arcing toward a long, skinny something that slithered snakelike out of the way before shooting two green bolts toward the camera from one end in return. The points of origin of the two attacking lights stayed visible with afterglow for a few seconds, giving a strong impression of slanted, reptilian eyes. The recording snowed out again, then a third, heavily damaged clip showed a black-and-silver creature of vaguely humanoid design front-flip over a barrage of golden weapons fire in utter defiance of every law of physics in space, then swing a brilliantly silver sword straight at the sensor array. The screen filled with snow, then showed a regular sector starchart with a small red dot indicating the location of the recording’s origin.

“That’s all we received,” Prince Dregon said, turning to the other representatives and the now-three Rangers of Eltare. The grim-faced young man went on, “We’ve had no contact from the four ships in that sector since they sent a distress signal and this recording. All four are presumed destroyed. The worse news is that they were stationed in orbit of one of our minor colonies. We haven’t heard from the colony since, either.”

“What was that thing that attacked them?” the Liarian representative, Ta’ria, asked. Zordon translated for the minuscule, furry wizardess automatically.

“Well,” Dregon said with a precise balance of grim seriousness and blistering sarcasm, “it looks like a giant snake-man-thing.”

“There’s no record of it. Anywhere,” said the Morpheonite representative, who was currently in the form of an apple-green ibbit, a cute, fuzzy Kaolan animal rather like a gerbil. “No known weapon systems or spacecraft correspond to the visual data.”

“Not that there’s a lot to work with,” the Volarite attaché put in nervously. Though Volaren steadfastly refused to fight, after Repulssa’s unprovoked attack on them, they had wanted a voice on the war council anyway. Kiori had just negotiated them a non-voting seat before she disappeared.

“We can’t tell at this point whether it’s a life-form. It's presumably magical, in some way,” Prince Dregon said. “It could certainly be Repulssa’s doing.”

“Has anyone sent a Team to investigate?” Zordon asked.

“Not yet. We’ve been gathering information. We only cleaned up this much of the message an hour ago,” Dregon explained.

“We volunteer,” said the representative of the Fel’Hari Rangers. The announcement earned the calico Red Ranger a growl from Pridechief Mrroundn’s grey-furred representative, who continually tried to claim authority over Fel’Har’s Rangers and demand to be consulted before the Ranger spoke in council. As usual, the white-and-orange-furred Ranger ignored the growl completely. “We will summon a fleet of the finest warriors to obliterate whatever remains of this creature which must hide in shadows to kill.”

“Um, that’s a great offer, guys,” Aemil said with a brave attempt at a diplomatic tone, “but we actually need stealth right now.”

“Then we shall take but a single skirmisher through the shadows and pounce upon this f-”

“And speed. Lady Parra, would you?” Zordon asked.

Lord-Regnant Naatam’s white-haired representative considered, then nodded solemnly. “I’ll depart at once,” she said, standing.

*****

“I’ve just got to get my bag. I’ll join you on your ship?” Zordon asked. Lady Parra gave the single, solemn nod that she gave in answer to most questions, and Zordon hurried back to his “room” in the civic capitol building, a small chamber where he left his essential things when he was in the building.

When he reached the room, he got a surprise: in front of the closed door were a pair of young girls, both black-haired and pale, though one had a tan-brown tone and the other a light gray tone to her skin. They were playing with a small ball, oblivious to a large yellow sea turtle sitting nearby and looking somehow bored. All three snapped to alert when they spotted Zordon. One of the twin girls, the tan-skinned one, gave a little shriek and ran to Zordon so fast that he barely bent quickly enough to receive her hug.

“Epona!” Zordon greeted her with surprise as he lifted her up into his arms. “What are you three doing here?” The comment seemed addressed more toward the turtle than anyone else. The turtle became a blob of dark yellow goo, then the goo expanded and rose up to man-height. The blob turned into a yellow-skinned Eltarian youth with long, intricately-braided gold hair. The Morpheonite, a prominent noble of his world, and his daughter had been taking care of Epona and Kiren for the last week since Kiori went missing there. Zordon tried not to let his worry translate into his body language as he held his daughter.

“No, Zordon, nothing’s wrong,” the Morpheonite said quickly, and Zordon sighed with relief. He wasn’t sure he could handle something else happening to his family.

“I’m coming with you,” Epona said cheerfully.

Zordon practically sucked the sigh of relief back in. “What? Who told you that?” He liked the idea of being closer to Epona in principle, but he was heading into a very dangerous situation. The idea of Epona being exposed to that danger was abhorrent. He looked at her caretaker with deep alarm, and the man shook his head so hard his braids bounced off his skull.

“Nobody. What’s abhorrent?” Epona asked.

Zordon stared at her in confusion... then, slowly, he remembered that most Eltarians began developing telepathic ability around five years old. He hadn’t, but most every talent of his had bloomed late. His daughter, ever ahead of the curve, had apparently started early. He fought to hold in a groan.

“It means very very bad,” he said. “Where did you get that idea, then, if no one told you?”

“I decided. I don’t want to be stuck on silly Morpheon, I want to come with you.” With that, she buried her face in his shoulder and rubbed it back and forth across his dark blue tunic in a thoroughly adorable manner.

The golden-haired “Eltarian” gave a doleful shrug. “I’ve been trying to talk her out of it for two days. Thought you might have better luck, sir.”

“Epona, dear,” Zordon began, “you know I’d love to have you with me, but it’s much too dangerous. You need to stay where it’s safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe. I want to be with you.” Epona was starting to look rather less utterly adorable and rather more stubborn than a mule.

“Epona-” Zordon hesitated. He knew how to dissuade her, but it wasn’t a weapon he’d ever planned to use. Brinlen was the only reference he could thought of that she would really understand. He decided that gentleness was not as important as keeping her safe. “Remember the ice lady?” Predictably, Epona cringed away. “She’s still out there, and she still wants to hurt you. There are other people who would hurt you, too, just as much as she did. That’s why you have to stay on Morpheon.”

Epona was silent, and Zordon thought he’d won — until Epona said, “I don’t care about the ice lady.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I’m coming.”

Zordon was deeply startled. Very gently, he probed her emotions. She was terrified of Brinlen — but she was every bit as determined as she sounded. Before he pulled away from her mind, he caught the edge of a deeper loneliness and fear that was overriding the terror Brinlen had put in her. Horrified, he hugged her tightly and pushed back his own tears. “Oh my precious one, I won't go away like Mommy. I promise,” he said. “I’m...” He caught himself on the edge of an unwise oath — that he was going to bring her mother back — and stopping himself took far too much willpower. He wished so desperately that he would bring her mother home to her, but he couldn't know for sure. This was war.

“You’re not afraid of the ice lady,” Epona said, looking up at him curiously from her vantage point sitting on one hip. “That’s not why I’m not supposed to come. Oh. Is... is this about the dark thing on Mommy?”

Epona was the last person, besides Allaise, to see her mother. He had known this, but he’d decided it didn't matter, as Epona was too young to have noticed much. If she’d already developed telepathy, though, maybe there had been something in Kiori’s thoughts that Epona had picked up. “What dark thing?” he asked, all but holding his breath for a clue about Kiori.

“The dark thing,” Epona repeated in the “well, obviously” tone she used when explaining something to her little brother. “The one that was hiding her pretty light. The dark thing was going away, then it came back darker during our picnic. It wasn’t supposed to be there, not like the ice lady’s,” she added, giving a shiver as she mentioned Brinlen. Misinterpreting her father’s shock, she said angrily, “I’m not making it up!”

“No, I’m sure you’re not,” Zordon said, trying to organize his reeling thoughts. “How long have you seen things like that?”

Epona chewed her lip in thought. “I don't know. Maybe always?” she offered.

“Why... but... you never said...” Zordon was beside himself with shock. If he understood her right, she was describing sensing someone’s alignment on the Morphin Grid. Natural Grid-readers were not something he’d even heard of. Reading the Morphin Grid was a skill that many mages could learn with practice, and it had come easily to him after he’d accepted that he was a mage, but someone otherwise showing no magical skill whatsoever seeing a person’s energy and spells affecting it — and without conscious effort — was inexplicable. She was far too young to have manifested the ability as her Eltarian talent.

“Wow,” said her watcher, who’d changed into a towering, battle-scarred marmalade Fel’Hari without Zordon noticing. “I guess that’s what you get when your father’s Zordon of Eltare.”

*Or maybe not so inexplicable,* Zordon amended inwardly.

“Can I come now?” Epona asked hopefully.

“No,” Zordon said.

“But...” She looked surprised. “But I can help. I’ll be good, I’ll stay out of trouble. Daddy, please don’t leave me again,” she added in a whisper.

The fear in her voice wounded him. He wanted so much to keep her safe, he’d utterly ignored how she might feel. She was very young still, but that was no excuse to ignore her wishes. *And,* he thought, raising his mental guard against Epona for the first time as he did so, *what if I do die? Am I going to waste the last time I could spend with my little girl?*

He took a deep, stabilizing breath and another for bravery. “Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked her softly. Her night-black eyes lit up. “I won’t be able to see you all the time even if you come, and you’ll be in much more danger.”

She nodded seriously. “I know, Father.”

“Kiren has to stay on Morpheon.” He would not allow his baby to face this danger.

Epona hesitated deeply, then took a steadying breath much like his and nodded. “He’s too little,” she agreed.

Zordon looked past her to a very surprised-looking yellow koala bear. “Thanks for taking care of her, but I don’t think you’ll need to any more.” The koala bear stood on its hind legs, bowed, scooped up the tiny black squirrel sitting next to it holding a bouncy ball, and waddled away.

“Bye!” Epona called to the koala and squirrel. The squirrel scrambled to the shoulder of the koala and waved back at Epona. Epona giggled. “Morpheonites are weird!”

Zordon laughed for the first time in a week. He hugged Epona to him tightly, unable to find words to tell her why. “Let’s get going.”

“Yeah! Um... where?” she asked.

Chapter 25: The Pilot

Chapter Text

Lady Parra was not a fan of children. She didn’t say anything — she was a reserved woman who rarely wasted her breath on anything “trivial” — but she glared at Epona each time the girl crossed her path and was more prickly than normal whenever Epona was on her bridge. In other words, she was prickly nearly the entire day-long trip to the Edenite colony of Karner.

Karner was not far from Kaola in fire-mage terms – the fire-mages were the only natives of the Milky Way who regularly visited other galactic clusters – but Lady Parra said that they hadn’t been using their fastest modes of ship propulsion lately to “stay under the radar.” Zordon was surprised, as no one had mentioned any need to stay under radar to him, but he didn’t press for an explanation. Questioning a fire-mage’s tactics on her own bridge was not polite. Questioning a prickly fire-mage anywhere was stupid. He guessed that it had to do with the battles presumably happening between them and the ice-mages since he handed Lord Naatam information about Brinlen.

Fortunately, though there weren’t any children on the ship for Epona to play with, most of Lady Parra’s crew felt quite differently about the young Eltarian’s presence. They were quite happy to have Epona there and eagerly spent their off-duty time with her. This freed Zordon to receive battle updates and give advice and orders when he was needed, which simplified the trip greatly for him.

That said, he spent as much time with Epona as he could. He quickly confirmed that her ability to see the Grid was no minor skill: she could tell Grid alignment effortlessly, any magical skill or spellwork that was directly affecting the alignment — “fire mages are sparkly!” — and even could pick out strong emotions by the pattern within the energy she saw. Epona was quite happy to show off her ability to Zordon once she realized that it wasn’t something that everyone could do, but he counseled her not to show anyone else. She seemed to see the Grid in a way no one else could, and that sort of talent had to be kept quiet in times of war. In addition, Zordon spent some time talking to her about telepathy — as he’d developed telepathy shockingly late and then repressed it for years, he couldn’t teach her much of the skill, but the customs of its use were vital for her to begin to absorb.

Zordon was very worried for her safety, but he was glad to have her with him again. He spent more time laughing that day than in the last month. As they neared their destination, though, Zordon asked Epona to follow an off-duty mage to his quarters and play there. Whatever they found, it seemed best not to have a four-year-old on the bridge when they did.

“Excellent,” Lady Parra said as Epona left.

Zordon looked at her. Was she finally going to say how much his daughter annoyed her?

She met his gaze with the same closed, neutral expression that she always wore. “We’re entering the Karnian system slightly ahead of schedule,” she clarified.

“Ah, wonderful,” he said politely.

He took up a seat next to her command chair as the ship dropped out of hyperrush into normal space. The stars reappeared around them, and they cruised smoothly toward an especially large and bright white one. In a few minutes they were passing the outer planets of the Karnian system. The plan was to first check on the Edenites’ colony, then try to find their missing ships.

“Now approaching Karner Prime,” reported an orange-haired woman at navigation.

A huge blue and yellow sphere dotted with white and gray clouds took over the viewscreen as they neared the colony. Zordon sat forward. He was always eager to see a new planet in person. A moment later he rocked back, blanching. “By the Power.”

Cloud cover couldn’t conceal the vast scorch marks across the planet’s surface. They ran like gashes around the planet. Some looked to be hundreds of miles long. Around them the yellow vegetation had burned away, leaving vast patches of black ash. Zordon guessed that some of the areas were still burning.

“Karner, this is the Ignan ship Beacon requesting permission to enter orbit,” began Parra’s communications mage, speaking into a sound-wave receiver at his station. After a few seconds, he went on, “Karner Colony, this is the Ignan ship Beacon, sent by Prince Dregon of Edenoi and the War Council. Please respond at once.”

Zordon and Lady Parra exchanged troubled glances when the message again got no answer. “Bring us into orbit. Sarrai, begin scanning for major settlements,” Parra ordered.

“Entering orbit,” said the orange-haired helmsmage, though he frowned as he said it. Entering a planet's orbitspace without permission had caused interplanetary wars all on its own. Under the circ*mstances, Zordon could hardly disapprove.

“There’s a lot of interference from ash in the atmosphere,” scarlet-haired Sarrai reported at sensors. Judging by hair color, she was the youngest of the Lady's bridge crew, but she had proven to be quite competent. Like Zordon himself, the wizard mused. “It’s hard to get anything concrete.”

“Planet Karner, Ignan ship Beacon requesting an update on your status. Is anyone listening?” the yellow-haired communications mage added with frustration.

“Problem,” the sensors mage said.

Lady Parra sprang out of her seat and to the sensors station. “Define ‘problem,’” she snapped, looking over Sarrai’s shoulder at the console.

But Sarrai pointed up at the viewscreen. “*That.*”

A long, narrow silver creature had just broken through the outer ring of planetary gases and was slithering toward them, its miles-long body rippling as it moved through the nonexistent atmosphere. Its nearer end was dominated by two massive, glowing red eyes.

“Prepare for battle,” Parra commanded. Zordon caught her eye, surprised by the instant and Fel’Hari-like reaction. “It does no harm to be prepared,” she said mildly.

“It looks just like the thing on the recordings,” one mage commented worriedly.

“Lady,” the communications mage said suddenly, “incoming signal.”

“From the planet?” Zordon asked with relief.

“No, sir. From the, ah, snake.”

Lady Parra paused a second but said, “Let it through.”

A quarter of the massive viewscreen at the front of the bridge went black, replaced a moment later by the silver-and-black interior of a one-man co*ckpit. In the pilot’s chair sat Kiori of Eltare.

Every movement on the ship stopped. Zordon himself felt like someone had just run him through. Kiori looked unhurt -- but she was clearly changed. Delicate black lines like tattoos lightly patterned all her exposed skin, giving it a savage, alien look that Kiori would have loathed. Far worse were her eyes: something moved inside them, pale, shadowy spirits that lurked behind her dark irises. When she saw her callers, her beautiful rose-brown lips pulled into a wide, mocking smile.

[Well, there’s a face I wasn’t expecting just yet. Hi, honey. Like my new toy? We call her Serpentera,] Kiori taunted. There was a vicious pleasure in her voice that was wholly foreign to it and soured her rich, melodic tones.

Zordon knew he should say something, but he couldn't think what. His brain couldn't wrap around what he was seeing, let alone conceive of a response.

Lady Parra stepped into the silence. "Are you responsible for the condition of the Edenite colony Karner?" she said briskly, as if talking to an enemy. Zordon's still-dizzy brain was affronted.

[Hmm... responsible? I'd say not. Only one person can claim that distinction. You know, the one who's gaping at the screen like an idiot child.] Zordon closed his mouth. [If not for his selfish stupidity, these people would never have opposed my mistress. None of them would've died. Screaming.] Her lips spread into a sick grin. [But it sure was fun to watch. Just like your deaths will be.]

Lady Parra waved her hand at the screen and someone turned the sound off. Muted Kiori went on for another second, then her bloodthirsty smile melted into annoyance and the picture winked out.

Lady Parra didn't waste another moment. "Shields at full. Helm, ready to engage, protocol sev-"

"No!" Zordon interrupted Lady Parra.

She turned in her chair, eyes flashing. "This is my bridge," she said, quiet and deadly.

Zordon stood, half surprised to find his feet willing to support him. "And as war leader-"

"I've led this ship and this crew too long to see us die because a man can't fight his wife!" Lady Parra cut him off.

He drew himself up straight in a way that managed to ignore that there were several people in the room taller than he. "As war leader," he said again, a little louder, "I have overriding command of any vessel in confrontations which may be critical to the war and," he cut in just ahead of her protest, "I have never backed away from a battle because of my emotional involvement. If you think I'm going to throw in the towel because Repulssa's got my wife under a spell, you are very wrong about me and we have a serious problem. Do we?"

Being examined by Lady Parra was, he thought, rather like being examined by a hungry lioness. After a long moment, she stood and stepped a few paces to the right of the captain's seat. "Choose well," she said, her expression almost passive again under its layer of calm.

Zordon took the vacated seat more as a signal to Lady Parra's bridge crew than anything else, though he was grateful that his knees didn't have to keep holding him up any longer. Whatever he'd said, this battle was going to try his commitment. Fortunately, he knew Kiori well enough to know that, even under a spell, she wasn't out for blood. Primarily.

Hopefully.

"Rothell, hail the snake," he said.

“Yes sir,” the communications mage replied.

Kiori's tattooed face reappeared, looking put out. [Ohw, don't go surrendering already! I haven't spilled nearly enough of your blood yet!]

"Kiori, listen to me," Zordon said in the calmest voice he could muster. "Whatever Rita's done to you, I will get you free of it." Kiori laughed, but Zordon cut her off with, "Now, why by daemons does Repulssa have you out here?"

Kiori co*cked her head to one side playfully. [Got you out here, didn't I?]

"Yes, and there's no way Repulssa could have predicted I'd come. You almost managed to keep us from finding out that thing you're in exists. It's not a lure for me."

[No. It's not,] Kiori admitted, still smiling. [My mistress couldn't have guessed you'd be this stupid. Won't she be pleased when I tell her I've killed you.]

Zordon nodded once, ignoring the threat. "Thank you. That's exactly what I needed to know." The savagely pleased smile dripped off of Kiori's face. "One more thing: how many others are out here?"

[Others?] Kiori said, brow furrowing.

It hit him. "Oh. Oh, really." A smile of victory spread his own lips. "Serpentera is a prototype?"

Kiori let out a curse in a language so foul it made Zordon flinch instinctively, and she cut the communication line. He turned to Lady Parra.

"Now," he said, "you can destroy it."

Chapter 26: Serpentera

Chapter Text

The first blast of Serpentera's weapons rocked the mages' vessel even as the last word left his mouth. "Shields holding," the defense mage reported. His fingertips were already half an inch deep into the control panel's circuitry, and his arms glowed faintly with orange firelight as he reinforced them directly.

"Of course they are," Lady Parra said confidently. "Tallin, return fire. Anndra and Yasáa, set up a disenchant ritual. I want every speck of magic cut loose from that thing yesterday."

There was something odd about that weapons blast from Serpentera. "Lady Parra-" Zordon began, but his voice was lost among her orders and the multitude of voices responding.

"Sarrai, get a teleportation lock on the Eltarian and any other life-forms aboard ship if you can. Helm, protocol seven, tactic Alpha. Just get us a little breathing room, Rollo. Weapons, with me." The ship rocking under a second energy weapon strike didn't slow down the two yellow-haired mages who sprang to the captain’s side. The three moved in flawless unison through a focusing movement: to his training it most resembled a kata, but it was short and the movements sharp, more like the pattern he'd taught his Teammates that would open their Morphers' pocket dimension. Zordon saw the flow of magical energy on the bridge focus around them.

"Lady, I'm not sure-" he tried again.

The ship rocked again, but gently this time, as their magical blast left the ship. Through the viewscreen, Zordon could see a massive plume of fire magic race through the blackness of space toward the giant serpent...

...and pass right through it.

As the firelight died away, Serpentera looked scorched, but only as much as well-forged metal held too close to a campfire. The magical energy that was the heart of the blast had not affected it.

"By the Power," Lady Parra breathed, staring at the slightly singed craft in utter shock.

"-that it's magical," Zordon could finish at last in the stunned silence. "Lady, it has no trace of the Power except Kiori herself. That thing," he said, "is a machine."

In the time it took the fire mages on the bridge to exchange horrified looks, the ship was rocked hard to one side by another blast from Serpentera. Several mages didn't brace in time and went tumbling across the bridge. The defense mage gave a cry of pain as the console around him sparked, but he didn't lose his grip in the panel. He did, however, look thoroughly drained. "Shields... shields at..." the man struggled to put words together. Zordon ran over and slipped one of his own hands into the magical fold in the console.

"Stop, you can't!" someone cried out too late.

It was about as pleasant as taking a bath in a volcano. Heat saturated every bone of his body and burst outward as if to roast his flesh alive. However, not for nothing had Zordon been trained by the greatest living fire-mage. The burning sensation was more intense than what he'd experienced before but hardly alien – and never something to fear. He pushed the pain aside and found the information he sought.

"It's bad," he said through clenched teeth. "It's taken our shields to almost nothing. Some kind of power drain... Countering." He pushed his own energy through the console. The "circuitry" made to carry and help shape magic was resistant to the foreign type of energy, but he had enough fire in his magic to make it work -- and more than enough power to compensate for what wasn’t getting through. In a moment, he'd strengthened shields nearly to their original force.

He withdrew his hand, shook it to draw some of the burning pain out, and turned back to see several of the less busy mages staring at him in wonder. He had an inkling that they'd expected him to burst into flames. He spared them a smile before addressing their captain. "Lady," he said to Parra, "tell me you have physical weapons on board."

"Not for the past ten thousand years," Parra said. "No one ever fights space battles with actual explosives anymore."

"Non-magical energy weapons?"

"Some, yes -- but not enough for that," Lady Parra gestured to the viewscreen as another of the dozens of energy beams shooting from Serpentera's eyes managed a glancing blow against the ship. "It's got some kind of armor that's shrugging off most any strike we manage to land. And we're nowhere near its match in maneuverability."

Zordon nodded once, acknowledging. The facts were clear. He just wasn't sure he could act on them. He stared hard at the sinuous metallic shape twisting gracefully to stay with the Ignan ship's every movement. If he left now, how long would it be before Rita dangled his wife in front of him again? Yet there was only one wise course of action.

No, that wasn’t true: there was one other possibility. It relied on assumptions he really shouldn't make about how much strength Repulssa had given his wife. He debated.

Oh well. It wasn't like every decision he'd made so far had been the smart thing to do. "I'm going after her," he stated.

"Oh the putrid Sharnak you are!" Lady Parra returned at once. "If you go-"

*****

As the rush of fiery wind in his ears died away, Zordon wondered vaguely what the end of her threat had been. He dismissed the thought in favor of examining his new surroundings. He found himself in a passageway just big enough for two Eltarian-sized humanoids to pass each other. The edges were all gleaming metal, with an occasional outcropping of cogs and gears. He shook his head in wonder. What had possessed a Blooded mage like Repulssa to create something so entirely mundane?

"Maybe so it could kick our asses," he answered himself. Plenty of his forces would be better able to counter Serpentera than a fire-mage ship could -- but he wasn't sure that a single ship under his command could do so easily. Modern space warfare was built on magical and technological energy weapons, all centered around taking out the opponent's magical defenses. Dark mages nearly always had the advantage in raw power over Light mages, so they hardly used any other kind of weapon, and that was what Light had adapted to defend against. This thing... it was something New.

He shook himself. He wasn't there to admire the construction, and he could muse on wider implications later. Focusing on the flow of the Power told him that what he sought was just a minute's jog down the corridor to his left.

Despite the urgency, he paused before taking the first step. His chances of sneaking his way into the co*ckpit were roughly as good as a hippo's. Enspelled or no, she was still Kiori of Eltare. However, he could assume that her chances of countering his magic were no better than they had been before. As quickly as he could, he prepared a counterspell that might be able to loosen the bars of her spell enough to let her stop fighting him. It was hardly a guarantee – he was a Talented mage, but Repulssa was still a mageblood, and he had no idea what spell she’d used on Kiori. It was a fairly good chance he could do something to help quickly enough, though.

As soon as he had a solid magical plan in mind to throw at Kiori, he moved swiftly and quietly toward the co*ckpit. Sure enough, he had only just caught his first glimpse of the co*ckpit when something large and heavy slammed into the space his head had just occupied.

He slipped to one side, reoriented, and then ducked a second blow. Kiori's weapon was just a random piece of metal piping, but it still didn't look like it'd be good to get hit by. He tried ducking inside her guard, but she swung the makeshift club around so fast and hard that he didn't quite get clear in time. Pain shot up his shoulder, and he fell back, stumbling. Before the counterspell slipped entirely out of his grasp, he sent it against the magic binding Kiori. Whether it affected her or not he couldn’t yet take time to see, because she came within an inch of hitting him with the pipe again.

"Kiori, listen to me-" he said soothingly, but he had to break off to dodge again. Subtly, he started backing them down the corridor as if simply retreating.

"You pathetic weakling!" she cried. Her eyes were filled with anger and shadows. "You honestly think you can offer me anything that could sway me from my mistress!?"

"So much. Kiori-" Zordon finally could shift his focus a little from dodging to take a look at the shape of the foul magic around her. He forgot what he was saying completely from shock. He'd rarely seen anything so nearly Black. Instead of Light imprisoned within strands of Dark magic, as he'd seen with mind-controlling spells or Vasukiin powers, Zordon couldn’t find anything but the Darkness. His spell had had no effect that he could see.

One of the things he didn't see hit him squarely in the gut, knocking him onto his back in the corridor. *At least she's not shooting at the Beacon anymore,* Zordon reminded himself as he sprang back up to his feet. Pain shot up from his gut through his chest when he did, staggering him a moment. Before she could press the advantage further, Zordon reached both hands behind his back.

"IT'S MORPHIN TIME!"

"TRICERATOPS!"

Blue Morphin light filled the dim corridor so suddenly that Kiori was blinded. With his new surge of speed and the safety of the Power's shield against Darkness, the Blue Ranger rushed forward. He stripped the weapon from her hands, then grabbed one of her wrists and touched the Coin at his belt to teleport.

Nothing happened.

A slow, hideous laugh bubbled up within Kiori. "Fool," she hissed. "That's exactly what I needed."

He felt it then: the close of a magical trap around the ship, preventing Light teleportation. The surge of pure Light energy from his Morph had triggered it, like a human immune system reacting to a disease.

Only one other way out, then.

Dodging around Kiori and hoping she couldn't keep up, Blue raced for the co*ckpit. He made it within sight of the target and summoned his energy pistol before Kiori overtook him. She swept his legs out from under him, but he sprang back onto his free hand and added a half-twist so he bounced back to his feet, leaving him facing her.

Kiori stopped cold, staring at him. "You won't," she said, but the sneer carried a trace of fear. Blue was baffled a moment before he realized that he still held the energy pistol and it was pointed more-or-less at his wife.

*Forgive me,* he whispered inwardly and leveled the weapon at her. "Don't make me find out," he said aloud.

She backed up, looking startlingly afraid, but then stopped. A cold and calculating expression that was a clone of one of Repulssa's took the place of her fear. "You won't, will you," she said, and there was certainty now. "You'd never hurt me."

"Nope!" Blue agreed, and he spun to run for the clear front windows of the co*ckpit. *Oh, I really hope this is possible,* he thought as he fought to channel his own magic through the small weapon. Most of the energy he shoved forward kicked back at him with the mental force of a small locomotive, but enough got through. As the weapon's energy beam vaporized a large section of the glass-like co*ckpit window, his magic surged forward along the beam to punch a similar hole in the spell trapping him.

The rush of air racing out into the vacuum of space pulled him out with it. He heard a shriek of fear and twisted to see Kiori holding on to a console firmly and staring at him with hatred. Her face was already turning a deep purple.

He cursed aloud and formed a cord of energy into a spell to seal the physical hole he'd made in the co*ckpit. He saw Kiori sag to the ground and take one gasping breath before the familiar heat of Ignan teleportation closed in around him.

*****

"You," Lady Parra began before he'd even regained his feet, "are a grand monument to the power of adolescent id-"

"With all respect, we have days to insult one another and only seconds before Kiori starts firing on us so can we save it for the trip home?" Blue said in one long breath.

Lady Parra glared at him but snapped a few orders to her crew. He felt the ship begin to accelerate. "Are you all right?" she asked, offering him a hand up.

Standing brought another lance of pain searing through his chest. Something was broken – a rib? "I will be," he said.

"Couldn't get close enough?" she asked quietly, understanding in her eyes. He returned her gaze steadily for a moment, then nodded.

He deMorphed and couldn’t hold back a grimace as the pain in his side intensified. "Next time," Zordon said. He turned to the viewscreen and caught one last glimpse of Serpentera as they flew away. "I just hope we're ready by then."

A vague memory of something he'd read years before tickled at him a second time. As he pulled out healing energy to address his wound, he chased the memory around his mind.

"Course to Kaola plotted and engaged. Arrival estimated in 2 days, 17 hours, Eltare Standard," the young mage at navigation said, the last with a deferential nod to Zordon.

It clicked. "No," Zordon said. "Lady Parra, can you take us to Edenoi?"

Lady Parra frowned. "I can. Why?"

"I need to speak with an expert. And this time, as fast as you can get me there."

*****
End Book 4 Part 1

Chapter 27: Book 4: Weapons of War, Part 2: Tea -- Chapter 1: Lexian

Chapter Text

King Lexian of Edenoi was one of the least often surprised beings in the Milky Way Galaxy for several reasons. For one, he was an immensely powerful telepath who could sense and communicate even with animal brains far simpler than his own, and so the concept of sneaking up on him simply wasn't feasible for anything that had thoughts. Also, as the center of a kingdom that reached across seven star systems, he was surrounded by such a depth of bureaucracy that the schedule of his day was planned to the minute at least three months in advance. Any alterations to this schedule (and, lately, there had been enough of those to shock the Scheduling Commissioners halfway to heart attacks) were caused by himself alone and so hardly counted as surprises to him. The result of such a controlled, well-ordered life was that King Lexian was widely known as among the most serene and wise beings in the galaxy... and that life for him was, on occasion, intensely boring.

So it was that the exuberantly sudden intrusion of the Unexpected in the middle of his morning tea was more an amusem*nt than a cause for concern. He carefully set down his teacup, shrugged back into the heavy ceremonial robe he'd just slipped out of, and stood to greet his visitor.

"A remarkably tidy teleportation spell. I see that your skills continue to grow. How may I be of service to you, Zordon of Eltare?" he asked.

The young Eltarian blinked at him, confused by his serenity. This was the usual reaction of those few beings who ever managed to surprise him. As the young war-wizard grappled with his surprise, the grand gilded doors of King Lexian's private tea chambers burst open to reveal a Ldozen of his royal guard and nearly two dozen of his royal guards' weapons. Zordon immediately put his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender, but King Lexian simply waved them away.

"Please inform the Office of the Royal Scheduling Commission that the afternoon's activities are to be delayed by a minimum of one hour," he told them. "Kindly do not explain why nor mention the identity of my visitor to anyone you encounter."

"Yes, your Majesty," they chorused, then left in a confusion, closing the door behind them.

"How did you know?" Zordon asked.

Lexian smiled. "My dear boy, only a narcissist would craft such a subtle teleportation spell if discretion were not required. Additionally," he said and tapped the crystal in his forehead which amplified his telepathy far above Eltarian levels.

"Ah. Right. Thank you, your Majesty," Zordon said.

Lexian nodded. "Now, let us sit before my tea grows cold." He moved to sit in a manner that assumed Zordon would follow.

He didn’t. "With all respect, your Majesty, I'm not sure there's time," Zordon frowned.

"There is always time for tea."

"But- sir-"

Lexian calmly selected a pair of fine seaweed wafers and put them on his plate. "You wish to talk to me. To inform me of a grave and urgent matter with profound impact upon the course of the War."

"Well, yes."

"And you cannot do so while sipping tea?"

Zordon stared at him a long moment, then decided it was probably simpler just to sit and have tea. King Lexian's face broke into a wide smile the second the thought crossed Zordon's mind. The auburn-haired king selected another pair of wafers and placed them on a plate in front of the chair across from him even as Zordon took his first step toward the table.

"I've just found out that Repulssa-" Zordon tried to begin as soon as he’d sat.

"In a moment," Lexian cut in smoothly. Holding his richly embroidered sleeve back with the opposite hand, Lexian deftly lifted and poured steaming tea into the empty cup before Zordon. "It is equally important," he said as he did so, "to know when to act with measured calm as when to act swiftly. Only when both are practiced and respected equally can they be combined, to great effect." He glanced at the young wizard's thoughts and found only tension and anxiety. Sighing in resignation, he said, "Go ahead."

Zordon shifted even closer to the edge of his chair and began eagerly. "I've just found out that Repulssa has developed a potent new type of weapon. She has built a massive construct entirely through mundane methods, and this... robot, I suppose, has the power to destroy an entire colony while being all but immune to normal, magical weapons."

"Ah," Lexian said, still calmly. "And so you traveled to Edenoi to consult with me."

"You're the galaxy's foremost authority on robotics."

"Foremost?" Lexian looked at him, bushy reddish eyebrows arched. "I don't know about that. Though I suppose there isn't much competition for the title in this age. Workings of metal and circuitry have rather fallen out of favor in the last few thousand years."

"That may be about to change," Zordon said. "This thing, Serpentera, was more than a match for one of the fire mages' strongest ships. It bypassed critical elements both of their offense and defense. It moved with incredible dexterity and speed, and its weapons systems were quite powerful. We might not have escaped at all if I hadn't been there."

"I see. And you seek a way to destroy 'this thing'?" Lexian asked, letting a shadow of a darker tone into his voice.

"Yes, of course," Zordon said, missing it.

Lexian let out his breath slowly, then sank back into his large, regal, and immensely comfortable chair with his tea. He drank several satisfying sips before continuing. Zordon didn't try to interrupt, which went a long way toward lessening the severity of Lexian's next words. "I like you," he said, "for a lot of reasons. I think we're lucky that you are here, in the Milky Way, when you are, and that you had the courage to choose a wiser path than the one that your masters set for you. However, I do not abide any individual who seeks my knowledge for murder when Evil has not forced them to such extremes."

Zordon stared at him. "Murder? Sir, it's just a machine."

King Lexian set his tea down so abruptly, though soundlessly, that Zordon jumped. He pressed his finger to the telepathy crystal in his forehead, and in Zordon's mind sprang up the image of a large room filled with panels and consoles all glowing with flickering lights. The young man jumped again. "What was that?" he gasped.

"Where we're going," Lexian said simply. He extended his hand to Zordon. Rising, Zordon took it and formed a teleportation spell around the image. They vanished in twin flashes of blue-black and white flame-patterned light.

*****

"This is my workroom," Lexian said as soon as the last glow of the spell had faded. "And this," he said, "is my assistant."

"Ay yi yi yi yi!" said a tinny, distorted voice directly behind Zordon.

"Gah!" Zordon cried, startled for the third time in as many minutes. He spun to face the source of the exclamation and found himself staring down at a waist-height, roughly humanoid robot. It had a wide rectangular head of gold metal with a pair of red lights bouncing from the edges to the center and back, a blue-enameled torso and hips, and wide, squat gold feet and hands, all connected to one another by silvery-gray tubing about the diameter of his fist. "What is this?"

The three-foot-tall robot put its hands squarely on its hips. "I think you mean 'who is this'?" it corrected.

"It talks!" Zordon said.

"Well of course I do!" the robot responded hotly. Zordon marveled. The only humanoid-shaped machines he knew of were constructs of Eltare, not the Primus Mensura, and had no personalities to speak of. He wasn't sure if personalities weren't deemed necessary for InterGalactic Police Officers or if robotic personalities weren't supposed to be possible.

"I'm... sorry?" Zordon said doubtfully. "I just haven't, um... met a robot with feelings before."

The robot unfolded its arms again. "Well, I suppose not. You're not Edenite, are you."

"No."

"We don't exist anywhere but Edenoi. In fact, my brother and sister and I are all essentially prototypes. But-"

"Brother and sister?" Zordon stared down at the robot skeptically.

"Just because I'm synthetic doesn't mean I don't care about my family."

Zordon had no idea how to respond to that. He glanced back, but the King of Edenoi gave no sign. Zordon turned to the robot and found its hands back on its hips in what he could, he supposed, interpret as a show of annoyance. He debated a moment longer, then decided.

He knelt down to be more on a level with it as he did with his Liarian allies. "I'm sorry if I've offended you. Perhaps we can start anew. My name is Zordon of Eltare. And you are?"

"Alpha 4." The robot extended a hand to Zordon, palm up. He placed his own on top a finger-width above in proper Edenite greeting, though as neither had a telepathic crystal, the typical mental link and soft white glow between their hands were absent. "Pleased to make your acquaintance!"

"Are you really pleased?" Zordon asked bluntly.

"My emotive response circuitry is both advanced and continually evolving. I have just as much of a personality as you. And so far a much more pleasant one."

"Alpha," Lexian spoke at last, a faint warning in his tone.

"No..." Zordon hesitated a moment, pensively, on the next word, "she's right. I just haven't imagined anything like you before, Alpha."

"Well, you can get imagining now," Alpha said definitively. Zordon laughed a little. "Ay yi yi," Alpha said, shaking her head disdainfully.

Zordon stood again. "I don't quite understand, Your Majesty. You don't think that Repulssa's new war machine is like this, do you? I mean, Alpha just said that intelligent creations like herself exist only on Edenoi."

"Hmph! Did not!" Alpha 4 protested.

Lexian gave a long sigh. "Centuries ago, my people believed that all other life on our planet was unintelligent, until we learned to use these crystals to enhance our telepathic gifts and found that dozens of other life forms of Edenoi think as well as we. Even so, when we encountered our first alien race, debate raged over whether they could possibly be sentient if they lacked telepathy. Similar debates have happened on and between thousands of worlds in this galaxy alone, often with tragic results.

“Who are we to say whether this Serpentera is more or less intelligent than the floor you're standing on? If we cannot speak with the floor, we do not know if the cause is its lack of intelligence or our lack of cleverness. A ridiculous example, perhaps- and perhaps not. The point is," he said, "what would you do if Serpentera were not a machine?"

"I..." Zordon thought a moment. "I'd try to find out if it's working for Repulssa willingly or not, first. If it's under some kind of spell, I'd try to free it."

Lexian nodded, looking pleased. "And?"

"And... if not, I'd give it a chance to surrender. Ideally I'd want to convince it to fight for the Light instead." Zordon stopped cold and looked up at King Lexian, eyes wide.

The king seemed to smile beneath the thick beard. "Ahh. Just so. Fortunately, as you've reasoned, we need not wait on diplomacy, even if it proves possible to reason with Serpentera."

"That would be incredible, Your Majesty," Zordon said. "But is it really possible? Can we really build our own?"

King Lexian walked to a control panel in the wall near them. He pulled down a small lever. With a great grinding sound, the entire wall before them lowered into the floor to reveal a vast bay, big enough to hold even the largest Edenite ships. The bay didn't contain ships, however. Instead, surrounded by scaffolding, stood 5 immense robots. Each was at least a hundred feet tall, all gleaming white and silver metal. They were humanoid in shape, but every element of their bodies was squared off, so that there was hardly a curve on them.

"Somehow," Lexian said, "I think so."

Zordon gaped up at them. They were beautiful -- and their existence was stunning. He whirled on Lexian.

"How long have you been working on these?" he asked.

"Awhile," the king said simply. "They're nearly finished, but they still need a Spark."

"Spark?" Zordon asked.

Lexian's beard twitched again with a small smile. "That's what I call it. They need an idea, a purpose, and a will behind them to truly come into their sentience. Were they organics, one could say that they haven't been born yet.

"Now," he went on, "you, young wizard, are exceptionally clever at coming up with ideas and purposes that exceed expectations. And I would like these creations to be exceptional. I also do rather want to help win this war and don't understand the science of warfare. So, if you would like, you may help to create their spark."

"I don't think I would know how, sir," Zordon said, staring up at them again.

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't think you could contribute meaningfully. However," and his tone turned more serious than Zordon had yet heard it, "if you mean to ever use these, and especially if you help create them, I must have your oath that they will be more than tools of war. You must honor them as you do your own Powers and use them in accordance with the Laws of the Power."

"Which laws?" Zordon asked, puzzled. It certainly couldn't be denied that the Power had laws, but Lexian seemed to mean something specific.

Lexian nodded to Zordon's thoughts. "Indeed. Edenite society has long recognized three laws of the Power, which I would apply thus: my creations will not be used for personal gain. They will not be used unless Evil forces you. They will not be used in any way that may inspire fear or panic in innocents."

"I do so swear," Zordon said without hesitation. He looked up at them and focused on seeing them as more than inert machines. It would take time to really make the mental shift, he thought, but he would keep trying.

"Well," Alpha 4 said brightly behind them, "I guess you can have the job!"

Lexian laughed. "Then it's agreed. Alpha, please ask your brother and sister to assist us. This may take some time, Zordon, and distractions will not fit in well with this work."

"I understand," Zordon said. He’d anticipated this. "I can leave the war to the other commanders for awhile. I only need to make sure I can tuck my daughter in at night."

Lexian's mustache twitched in what Zordon assumed to be a smile. "Very good. Then I recommend you inform your people, and I shall inform mine. Ah dear, but this may be the last straw for Commissioner Argolien's poor nerves," King Lexian said with only the faintest note of regret.

Chapter 28: The Spark

Chapter Text

One Week Later...

"Here's the Parkolian Interface you wanted," Alpha 4 said cheerfully as she handed an awkward, immensely complicated, barely-handheld device to King Lexian. He extended a hand to it without looking up from the detailed plans he was poring over. "Would you like your tea now?" she asked.

He waved a hand at her. "I can get it; you don't need to serve me."

"I know you can, but will you get it?" Alpha 4 said. "You haven't taken a tea break all morning."

"I can get you some," Zordon said eagerly, starting to stand from his crossed-leg posture.

"Oh no you don't," Lexian said before Zordon had risen six inches. "I need you to find out the problem in the auxiliary stabilizers; don't give up just because you've been at it for 4 hours." Zordon sank back to the floor of the giant workroom, and King Lexian sighed. "I'll get it myself. In a minute."

Just as he said it, a faint clattering rose to their ears. Another robot, an Eltarian-height, boxy, bronze-toned figure, turned the corner with right-angle precision and stepped forward into the workroom. In its hands, there was an elegant silver tea tray with china tea service. As the robot moved forward in its lock-kneed gait, the kettle bounced and a few drops of tea spilled on its elbow gears.

"Beta, no!" Alpha 4 complained as King Lexian winced and rested his forehead in one hand. Zordon, however, rose with fluid grace and moved quickly across the room.

"Teatime," the larger robot said, its deep, monotone voice inlaid with confusion.

"Yes, you're right, it is. Thanks for bringing the tea. Here, let me help you," Zordon said, reaching out for the tea tray.

Behind him, Lexian and Alpha 4 exchanged glances. Between Alpha 4's expressionless face and King Lexian's long hair and beard, no one observing could tell that they were both smiling, but they knew. "Getting closer," Alpha 4 said quietly.

"Getting," Lexian echoed more skeptically. The newest model in his assistant series was well aware that this whole "meditate the solution" idea was just to keep Zordon still and thinking instead of acting out of haste or habit. They'd invented a problem on the physical side that, "oddly", couldn't quite be tracked down. In reality, the physical construction work was done -- it had been almost complete before they began working with Zordon, and now the five giant robots were quite ready. It was the war-wizard himself who wasn't.

"Getting what?" said wizard asked.

"Teeeea!" squeaked a tinny voice, promptly followed by a loud, metallic crash. All four other beings in the workroom gave their equivalents of winces. Balancing the tray on one hand, Zordon rushed to help the robot who had overturned his ladder in excitement. He had been working on a section of one of the giant construct's legs, cluelessly helping to keep Zordon in the dark. The smallest robot was now trying to windmill himself vertical again but seemed to have lost track of the ground.

"Reset your gyros, Prime," Alpha 4 said in the tone of one repeating herself for the thousandth time.

"Oh! Right!" Golden lights played across Alpha Prime's small, viewscreen-like face, and then all 5 of his limbs managed to find the ground. Zordon helped by tucking his free arm under one of the droid's shoulders and pulling, more as guidance than from the ability to actually move the heavy metal being. Alpha Prime righted himself at last on his tripoidal legs, looked up at Zordon, and, in exactly the same tone as before, cried, "Teeeea!"

Zordon grinned but fought down a chuckle. "Come on, Prime. Let's get you a seat."

"Tea incompatible with android physical form," protested Alpha 2 in monotone.

"Shh," Alpha 4 hissed. "Let him have his fun, Beta."

"I can't have tea?" Alpha Prime asked, his metallic tone surprised and hurt.

"Of course you can," Zordon said.

"Oh! Okay," he said, pleased again. "Who are you?"

"Access memory file-" Alpha 4 began, but stopped when she heard Zordon saying the same and let him finish instead, "theta-6841."

Golden characters scrolled across Prime's viewscreen again, then, "Oh! Right!" piped out, and the droid took a seat at the table where Zordon set down the tea service. Immediately, Prime pulled over the next nearest chair and set a squashy purple, vaguely humanoid stuffed animal in it. "Don't forget Percy's cup!" he said.

"Of course not, how could we," Alpha 4 sighed.

"Just because you don't have to reboot your memory files every time you want to remember something doesn't mean you're entitled to annoyance at those who do," Lexian said, though mildly.

After the four cups were set out (two filled cups for the humans, one empty cup each for Prime and his doll), and Zordon had employed his young-father skills to get Prime happily imagining away about his tea party, he turned to Lexian.

"I've been thinking," he began.

"Oh really?" Alpha 4 muttered. Lexian "ahem"med at her and urged Zordon to continue as he poured the humans tea.

"I mean, I know I'm supposed to be focusing just on the exterior gyro-stabilizers' glitch cycle, but, well, this thought sort of took hold and won't go away. Usually that's meant something important." He hesitated.

"In my experience as well," Lexian assured the young man.

Zordon flicked a smile and sat forward eagerly in his chair. "So, on Terra, there were once hundreds of related species of highly-intelligent reptiloids. They didn't care for building or politics or any of those kinds of cultural complexities, but they were extremely diverse. Some of the biggest were almost on the same scale as your creations; maybe that's why I've been thinking on them so much. They were killed in the aftermath of a meteor collision more than sixty million years ago, so even we have only a few glimpses of their wisdom and art -- but what we have is beautiful. In the large ice age that just ended, the last of the large terrestrial sentients other than humans died out too, and I... there's so much I could tell you about them. When it came time to form a Team to protect Terra, four of the far-ancient and two of the recent sentients were chosen to power their world's protectors. Six in total, sir."

Lexian thought a moment. "Hm... you propose re-working our creations' basic physical structure? Or in some way imbuing aspects of those sentients' personalities?"

"Neither exactly," Zordon said. "Humanoid form is very versatile, so their base form is good. I was thinking more that we could give them broader potential, in peacetime and war, if they could take on another form. I could work a shifting ability – a Morph, if you will – into their forms, since there's Uryll in their skeletal alloys. And if they held some of the essence of those creatures, they would have a way of becoming more deeply connected to their own sentience. And," he added excitedly, cutting off Alpha 4's questions without noticing, "if five of those essences were called on, we could link them directly to five of my Team's Coins, giving a conduit for cooperation -- even telepathic melding -- between them and a Ranger. Let the Power bridge the gap between humanoid and synthetic operation, and pilots holding those Coins won't even need training to know how to interface with them, they'll just find it intuitive."

"Hm," Lexian mused.

"So? What do you think?" Zordon asked.

At that moment, though, Alpha Prime's gyros destabilized again, and his suddenly flailing arms upset the table enough to knock the tea tray to the ground. By the time they cleaned up shattered china and spilled tea, Beta announced,

"Teleportation incoming in 200. 199. 198..."

"Sorry," Alpha 4 groaned to Lexian. "I thought I had her reset to a 30-second count."

"Perfectly understandable," Lexian said. "And in this case, useful. Prime, bedtime."

However, they didn't quite maneuver Prime through a reboot sequence fast enough, and he was only half-way to the door when Beta's count reached 1. Three white teleportation beams all twined together landed. "Alphie!" his daughter crowed in delight, scrambling out of her Kaolan caretaker's arms instantly.

"Evening, Zordon," the caretaker said in a resigned tone. Straightening her own young son more securely on her shoulders, she reached a hand to sweep her honey-and-wheat-striped blond hair out of her eyes.

"Evening, Antitilos," the war-wizard replied. "May as well get comfortable."

"Wouldn't mind a spot of tea... oh," Antitilos stopped short at the shards of ruined teacups being swept into a bin. "I see."

"One of those days all over," Zordon agreed. “Did Kiren go down for bed all right?”

“Precisely as well as Epona didn’t, as usual, yes.”

"I'll get her!" squealed her platinum-blond son, and the smaller child scrambled down from her shoulders to “retrieve” his friend. Both young parents sighed. It'd take half an hour at least to separate the three playmates now.

"Zhane, no, it's bedtime," Antitilos said, though the impact of the words was lessened both by her resigned tone and the squeals of the trio's already-heated tickle war.

" I guess strict bedtimes and wars don't really go together anyway," Zordon justified half-heartedly. "Still, I'd better get started..."

"It might just work," Lexian said mildly.

“Anything's possible,” Zordon sighed before he realized that King Lexian wasn't talking about rebellious children. His heart leaping, Zordon snapped around to face the king. "You mean...”

"Not to any other alien Ranger would I extend such trust as your plan requires," Lexian prefaced sternly. "However, the advantages of your design recommend it. I’ve an idea about the sixth Coin as well. I would require that you personally remain in command of the placement of the relevant Coins as long as you live, and that afterward the link be... closely reevaluated."

Zordon beamed. "I’m not planning to hand these Coins back to the ERO. Done."

"Then I recommend you get your daughter and yourself to bed rapidly. You have quite a lot of work before you in the morning," Lexian said.

"Right. Epona, dear, I've got a new bedtime game for us..." Zordon said, starting after his elder child.

Chapter 29: Eep

Chapter Text

Work proceeded quickly over the next week. Zordon was driven both by his newfound inspiration and by the War's need. While on Edenoi, he wasn't commanding the war effort or even receiving tactical updates from his coalition, but the pieces of news he got from Antitilos each night drove him forward. So far, his allies had countered Serpentera, but at great cost. The dead colonists on Karner weren’t the only innocents that had suffered. Serpentera (he refused to think of the opponent as Kiori, though he told himself it was to counter his own anti-robot bias) had a predilection for attacking planets without orbital defenses or in far reaches of the galaxy. The targets weren't selected for any apparent strategic use but to maximize death and grief among the Light. The only forces capable of responding quickly enough to such distant attacks, the fire-mages, were mostly absent, probably still embroiled in their battles with the ice-mages. Antitilos didn't say it in so many words, but Zordon knew there must be many criticizing his nearly two-week absence at such a painful time. He was eager to finish the work and show them why his disappearance had been worth it.

The first ones he got to show it to, in the end, were obvious.

Zordon was just finishing up, wiping the oils of a day's finishing touches from his hands with a rag cloth, when the bay doors opened. Lexian appeared, then stepped aside and motioned those behind him to enter.

Aemil stepped in first. His eyes darted about with curiosity for the second it took to spot Zordon. “I knew it!” he cried then, giving a rare enthusiastic grin and rushing to the Blue Ranger. He offered his arm in greeting, which Zordon eagerly took. For communication security, the message summoning his Teammates to Edenoi hadn’t said why or who he’d be meeting, but Aemil apparently had guessed right.

As they shook, the war-wizard looked over his Teammate. Aemil had a few new scars puckering his neck and forehead, their partial healing probably indicating injury from Dark magics, but otherwise the Red Ranger looked well enough to Zordon. “How have you been?” Zordon asked him, finding he couldn't help but grin back.

Aemil flicked a wry half-smile. “Well enough,” he said. “It's... pretty rough out there.” The words weren't accusatory, but they were surrounded by unspoken questions. Zordon “heard” Aemil wondering if Zordon would apologize for his absence and wondered himself if he should after all. He hadn't intended to, thinking it was best to defend the action to everyone, but making a strategic command decision was easier when the one who objected wasn’t his Teammate and friend. The air hung heavily between them in anticipation.

Then Ferin was walking forward, and the moment had passed. Zordon turned to her with a warm smile. She, too, had changed, though her injuries seemed more within than without. She hadn't been a child in the time he'd known her, any more than he had been – but something of youth had been lost in both of them now. There was a depth of pain in her eyes that was decades older than it had been before 'Laise's death. Zordon wondered how changed his own eyes were.

“Good to see you,” Ferin said, extending her forearm. Zordon grasped it. “So,” she began with her usual lack of preamble, “where’s your secret project?”

“Ferin, you make it sound so dramatic,” Aemil complained.

“Well,” Zordon smiled apologetically, “it sort of is.” He pressed a control on the nearby console, and the massive doors of the Bay opened. His Teammates’ mouths slowly dropped open.

The newly-Sparked robots looked more impressive even than when Zordon had first seen them. They stood glittering in the Bay lights, still chunky and geometric, but now no longer in identical humanoid shapes. Instead, they stood in the shapes of Terra’s extinct sentients, colored to match the Coin that carried each one’s symbol. The behemoths were all much larger than the original animals — even Tyrannosaurus was some five times its inspiration’s height. They shifted around slightly in their bays, restless but restraining their boredom.

Tyrannosaurus was the first to notice the newcomers. It gave a great sniff.

The Red Ranger froze utterly. “Eep,” Aemil said. “Eep eep eeeep.” His wings were already peeking out from the slits of his tunic in anxiety.

“Whoa,” Ferin breathed out a sigh of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She walked toward the robots as if in a daze.

“Ferin, I said eep already!” Aemil protested in squeaky alarm. “Don’t walk toward the things I’m eeping about!”

Ferin paused and looked back at Zordon, a frown crossing her brows. He smiled. “It’s okay. They know us,” the Blue Ranger answered.

Ferin returned a smile — a faint one, but definitely a smile. It seemed to do her good. She nodded once and continued walking.

“Oh no, oh, oh this is bad,” Aemil said. Zordon considered, then held out his hand to the Red Ranger.

“Come with me,” he said with a softness to his tone to made it a request, not a demand. Aemil stared at the extended hand a long moment, muttered something about insanity, and took it.

By the time they started walking, Ferin had already reached Saber Tooth Tiger’s bay. Saber Tooth Tiger was in the middle of “sharpening” one of its massive canines on the corner of the scaffolding that surrounded it, but it paused in mid-stroke. It lowered its head, fixing two huge, glowing red eyes on Ferin. Ferin reached up and put a hand on the tip of the canine, the highest spot she could reach. Saber Tooth Tiger went still. A low, metallic rumbling echoed through its body cavity.

“Oh Stars, it’s gonna eat her,” Aemil groaned.

Zordon shook his head at his Teammate. “Aemil, you’ve fought in dozens of battles against foes that could’ve struck you down easily. Stronger than you, more powerful, yes? And they didn’t get you only because you were a hair faster and more clever than they were. Right?”

Aemil shrugged and said, “I guess so,” but he straightened with pride as he did.

Zordon grinned. “So how about instead of just speed, cleverness, and a Coin, you have a hundred-foot-tall armored behemoth that thinks it’s an apex predator whose job it is to help you fight and keep anyone from hurting you?”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“Okay, yeah, that sounds pretty epic,” Aemil admitted. “But is it going to eat me?”

Zordon laughed. “No,” he said, “and you know that.”

Aemil pulled in a big breath and let it out in a sigh, then dropped Zordon’s hand and walked over to Tyrannosaurus. The creature’s metal body screeched and squealed as it tried to bend down far enough to get a good look at Aemil — which was too much for the Red Ranger’s nerves. With another “eep!” Aemil unfurled his wings and sprang into the air.

Tyrannosaurus straightened up abruptly, and Zordon thought he could read surprise in the robot’s movements. Aemil kept flying up and up, and Tyrannosaurus tracked him with keen interest. At last, Aemil landed on Tyrannosaurus’s nose. One of Tyrannosaurus’s minuscule arms moved on instinct to brush the flying creature off but, of course, couldn’t reach. After a few moments, Tyrannosaurus quieted too, as Saber Tooth Tiger had. Its glowing eyes strained to focus on Aemil. “Um. Hi?” Aemil said uncertainly.

Content, Zordon walked to Triceratops at last. The Blue creation waited until he was precisely close enough and then beak-butted him to the ground. Zordon laughed, stood, and grabbed the lowered front horn. He swung himself up and into a sitting position astride the horn all in one fluid move. Triceratops gave a metallic squeal pretending disgruntlement. Zordon leaned back, stretching his comparatively-minuscule body across the bridge of Triceratops’s snout, and idly patted it.

“What are they called?!” Ferin’s voice yelled across the cavernous bay. He looked over to find that she’d somehow maneuvered all the way onto Saber Tooth Tiger’s back. Seeing her astride the vast creature briefly reminded him of horses, with the proportions vastly changed.

“Zoologically-Enhanced Morphological Machines!” Zordon yelled back. “ZEMMs for short!”

“What?! Zemms! That’s a terrible name!” Ferin yelled.

“Hey!” Zordon protested. “I’m right here!”

Saber Tooth Tiger scraped at the ground with one person-height silver paw. Triceratops swung its head around to face the Ice Age feline.

“Whoa! Hey, what are they doing?!” Ferin cried.

“They’re responding to our emotions!” Zordon said and then quickly took a deep breath and banished the momentary trivial annoyance at Ferin. Triceratops calmed at once.

A vast squealing sound was followed by floor-shaking stomps. Triceratops oriented on the sound, then raised its head on its stubby neck, jutting its horn up defensively, optical sensors focused on an approaching larger predator: Tyrannosaurus. Zordon barely adjusted his seating in time.

“Yikes!” Aemil cried joyously atop Tyrannosaurus as the huge creation lumbered by, “I guess that answers how to pilot these things!”

“They’re not things,” Zordon yelled back, “but they will respond to projected empathic data as well as telepathic -- also manual input, from inside the co*ckpits!”

“Test drive?!” Aemil half-crowed the question in excitement. Tyrranosaurus gave a shrieking metallic bellow in agreement.

“We should wait for the others!” Ferin called back.

A lead weight fell into Zordon’s stomach. He gave Triceratops one more pat and jumped the 20 feet to the ground, rolling back up on to his feet. Playtime was over.

Taking his cue, Ferin dismounted as well, sliding carefully along one of Saber Tooth Tiger’s slick front legs to the ground.

“Are they here?” Zordon asked her. Aemil guided Tyrannosaurus back toward its bay and then glided down toward them.

“Ready and waiting on our word,” Ferin answered.

Their eyes met, and he saw a dislike in her eyes similar to what he felt. He gave a sympathetic smile. “It’s soon, isn’t it,” he said quietly.

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” Ferin replied stiffly.

He sighed inwardly. That wasn’t what he’d meant. “Of course you will. So will I.”

Ferin’s all-but-insulted eyes softened at the reminder of their mutual loss, but a little shadow of bitterness lit them as well. Zordon didn’t begrudge her that. After all, he’d get Kiori back one day. “Are we ready?” he asked her.

Her eyes held a turbulence of messages, mysteriously complex behind her excellent mental guard. Outwardly, she simply nodded. He nodded back and said, “Invite them in, please.”

Chapter 30: Teammates

Chapter Text

Ferin turned and walked briskly to the door. Zordon put a politician's smile on his face and banished the more painful emotions from it. What was coming would hurt, perhaps worse than it had the first time. However, he’d trusted his Teammates to make wise choices in his absence. Whatever he felt about those choices when he saw them, he should keep to himself.

When he saw the trio who walked inside, unexpected familiarity made the dread and distaste lighten. A real smile came to replace the artificial one.

The first figure was Sarrai, communications mage of Lady Parra's ship, still dressed in the practical fire-patterned tunic and pants common among her Clan with only a red-orange crystal diadem at her forehead to mark the special occasion. The red-haired, burnt-tan-skinned mage looked wide-eyed but steady.

Following her was Prince Dregon, Lexian's brilliant if dour nephew. He was standing, as usual, in the ramrod-straight posture that suited his crisp, regal attire. His feelings were hard to guess behind the formal expression he wore.

Last came Captain Atalanta. The Kerovan commander looked almost exactly as she had when they’d last met: black and silver bi-colored hair bound in practical braids coiled around her head, one hand resting on the hilt of her laser sword. She looked warmly on Zordon.

Now came time for a decision he hadn’t quite made yet. He could imagine rushing to them, especially Atalanta, and greeting them as friends. It was what Rae’nor would have done. His Ranger training and his own sense of propriety pointed him to a formal welcome, perhaps even a stern but inspiring lecture. He hesitated. He felt Aemil and Ferin’s attention sharpen as well. It was his first significant decision on his first day as leader of a Power Team.

He straightened and nodded to each in turn. “Thank you for coming. It’s good to see your faces again.” Sarrai looked reassured, Atalanta smiled broadly, and even Dregon gave an amenable nod. “I don’t know exactly what my Teammates have told you, but I can guess: we need new Power Rangers to fill up our ranks, and you’re good candidates. To that I'll add that a full Team is needed to pilot these, the-” Zordon hesitated, remembering Ferin’s reaction to their name “-latest of King Lexian’s creations, which I’ve had the honor to help finish over the last 2 weeks.”

Sarrai understood first — logical, as she out of the three had actually seen Repulssa’s latest weapon up close. “These are our response to Serpentera, aren’t they?” she asked eagerly. “These are technological weapons?”

Zordon hesitated, then shook his head. “They have weapons, but they’re a lot more than that. But yes, they are non-magical, and yes, it’s my hope that they will help us counter Serpentera. They are designed to work as a team, just as our Coins are. But before you take on either, I need you to tell me why.”

“Why what?” Atalanta asked.

“Why are you here?” Zordon let the question hang in the air a moment and was gratified to see all three potential Rangers sitting with it. “The Power does not call just anyone, and it is never simple circ*mstance that brings someone a Coin, whatever it may appear. Why are you standing here? Who are you, that you would become a Power Ranger?”

Prince Dregon stepped forward without letting a beat fall. “I am Dregon, my father’s son and my king’s nephew. I am heir to a House that extends back through untold ages and now stands threatened with ruin. I am called to save it.”

It was the first time Zordon had heard the young prince sound passionate. He smiled a little at the Edenite man and nodded in acknowledgment.

Atalanta stepped forward. “I am Atalanta, daughter of Kaola, to whose defense I have pledged my life. I stand here in gratitude to the Team that sacrificed so much to keep my people free. I would help heal you and carry on this fight. I am here for Rae’nor.”

The name was still a shock of grief inside Zordon — and, yes, some guilt. He looked at Atalanta in a new light. He hadn't guessed that Rae'nor's sacrifice for her people had affected her so deeply, but it made perfect sense in hindsight. Remembering that other eyes were watching, he simply nodded with the same gravity he’d given Dregon.

Sarrai stepped forward last, and as she did, Zordon wondered what actually had brought her here. Aemil and Ferin didn't know her at all, as far as he knew. More likely the Lord-Regnant had presented her as the best candidate from his people for some reason. She had been pleasant enough company for him and his daughter on Lady Parra’s ship, and competent despite being the youngest of Lady Parra’s bridge crew. If anything, she’d seemed mild-tempered in comparison with most of Naatam’s people.

And yet her eyes smouldered with emotion when she brought them up to Zordon’s. “I am my brother’s sister, and I stand here for him.”

Zordon stopped cold. He stared at her, part in confusion and part in screaming denial, until his rational mind caught his attention and told him that he recognized the crystal diadem at her forehead. He’d seen it last at the Team Forging, his “graduation” ritual from Ranger training on Eltare, when the seven Terran Coins were first activated. Lord Zedd had worn it.

Fear, intense and irrational, thrilled through him. Zordon stomped down on it as hard as he could. What business did he have associating Sarrai with Zedd? If his fallen leader was her brother, then also his friend, ally, and mentor Lord Naatam was her father.

It had taken him too long to sort through his reaction, but belatedly he gave a respectful nod. He straightened then and folded his hands behind his back. Perhaps unconsciously, Ferin and Aemil straightened too. No matter how informally Rae’nor had led this Team, they were still Rangers of Eltare. “Know you each and all the responsibilities and dangers of the Order you seek to join?” he asked in the words of the ancient Team Forging ceremony of Eltare.

“I do,” each of the three incipient Rangers said.

“And do you swear to take on these Powers not for your own gain but to oppose the Tide of Evil that would destroy all that is good in the worlds?”

“I do,” they repeated.

And then Zordon realized the problem. [Did you sort out which Coin is whose?] Zordon sent to his Eltarian Teammate.

[No,] Ferin replied. [Thought we’d leave that to you.]

Dregon quirked a smile at the exchange — it was impossible to exclude an Edenite from a telepathic conversation, between their natural gifts and their telepathy-augmenting crystals. The reserved prince gave no other sign, though.

*Right,* Zordon told himself privately. *Hope I get this right.* He spared only a moment for contemplation, not wanting to break the flow of the ritual or open himself to unhelpful amounts of doubt. Then he strode forward.

The first Coin was in his hand as he extended it toward Dregon. “Stalwart and unstoppable, the Brachiosaurus is at your command.”

Dregon took the Coin, and it flashed White in his hand.

He moved to Sarrai. “Graceful and smart, the Pterodactyl will guide you.” When Sarrai took her Coin, the Pink flash was edged with jagged licks of fire.

The last Coin was hard to extend toward its new bearer. His Coin, his wife’s Coin — was it truly right to give it to someone else? What if Kiori was ready to continue the fight when he got her back? But their need was urgent now — the vast machines needed the guidance of a full Team to work in partnership. There was no other way they’d be a match for Serpentera. What was more, the Team needed to be whole now, not in the distant someday when part of Repulssa’s damage could be undone.

“I’ll just hold on to it awhile, sir,” Atalanta said quietly, reading more of his doubts than he'd intended.

Zordon pulled his gaze from the Coin to her. “I appreciate the thought, but no. If you join us, you’re just as much a Ranger as everyone else. Not a substitute.” He extended the Coin then. Even before Atalanta touched it, it flashed a deep black-purple — though whether it was recognizing the presence of its first bearer or its newest was hard to tell. “Clever and brave, the Mastodon is yours.”

“Thank you,” Atalanta said as she took it, and her words were echoed half a beat behind by the other two new Rangers.

[Dregon, if you would – just place your hands over theirs and focus on letting the Power flow between the Coins and the people. Does that make sense?] Zordon added doubtfully, but the new White Ranger was already standing in a triangle with the other two, hands over theirs. The White Power bathed all three of them briefly, then the light fell away from the other two, leaving Black and Blue in their wake. Atalanta and Sarrai both took great gasps and a moment to steady themselves at the first rush of the Power – especially magicless Atalanta, who had never felt the Power before in any way. If the change threw Dregon, though, he made no sign of it.

Zordon realized that there was one more element to include in the ritual, now. “Aemil, Ferin,” he said, and both knew to join the other three before him. “To hold these Coins, because of their link with these creations, you must follow three rules of the Power. First, never use your Power for personal gain. Second, use the minimum force needed — do not escalate the battle unless Evil forces you. Lastly, never use your Power — or theirs — in any way that may inspire fear or panic in innocents."

“I swear,” they each said.

[You paraphrased,] King Lexian sent from where he stood, nigh-forgotten, against the doorframe.

[Those words seemed right. No offense, I hope, sir,] Zordon added.

[Hrm. I suppose not,] Lexian replied.

“Could I ask a question, sir?” Sarrai spoke over the last word of the telepathic conversation, unwittingly. Zordon realized as she did that his Team was now only half telepathic: though Dregon was more skilled than he and Ferin combined, the other new Rangers didn’t have telepathy at all. A beat later, he realized that his Team was now less than half Eltarian, too. One local temporal Ranger on a Voyaging Team was traditional – but fully half of them were natives of the Milky Way. He’d never heard of a Team like it.

He shook himself from his musings. “Yes - and you don’t have to ask permission. We’re Teammates now,” Zordon said.

Sarrai flashed a smile. Her eyes pointed up toward the behemoths. “There are only five of these, but there are six of us. Does the White Coin not have one?”

Zordon met Dregon’s eyes and felt a faint [Well?] toward him. The young prince’s thin lips spread in a rather smug smile. Zordon felt an answering smile rise to his own face. [Oh? Do I finally get to meet him, then?]

“Seems a good time,” Dregon said aloud, pride clear on his face. “I’ll meet you all outside.”

As Dregon left, Aemil frowned. “I don’t understand. Was that an answer?”

“Basically,” Zordon said. “His is… a little too big for the hangar bay. Let’s get acquainted and then join him outside,” he said, motioning toward the huge robots.

“What he means is,” Aemil called over his shoulder as he sprinted past Zordon, “last one who figures out how to get theirs out the door is a Parkalian Slime-Squid!”

“Hey!” Atalanta and Sarrai cried a half-second apart from each other and burst into runs after him. For a moment, even Ferin smiled.

Chapter 31: Titanus

Chapter Text

By the time they got all five Zords outside (and Sarrai and Pterodactyl stopped doing over-excited loop-the-loops), a rumble in the earth around them was rising to almost-audible levels. Triceratops and Mastodon became wary first – their guiding intelligences were well-suited to notice, being those of land-based middle-food-chain herbivores. “What's that?” Atalanta called out from her seat on Mastodon's trunk.

“Look!” Sarrai pointed from Pterodactyl's high perch in an ancient tree.

The robot rumbling toward them was immense – larger than any one of theirs, though nearest a match for Tyrannosaurus. It was White touched with Black, just like Rae'nor's- Dregon's uniform. Zordon wondered whether the behemoth had always been that color. To his greater surprise, it looked at least something like the Brachiosaurus of Dregon's new Coin: though it moved on vast wheels as well as legs and had a low, flattened-looking body, its neck also extended in Brachiosaurus's graceful arch and something of a tail matched it in the rear. It took a bit of searching to find the comparatively minuscule figure of the Prince of Edenoi riding at the very top of the creation's head crest.

[This,] Dregon sent to them all, [is Titanus. Titanus, care to say Hello to our new Team?]

Titanus's roar shook everything: the ground, the hangar bay, and the tree Sarrai and Pterodactyl were perched in, making both organic and robot shriek and rush to steady themselves in the swaying tree.

[I think it's angry!] Ferin sent, an edge of panic to her thoughts. Saber-Tooth Tiger crouched and snarled.

[No,] Dregon replied lightly, [Titanus likes you well enough. He's just not much of a people-droid. And he's a bit grouchy in the morning.]

[Is it morning?] Aemil replied.

Zordon caught on and stifled a laugh. [Somewhere, Aemil. Somewhere it's always morning.] Prince Dregon's answering chuckle, though dignified and small, sounded genuinely amused.

“So are we getting these things into battle or what?” Aemil all but crowed. Zordon turned to him in surprise but hesitated, unsure whether to rebuke him calling them “things” or be flabbergasted that Aemil was eager for battle.

He settled on not responding directly at all. Instead, he jumped down from Triceratops's head frill and jogged to where King Lexian and Alphas 2 and 4 were watching. “Thank you, sir,” he said, bowing to Lexian, and, “Be well. I hope I'll see you again one day,” to Beta and Alpha 4.

Alpha 4 sniffed. “Heartfelt farewell requires emotional processing unit,” Beta said, her basso monotones still somehow regretful. Alpha 4 swatted the much larger robot.

“Shush you,” she said, “you're going to miss him and don't pretend you won't.”

Zordon grinned at their antics. He found he felt a genuine pang of sadness at the thought of leaving the droids. “Thank you, my friends. And pass on my best to Prime, once he's, ah... back in one piece, will you?”

“Sure,” Alpha 4 said as Beta monotoned, “Acquiescence.”

“Thanks,” Zordon said. Then he turned to Lexian. “With your permission, sir?”

“The call is yours,” Lexian said, inclining his head. “Treat them well.”

“Yes, sir,” Zordon smiled. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a whoosh of air. Something fundamentally Right fell into place inside of him as he called out,

“Back to Action!”

*****

It wasn’t hard to track down Serpentera. It was making merry hell for a planet around the star Gamma Cephei which was only Developmental Class D – off-limits for any armed conflict by the accords of the Great Truce over a hundred thousand years ago. This was neither a surprise because of Repulssa’s tactics so far nor generally, as evil forces violated the terms of the Truce as frequently as they upheld them. However, the attack on Cephelon Prime stung Zordon because Earth was Class D as well. It was likely under attack specifically because it was vaguely Earth-like in the hopes of angering him. Unfortunately, that only rankled him more.

A picture of the helmeted Red Ranger popped up on the blue dashboard viewscreen within Triceratops’s co*ckpit. [Zordon,] Red’s wary voice came over the non-telepathic communications system, [why is Triceratops snorting and lowering its really pointy horn at empty space?]

Blue caught his breath. Looking down, he found his fist was clenched. He took a deep breath and released the tension. He checked the instruments self-consciously but found that Aemil had opened only a two-way communication; their Teammates hadn’t heard that. “Sorry. Thanks,” he replied into the communication system.

[Eyes on the prize,] Red repeated a frequent saying of Rae’nor.

“Agreed,” Blue nodded back, then opened a line to the whole Team: “Looks like Pterodactyl’s sensor range does beat Serpentera’s, like we were hoping. Thanks, you two.”

[Our pleasure!] Pink replied as Pterodactyl did an excited mid-air flip.

“Let’s hold here and review the plan. This is our best chance to talk to Serpentera, before Repulssa has any idea we exist and takes measures to stop us from interfering. Dregon, you and Titanus have point on that. Act as you deem appropriate.”

[We will,] Dregon replied. Titanus’s bellow was lost, however, to the vacuum of space.

“Meanwhile, the rest of us will presume that we won’t be able to break Repulssa’s hold on Serpentera just by talking. I’ll try to block its long-range communications fast enough to stop them sending out a distress signal, but I want no other hostile actions even if it opens fire. We hold off on open battle as long as we can. Diversionary tactics, and try to lure Serpentera away from the planet and toward the star, where our solar batteries mean we’ll be strongest. Don’t let Serpentera’s eye beams hit you if you can avoid it. The polyuryll coatings on our friends can take a lot, but we won’t really know how much ‘a lot’ is until one of them goes down. Pterodactyl will be best at evading but easiest to take down from direct hits; Sarrai, skirmish in close but be careful. Next, Ferin opens telepathic communication with-“

[No,] Yellow’s voice cut right through Blue’s battle instructions.

“What?” Blue blinked.

[I’m not talking to her. Get someone else.]

Blue hesitated. “Are you-”

[Get. Someone. Else.]

A normal Eltarian Team leader would have called her out, likely even ordered her to do it all the more because of her rebellion. Rae probably would never have asked her because he would’ve realized faster than Zordon had that she’d refuse to talk with Allaise’s murderer. Blue himself just wished she hadn’t refused. Being mad at Kiori over a spell wasn’t fair. The Blue Ranger took a deep breath, remembered the pain in Ferin’s eyes back in the hangar bay, and found he knew what to do.

“Dregon, you’ll open the telepathic link with the pilot as well. Keep trying to find a chink in the spell if you can, but mostly distract her. Make sense?”

[If you wish,] came the Edenite’s measured voice, [though I don’t know how distracting I will be, as a stranger.]

*Yeah, that’s why I wanted Ferin,* Blue thought. “It’s okay,” he said without letting an awkward beat fall, “just do what you can to keep the line open. While you do, Titanus, keep trying to make contact with Serpentera. That leaves Mastodon on point to lead the actual fighting. Atalanta, you call the plays; Sarrai, Ferin, and Aemil will back you, and I will when I can around spellcasting. Put Tyrannosaurus front and center as often as possible.”

[Yes sir,] Atalanta said in neat, clipped military tones. Mastodon, though, started preening with its trunk, hinting that the Kaolan general was pleased by his confidence in her.

Tyrannosaurus made a sound lost to the vacuum of space to accompany a flailing of its tiny arms. “You got this,” Blue assured it, “and remember that you and Titanus are the only ones likely to be able to go toe-to-toe with Serpentera, at least briefly. Don’t be afraid to engage.”

Tyrannosaurus’s arms flailed again, somehow communicating indignance now rather than doubt. [Yeah, well, you’ll be the one teaching me about fearless engaging,] Red laughed nervously.

“If we see an opening to take Serpentera down, we’ll try coming together like we practiced on Edenoi. If we do that, though, we have to win – it’s way too early yet for Repulssa to find out about our combined form. Aemil, you’re my second; if I go down, you’re leading the Team.”

[Great,] Red said with only a slight squeak. A soft sound came across the line from Pink; Zordon guessed she’d held back a chuckle to avoid embarrassing Aemil. To a fire mage, Aemil’s hesitancy must seem very strange.

“All right, everyone. Let’s move in,” he ordered.

Six giant fighting machines activated their solar engines and shot forward soundlessly through space toward the single deadliest machine in the galaxy.

*****

[And the natives?]

“Around a third of the population dead,” Kiori answered her mistress with a twisted smile. “I could wipe them out, if you’d like, but I thought you might want to enslave them.”

[I might get around to it,] Repulssa said. Her image on Serpentera’s viewscreen looked thoughtful. Her mistress made a strange, self-conscious tick then: she tucked one stripe of hair behind her ear and under other hair. Through the grainy visuals, Kiori couldn’t be quite sure, but she thought the patch of hair might be going gray. Curious. [Very well. Once you’ve slept, move on to your next target.] Rita ended the connection.

Kiori took a moment to lean back in her pilot’s chair and just take a few relaxing breaths. She idly traced the swirls of Black on her brown skin, her Empress’s artwork etched into her body, and smiled.

An alert light went off. “What is it now?” she complained. Didn’t the universe know that mass murder was draining and she deserved a rest?

Several button-punches later, she discovered that half a dozen small somethings were approaching fast from outside the Gamma Cephei system. She frowned. They were moving much too fast to be astronomical phenomena, and they were much too small to be interstellar ships. They reached visual sensor range, and she put them on her main, large co*ckpit screen, picture in picture with the decimated planet actually in front of her.

“What the Light…” she swore, staring. They were strange creatures flying as fast as starships. She frowned at them, trying to figure out what was happening. Just in case, she slithered Serpentera to the far side of Cephelon Prime. She could get the jump on them, take them apart, and find out later what they were.

No sooner had she reached the far side of the planet than Serpentera started behaving strangely. It was subtle – a few indicators here and there off kilter – but Kiori frowned. It seemed like Serpentera was working on processes other than what she’d ordered it to.

The viewscreen, meanwhile, showed the shapes rapidly approaching. They were becoming more clearly not spaceships. In fact, they looked like animals. Kiori squinted at them, trying to force the images to make sense faster. They were each a different color and shape. One had wings, one large teeth, another a huge, blocky head… and the black one had a long, silvery trunk…

“Blessit!” she swore. Her fingers raced to the communications section of her main console – and stopped half an inch from the buttons. She tried again, pushing her fingers forward, and the tips struck something that sparked in a small latticework of deep Blue light across most of the main console. There was a tiny force field over her console, blocking her from accessing her controls. The peculiar warm tingle pressing against her fingertips felt like magic. Someone had affected Serpentera magically from hundreds of miles away.

That left only one plausible answer. Eyes narrowing, she sat back in the pilot’s seat and connected with Serpentera’s telepathic controls instead. There was no telepathic interface for communications, but there was one for propulsion and weapons. Luckily, that was all she really wanted.

“Lover boy,” she growled, “you should have stayed away.”

Chapter 32: Malleata Fasimi

Chapter Text

[Serpentera is charging weapons!] Pink called out to the rest.

[Did you shut down communications, sir?] Black asked.

[I think so,] Blue replied. He sounded faintly winded. [Dregon, anything from Serpentera?]

“It is communicating with Titanus,” White replied, “but to what extent, I am unclear. We must remain engaged with Serpentera for as long as possible.”

[Agreed. Distract the pilot,] Black ordered. [The rest of us, let’s close!]

White turned off his comms. “Oh, I’ll distract her all right,” he said. Beneath his helmet, he let a little smile of triumph spread his lips. [Malleata fasimi, Kiori,] he sent telepathically.

Their opponent’s telepathic “voice” in reply was shocked and demanding: [How do you know that code? Who is this??]

The rest of White’s Team was engaging. Though Serpentera was evading, it was doing so poorly, and its shots in return went wide. The smile beneath his helmet grew a little broader. [Who I am is not important,] he replied. [Three things are important. You are outgunned and outmaneuvered. You are losing control of Serpentera.]

[How do you… Stars, what are you doing?] Kiori’s “voice” sounded panicked now. He presumed that she was noticing the effects of Titanus’s conversation with Serpentera. He shifted his attention momentarily to listen in on that communication, just in case… but it appeared that Titanus was following his orders perfectly: threatening Serpentera rather than offering alliance. How foolish of his uncle not to program Titanus with a stronger moral code. He reinforced the mental shielding around both of them – Eltarians were pathetically weak telepaths, but it was better to be cautious – before returning his thoughts to Kiori.

He sent her a low, taunting chuckle. [Go ahead. Ask.]

A pause, then: [What’s the third important thing?]

The smile burst free of its princely restraints. [I really need Zordon to trust me.]

With that, he sent a shockwave made of hundreds of chaotic thought-fragments like so much mental shrapnel. He felt the Eltarian woman try to raise her mental guard, but he shoved the thought-form through it easily. Her scream of pain was thrilling.

He reactivated comms. “Serpentera is refusing to listen. I think it’s going to try to run!” he said to his Teammates, a carefully-calculated note of panic in the words.

[Its shields are fracturing, though. We can get through. Atalanta?!] Red called out.

A moment’s hesitation, then: [Sarrai,] came Black’s order, [take the pilot. Everyone else, cover Pterodactyl when it goes inactive and keep up the fire on Serpentera. Stop it from engaging hyperrush until Sarrai has the pilot.]

White shoved another telepathic barrage at Kiori and then sent to her, [They’re coming to capture you. You have about five seconds to run. Somehow, I don’t think you’re going to make it. Five,] he sent along with a string of half-formed thoughts that would shatter her own into jumbled pieces, [four,] all his memories of pain – his own and those he’d captured from other people – left the Eltarian woman screaming again, [three] and he reflected her own mental screams back at her, magnified, [two-]

[I have her!] Pink’s voice crowed. [Teleporting back to Pterodactyl!]

Cheers erupted across the communication lines. White gave a silent fist-pump of victory, then turned his thoughts to Titanus. [Order Serpentera to run,] he commanded his construct.

The vast, ponderous thought-presence of Titanus answered with confusion. [I’m your pilot, just do it!] he snapped in reply.

[Dregon, anything?] Blue’s voice asked again over the intercom.

In calm tones again, he said, “They remain in contact. I believe that Serpentera is listening… but… oh no!” he protested theatrically.

[What? What is it?] Yellow’s voice asked in alarm.

Titanus’s sensors gave White the same report that the lesser ZEMMs’ instruments were giving his Teammates: Serpentera had just gone into hyperrush.

[What! How!?] Black protested.

[Sarrai, did she get away?] Yellow asked.

[No, she’s out cold. Serpentera left without her somehow,] Pink replied.

[Anyone have a lock on the rushtrail?] Blue asked. Four disappointed [No]s came in reply. White didn’t bother adding his voice. [Dammit. Okay. Fall back to Kaola. Sarrai, can you keep her unconscious?]

[Only with my fists. Fire mage,] Pink replied pointedly.

[Ok. I’ll cast on her from here.]

There might have been more to the exchange, but White had heard enough. He muted the channel and started pressing buttons to access Titanus’s memory circuitry. That vast, vague presence rose up higher into his awareness again – this time with a feeling of protest. “Sorry, friend,” he murmurred, “but I can’t be sure you’ll keep this our little secret. My plans are too important for you to mess them up.” He deleted Titanus’s memory of the battle just in time to follow Blue’s order to engage hyperrush.

Once they were flying through folds of space, White finally let himself relax his guard. That had been nerve-wracking, but his plan had gone perfectly. Perhaps he did have the makings of a good villain.

*****

The very instant the six behemoth robots landed on Kaola an hour later, before their remarkable presence could draw a crowd to the capitol city’s spaceport, Blue, Pink, and black-twined white streaks of light raced out of them. The streaks landed on the ground between the robots’ feet and turned into two Power Rangers and an unconscious Eltarian woman. Triceratops and Pterodactyl above them went perfectly still. In Pink and Blue flashes, the costumes vanished to show Sarrai, holding Kiori, and Zordon, tears already shining in his obsidian eyes. Sarrai passed Kiori to her new leader, who hugged her sleeping form close to his chest.

“Thank you,” he said through the cloud of her black hair that had fallen across his face. “So much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Of course I do,” Sarrai said.

Zordon blinked, realized, and shifted his grip on his wife to touch Sarrai’s shoulder gently. “I wish,” Zordon said quietly.

The millennia-old teen girl looked up at him, vulnerability shining through the anger in her eyes, searching for something in his. She appeared to find it, because the hard anger filling her expression softened. “Thanks,” she said quietly back.

There was no more time for the tender moment. Four other lights flew down to surround them. Their Teammates deMorphed and exchanged an array of Eltarian, Kaolan, and Volarite gestures of congratulations. Dregon, with his usual princely reserve, held back, but he still looked quite satisfied with himself.

“That was amazing!”

“The way they moved!”

“Didn’t stand a chance!”

“Well done,” Zordon said, quieting them, “and thank you, everyone. Now, if you wouldn’t mind handling explanations to the crowd, I need to get to work.” He nodded to Kiori’s sleeping form. His Team agreed easily. Zordon teleported himself and his wife away.

Aemil straightened his Red tunic and schooled the nervousness from his expression to face the Kaolan officials running toward them across the landing field. Inevitably, without Zordon there, the crowd would focus on the Red clothes next.

“By all the stars and galaxies above,” the fastest sprinter among the Kaolans cried, staring up at the vast robots in awe, “what are those things?!”

“Uh…” Aemil looked back at Ferin, who shook her head firmly. They hadn’t used the name ZEMMs aloud since Ferin’s disapproval of it, and their new Teammates didn’t even know it. “They’re called, um…”

*****

News of the fighting machines spread like wildfire across the galaxy. The defeat of Serpentera, even if a partial one, during their first time out impressed Rangers across galaxies and dimensions. The rush to recreate the machines for other Teams was furious. Allies of the Triforian Empire in neighboring Andromeda Galaxy clamored to trade for the nigh-priceless vital component, the metal Uryll, which was abundant on almost no other planets in the galactic cluster. Through immense diplomatic skill and reputation, King Lexian slowed down the fervor and convinced all of the would-be roboticists that any other such creations must be considered allies, not inanimate tools of war. He offered his mentorship to only a few directly but authorized others to try independently.

Consensus was quickly reached on a name without the input of King Lexian or Zordon’s Team. Either Lexian couldn’t or chose not to change it, because it stuck quite firmly: these new technological allies were named Zords, after the young Eltarian hero who had helped create the first ones.

The War Council had now been working together for over a year, and they coordinated efficient, effective counter-strikes to push back Vilus’s recent gains. No one could find Serpentera. The hopeful assumption was that with its pilot captured, it would disappear for a little while at least. They would press the advantage while they had it.

None of this, of course, mattered at all to their leader.

*****

Kiori screamed and twisted in her bonds the moment she woke again. “No! Mistress!” she cried out. Her eyes were wild, terrified as a rabbit running from a lion. “You won’t! You can’t break me from her! I’d sooner die!” she yelled.

Zordon, on the other side of a force field and a magical circle from her, took a slow, steadying breath. He’d been at this for four hours. He first tried to solve it without waking her, but he couldn’t figure out the spell with her unconscious. Eventually he’d decided to talk to her to gather clues, and this was his third attempt to. The first time, when she’d failed to talk him into letting her go, she had used new sorcerous power to try to kill him. The second, after he’d blocked her magic, she’d almost killed herself hurtling her body against the cell’s force field and he’d had to knock her out. Now, with her bound physically and magically, Zordon hoped desperately there would be no more surprises and they could talk.

“I know you feel that way now,” he said in calm, soothing tones, “but I promise, it’s just a spell. I’m going to free you. Just tell me what-”

She let loose a primal, terrifying, furious scream that drowned him out utterly. He dropped his head into his hands. Despite himself, he was shaken. Since his apprenticeship with Naatam, his magic had only failed him once, when Rae’nor died, and that had been his fault. He should be able to solve this easily even if Rita had done it herself. And Kiori… if she hadn’t been his dear wife, he’d have found her scarier in some ways than Rita. He had to figure this out!

A swirl of golden light pulled his attention. He burst to his feet, then immediately to his knees, holding both hands out before him to greet the short newcomer. “Ta’ria! Thank you so much!”

The wizardess Ta’ria, War Council representative from Liaria, put her furry hands on top of Zordon’s furless ones and trilled in Liarian, ‘I came as quickly as I could, dear friend.’

‘Thank you,’ he trilled a reply, also in Liarian. Kiori, he noted, had stopped screaming. He darted a glance at her and found her watching them, eyes narrowed. She had never learned the complex, translation-defying language of Liaria, and now that gave them an advantage. ‘I can’t identify the spell or break it. Please help.’

‘I will try,’ she replied. She waddled close to Kiori’s cell on her small legs. She withdrew a slender wand from a pouch slung across her furred chest and motioned in the air. The tip of the wand generated golden sparks. Kiori shrank away within her bonds, tensing.

Zordon held his breath. The Liarians’ magic was so different from standard sorceries that he hardly understood it himself. Surely, Ta’ria would see something he’d missed…

The door into the cell block opened. Sarrai stepped inside. She was holding a bowl that steamed. “I can’t eat,” Zordon protested immediately, “not yet.”

Sarrai just rolled her red eyes. “Yes, because Eltarians are so much more effective when hungry.”

“Zorrr,” Ta’ria purred an approximation of his name, and he turned back to her immediately. ‘I’m sorry,’ she continued in Liarian. ‘She is not under a spell.’

Zordon sighed with disappointment. ‘I can’t find it either,’ he said.

Ta’ria shook her head. ‘No, Zorrr. She is not under a spell. There are traces of magical talent around her connected to those tattoos, but there is no active spell on her, of her doing or anyone else’s. I am certain.’

Zordon frowned. Liarians weren’t inclined to exaggerate their magical ability; they were not only skilled but humble. And he hadn’t traced that the tattoos and new sorcerous ability were connected, so she’d seen more than he had. But… ‘What else could it be?’ Zordon asked.

His emotions must have been showing, because Sarrai asked, “What is she saying?”

“She thinks Kiori’s not under a spell,” Zordon said.

‘No, I know she is not,’ Ta’ria said firmly, hands going to her hips. Zordon opened his mouth to trill his confused protest again.

“Oh,” Sarrai said with a heavy tone.

Slowly, Ta’ria and Zordon both turned to look up at the Ignan woman. “Does that mean something to you?” he asked, heart pounding. If it did, from her tone he didn’t think he’d like what it meant.

In the background, Kiori started chuckling. It was a low, subtle sound that made the hairs (or fur) on the back of their necks stand up.

“Well, those tattoos are pretty distinctive. If it’s not a spell, then…” Sarrai hesitated, looking closely at Zordon and Ta’ria’s confused expressions. “You don’t know what the Morslucis is, do you.”

Both wizards shook their heads.

“Oh Shriinak,” the new Pink Ranger winced. “It’s… I guess you don’t see it anymore outside of Black galaxies. But it used to be common here. Father’s told me stories, and Z-“ she stopped short as an angry light flared in her eyes, “my late brother lost a good friend to it, during the Black Tide. The tattoos are part of a ritual. It takes a mageblood to cast it, and it tears up a piece of their magic forever to do it, but once it’s done, the victim’s gone. What’s left inside her now is just a miniature of Rita – from sorcery to Shade. There’s no counter-ritual, no cure. I’m so sorry.”

Zordon absorbed that for a long moment. He looked up at Kiori. His wife was staring at him with a little, undeniably sad*stic smile on her face. “That’s what she did?” he asked her.

For a moment, it seemed Kiori wouldn’t answer. Then, “She did warn you,” his wife purred. “We all would suffer because we knew you. But, oh, she was so generous with the shape of my suffering. The release from that Light bullsh*t is…” she shivered with pleasure.

He looked away, shuddering, thinking of the Shard. “No,” he answered. “I won’t accept that. She will be cured.”

“Zordon, we tried,” Sarrai protested. “We’ve all tried, for years. If anyone could cure it, it would’ve been the Aurans. Air magic is all about change and freedom – and they nearly wiped themselves out trying.”

Zordon shook his head. He stood, noticing as he did so that his fists had balled at his sides. “No. She will be cured. If I have to invent the cure myself, so be it!”

‘Zorrr, we need your leadership,’ Ta’ria said with concern. ‘You do not intend to leave again for this research, do you?’

As he hesitated, Kiori gave that bone-chilling little laugh again. He shook himself. Of course he wanted to drop everything to help Kiori – and if he let his passions run away with him, he could hand Rita the war. “I won’t leave,” he promised. “But I need to work on this too. I can’t leave her like this.”

Ta’ria just frowned, but Sarrai’s face flushed. “Don’t you get it?” she demanded.

He frowned. “What?”

“She knows you!” Sarrai burst out. “She knows you’d do anything to save Kiori! Serpentera’s destroyed eight whole planets! *That battle was too easy*!”

“You think…” Zordon glanced back at Kiori.

The corrupted woman also looked surprised by Sarrai’s logic. She thought it over, then shrugged. “That’s a very good plan,” she said. “And now that I know my mistress wanted this, we can have a lot more fun.” She pursed her lips to blow him a kiss. Zordon looked away with another shudder.

“I will save you,” he vowed, his tone low and dangerous. “I promise.”

Chapter 33: The Future

Chapter Text

Serpentera did indeed vanish after its pilot’s capture, and the morale that had begun to ebb on Zordon’s side was renewed. Across the galaxy, Light forces moved to push back Vilus, erasing the gains made in the last month of chaos and fear. Much of the territory Vilus held in the Milky Way was too entrenched to quickly shake them loose from, but the Light cut into that territory in a few important places.

True to his word, Zordon did not retreat into wizardly seclusion. For the next month, he kept up the appearance of being undistracted, in fact – but it was illusion. Really, he worked on a cure for Kiori whenever the War didn’t critically need him, sleeping rarely and only when utterly exhausted. He hardly even took breaks to see Epona, from whom they hid Kiori’s plight. He made no progress. Continued failure tore him up. So did Kiori: she did everything she could to torment him as he tried to help her, and she was in a singular position to wound him.

His Team stayed together, partly for the sake of their “Zords,” but also to shield him. Allaise, Rae, or Kiori could have convinced Zordon to be reasonable and rest. With them all gone, his current Teammates could only help in smaller ways. They did what they could, and, in the process, found their roles on the new Team.

Atalanta took over an increasing share of War-wide command decisions. The career soldier had a remarkable head for strategy. She could assess the strengths and weaknesses of each of their forces and use them to best effect while maintaining a balance of compassion and sacrifice that any Eltarian, even Zordon, would have been hard-pressed to replicate. Command of war strategy had passed, temporarily at least, to a native of the galaxy they were fighting for.

Dregon took up Kiori’s old diplomatic role for the War Council. His status as eldest Prince and royal successor of the most respected planet in the galaxy easily made up for his chillier attitude as he smoothed out the inevitable ruffled feathers in the war alliance.

Aemil was the day-to-day commander of their Team. It usually fell to him, in consultation with Atalanta, to determine whether and how they would fight in the War directly. He did this surprisingly well. Whether this new leadership impulse stemmed from Kiori’s plight, Zordon’s distraction, or Tyrannosaurus’s immense badassness even Ferin couldn’t guess, but he seemed determined to finally shed his Volarite hesitation and Step Up.

Sarrai stayed with Zordon. She couldn’t help his research – as a relatively young Ignan, her magic was limited to “kaboom” in scope aside from her specialty in magical sensing – but she was a constant presence at his side. It was because of Sarrai that Zordon didn’t break under the pressures of failure and Kiori’s cruelty. She held him in his despair, cajoled him back to life to try again, and won his infinite gratitude by being the one person who, after that first day, never tried to get him to give up on his wife. She would have done the same for Zedd, and they both knew it. Sarrai wasn’t a nurturing person by nature, but as days turned to weeks, she quickly became the only person other than Epona who could make Zordon laugh.

Ferin, though, was more withdrawn than ever. She followed orders but took no joy in battle, down time with her Teammates, or anything else. She kept a constant mental guard up that complemented her physical and emotional arm’s length. Aemil insisted that she spend time with him regularly at least, and in deference to the man she’d trained and served with since the Academy, she did. Nothing he could do pulled her guard down, though. Even when it was just the two of them, the only significant emotion he saw from her was the few times Kiori was mentioned – and that emotion was rage.

On the few, rare nights when Yellow and Blue Rangers were both sleeping, Aemil and Sarrai stayed up late together, sharing their worries over the Teammates they were trying to save. It seemed either Ferin or Zordon, or both, would destroy themselves sooner or later over Kiori. This was probably exactly what Repulssa had hoped when she’d arranged Kiori’s capture. Sarrai and Aemil became firm friends, bonding as they strategized how to help their Teammates.

For all their late-night sessions, though, neither predicted what happened next.

*****

Kiori, as usual, was bored. A month into her imprisonment, her cell was a lot more like quarters, but there wasn’t much in it to amuse her. Anything technological or magical she could use to escape, so entertainment was down to books, paints, clay, and the like, and none of those had ever held her interest for long.

Swoosh! Her “cell” door was opening. She had a visitor!

She strained not to jump up with excitement. Would it be Zordon, her favorite torture toy? Some new “expert” he’d called in? She forced herself to take a leisurely pace out of the bedroom portion into the outer room, where one wall was a force field.

To her surprise, no one was there. She frowned. Or… was there someone? A slight, person-sized distortion shifted through the air on the other side of the force field. “Hello?” she said.

Color bled slowly into the distortion – deep browns, black, and Yellow. She remembered from a lifetime ago Ferin’s Eltarian talent. Her lips curled into an eager grin. Oh, even better.

“Ferin,” Kiori said, feigning concern. “My evilness, you look the worse for wear. Like someone killed your puppy – oh! Right. Guess I did,” she grinned.

The Yellow Ranger, now fully solid, just looked back at her steadily. Kiori couldn’t hear any of her thoughts – Zordon’s ward around her prison certainly included telepathy – but she was still Kiori. Though Ferin’s expression was closed, Kiori read grief and fury buried deep in her former Teammate’s eyes.

“Finally got curious?” Kiori continued. “Wanted to take a look for yourself? See if I’m truly as changed as they all say? Oh, the stories are quite exaggerated, actually – boo hoo,” she mock-sobbed, “I’m so so sad over all the terrible things Rita Repulssa made me do. It was so very upsetting to murder ‘Laise-“

The flash of rage in Ferin’s dark eyes was so intense that it hardly looked sane. Kiori faltered despite herself. Ferin’s gaze cooled as quickly as a white-hot brand thrust in water. “Hello,” was all she said.

Kiori gave a little smile. The crazed look Ferin had given made her a little more cautious. “Well, what then? You don’t want to talk about your dear star-crossed lover girl, then what?”

“The future,” Ferin said quietly.

“Huh.” Kiori sat down on a pouf near the force field’s edge. “You mean the future where Zordon finds some fancy never-before-heard-of cure and I go back to being the sweet little Light bitch I was?”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“We do?” she said. “Well then. The other future, perhaps – the one where I get free of this cage and rejoin my mistress?”

“That won’t happen either.”

“You definitely don’t mean the one where I stand trial for my crimes back on Eltare. No one’s going to hand me over to the IGPF. I’m just going to sit right here, safe as kittens, through the rest of this war, the perfect little distraction draining his strength dry. He can’t do a thing but try to save me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to kill you now.”

Kiori’s heart gave a startled leap – but Ferin certainly wasn’t serious. She was a Power Ranger. “Oh really?” she said with a chuckle that was only slightly forced. “Is that why you’d kill me? Not because you can't stop wondering how much I made her scream before I carved the life out of her?”

"There's that too."

Ferin’s steady calm finally unnerved Kiori. This wasn’t like Ferin. Had the girl gone mad? Could she actually be serious? Fear bit into Kiori’s belly and held on tight. "It won't change a thing. I'm just one small servant of my Empress. My death won't even slow her plans down.”

“Probably not. I expect she’s trained a replacement pilot by now.”

“Exactly,” Kiori said, though inwardly she felt a pout of jealousy – Serpentera was *hers*. “And besides, I’m everything to him. Kill me and you’ll break your Team."

Ferin nodded slowly. “That’s possible,” she acknowledged. She pulled a small disk from her pocket and put it on the ground in front of her, inches from the force field. “You have no idea how much I don't care.”

Kiori’s heart burst into a frantic rapport. If this wasn’t a joke, Kiori had no way to contact anyone to help. However good it sounded on paper to die serving Rita’s interests, when it came down to it, she very much wanted to live.

“Hey. Wait a minute,” she gasped out, though she had little idea what she’d say if Ferin did.

Ferin nudged the disk a little closer to the force field with the toe of her Yellow slipper. “Why?” she asked in the same cool, half-interested tone. “Do you want to beg for your life?”

Kiori locked eyes with her. There was an insane calm in Ferin’s eyes. It wasn’t a joke. “Okay. Sure. What kind of begging do you want?” she forced a tentative smile.

Disappointment flickered through Ferin’s eyes. “Kiori would never have begged,” she said quietly. With the toe of her slipper, Ferin pushed the disk into the edge of the force field.

The barely-visible force field crackled from every edge and radiated thin, faintly blue lightning-bolt slivers of light down to touch the disk. A tiny, piercingly high-pitched noise started coming from the disk as if it were charging up.

“Stop!” Kiori demanded. “Help!” she screamed, then again through telepathy, hoping Ferin’s device had disrupted Zordon’s field enough for it to get through. From the same hope, Kiori reached out for magical power – but the few thin strands she could find she couldn’t shape into anything useful. At last, she stopped and just stared at Ferin, filled with terror. Ferin’s calmly furious expression didn’t waver in the slightest – not swayed, not even pleased by Kiori’s fear. Kiori’s mouth opened, but no words came out. There was nothing more to try.

She could run. Maybe the device had a range and she’d be safe in the bedroom, at least for another second or three. She let the idea play for half a second, then let it go. She was going to die. She wouldn’t give the Ranger the satisfaction of chasing her down.

“Last words,” Ferin whispered.

Kiori thought a moment. “Every one of you will die screaming,” she promised.

The first real expression flickered over Ferin’s face: a smile. Thin, broken, but a smile. “Sounds good. You first,” she said. The Yellow Ranger tapped the little disk with her toe.

A thick current of bluish lightning flew out from the device. It struck Kiori squarely in the chest. The electricity made her body arch but left her no breath to scream. In a few seconds, the lightning faded, and Kiori slumped to the ground. A charred circle on her chest and her open, unseeing eyes proved what Ferin had done.

For a long moment, the Yellow Ranger just stared. Waves of emotion crashed against her resolve. At long last she let tears fall. “I’m sorry, ‘Laise,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted. But I had to, I-” She caught herself just before she descended into sobbing she couldn’t afford yet. She had two more tasks left before she could let go.

Three slow, deep breaths steadied her. She reached out a hand to the communication panel set into one wall. “Aemil, are you there?”

[Ferin? Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?]

“I need you to go to my quarters, please. Bring Zordon, if he’ll go.”

[Uh… sure… why?] he asked with a familiar edge of worried suspicion. Ferin smiled at it. She’d miss that about him.

“I just need you to. Power protect you, Aemil.”

[Sure, you too, but… I’ll see you in a minute.]

Ferin closed the communication channel. “Goodbye, my friend,” she whispered.

Now came the chanciest part of her plan: escaping. She couldn’t care less about surviving this, but she had to run. If she left, Zordon couldn’t revenge on her and descend into another period of violence like he had after Allaise. He’d escaped that Dark place, somehow; she didn’t want to drag him back down with her. The letters waiting for him and Aemil in her bedroom explained all of that, but they were only words on paper; neither they nor Aemil could be sure to stop Zordon’s rage. Physical distance could give Aemil and Sarrai time to cool him down. Problem was, she had only one way to run, and it was up to the Power to decide if she could still use it.

“It’s Morphin’ Time,” she whispered.

“SABER TOOTH TIGER!”

Yellow light swept up around her and filled her with strength, just as it had these past four years. She hadn’t lost the Power.

She’d murdered in cold blood and not lost the Power.

Gratitude and horror swirled inside her in equal measure. Yellow shook herself. Leave now; think through implications later. With a telepathic call, she asked the Saber-Tooth Tiger Zord to launch from the massive hangar bay on their ship. Touching both hands to the Morpher at her belt, she teleported to meet her Zord in space.

*****

As she landed, her Zord sent her excited greetings and a sense of curiosity. “You pick,” she answered, all but collapsing into her chair. It was done. She was done. “Just someplace far away. Fast.”

*****

“I don’t know,” Aemil said again. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and glanced up at Zordon as they walked down the corridor to Ferin’s quarters. “She wouldn’t say, and she’s not answering now. I don’t think she can be in danger – I mean, it’s our own spaceship and all, and she sounded really calm.”

“If this is some kind of surprise party…” Zordon frowned at Aemil.

Aemil gave a thin laugh. “Ferin? No, not these days. Here we are,” he said, stepping up alongside her door and pressing the door release.

The two Rangers stepped through and inside a dishevelled room of mostly Yellow objects, the majority of them on the floor. Zordon looked the room over in surprise.

“No,” Aemil answered his surprise. “She hasn’t been doing well.”

They picked their way to the bed, where a softly-glowing Yellow gem sat as if to draw their attention. It rested atop two folded letters, one addressed to each of them. Aemil unfolded his first. Almost immediately, the Red Ranger sank to the floor with a moan of horror. Zordon, shocked, looked over his own letter to find out what had so affected Aemil.

His, though, contained only one line:

'Do better than me, please. Remember Rae’nor.'

End Book 4

Chapter 34: Book 5: Darkness - Prologue

Chapter Text

Three (Eltarian) months later

Master and Mistress Vile rarely entertained guests. Parties, of course, they were well-known for; in fact, their most elegant soirees, those with “living decorations,” were legendary affairs that half the Dark vied with one another to win an invitation to. But just entertaining a guest or three – that was work for their lesser relatives, even their servants. And now, this afternoon, not only did they need to use their most regal receiving room, but they needed it to entertain someone so low that he normally wouldn’t be allowed to shine their servants’ shoes.

“Breathe,” Master Vile reminded his wife as they paused outside the door. “We have all the power here.”

“Do we?” Mistress Vile gave a small, bitter chuckle. It was day 370 of King Redwath’s allotted 410 Negrim-standard days. Rita’s year extension was almost up, and Mistress Vile resented that that drove them to certain extreme measures.

“According to him, certainly we do,” he answered. Two of his heads nodded to the servants at either side of the door.

One opened the door, and the other stepped inside to announce in crisp, precise tones: “Master and Mistress Vile approach. On your knees, filth.”

He stepped aside, allowing his masters to enter. They did so, chins (four, between the two of them) held high. The man within was on his knees, as prompted. He looked utterly out of place in their glorious receiving room: dishevelled, clothes torn and dirty, burnt-tan skin as sooty as if his main job was cleaning out fireplaces. Only his hair – a shoulder-length orange-red tangle – looked vibrant and relatively clean.

“You are Zedd?” Master Vile asked.

The man nodded, keeping his gaze low. “I am.”

“Former Red Ranger of Eltare?” Mistress Vile pursued. Her voice held a special loathing for the Light planet. “Who betrayed your Teammates and joined our daughter in Evil?”

“Yes, mistress,” he said quietly.

“Now servant of Artureen of Negrim, whom you serve until one thousand years should pass to prove your true evilness?” she continued.

One hand twitched, but he didn’t let it form a fist. “Yes, mistress.”

“And before all that,” Master Vile asked, “you were a prince among the fire-mages of the Milky Way, a sorcerous clan known for their life-extending magics?”

Zedd’s eyes flicked from the carpet up toward the evil monarch. That was an odd detail to include, and he’d noticed. He let a beat fall before replying, warily, “Why do you ask?”

Mistress Vile flicked him a small, toothy smile. “Dear husband,” she said silkily, “this is no fit way to entertain our guest. Come now, stand – let’s get you cleaned up a bit-“ a quick cantrip later, he and his clothes were both clean “-and you must be hungry? Thirsty?”

Zedd regarded them both, not quite meeting their eyes out of proper humility, but there was a tiny smile dancing on his lips. This young evil was not slow on the uptake. “I am,” he said, “but your reputation precedes you, Mistress Vile.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “It won’t be poisoned,” she promised. “We’ve much better uses for you in mind.”

Zedd found a comfortable chair of leather and gold and sat down, crossing his legs as casually as if he hadn’t just been groveling on the floor. “So I’m beginning to gather. What do you want from me, exactly?”

“Teach us that magic,” Master Vile said.

He gave a second wary pause. “I could do that. Why do you want it?”

“Ambition. I quite like the idea of ruling this galaxy for a hundred thousand years,” Master Vile said.

A servant presented Zedd a tray of hors d’oeurves and a blood-red drink with a baffled look on her face. Zedd replied to the look with a haughty, dismissive one of his own. He’d entered here as a slave, yes – but he was suddenly not at all sure he’d leave as one.

“Why else?” Zedd asked only after the servant had left.

Master Vile looked to his wife. She was better at intrigue like this; he had no patience for intelligent minions.

Mistress Vile walked slowly up to stand just in front of Zedd, towering over his seated form. The Ignan prince didn’t blink. Intimidation wouldn’t work, then. Smoothly, she turned the movement into a slide toward a seat near him, cordially conspiratorial.

“We have a bit of a problem. Nothing we can’t solve on our own, but yours would be… let us say, the neatest solution,” she smiled, showing her shark’s teeth again. “Our dear daughter is ill. Overwork, we fear. It is so stressful leading a War. Her life force has grown weak.”

“As loving parents,” Master Vile took it up now that she’d shown him which way to go, “of course we want the very best solution for her. She could simply visit a Wellspring to strengthen her life-force, but that would be a temporary solution and cost her precious weeks in the midst of war. Your Clan’s technique would be a permanent fix.”

Zedd mulled that over, then nodded, apparently satisfied by that explanation. Inwardly, both were relieved – they didn’t want to trust this random Light-stained slave with secret War strategy. “And what do I get?”

“The remainder of your debt to Darkness forgiven,” Mistress Vile replied. “We will pay off your service to Artureen and publicly declare our belief that you are a true Evil.”

Saving him 994 years of slavery. The law that the stain of Light followed a family for one thousand years was usually just a way to ensure that fully-conquered Black galaxies had a sufficient supply of slaves. It wasn’t supposed to mean that an individual new evil would face ten centuries of forced labor – but Zedd would. “Generous,” Zedd said. “But there’s a problem.”

“Oh?” Mistress Vile frowned.

Zedd smiled. “I appreciate the gesture, of course – but a thousand years to me is a nice afternoon nap. I can get through my service and earn full Evil status on my own. For you, a thousand years means a lot more. I’m interested, but the details need balancing.”

“Go on,” Master Vile said.

“I want power. I’ve seen the freedmen; they’re not much better off than I am. I don’t want to spend the next few thousand years working up to your level. If I’m going to share with you one of my biggest advantages, I need enough power to get me started off well. A slave planet, maybe, or something equivalent.”

They exchanged looks again, this time to confer. One of their strengths as a couple was that they could understand one another often without resorting to telepathy, to the consternation of those used to relying on telepathic spying to get ahead. Master Vile nodded, and Mistress Vile turned her shark’s-grin on Zedd. “How about a ship?” she said.

Zedd frowned. “One ship?”

“Oh,” she said, “I think you’ll like this ship. There’s literally nothing else like it.”

*****

“No,” Rita growled, “I said no more meet…” She broke off into a fit of coughing. When it subsided, she leaned back into her chair. She was in a room on her flagship that had been outfitted for receiving visitors. Her chair looked quite regal and impressive but was enchanted to feel as soft as her bed.

“I’m sorry, mistress, I did try,” replied her personal physician. She was a portly, middle-aged woman with pale skin and long hair like thin, flowing strands of pure gold. If not for her hair, she might have been mistaken for an oddly pale Eltarian or even a Terran. As she spoke, the Meloan slave stroked Rita’s arm gently. Her innate somatic magic soothed Rita before she could get a good head of steam going. The physician frowned, though, at what that touch told her. “Your life-force is weaker than yesterday. I told you no magic for at least three days.”

In the last months, Rita had burned through her most precious resource – her magic – too fast, trusting her talent to allow her to work non-stop draining rituals like the one that had bent Kiori. Now she was paying the price. Breathing deeply under her physician’s sensuous, sedative touch, Rita shook her head. “Had to. Negrim emissary needed to be taught…”

“You have other ways to intimidate people,” her slave interrupted. “And you won’t intimidate anyone if you can’t get out of bed. How are the headaches today?”

Rita glared at her, which served for an answer.

“You need to rest. I’m sorry that I couldn’t deflect this last meeting, but that will be it for the day. Your chief potion-maker was quite adamant that you need to interview this one personally and immediately, and I couldn’t think of an excuse that wouldn’t raise his suspicions,” the doctor said. She was the only one physically near Rita who knew she was ill, as the witch didn’t want any of her servants or allies taking advantage.

Rita sighed. “Fine. It’s hidden?”

The older woman flicked silver eyes to Rita’s hairline and frowned. “These are new,” she said with a slightly accusing tone. She fingered a few hairs on the edge of the patches of gray peeking out from the middle of Rita’s hairline, then smoothed the gray hairs under her flaxen blond ones and out of sight.

“Send them in,” Rita said, not answering the comment. “And go, I don’t want you here.”

“Of course, Empress,” the physician bowed slightly and slipped from the room.

A moment later, Rita’s door opened again. Her chief potion-maker was a tall, spindly being with short midnight blue fur and skeletal wings. He stepped inside and immediately bowed, curling both arms and wings around himself. “Most beautiful and terrible Empress, it is an eternal honor to be in your presence!” Though the words were courtly, his high, nasal voice undermined the effect.

“Warlock Baboo,” Rita acknowledged. “If this isn’t worth my time, you will regret it.”

“Y-y-yes, of course, your Evilness!” the cowardly chiropteroid groveled. “Bring him in!” he hissed to someone out of sight behind him.

A pair of burly guards came in with a small figure between them: not five feet tall, white-bodied with a crinkled, pointed head and giant, swept-back, pointed ears. His tunic and pants, bright blue and gray, were torn and burned at the edges. “Greetings,” the small figure said. “I am Finster of Claidoious, your captive. I believe I can be of aid to you.” His voice was calm, polite – Rita would be inclined to call it genteel. He didn’t seem intimidated at all.

“What is this?” Rita growled. “I’m meeting with a prisoner?!”

“Not just any prisoner!” Baboo said excitedly. “An expert in tegulaic magics – a sheer creative genius with clay of all kinds! It’s so lucky we didn’t kill him by mistake when we conquered his planet!”

Finster shot him a sidelong, unfriendly look. “Indeed,” he said, turning back to Rita with a neutral expression again. “Quite lucky. I can help you immensely, for the right price.”

Rita threw her head back in a cackle. “Hah! A price!” she shrieked. “You’re my captive, you’ll do what I tell you or else!”

“Indeed not, madam,” Finster said coolly. “Though I have every confidence that you could do any number of horrible things to me, they won’t make me serve you.”

Almost before she’d realized it, Rita began muttering an incantation. Her fists started to glow. The thought flickered through her head that she shouldn’t use more magic right now, and she paused – but this lowly creature was utterly aggravating!

Her prisoner didn’t blink. “And I’m afraid that spellcasting will not work either. Claidoians are quite immune to sorcery,” Finster said, solving her debate. She released the magic with a grimace. He continued, his polite tones unchanged, “However, I am a reasonable man. I ask only for the release of my extended family and ten thousand others of varying ages and sexes, to include five thousand children, should so many of my race survive, into Light-held territory with your guarantee that they will not be pursued by your forces.”

Rita sneered. “What could you possibly offer that’s worth that much?”

“Ah, yes. Regrettably, I can’t give you a proper demonstration without my equipment, but if you’ll permit…” At her nod, he went rummaging in a pocket of his nigh-destroyed tunic and pulled out a small clay figure, vaguely humanoid in shape. He set it on the ground and put one hand to either side of it. Rita felt a faint stirring of magic, sluggish in coming together – he appeared to be a weak spellcaster. She’d nearly decided the whole demonstration wasn’t worth the effort to watch when a small flash of light and noise surrounded the little figure.

Between one blink and the next, the gray, humanoid figure went from three inches tall and inanimate to six feet. It began burbling and shuffling its feet from side to side.

Rita caught her breath. That was a major working, and one outside her expertise, but she’d felt almost no magic coming from him. There was little magic attached to the creature, either. She thought it unlikely anyone but a mageblood – and Zordon, damn him – would be able to disanimate it magically.

Baboo was bouncing from one foot to the next. “See? See, Empress?”

“I see. Go on,” she said to Finster.

“I call them Putties. They have limited intelligence capable of following simple commands, an instinct to collaborate with one another, innate skill in hand-to-hand combat, and when commanded to they will fight until destroyed. With sufficient, easily-acquired supplies I can produce thousands per day. I can also make superior, unique monsters of clay with proper equipment and more time. The Power Rangers of Claidoious used my monsters to train, and I got exceptionally good at creating foes which can challenge an entire Team.”

Rita felt a little bit of a smile coming on despite the stabs of pain between her brows. An unlimited army. It sounded too good to be true. Of course, it might not be – he was clearly from a Light planet. “And you’ll work for me?”

His tone became somber. “Our Rangers are dead. No one is coming to save us. I daresay my humble planet is beneath the notice of the high and mighty Lights leading this War. Any ethical qualms I have about serving you would be quite overshadowed by gratitude for my people’s survival. I would be your loyal slave,” Finster promised.

Seemed logical enough. “Baboo, stop prancing, you look like a fool!” she snapped as her head gave a particularly vicious stab. Her potion-maker stopped at once. “Find out what he needs for a full demonstration and get it to him, today. Set someone vicious and brawny to watch him. Goldar would do. And start rounding up these ‘Clay-doian’ prisoners so they’re easy to release – or kill.” She shot Finster a satisfyingly nasty smile. “Now, everyone get out!” she shrieked.

Baboo made a hasty bow and retreated ahead of the two guards. Finster paused to say an infuriatingly polite and calm, “Thank you,” before following.

Rita sank back into the comfort of the enchanted chair. She knew she needed to start plotting with this new resource in mind, but she couldn’t. She was utterly exhausted.

And still Zordon showed no signs of weakness…

One fist curled with her anger. Every time she thought she had him, he pulled some new trick. He shouldn’t be able to keep up with her – she was supposed to be so much stronger than that Eltarian child – but he was doing it nonetheless. If she rested, he would surely come up with some new power or weapon, or…

A yawn broke her thoughts. She uncurled the fist and tried to release anger and fear enough to sleep. She closed her eyes.

A steady beeping started from the communications screen set into her desk. She barely restrained her rage enough not to smash the little device. “On,” she groaned, and the screen flicked on.

She was quite set on yelling whoever was calling her into submission – possibly even killing them from a distance, though she knew she shouldn’t. When she saw her callers, all such thoughts fled. She gaped for a moment before she managed a formal, “Dishonored mother. Dishonored father. It is abysmal to see you.”

Rita and her parents hadn’t spoken directly since she left to murder Zordon. She kept them updated on her efforts through trusted servants, and they occasionally gave her advice the same way, but they’d never once called her. She’d assumed they didn’t want to talk to her until she was cleansed. Why reach out now?

She felt the flow of sorcery from them across to her, securing the communication from scrying magics. [We have a solution for you,] Master Vile said without preamble. [For your own health – and for the Wizard of Deception’s proposal.]

Her tired brain took a moment to recall what that proposal was – then her eyes went wide. The would-be traitor within Zordon’s inner circle. The ace she’d held for so long in her hand, unable to play it. “How?” she gasped.

Her mother gave one of her trademark just-caught-a-mouse smiles. That smile used to terrify Rita as a child. Now it made her eager. [How would you like to live forever, child mine?]

End Prologue

Chapter 35: Malleata Turolorin

Chapter Text

One Eltarian Week Later
Arcturia Beta, Milky Way

“What are these things? They’re everywhere!” Red shouted as he dodged and ducked swings from a dozen burbling gray creatures. He appeared to be doing little but retreating from them – but actually he was leading the foes pursuing him right into Pink. She took a casting stance as he neared, then passed her position. The gray things just kept burbling and moving toward her. A short casting kata later, Pink-red fire belched from her gloved hands, swept over the things, and left them sprawled on the ground, mostly inert. Red and Pink converged on them.

“Huh. They’re clay?” Pink said, kicking at the dried-out and crumbling chest of one.

“Really dumb clay,” Red added. Any normal foe had the sense to run from a fire mage about to cast a spell on them. Sarrai’s magic wasn’t exactly subtle.

“But they pack a punch. Let’s get back to the others,” Pink said.

Pink and Red ran across the mossy field of Arcturia Beta where they had been battling. The damp, moss-coated field gave way to vines hanging from even-mossier trees. Inside the patch of jungle, they could hear their Teammates fighting. Sweeping aside jungle vines, they saw White, Blue, and Black Rangers fighting a larger swarm of the identical gray creatures.

“Burning them is good!” Pink announced as she and Red waded in.

“Sure!” Blue replied, “but not burning down the forest with them!”

“Oh. Right,” Pink muttered with a nervous glance over her shoulder to check for smoking underbrush. She could really do without another lecture from Atalanta on fire safety.

“Anyone know yet whether they’re alive?” the aforementioned Black Ranger’s alto voice called out as she neatly maneuvered two into a thicket of vines. The flailing creatures entangled themselves in vines quite quickly, and Black turned toward the trio trying to attack her from behind.

“They’re clay, does that count?” Red said.

“I know of no teguloid species in this galaxy,” White said, still managing to sound calmly dour even in the heat of battle. He was exchanging blows with three of the creatures. They were fighting him eagerly despite the number of their kind he’d felled so far.

“Me neither!” Blue replied, “and there’s a little magic on them. Might be some new kind of constructs!” He ducked out from between three of them that had been closing with him, then with a small gesture liquefied the first twelve inches of jungle loam under their feet. His three opponents sank down, then Blue returned the substrate to its original state. The three warbled their protest but could do nothing to free themselves. “Cover me, I’m going to try magic!” he called out.

“Thus making this battle different from every other,” White quipped even as he rushed with the rest to Blue’s side.

Blue put a glove on one of the trapped goons and went still. This somehow attracted their opponents like honey for flies. The rest of the gray creatures in the area rushed him. His four Teammates got between him and them and engaged, blocking them from reaching Blue while he tried to analyze the three captives with magic.

“Wait a minute…” Blue said slowly, “there’s something else here…”

“A minute is a long time right now!” Black complained, picking herself up off the patch of ground a pair of the things had knocked her into.

“Terran expression, sorry,” Blue said. “This isn’t Rita’s work. The magic on them has a completely different Signature, one I haven’t seen before. And there’s something else coming toward us with a similar Signature…”

Beside Black, Pink gave up on the hand-to-hand plan entirely. Drawing her Power Bow, she started shooting flaming arrows at the creatures. They didn’t seem to mind, even though the fiery arrows were clearly injuring them. “Counterspell??” Pink asked pointedly.

“Maybe. I’m trying, but…” Blue’s voice trailed off. A moment later, they heard, “Uh oh.”

That was a Terran expression they knew perfectly well by now. “What uh oh?!” Red demanded.

“Spell, it’s casting some…” Blue yawned “…kind of spell. ‘S got me…” And the Blue Ranger slumped to the ground.

His Teammates dropped a fistful of expletives in half a dozen languages. “Sarrai, guard him! Shake him out of it if you can!” Black called out. Pink shifted her position and started kicking Blue with her boot.

“Do you hear that?” White asked suddenly. “Music?”

A hideous creature came out from between the trees. It had two heads and was using one of them to play a strange flute. Almost the instant they saw it, Black, Red, and Pink started feeling drowsy.

“No!” Pink cried angrily. She tried to form a counterspell, but countermagic wasn’t one of a fire-mage’s strengths. The counterspell didn’t get very far along before she dropped to her knees. “No…”

“Dregon!?” Black cried, knowing he’d hear the rest of her question. Their best chance was if the extra protection against evil magic that White Powers offered was shielding him.

“It isn’t affecting me,” White confirmed. “Fall back.”

The three Rangers succumbing to the monster’s spellwork staggered in his direction. They managed to get behind him, next to Blue, before collapsing. “Power Staff!” White called. Out of midair, he drew a thick white quarterstaff edged in silver and black swirls. He took up a guarding position in front of the four enspelled Rangers.

“Whatever you are,” White vowed, glaring at the monster, “you will not harm my Teammates!”

A delicate, charming, utterly evil laugh filled the air. He looked every way he could, trying to spot its source. Finally, he did: above him in the air, a young woman with gray-streaked blond hair wearing a flowing black dress sat atop a strange, two-wheeled metal contraption. He only knew her from pictures, but that was enough.

“Don’t worry,” Rita Repulssa said, “Somnia’s not here to hurt them. Just to give us a minute to talk.”

His heart hammered in his chest. This was either a deceptive murder attempt from one of the most powerful spellcasters alive or the answer to his every childhood ambition – and if he guessed wrong and chose the wrong initial reaction, he’d either lose his dreams or his life.

As soon as he realized that, he relaxed. He had no interest in living without his dreams. White lowered his Power Staff and sank to one knee. “Malleata fasimi,” he said, “Empress.”

“Malleata turolorin,” Rita gave the counter-sign. She landed the wheeled device on the ground and stepped off of it. “I have an offer.”

“I hoped so, Empress,” he said. *And I hope it’s not a trick…*

“You know of the Ignan cabal’s life-extending magic?” Rita said. At his nod, she continued, “We have it now. And we’re not sharing with anyone… but the very most useful of our allies.”

The Edenite prince gaped at her behind his helmet. He was staggered. The fire mages had never taught anyone those magics willingly, ever, and the concept that she could have caught one and tortured the secret out of them was equally unbelievable. Yet she wouldn’t make such an extraordinary claim if she couldn’t back it up. He wanted to leap for joy and say Yes right away. He didn’t, because he hadn’t gotten as far as he had by leaping before looking. “And in exchange?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“Betray them all,” Rita said, “at a time and place of my choosing. Render as many of the leaders of Zordon’s alliance dead as you can.”

“Edenoi is mine,” White bargained. “Whatever else happens, you never touch Edenoi or our colony worlds.”

“Hm, well, that depends. I don’t want a Council world in my new galaxy.”

White’s breath caught in his throat. Take Edenoi out of the Eltarian Alliance? It would have devastating economic and political consequences. Millions would die. *Sure,* he thought to himself, *but Eltare’s not going to let you keep Edenoi by force. Side with Vilus instead of the Council, and Eltare’s opinion doesn’t have to matter.*

“There will be fallout,” White said. “It would be foolish of me to antagonize Eltare. I’d have to have allies strong enough that removing me would be too costly for them.”

“Well!” Rita half-cackled. “Aren’t you full of yourself! Not just priceless magics, you also want me to treat you as an ally? Little you, without even one planet or one Black deed to your name?”

“It doesn’t cost you much,” White pointed out, “and my aid will almost certainly win you this War. I think it’s fair.”

Rita stared at him coolly for a long, tense moment. White hoped desperately hard that he hadn’t angered her and lost his one chance to gain for himself the greatest magical secret in his galaxy.

“Mistress!” Somnia, the flute-playing monster, said suddenly from its other head. “The Blue one is beginning to wake!”

“What? How!!” Rita demanded furiously. She pointed her wand at him – but a mage duel between them, even if Zordon started out half-unconscious, was too dangerous. She’d only just been restored to health by Zedd’s magics, and even if she were at full health, there was no certainty that she’d win. “Fine. We’ll defend your claim to Edenoi and its colonies; details later. Last chance, Dregon.”

“I accept,” White said quickly.

Rita strode forward and extended a small, glittering stone to him. It was the same type of crystal his race used to extend their natural mental gifts. He took it eagerly. As soon as his fingers closed around it, knowledge flooded into him. He gasped and staggered against the sudden shock of it. When the mental smoke cleared, he knew how to perform magics that would let him live just shy of forever.

A deep, malevolent laugh bubbled up from inside him. No Edenite had ever held this power. He liked that very much. He heard a thought forming in Rita’s head and looked up at her, ready to obey whatever order she was about to give.

“Start with the fire mage,” she said. “Kill her as soon as you can.”

“Why not now?” he said. He stood, picking up his Power Staff from the ground as he did. Blue, beside her, was beginning to stir, but his leader’s thoughts were still barely forming – Blue was deep enough under that even he couldn’t stop this. A heady rush of delight in his own power filled White. He thrust the tip of his Power Staff into Pink’s abdomen. “Power Blast!” he called…

…almost loudly enough to drown out Rita’s horrified cry: “*Not in Morph!*”

Three things happened almost at the same instant.

First, Power roared from the end of his staff and ripped into Pink’s sleeping body. Sparks flew everywhere from her costume as it tried to deflect and disperse the attack, but the damage couldn’t wholly be countered. Asleep as she was, she still screamed.

Second, the gentle spell-music stopped abruptly as the flute in Somnia’s hands shattered into a thousand pieces. Blue rolled over and flipped himself up onto his feet.

Third, White’s Morph glowed, flickered, and broke, leaving Dregon blinking in confusion.

Rita reacted fastest. She gave a terrible screech and whirled her wand around in a wide arc. Clay foot soldiers filled every inch of the space between her and Zordon, surrounding Dregon.

“Get the Coin! Damn you, you idiot, get the Coin!” she shrieked.

Dregon blinked again, utterly baffled. The next moment, he saw the glitter of gold at his feet. Why was his Power Coin on the ground? He bent to pick it up, barely noticing his Teammates engaging the clay creatures. As he touched it, a little arc of energy jumped to his fingers, shocking him. He picked it up anyway, but his head was spinning with confusion. “What?” he asked it, as if the Coin itself could answer.

“Dregon!” Blue shouted. “We’re coming, hold on!”

At that, Dregon whipped around to face Rita, eyes wide. [He doesn’t know!] he sent her.

She switched tracks without losing a beat. “Take him!” Rita screeched malevolently. Four of the gray creations seized Dregon’s arms. He made a vague show of fighting back.

“Let him go!” Black demanded.

“Never!” Rita cackled.

She chanted a quick teleportation spell. She, Dregon, and her new foot soldiers disappeared, but her voice remained to echo bodiless through the air. She’d worked out this spell a month ago, when she was too sick to use it. Now seemed like an excellent time for a debut:

“Magic wand, make my monster grow!”

Her wand reappeared briefly and sank, pointed end first, deep into Somnia. Magic flooded into the creature. It grew to a thousand times its original size. Black, Red, and Blue followed it up with their eyes, mouths hanging open in shock.

“Tyrannosaurus!?” Red cried out in terrified reflex.

“Good idea!” Black said. “Mastodon!”

“Triceratops!” Blue added.

Pink pulled herself to her feet in time to add, groaning, “Pterodactyl…”

The four Zords flew through the air above them only seconds later, coming down from low orbit around the planet. In streaks of light, the four Rangers soared into their robotic allies, and the fight was joined.

Chapter 36: Round 2 - Fight!

Chapter Text

“Sarrai, distraction. Keep it off-balance but stay out of melee,” Blue began the moment his mouth was solid again. “Aemil, front and center. Atalanta, with me. Flanking tactics. Let’s do this fast, everyone. Dregon needs us.”

In the last three months, the Team had engaged in dozens of space battles. Their presence had often turned the tide in small and medium-scale battles across the galaxy. Between their experience and the guidance of their metallic allies, the five Zords – Pterodactyl, Triceratops, Mastodon, Tyrannosaurus, and Titanus – had become a force to be reckoned with despite being so few. However, they’d only fought with Titanus at their side. With Dregon gone, they wouldn’t be able to rely on the Brachiosaurus Zord’s superior size, firepower, and armor.

[Uh. Front and center? Me?] Blue could hear Red’s gulp through the comms.

[For the moment, you are the strongest of us,] Black’s soothing alto tones came across the comms.

[What? No we’re n…] Red’s panic-slowed brain seemed to catch up to what Titanus’s loss meant. He let a beat fall, then, [Understood.]

By then, Pterodactyl had already engaged. Somnia’s face didn’t seem to allow for expressions, but it was clearly losing its patience with the small Zord. It gave an improbably high standing jump as it shot a fist straight up, and the blow clipped one of the Pink Zord’s wings. As Pterodactyl spun wildly off course, though, Somnia gave a howl of pain. It cradled the hand that had hit the Zord, and the others could see it was glowing the bright red-Pink of Sarrai’s magic.

[We’re fine!] Pink said as the Zord spun.

As Tyrannosaurus leaped toward the fray, it let out a roar that shook the trees and ground and startled almost all of the Rangers. [Gah! What the stars!] Red squeaked, and Blue couldn’t help but agree. That was less a sound than a vocalized earthquake that planned to eat you.

[Atmosphere,] Black reminded calmly.

[Ohhh.]

Tyrannosaurus’s arms being quite useless, it instead kicked at Somnia. The monster staggered back a few paces but then steadied itself and growled, “Ha ha ha! That was puny! Where’s you big brother, Tyrannosaurus?”

Tyrannosaurus’s bellow of fury at the goading, far from being counterproductive, nicely covered the sound of Mastodon approaching footsteps until it could shoot its icy energy blast at Somnia’s exposed back. It whirled to fire back at Mastodon, and Tricertops head-butted it with all three horns.

“What! Hey! Stop that!” the monster said “wittily.” “It’s past your bedtimes, Rangers!” And it pulled out a giant version of the flute that had enspelled everyone moments before.

[Everyone, switch to autopilot mode, now!] Black called out over the comms, her voice brisk and tight with controlled fear.

[Oh, good thinking!] Pink replied enthusiastically. The Zords could fight to a more limited extent without input from their pilots. It was a feature they’d rarely made use of, concerned that their programming might not cover enough eventualities. However, if the Rangers were going to fall asleep, this was the perfect time.

“Agreed,” Blue added.

However, he didn’t follow the order himself. If he could destroy the flute again, problem solved. He let his awareness fall away from his surroundings and called up his magic to focus on Somnia and its flute. It shouldn’t be too hard, he reasoned; he destroyed the flute once before while he was unconscious.

Blue realized his mistake almost at once, and in the few seconds he had left, he kicked himself soundly. Almost as soon as he found the presence of Somnia through the Morphin Grid, he felt his consciousness fading, just as it had before. He sent the autopilot command telepathically to Triceratops, and “Uh oh,” into the comms just before passing out.

*****

[Zordon! Zordon, wake up already!]

Aemil’s voice led him back toward consciousness. Blinking until his vision cleared left Blue staring sleepily at the inside of Triceratops’s co*ckpit. Through its massive windows, he saw not Arcturan swamp but a starfield with a corner of Arcturia Beta glowing at the bottom left edge of his view. “What…” he asked no one in particular, deeply confused.

[Zordon, status,] Black said in the clipped, military tones of battle.

“Where’s the monster?” he asked.

[Oh dear,] Red said worriedly, and unhelpfully.

[I’ve just docked Pterodactyl and Mastodon. I’ll get him, you get to the Bridge,] Black said.

Get to the Bridge? Why did they need to…

Details of the last hour slammed back into focus. *Dregon!* He leaped to his feet just as the Black Ranger teleported in.

“How long?” he demanded at once.

“Nine minutes,” Black replied, her tone efficient but soothing. “The Zords finished the battle for us, and the spell broke once Somnia was destroyed.”

“Dregon?”

“We don’t know yet, sir. Bridge crew will have something.”

“All right, let’s get going,” Blue said, putting hands to his belt to teleport.

“Sir, there’s something else you should know,” Black cut in swiftly, a hand going to his arm.

“What?” Blue asked, somewhat incredulous. What could possibly be important enough to delay them finding Dregon? As if making up for lost time, his brain spun back through all he’d just heard and seen.

Oh. Why had Atalanta brought Pterodactyl in? His heart lurched in fear.

Sure enough: “It’s about Sarrai,” Black said grimly.

*****

“Rushtrail,” Zordon demanded as he and Black raced onto the bridge of their ship three minutes later. He’d just taken off his helmet. To vent his feelings, he threw it at a random corner of the bridge. He didn’t bother asking whether Repulssa’s ship was still in orbit.

“We’ve got one, sir,” said his helmsman, a Kaolan, “and I’ve alerted the Council. Fel’Har’s Rangers are already in pursuit.”

Zordon blinked. That was several steps less bad than he’d been assuming. “Titanus?” he asked the next most critical question.

The young man shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “She took it as well.”

“But why them?” Atalanta asked, setting her own, Black helmet carefully on a console beside her. “If she was going to come personally to take one of us, why him? Rita can’t hurt a White Ranger with most of her magic – certainly she can’t corrupt one.”

Zordon shook his head. “And she knows that. There’s something else, something we’re missing…”

Aemil ran onto the bridge then, his helmet tucked in close to his side under one arm as if he thought he’d lose it if he set it down. Zordon broke off at once. “Sarrai?” he asked Aemil.

“She’ll be okay,” Aemil said, and both Zordon and Atalanta let out sighs of relief. “She was an idiot going through a Zord battle with that injury, but it’s responding to standard accelerated healing devices.”

“Okay,” Zordon said. He noticed to his surprise that he was shaking and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he repeated.

“Zordon?” Atalanta asked quietly.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

Instead of questioning her commander’s statement directly, Atalanta turned to Aemil. Aemil quirked her a little, fragile smile. “She’s fine, Zordon,” he said.

“I know,” Zordon said quickly. He looked at Aemil, tempted to be annoyed at the repetition, but when their eyes met, Aemil’s were too pointed to brush past. “She’s not ‘Laise,” Zordon said, “and he’s not…” His heart thudded in his chest, but he pushed past it. “He’s not Kiori. And Repulssa’s not going to hurt him, not if we have anything to say about it.”

Aemil’s smile strengthened in relief. Neither of them would let Rita’s emotional manipulations get to them this time. “Strategy time, sir.”

Zordon nodded agreement. “War room.”

*****

In the small conference room next to the bridge, the three remaining Power Rangers – Zordon, Aemil, and Atalanta – took seats at a round table. Zordon began, “We can assume she won’t find it easy to use Dregon or Titanus against us. She can’t enspell Dregon as long as he’s protected by White, and she knows nothing about Titanus.”

“True, sir, but she also developed Serpentera,” Atalanta countered. “The technologies might be adjacent enough that she can find some way to force Titanus to fight for her.”

“And we haven’t seen Serpentera in months,” Aemil said worriedly. “Maybe she’s been holding it back until she has Titanus too, so she can overwhelm our Zords.”

“That’s a lot of guesswork,” Zordon frowned. He thought a moment, then sighed. “But it’s like her. And it would explain why she took Dregon and not one of us – she might be holding him so that he can’t counter her manipulation of Titanus. Our Zords can’t take on Serpentera and Titanus.”

“Not without combining.”

Sarrai was silhouetted in the doorway. Only the ragged tear in her Pink and Red fire-patterned tunic showed where her injury had been. Despite Aemil’s reassurances, Zordon was so relieved to see her whole and healthy that it took a moment to realize what she was suggesting.

“No,” he snapped.

“Repulssa still doesn’t know we can combine. The strength of our combined form would give us a chance, even against both of them,” Sarrai pursued.

“No,” he said, a little more angrily. He glanced at Aemil and Atalanta, hoping they’d look just as unenthused about Sarrai’s plan. Aemil looked worried – not that that was out of the norm for him – but Atalanta seemed interested.

“I think her campaign in the Castor system has just concluded; she could pull back here without endangering anyone,” the Kaolan Ranger said.

“That’s not the-“ Zordon burst out, but stopped himself. Calmly, he said, “She doesn’t fight with us. Not for this, not for anything.”

“We need her,” Sarrai argued.

“No we don’t!” Zordon yelled, his temper snapping. “Ferin isn’t one of us! I won’t fight with her!”

Sarrai’s ears were red and literally smoking. She yelled back, “Yes she is!”

“Sarrai-” Atalanta tried to interrupt, wincing.

She blew past it. “I know you hate it, but you still feel the connection! You do, we do, our Zords do! She’s part of us and even you miss her!”

Zordon stood, fists balled, to shout back at her. The air between them shimmered with heat. It looked like Atalanta and Aemil were about to be caught in possibly literal crossfire between the best friends. In the tiny silence before Zordon would explode, though, Aemil’s quiet voice interrupted:

“You’re acting like her.”

Even Sarrai stopped cold. She and Atalanta gaped at Aemil in horror. Zordon turned wide and furious eyes on him. The Red Ranger’s shoulders hunched as his wings unfolded a few inches on frightened reflex, but everything else in his body language looked ready to back up his words.

“What did you just say to me?” Zordon said quietly.

“Ferin did what she did because she couldn’t forgive Kiori,” Aemil said. The words were calm and measured, as if he’d rehearsed them. “Yes, it’s different. Ferin wasn’t under a spell. She shouldn’t have done it, especially not that way. But if you’re ready to risk the survival of our Team and the countless worlds that depend on us just because you don’t want to be around your love’s killer, then you and Ferin have more in common than I thought.”

Aemil’s words hung in the air between the Teammates for a long, tense, utterly silent moment. No one breathed. If Zordon reacted badly, it would be the end of their Team. The Power Team had held together through everything Rita had done to them for nearly two Eltarian years, but all knew they wouldn’t recover from a rift between Zordon and his second-in-command.

Even Zordon knew it. He looked away from Aemil, conceding the point, then sat and dropped his head in his hands. He looked miserable and far older than his 20 years.

Aemil went on then, gently, quietly. “I don’t know what Kiori would want us to do now. I didn’t know her well enough, and she couldn’t tell us at the end. But I do know what ‘Laise would want. So do you.”

Zordon’s shoulders shook once, a silent sob. He took one heaving breath. When he looked up at them, though, his eyes were utterly dry. “Make the call,” he told Aemil.

“Thank you,” Aemil answered. He rushed toward the door, and Sarrai stood aside only belatedly to let him pass, still goggling at the Red Ranger’s nerve. At the threshold, Aemil paused. “And I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He looked back and caught Zordon’s onyx gaze. “I really am.”

Zordon knew what Aemil was really saying: that he knew he’d hurt Zordon, and were he and Zordon going to be ok? “I know,” he said quietly and, with great effort, managed a small smile for Aemil. He loathed Sarrai’s idea and Aemil’s words, but he couldn’t bear to hate the people.

Aemil replied with a smile, too, then rushed out of the room.

“All right, Team,” Zordon said. He straightened in his chair, squared his shoulders, and gave Sarrai and Atalanta a small smile too. It was easier that second time. “What else?”

“A priority message from Kaola Prime came in for you just before we arrived at Arcturia Beta,” Sarrai said promptly.

Zordon blinked. “It did?”

Sarrai quirked a little smile. “Didn’t want to distract you going into battle.”

“I suppose. Put it on,” Zordon said.

Sarrai’s fingers flew across the pad of the small screen set into the wall of their meeting room. The blank screen was replaced by Kinwan’s elderly face.

[We’ve received a formal communication from Eltare. A representative from the Council of Worlds has asked us to assemble the full War Council. I think their deliberations are over. Please, let us know how fast you can get here. Kinwan out.]

“Damn!” Zordon swore, curling a fist in frustration. He wanted to be free to chase after Dregon as soon as they had the firepower to do so, but: “We have to go.”

“What?” Sarrai gasped. “But- Dregon! Aren’t we going after him?”

“I want to, so much,” Zordon said. “But Kinwan thinks the Council of Worlds is ready to rule in favor or against our War. If they’ve voted to support the War… we could be one meeting away from gaining the full might of the Rangers of Eltare against Rita. This War could be over tomorrow.”

“They would just… win?” Atalanta asked. Representing the least-advanced civilization of their Team, she had the least idea of Eltare’s true, seldom-flexed might.

Sarrai smiled. “Oh yeah. Rita wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Eltare had better know what they’re doing, sending us away from Dregon right now,” Zordon said tightly. “I hope he can hold out.”

Chapter 37: Villainous Interlude

Chapter Text

Dregon emerged from his private chambers on Rita’s flagship with each arm wrapped around a lovely, barely-clothed slave girl. His stiff formality hadn’t entirely vanished, but it had melted around the edges. He even smiled.

“Hey, you,” he called out to the first henchbeast he saw, “I need Rita.”

The spindly chiropteroid straightened and scowled at Dregon. “You don’t simply need Rita, you… Ranger!” Baboo rebuked nasally. “Our Empress is not someone you can summon! She speaks to whom she wishes!”

“Mmm, yes,” Dregon murmurred, “and if you go to her now, she might ask why your blindness potion wore off twice as fast as you predicted.”

“What! How! I mean, no she-“ Baboo spluttered.

“However,” Dregon continued, unperturbed, “if you don’t go get her, this time tomorrow you’ll be explaining to her why you slowed down her final victory over Zordon by blocking me from seeing her.”

“I…! You…! If Empress Rita is upset, I swear, I’ll-“

“You don’t even know how you’re going to finish that threat, so let’s save you the bother. Run along,” Dregon smiled nastily.

Fuming, Baboo did. Dregon amused himself with his new slaves for the few minutes it took for Rita’s summons to arrive, then locked them inside his quarters with a promise to be back to feed them within a few days. Reveling in their terrified thoughts, he went to see his Empress.

*****

She looked to be in a bad mood when he arrived in her receiving room. “Is there some reason you needed to threaten my chief potionmaker?” she asked coldly.

Dregon paused to notice her thoughts, then paused longer, then frowned. As if in answer, she smiled. “You blocked your thoughts from me,” Dregon realized with a shock.

“I did. You don’t have any need to go poking through my head.”

He wanted to argue the point, but her utter blankness was disorienting enough to him that he couldn’t think how. He’d never experienced talking to someone whose thoughts he couldn’t hear. It was a fact of life on Edenoi. No mage he knew of could block their thoughts from an Edenite – but, then, Edenites knew very little about magebloods and Black galaxies. Stuck for how to protest, he moved on instead. “I, ah… I have an idea for how to move the War toward a conclusion.”

“Do you.” Rita’s tone was still frigid. “Because I had one of those – that you blew up by losing the Power. You were supposed to be my spy.”

“I didn’t know attacking her in Morph would matter,” Dregon protested.

“Never bothered learning the rules of the Power. Careless,” Rita taunted. “I expect better in the future.”

Dregon ground his teeth to still his genuine response. He bowed instead. “Of course, Empress.”

“Go on.”

“You’ve done well to prey on my former Teammates’ emotional weaknesses. Dividing Ferin from the rest saved you far more grief than you realize. But she wasn’t the target, was she?”

Rita scowled. “Every time I go after him, the attack just bounces off. His wife dying didn’t even break him!”

“No, indeed. She was a woman of his own kind who understood the risks and chose to fight. He’s more wounded than you think by her death, but losing her did not break him. She was no innocent.”

There was a glimmer of something in her eyes, but without his telepathy he had no idea what. “I’ve targeted a lot of innocents. That hasn’t broken him either.”

“They haven’t been his innocents. His innocents have been safe this entire time. His children. His planet.”

She looked incredulous. “I can’t attack Eltare!”

The former White Ranger smiled. “Not Eltare. Earth.”

It looked like Rita might reject the idea. There was a little worry, a flicker of disgust that
he couldn’t explain. “I have a few plans in place there. But attack it?”

“It would devastate him. Isn’t that the best possible use for such a primitive world?”

She still seemed to be weighing some hidden concern. Dregon didn’t at all like plotting with someone he couldn’t read – especially when she was immeasurably more powerful in this situation than he was. The worry in her expression cleared at last, though. “Well. If I’m going to conquer the Earth, I’m going to do it right. I know just who to send.”

Chapter 38: The Council of Worlds

Chapter Text

The mood in the Kerovan Senate Hall was jovial. Among the 80 representatives who’d gathered, representing worlds and Teams across the galaxy who stood with Zordon’s War, there were few who understood the real scope of what was about to happen. Eltare was a name all knew, of course, and they knew that three of the War’s leaders were born or trained there, but most had little concrete picture of how much their War would change if the Council of Worlds on Eltare had ruled in favor of it. Some Kerovans and fire-mages in attendance knew – both aged slowly enough that Eltare’s liberation of the Milky Way Galaxy at the end of the Black Tide was in living memory for their elders – and they were quiet pockets of nerves among a generally happy atmosphere. Those three Eltarian-trained War leaders were nervous about the ruling as well, but they had more personal issues to address first.

Aemil took one more look at the bustling Senate hall, then he turned away from the excited crowd. His feet padded lightly down the stairs that curved from the stadium seating of the main level down to a small lower-level wing that was out of sight of the seats and the other representatives. Sarrai and Zordon were waiting there. Atalanta remained high above them, being a sociable host for the meeting on her homeworld.

The Volarite Red Ranger went to Zordon and Sarrai. “She’s here,” Aemil said quietly.

Sarrai squeezed the Blue Ranger’s hand. Zordon squeezed back but didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed instead on the Senate Hall’s closed side doors. He was rigid with tension. The only response he gave Aemil was a small nod.

Those doors slid open. A tall, mahogany-skinned human woman dressed in a Yellow tunic and leggings walked in. Ferin looked much healthier than she had three months before, which Zordon resented heartily – though not without admitting that he probably looked much better than he had right before Kiori’s murder as well.

Ferin’s chin was held high, but she didn’t hide her nervousness. “Aemil. It’s good to see you,” she said.

“You too, Ferin,” he answered with a sincere smile. He didn’t step away from Zordon and Sarrai to greet her physically, though.

“Sarrai,” Ferin acknowledged with a brave attempt at a smile. She certainly hadn’t bonded with Allaise’s replacement in the month they’d served together before Kiori’s murder.

Zordon felt the anger trembling in Sarrai through their touch, but with the restraint many other fire mages couldn’t summon, she simply nodded. “Thanks for coming,” she said in a fairly level voice.

“Zordon.” Ferin’s expression was hard to read. They stared at one another for a long moment. A burst of laughter from some group of representatives above them did nothing to break the tension. Would she say it? Would he accept it if she did? Would this silence just spiral forever?

At last, she said quietly, “You did better than me. Thank you.”

“You knew what to say,” Zordon returned tensely.

“It wasn’t for me,” Ferin said. “I’d have let you kill me. I didn’t care.”

Zordon’s tight, controlled expression flickered to surprise for just a moment. He’d considered the possibility, but it hadn’t seemed the most likely. “You ran for me?”

Ferin nodded. “And because of what they-“ with a glance up at the buzzing voices above them “-need you to be.”

He thought that over, then nodded. “Okay. I don’t forgive you.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” He let a beat fall. In that beat, both their stoic expressions melted a little: his showed grief and betrayal, hers empathy without regret. “Let’s go find out the fate of the galaxy.”

He turned and started walking up the stairs into the Kerovan Senate Hall’s main level. Ferin fell easily into step on Aemil’s other side. Above them, as if she’d somehow heard their approach, Atalanta excused herself from her conversation with the Saurian representative to join them. As soon as she did, the five Rangers felt a deep sense of comfort and release. All wished the sixth Ranger were there too to complete the Team’s bond.

Their arrival into the Senate Hall’s stadium-style seating area went anything but unnoticed. Someone called out a cheer, then someone else applauded, then suddenly the whole room was filled with deafening sounds of approval. They’d never made public how Kiori had died and why Ferin had been at the other end of the galaxy from her Team since. Their allies saw only a Team reunited, and they were loudly delighted.

“Eep,” Aemil flinched. His formal tunic bulged suspiciously in the back.

“Wimp,” Sarrai answered as Ferin cuffed him, grinning. The two noticed their similar reactions and locked eyes, tension rippling between them.

“Please, everyone,” Zordon said through the politician’s grin he was waving all around the room, “let’s at least try not to act like teenagers.”

Aemil choked down a laugh. He offered Sarrai his hand, then Ferin, and when both had accepted, he lifted their hands above their heads. Zordon and Atalanta joined quickly. The gesture of triumph and unity was enough to set the Council Hall off again at a roar.

“Speech! Speech!” a chant started before the Rangers had made it to their seats in the front row of the Senate Hall.

Zordon tried to wave it off, but the chant persisted. They arrived at the front row, where five chairs awaited them, with Naatam sitting on one side of the seats and Kinwan on the other. Sarrai rushed to hug her father as Atalanta stopped beside her commander, exchanging Kerovan forearm shakes with a pair of grins on their faces. The Pink and Black Rangers sat beside their elders, and the rest of the Team filled in the middle seats. They barely had time to greet their two elder allies when, as if on cue, a wide-eyed young Kerovan ran up to Kinwan.

“Kinwan – Zordon – it’s the Council,” she said.

“Oh thank the Power,” Zordon breathed. He tapped his own throat and stood, turning to face the room. “THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR GENEROUS WELCOME,” he boomed, his voice magically magnified to echo through the Hall. The packed room quieted at once. “HOWEVER, THERE IS NO TIME FOR A SPEECH NOW. WE ARE GATHERED HERE TO LISTEN TO OTHER VOICES OF MY WORLD.” He tapped his throat again, returning his voice to normal, and said to the Kerovan youth, “Go ahead.” She nodded and scurried off.

The massive screen set into the unoccupied wall of the Senate Hall activated. The scene it showed was not so different from their own, but on a vast scale. The curved seating of the Council of Worlds was set inside a sphere instead of a circle. The vast three-dimensional shape accommodated tens of thousands more beings. Balcony-like rows held seats and podia within a room so large that the edges of the room curved out of sight. The comparatively tiny clusters of representatives included beings of every imaginable appearance. In the foreground of the spherical room, seated at a floating platform, was a gray-haired, brown-skinned woman whom only a few of those gathered on Kaola recognized. She was Atrellia of Eltare, the representative to the Council of Worlds from Eltare itself, president of the largest governing body the Light had ever known. Zordon, who did recognize her, was grateful that his front-and-center seat meant that very few of his allies could see him blanch. She didn’t generally make speeches to the Primus Mensura herself.

[The following is an official statement from the Council of Worlds,] Atrellia began. [It is for the Light representatives of the Milky Way Galaxy assembled on Kaola at 13:15 pre-meridian, 3rd-diurn 2-moon of Sol 173450, local time. Its confidentiality has been assured by technological means and through the magic of Zasha, mystic of Inquiris. We, the Council of Worlds, have deliberated with due conscience on the subject of the conflict known as ‘Zordon’s War’ in which you are involved at present. Our response is twofold.

[In the first part, we offer our belief that this war is a true, just, and necessary conflict between the forces of Good and Evil.]

Zordon gripped Sarrai’s hand to hold in his gasp, and she squeezed back just as hard. Two seats away, “They didn’t just-“ Ferin breathed, wide-eyed.

“Maybe!” Aemil whispered, eyes sparkling with hope.

[Inasmuch as they wish to do so, the Council of Worlds offers our approval for any planetary, interstellar, or nomadic civilization of the Milky Way Galaxy to join the Light planets engaged in this conflict. It is our belief that your victory may be critical to ensure the continuing freedom of your galaxy.]

Happy murmurs were breaking out throughout the Senate Hall. They were clearly anticipating that the rest of Atrellia’s words would be as pleasing. Zordon wasn’t ready to relax, though. Sarrai hadn’t eased her grip on his hand, either.

Sure enough, Atrellia of Eltare continued. [However, it is the decision of the Council to forbid any aid be given by those outside of the Milky Way Galaxy.]

“WHAT?!” Naatam burst to his feet in fury. His hair burst into silvery-white flames. A few others around the room were as quick to protest. Zordon simply gaped at the screen as his stomach twisted into a knot. How could the Council think their War was right and forbid anyone to help?

[Our reasons are several. If such aid is rendered, we believe it likely that Darkness will retalliate by invading more Light galaxies, escalating this war to devastating proportions. At present, this is a conflict between one Light and one Dark galaxy, the Milky Way and M-51, and in this it has achieved a balance ideal to conflicts between Good and Evil. In addition, although the war is now necessary, we find that the greater fault for the conflict lies with your own leadership.]

“Why I oughta-“ Naatam growled at the recording, taking a step forward.

“Sit down!” Zordon hissed up at him. The last thing he needed was to have to control the room’s response to Naatam as well as to the Council. Naatam glared at him, but he sat.

[It appears that the conflict began as a threat against only four lives: those of Zordon of Eltare and his immediate family. They were ordered to seek sanctuary on Eltare. This would have ensured their safety. Instead, Zordon escalated the battle in a way that Evil never forced him to. At the time of this transmission, at least 20 billion lives have been lost due to his decision. This violates ideals of warfare that are at the very core of the Council of Worlds’ guiding principles. We cannot aid a war begun in violation of the rules of the Power.]

The room was utterly quiet, and Zordon felt the pressure of nearly every eye in it turned toward him. Of course, most of his allies hadn’t known that he’d had a way out. Rather than be soaked in the horror, anger, and betrayal of those he’d fought along side for almost two years, Zordon raised his mental guard as high as it could go and shut them out. He hoped desperately that that was the end of the Council’s message.

It wasn’t. [In addition, the Eltarian Rangers’ Organization would have it known that Zordon is no longer recognized as a Ranger of Eltare. He disobeyed direct orders from the Princeps Negrum and abandoned his duty to the Protected planet known as Earth. He is henceforth to be considered a rogue Ranger. The Rangers of his Team are likewise declared rogues. No aid or protections given normally to Rangers of Eltare will be extended to them. The ERO requests they surrender their Power Coins at the first opportunity so that their Coins can again be used to the best benefit of the Light.]

A soft noise leaked from Aemil like a sob turned into a cough and then strangled, not quite successfully. It broke Zordon’s heart.

[However, it is the belief of the Council of Worlds that that opportunity has not yet come. We urge all in the Milky Way who would hold back the Darkness to continue to fight. The worlds of this Alliance will halt any advance of the present war beyond the bounds of M-51 and the Milky Way and, should your galaxy fall, the Rangers of Eltare vow to liberate it as they would any other.]

If the room had been horrified, it was suddenly furious. Variations of “Like M-51?!” rose up from dozens of throats at once. Their opponent’s galaxy had fallen only 7 Eltarian years before. Not only had the Eltarian Rangers – including Zordon’s first Teammates – utterly failed to stop its fall, they’d done nothing significant toward retaking it.

[In conclusion, the Council of Worlds asks you remember the following: Trust in the Power. It has been your steady ally through every conflict – every day – every breath. In the face of violence, It will protect you. Put your faith in no battle and no man before It. Let the Power protect you.]

The screen shut off.

Nearly everyone burst into yells. The Kerovan Senate Hall was not built to contain such chaotic noise. Its carefully-sculpted walls magnified the voices until no one could hear one another. Zordon was immensely grateful, as it meant no one could demand any words from him. He had no idea what he’d say.

Eltare had cut them off.

Chapter 39: Faith

Chapter Text

Eltare had cut them off. Revoking an Eltarian’s or an Eltarian Ranger’s right to sanctuary was almost unheard-of. They’d effectively declared him a criminal. He and his Team were now rogue Rangers, which was next worst thing to Evil in the minds of many. The Council had also exposed information that, while not exactly secret, was not commonly known. The way they’d revealed it would undermine his alliance and maybe destroy it completely. The fate of the galaxy hung in the balance – for if Atrellia had said so, it was certainly based on the divinatory knowledge of Inquiran mystics – and yet they wouldn’t help. The fact that the Eltarian Alliance had decreed their War justified seemed insignificant next to the disaster that had followed.

He had to say something. Do something to fix this. Damned if he’d come through all this just to let the Council break his alliance and leave an entire galaxy in Darkness! He had to master his anger and his horror, now, and figure out what to do.

*What about Epona and Kiren?* his mind unhelpfully offered. *Would Eltare grant them sanctuary or let my children die?* A traitorous tear rolled down his cheek, to his utter horror. He swiped it away furiously. He wouldn’t cry! He couldn’t!

Sarrai let go of his hand. For one terrible moment, he thought that his best friend was rejecting him now that she knew the truth. He snapped his head up to see her expression, but she’d stood, and her back was to him now. Sarrai took ten steps to the center of the speaking floor, then faced the screaming room. He could see her expression then: fury under tight control. Rather than shooting a fireball at the ceiling, which wouldn’t have surprised Zordon in the least, she did something completely out of place in that livid room:

Sarrai started to sing.

No one could hear the first few lines, but then in a wave from the front rows to the back, they quieted. By the second verse, everyone could hear:

“Protectors we once knew, they,
Far mightier than thee,
Left us no defense.
Now it’s stay and fight, or flee.

“Sword and shield both in your hand,
Stay and fight for a dear, precious land!
Worlds enough they’ll take away,
But here you’ll bring the light of day!”

Sarrai left off the Lay of Retallia there. She let a few measured beats fall, then she spoke to a confused but rapt audience.

“The first time I ever met Zordon, a little before all this began, he sang that song. It’s called the Lay of Retallia. Retallia of Eltare was a woman much like Zordon. She had the chance to run away to Eltare, too, at the beginning of the Black Tide. She refused sanctuary. She believed that staying to fight was the right thing to do, even if it killed her. It did, but the world she fought for survived. Zordon,” she said, and her voice rang through the hall, “what would have happened if you’d gone to Eltare?”

He shook his head. [I don’t know that for certain…] he sent her.

The Pink Ranger’s eyes blazed. She had no telepathy to reply with, yet the message was clear: ‘This is hard enough already, just answer the freaking question!’

He sighed and stood. “I believe that Rita would have destroyed Earth,” he said. It was the first time he’d told anyone but Naatam, who had apparently shared it with his daughter. “And other worlds. I stayed to try to save them.”

Murmurs answered him. Zordon nervously kept his guard high, but it sounded like his allies were listening. He sat again.

Sarrai nodded and continued. “Eltare is mighty and good, and they would have been the greatest boon to this War. But there’s a funny thing about Eltare: they don’t like to be told ‘no.’ I bet they said some nasty things about Retallia, too, when she stayed. The fight between Good and Evil isn’t as simple out here as they think! Is it?” A general murmur of agreement went through the Hall. “I know Zordon. I’ve served at his side for the past six months. And I believe he would die to save any one of your worlds if he could!”

Faith radiated from Sarrai. Rebellious and fearful murmurs turned quiet, then optimistic. The room was starting to rally. Somehow, Sarrai was healing the damage his own people had caused.

Moreover, her words hit home for him. Zordon hadn’t considered the question before, but when he did, he knew she was right. He would trade his life for any of their planets. A place inside his heart that had just been shredded by the Council’s message began to heal. He sat a little taller.

The Pink Ranger’s voice took on an impassioned tone. “We’ve wanted this! We’ve wanted to push back the Darkness on our own terms, in our way, for centuries! Most of you don’t know much about the Black Tide, but my father was there. The way Eltare came to rescue us from Evil was a miracle beyond our wildest dreams. But what’s happened since then? How many galaxies have we lost? Do any of you know?”

Concerned murmurs. There was only a handful of cultures that had survived the Black Tide in the galaxy, and most of them weren’t in Zordon’s alliance. After a long moment in which it became clear that no one else could answer, Lord Naatam’s deep voice rumbled through the Hall like thunder:

“One thousand, three hundred and forty.”

Sarrai let her father’s words hang in the stunned Hall for several breaths. There were only around two thousand Light galaxies known to Eltare and, thus, to them. The idea that there had once been over thirteen hundred more and all those had been lost in the last twenty-six thousand years horrified them. Even the Eltarian-trained Rangers present hadn’t known the number.
Sarrai went on. “Eltare has done so much for us. But in this, they don’t stand with us. Zordon does! And they would have us turn against him? We would be fools! Yes, maybe Vilus wouldn’t have come for the rest of us if he’d gone to Eltare – but someone would have, sooner or later. Because Zordon stayed to fight for us, we’ve come together in a way we never have before.

“No matter what happens, from now on through the ages, we will stand bold against whatever tries to hurt us. If Eltare wants to be mad at Zordon for bringing this galaxy together, let them! We stand together. We stand together!” she repeated, and the call was echoed from all directions, tentatively at first, then with rising confidence and passion.

“We stand together!”

“We stand together!”

“This wasn’t about me,” Zordon murmurred, realizing it suddenly. He looked to Lord Naatam, sitting beside him now that Sarrai was standing. “All of this. Staying behind, the War… even Repulssa… It was always something bigger. Wasn’t it?”

His mentor took a long moment to answer. Quietly, he said, “I never knew my son to get a premonition that wasn’t. The Power always has Its eye on the whole picture.”

Zordon’s brow furrowed. “You say that like the Power’s aware.” He hadn’t thought the fire-mages had primitive religious notions.

Naatam smiled. “You’ve talked to it yourself, boy. Of course It is.” He stood then and joined the chant that now reverberated around the Hall. He turned and extended his hand to Zordon. As the war-wizard rose, the chant rose as well, louder and more certain. His Team gathered around him.

Despite the fervor of the moment, Zordon couldn’t give in to it. His Teammates surrounding him sank a lead weight into his stomach. [I’m sorry,] he sent them. [I never thought they’d declare you rogues…]

Atalanta shook her head, smiling. Aemil’s eyes shone with an echo of Sarrai’s faith as he smiled, too, and set his hand on Zordon’s shoulder reassuringly. Sarrai didn’t react at all, too swept up in the moment. Ferin and he locked eyes, though. They were the only two Eltarians in the room, the only two who’d been cut off from their homes. Looking at her, he had the sudden sense that they were outsiders witnessing an intimate moment. This galaxy was forming its own identity independent of their world. What did she think of all this?

[It’s worth it. We stand together,] she sent.

The words cut into him like knives. He didn’t want to stand with her. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her. What she’d done was foul enough that he had every right to be mad at her forever.

Yet… He found himself wondering if righteousness wasn’t so different from tears, in the end. Righteousness did no good either; it only made him cold.

‘Because of what they needed you to be,’ he recalled Ferin’s words a half an hour and an age ago. The peoples of an entire galaxy had put their faith in him. They needed – they deserved – a leader who would forgive Ferin.

[We stand together,] he replied.

Ferin smiled. Just a little.

It was enough.

Chapter 40: Levity

Chapter Text

There was a vote, because Kerovan parliamentary procedure calmly reasserted itself with the resilience of their long-lived race. Six worlds voted to uphold the Council of Worlds’ decision and remove Zordon and his Team from leadership of the War. From their non-voting seat, Volaren also advocated for their removal, which made Aemil quietly apoplectic. His glare alone nearly made the Volaren representative change her mind. The rest of the worlds – 51 – voted to reaffirm Zordon’s leadership and to challenge the validity of all the claims against him and his Team.

Zordon did make a speech then. He thanked them for their confidence and congratulated them for doing what the galaxy had never done before: form its own identity. He ended the speech quickly, though, saying that although he was proud to continue leading the War, he would rather hear voices from this galaxy than an Eltarian at the moment.

Several representatives took him up on the offer. The speeches continued through the afternoon. Through their speeches, the first picture began to form of what a galaxy-wide government might look like after all this was done. It was the first time that the war council had considered the possibility that it was anything more than temporary. It would take many meetings to decide on anything, but a galactic government was suddenly on the horizon.

The day’s work ended late enough that most delegates stayed on Kaola. Kerovan hospitality being what it was, the entire capitol city threw itself into riotous partying in response. The jubilant attitude swept up young and old alike.

*****

Kinwan ran past Zordon with one hand covering his mouth. The old general’s heavily-lined face was red as a beet. It was about three hours after the Rangers themselves had finished their last official duties and joined the parties. The stress of the day had melted off of Zordon’s shoulders to a sizable degree, so rather than going into high alert, Zordon just blinked at him. “Something wrong?”

“Can’t… I…” Kinwan tried to shake his head and move past, but the momentary pause was too much for his remaining self-control. He braced himself against the nearest wall with one hand and burst out laughing. It took the ancient leader a full minute to collect himself. “It’s… it’s… your children.”

Zordon shut his eyes with a wince. “What now?” He’d already found and chased Epona and Zhane off of a roof that night; what more could they have gotten into?

Kinwan gestured back the way he’d come. “The trilliarum bush.” He then wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and burst into a new set of chuckles. He walked away shaking his head; apparently he couldn’t explain more.

Bracing himself for as many options as he could think of, Zordon walked into the adjoining hallway.

A quartet of children surrounded a large potted plant. The two apparently-older children were both sitting in the pot, their bottoms on the rim of the pot and their feet wiggling in the loose soil around its rim. They were both red in the face from yelling. On the ground beside Epona’s half of the pot, little two-year-old Kiren was hopping up and down, trying to get high enough for the larger children to notice him. Beside Zhane’s half, a Kerovan boy with vertically-streaked brown and blond hair was also trying to get a word in. He looked about four years old, which meant he was likely a few centuries younger than Zhane.

“It is so important!” Epona retorted angrily.

“No it’s not!” Zhane said. “I’m way older than you, and that’s what’s important!”

“No! My brain is more mature, and besides, I’m taller! I could reach those cakes that you couldn’t even!”

“That’s not a big deal! We could levitate the cakes!” the littler Kerovan boy said from the ground.

Epona barked a laugh down at him. “Can not! or you would have done it!”

“Can so!” Zhane said. “Right?” he added in a mutter to his friend.

“I’m taller and my brain’s more developed and there’s lots I can do that you can’t! So there!” Epona said with just as much conviction as several of the speeches adults had given that afternoon.

“Epona more better than you!” Kiren finally squeezed a few words in as she paused for effect.

“Is not!” Zhane cried indignantly. “Show them, Andros!”

The smaller Kerovan screwed up his whole body in concentration. The pot Epona and Zhane were sitting in began to wobble.

Zordon got the distinct feeling that it was time to intervene. He saw to his great relief Antitilos, Zhane’s mother, halt in the doorway at the other end of the room. The two parents caught each other’s eyes and ran toward their children.

Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones. “Andros! Stop that right now!” came a basso voice Zordon didn’t recognize from just behind him.

Andros gave a little squeak, his eyes flaring wide at whoever was behind Zordon. The pot, however, did the exact opposite of what the voice had ordered: it hurtled itself and both children sitting in it into the ceiling. The pot shattered against the ceiling, fortunately at enough of an angle that neither child’s body slammed into the ceiling directly. Soil and children’s shrieks flew everywhere.

Zordon’s heart started going about a million beats per minute. Meanwhile, his Ranger reflexes kicked in. With one hand, Zordon picked up Kiren and tucked him close to shield him from debris; with the other, he reached up to direct his magic. He wasn’t sure if he could work up a spell fast enough to evade gravity, but he had to try.

The pieces of the pot, crumbles of soil, the plant, and the stunned-faced children all sank toward the ground with the speed of down feathers. Once they were on the ground again (and every surface and being in the hallway was coated in potting soil), Zordon dared to breathe. He became aware then that the man behind him who had so startled Andros also had his hand raised: in the distinctive first-two-fingers gesture telekinetic Kerovans used to focus their mental skill. Either Zordon’s spell hadn’t been fast enough or it had had help.

“Thank you,” he told the man.

“Of course,” he nodded, bowing his head to Zordon. “Excuse me.” He walked past the pot shards to tower over Andros, hands on his hips. The diminutive telekinetic boy cowered.

Zordon didn’t pause to observe. He squeezed Antitilos’s hand in mutual reassurance that their children were in one piece, forced himself to take a deep breath, then put on his most stern parent face.

“Okay,” Epona gasped to Zhane, “that was better than cakes.”

Zhane grinned. Both children dissolved in laughter.

Zordon cleared his throat loudly as Antitilos said, “Children!” and both stopped in mid-laugh, looking up at their parents. They kept grinning, though, unafraid of either adult.

“Bed. Time,” Zordon said with finality. For a moment, both looked at him, and he could see them debating whether to rebel.

Epona dropped her gaze to the mess around them. Her small shoulders slumped. “Yes, Father,” she sighed. She climbed out of her pot-shard, told Zhane, “Good night,” and reached her arms up toward Zordon. He gladly put unhappy, squirming Kiren in her arms. His son forgot his rebellion against bedtime almost before he’d begun protesting, nestling into Epona’s arms instead, and she waddled carefully after Zordon.

*****

Once his children were tucked in (which, given the late hour, didn’t take long), Zordon went to find the only other person in the city he could be sure wasn’t in a partying mood. A question he’d been ignoring during the celebration would be put off no longer.

Aemil was sitting with a book in a dim corner of an out-of-the-way room, alternately reading and glaring at the few festivities he could see. When he saw Zordon approach, his glower broke at once. He put the book aside on the floor, then brought it back toward his lap uncertainly. “You’re not here to get me to party, are you?” he asked warily.

“No. There’s something I need you for.”

Aemil’s face burst into joy. “Is there a problem? An attack?”

Zordon chuckled. “You know a party isn’t worse than an attack, right?”

“Sure, sure. What’s up?” the Red Ranger pursued happily.

Zordon took a breath, and it turned into a sigh that wiped the brief cheer off his face. “It’s time to figure out why the Council said what they said about Earth.”

He extended his hand to a confused Aemil and teleported them both to their ship in orbit.

*****

They landed on their bridge. The bridge was lit less than usual, as everyone was at the party. “They said something about Earth?” Aemil asked, frowning.

Zordon nodded; he’d expected that bit had escaped most people’s attention. He walked with Aemil to the long-range sensor console and put in search coordinates. He put his own magic through the sensor bank, too, to extend the range far past logical limits. “Councilwoman Atrellia said that I abandoned my duty as Protector Solus. But she said that after she said that I disobeyed the order from my Princeps, and that order ended the position of Protector Solus. I think the order of those statements was a message.” Zordon looked up from the console worriedly. “I think something’s happened to Earth – or if not, it’s about to.”

Aemil blinked at the latter idea. “Oh. But… they wouldn’t reference something that hasn’t happened yet, not in front of a temporal audience. My own mentor wouldn’t talk about those things in front of me, and I’m a Ranger of Eltare.” He winced a little. “Was.”

Zordon put a hand on his Teammate’s shoulder, acknowledging his pain. “You’re probably right. But I hope she let it slip ahead of time. She was right that I abandoned them. I haven’t even checked on them.”

Aemil scoffed. “Zordon! You’re leading a war! Learning wizardry! Creating Zords! Raising kids! You can’t do everything,” he said indignantly.

Zordon nodded. “I know. But there’s a problem with that logic.”

“Oh?”

“I’m all the people of Earth have.”

The words hung heavily in the air between them. Aemil’s shoulders went from rigid to slumped. “Yeah.”

A console beeped, and both Rangers turned to look at the readout. After a handful of seconds, Aemil looked at Zordon instead, worry in his eyes. “They’re Class D?”

Zordon was still looking at the readout. The frown between his eyebrows was deepening steadily. He nodded. “Neolithic.”

“Call the Team?”

Zordon winced and almost said no. They deserved a break. Then he thought of Epona’s reaction if she knew even the little bits they could glean from here about what was happening to her homeworld.

“Call the Team,” he agreed.

*****

Ten minutes later, Zordon, Aemil, Ferin, Atalanta, and Sarrai were sitting in the conference room next to the bridge. Outside, a handful of Kerovan and Ignan volunteers were readying the ship to depart Kerova’s solar systems for Earth’s distant, dim star. Though the three new arrivals were various levels of exhausted and drunk, they all were as alert as they could be to the situation. They knew Zordon wouldn’t be calling them away without great cause.

“I’m going to Earth,” Zordon began. “Tonight. It’s a Class D world in the outer left fringe of the galaxy, Dimidium Auroridae. It’s very primitive, but since the environmental collapse of Sol’s other inhabited satellite four thousand years ago, it’s been the most advanced world in its Dimidium. Technically, it’s not a Protectorate anymore, either. It has a few strategic resources, notably highly-concentrated sentient manifestations of the Power, but nothing remarkable. And it’s been singled out as a target by Evil for the second time in its history.

“We don’t know a lot yet. I’ll be doing a ritual en route to learn more, but if there are mages involved, they may block me. What we know now is that there’s advanced technology in its orbit. Some of it has a Dark signature. I’m assuming Rita’s invaded. I’m not sure of the quantity or sophistication of the technology, the scale of the attack, or who’s there. It’s a strategically terrible choice to pull myself, let alone our Team, all the way out there with this little information. The only thing that would make it a slightly less bad idea is if Rita doesn’t expect us to know what’s going on there yet, and I can’t guarantee that.” Zordon took a breath. “All that said… it’s Earth. They’re my people to protect. I can’t let her hurt them. If any of you feel it would be better for you to stay behind and-“

All four were already shaking their heads. “Of course we’re coming,” Ferin said. “If it’s not a trap, it’ll be quick, and if it is a trap, you’ll need us.”

Atalanta nodded in agreement, but she also looked troubled. “What about Dregon?” she asked quietly.

“The Fel’Hari Rangers lost the trail, but they and others are out there searching for him. When we find him, we go after him. Until then, we help my world.”

Atalanta simply nodded, satisfied, because she’d missed the implications of Zordon’s words. Those implications took Zordon’s breath away, and Aemil and Ferin looked shocked. Sarrai smiled fiercely.

“Retallia,” she called him proudly. “Earth is one lucky planet.” She stood. “So, are we getting this ship underway or what?”

Zordon nodded briskly. “Let’s move out.”

Chapter 41: Hua Mulan

Chapter Text

Of course, commanding the adults was the easy part.

“Epona, there’s something I need to tell you,” Zordon began a conversation he really wasn’t looking forward to. He’d taken the last hour to stage it as well as he could: she was well-rested, well-fed, and they’d just played together with Kiren before putting him down for his nap. Now they were snuggling, Epona contentedly curling her fingers through the not-quite-ringlet ends of his unruly shoulder-length hair. She didn't know what it meant, of course, that his hair had been unbraided every day for more than three months as a sign of mourning - she just enjoyed the freedom to play with it better. After nudging his thoughts gently away from her mother, he let his mental guard lower a little.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, brow furrowing. “What about Earth?”

He withheld a sigh; it was too easy for him to underestimate how skilled a telepath his child was. Well, best to get it over with, then. “We think they’re under attack.”

She frowned up at him, lifting her head off his chest to look him in the eyes. Her surface thoughts were oddly grumpy. “Like Pimri’s village?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

She frowned more. “They were getting attacked, but you wouldn’t help because it was Terrans.”

Oh, right. She was recalling the conversation they’d had in the Terran wilds just before the fire-mages’ first visit when she was three years old. She’d wanted him to use his Ranger Powers to stop one band of Terrans from hurting another, and he’d tried to explain why he couldn’t. Apparently it had left a big impression. “No, not that kind of attack,” he said. “The other kind.”

Epona perked at once. “You’re going to help?” she asked excitedly. “Can I come?”

“Yes and yes. We’re already on the way.”

Her last hesitation broke into a grin made of sunshine. “We are?” she cried. “We’re going to Earth?!” She wriggled away and bounced up and down…

…for all of six seconds. Then the just-turned-5-year-old stopped and looked at him, worrying her lip with her teeth. “Wait. Are they going to be okay?”

For a moment, all he could do was mourn her lost childhood. No 5-year-old should think of that so fast. Then he opened his arms, gathering her back onto his lap. “When Good and Evil fight,” he began, “we can never be certain what will happen. The Power – that thing you see inside of people?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded.

“When there is more light to the Power in one area, Good is more likely to win there. When it’s darker, Evil is more likely to win. We – Power Rangers – carry Light wherever we go, so we make it easier for Good to spread. Where Good spreads, people are safe and whole and happy. Earth has a lot of Light, but a lot of Darkness, too. The Terrans haven’t decided yet if they want to be Good or Evil. So… we’ll do everything we can to protect your friends, and it’s likely we’ll win, but I don’t know for sure.”

Her thoughts were turbulent and troubled. He kept himself out of them, letting her say however much or little she wished.

“Mommy’s not coming back, is she,” Epona whispered.

His heart clenched. He’d tried so many times to tell her Kiori was dead, but each time he had stopped short, imagining how it would hurt her. But now that she’d said it out loud, he couldn’t possibly lie. “No, my little berry. I’m so sorry. I tried so hard.”

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks and into his blue-black tunic. “The black thing ate her.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. It was near enough to the truth. Even without Ferin, Kiori would never have come back to Epona.

“Father,” she said, shifting to look into his eyes again. There were mountains of pain in her matching onyx eyes, but there was something else, too.

“Yes, dearest?” he forced himself to speak.

“I want to fight.”

He shook his head. “Children don’t have to fight. That’s grown-ups’ jobs.”

She glowered at him. He could see her preparing to dig in her heels. “Everybody has the Power. Everybody makes more Light or Darkness. Evil took Mommy and it could take Pimri and Shulgi and Ninbanda and all my friends. If I have Light in me and I don’t use it to help them, what’s it there for?”

“To help you grow. To…” but he stopped. He knew his daughter too well; a rational counter-argument wouldn’t do anything to change her mind. Instead, he just held her close and blinked back bitter tears. She was too young…

Epona didn’t carry on arguing either, perhaps thrown by him backing off. When she did speak, the mulish tones had softened. “I know I’m little. I know I can’t be a Power Ranger. But I can still fight somehow. Please?”

“You’re dearer to me than anything else that ever was or ever will be,” Zordon whispered. “I have to keep you safe.”

Epona thought about that for a long moment. “Okay,” she said at last, reluctantly. “I can fight the Darkness in more safe ways. If I’m still fighting.”

“Yeah?” he asked, looking down at her face and thoughts. She didn’t like it, but she was willing to compromise. That in itself was surprising enough coming from Epona that he wanted to find a way to agree. He didn’t know how a 5-year-old could possibly make a difference, but…

Wait. Did he? There was no one, anywhere, of any other world who knew Earth as intimately as she did. She’d spent her toddler years wandering the planet. He’d only studied databases. They’d been away for so long, but if she remembered details like her Terran friends’ names, how much more did she remember? “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll figure out how you can help in safe ways.”

“More safe ways,” she glowered.

“More safe ways,” he amended. After all, there was no such thing as complete safety when battling Evil.

Epona yawned. “Story,” she murmurred.

He blinked. She hadn’t asked for a bedtime story in awhile. He cast his thoughts in search of one. They flew across galaxies, across millennia… At last, he found the right one and smiled.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was in the land of the Xianbei a girl named Hua Mulan.”

“Is it an Earth story?” Epona interrupted sleepily. She always asked that.

“Yes, little berry. Now hush. Here it is: ‘The sound of one sigh after another, as Mulan weaves at the doorway. No sound of the loom and shuttle, only that of the girl lamenting. Ask her of whom she thinks, ask her for whom she longs. ‘There is no one I think of, there is no one I long for. Last night I saw the army notice, the Khan is calling a great draft – a dozen volumes of battle rolls, each one with my father's name. My father has no grown-up son, and I have no elder brother. I'm willing to buy a horse and saddle, to go to battle in my father's place.’…”

End Book 5

Chapter 42: Book 6: Earth - Chapter 1: The Prophet

Chapter Text

The next morning, it was time for the ritual. Kiren cried up a storm, but Epona held firm. “I will be back soon,” she said solemnly, “but I have to do this first. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Sarrai let out a snort, for which Zordon gave her a mild glare. The Pink Ranger was holding the wriggling younger child, planning to distract him with play while his family worked.

“Noo!” Kiren wailed.

Epona reached up, caught one of his flailing feet, kissed it, then turned and walked away with obvious expectation that her father would follow. The two adults exchanged amused glances. Zordon planted a kiss on Kiren’s forehead and then followed Epona.

They went inside a small room. He didn’t care for or need most traditional trappings of magic, so his magical workspace looked more like a meditation room than a wizard’s chamber: soft lighting, large round floor pillows, a few candles available as focus objects, and little else. Epona had never been inside, but she was not one to be intimidated by such details. She chose a squashy purple pillow immediately and flopped down on it.

“Now what?”

“Now,” Zordon said, “we do magic.”

Epona beamed.

“The spell I’m going to cast lets us sense at a great distance, and it will also wrap us in a special kind of illusion so that the people there can see us. To them, it will look like we’re really there, and it will also feel to us like we’re there, but we won’t actually leave this room. What I want you to do is think really hard about where we should go. It should be somewhere with lots of people so we can ask them questions about what’s happening. I’ll look in your mind at the place you’re picturing and set up the spell to make us appear there.”

Epona nodded seriously. “I’m ready,” she said.

“Already? Are you sure?”

Epona gave a dramatic sigh that he could swear she’d learned from one of the Kerovan children.

“Understood,” he said, suppressing as much of his amused laugh as he could. He let his eyes slip shut, then reached out his mage senses toward Epona. Instead of inviting in the flood of information the Morphin Grid always offered him when he focused on another person, though, he directed his magic to see into her thoughts and form the spell around them. Almost at once, the world around them faded to inconsequential background information as another world took its place.

*****

Much to his surprise, Zordon recognized the new place. It was the same central plaza in the same town where he’d hunted for news of his missing daughter nearly two Terran years ago. Today, it was again flooded with more people than the town probably usually contained. Zordon wondered if it was another Market Day. However, a quick look around showed that there were no booths set up this time, only people standing in a crowd. Many of them seemed to be trying to see over the heads of people in front of them, but Zordon couldn’t tell what they were looking at.

Epona’s hand slipped into his, and he glanced down at her. She looked happy and excited, but he thought he detected nervousness underneath it. He couldn’t feel any of her thoughts or emotions directly through the illusory world. Erring on the side of caution, he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Excuse me,” Zordon asked the nearest Terran, a woman with her hair wrapped up in a colorful cloth, “what’s going on?”

“Eh?” She peered at him, then at Epona, noting their unusual coloring. “Travelers, then?”

“That’s right,” Zordon said quickly, squeezing Epona’s hand for silence.

“Well it’ll be worth the journey!” the woman beamed at them. “You’re just in time: the Prophet is about to make his appearance for today!”

That made no sense. Their records on the projected development of humanity in the region of Sumeria didn’t anticipate prophets for a few thousand years yet. A thread of fear stalled Zordon’s response. While he was rattled, Epona asked, “Prophet of what?”

The woman beamed again. “The new world? The great mage? Peace and wealth? It’s all one, I suppose. You’ll see!”

“People of Çatalhöyük!” a voice boomed out over the crowd – just a little louder than it could have naturally. The crowd quieted and turned toward it, bristling with excitement. A man stepped out onto a roof that functioned like a balcony over the plaza. He was tall and lean, similar in coloring and features to the Terrans around him. Even the slight connection Zordon could feel to Terra’s Morphin Grid from here made the man reek of magic. This was not a Terran.

“Good choice,” Zordon murmurred to Epona, though he also gripped her hand more tightly with the fear he wasn’t showing her. They were in no danger, he reminded himself.

“I come again, as I promised, to bring you the good news!” the prophet continued above them. “Your offering yesterday was well received. Skera is pleased!”

The crowd gave a cheer of approval. Zordon crouched low beside Epona, whispering to her quickly under cover of the noise, “Do the people look strange?”

Epona looked around, peering through legs and hemlines. “A little,” she confirmed. A line of worry appeared between her brows. “Like Mother, but much less,” she whispered.

Zordon winced. At least minor spellwork affecting their minds. He stuffed down anger: yes, his Terrans were being harmed, but he needed a plan, not rage. “Okay, I’m going to change how we look.”

Another cheer rang out around them; something else the prophet had said apparently met with the Terrans’ approval. “We’re going to help them, right?” Epona asked worriedly.

“Definitely,” he promised. With a minor effort of will, he shifted their appearances to blend better with the crowd, then he straightened.

“As token of her pleasure, today Skera sends a blessing of cloth!” the man announced. A quartet of humans carried forward four large baskets filled with rolls of cloth. He picked one roll out and, holding the loose end, flung it across the crowd. It arced halfway across the plaza in a rippling banner of bright blue. The crowd cheered again, louder and with notes of awe mixed in.

“Wow,” Epona sighed, looking awed too.

“Oh?” Zordon asked her.

“It’s so big and bright and the weaving is really even. It must have taken so many people a long time to make.”

Zordon opened his mouth to correct her but shut it instead. The cloth was probably replicated – but he realized she’d said exactly what a Terran would see. It made sense, at their technology level. The man was offering them what they would picture as a great wealth.

“As before,” the man continued, “the blessed household will direct distribution of Her bounty across the city. Now, who is ready for their household to be blessed by Skera?!”

This was clearly the point he’d been driving toward, a cue for a great clamor of happy volunteers, but the crowd’s response was guarded. Some raised eager hands, but Zordon saw plenty of others hesitate or even try to look invisible.

They were afraid. Despite mind magic and bribery, these people – his wards – were afraid. They were being hurt, somehow. Anger flew forward inside him again as he raised his hand toward the sky and… shoved maybe a little more magic toward the man’s mind than he’d intended.

“You there!” the prophet exclaimed not two seconds later. The crowd drew back from him on all sides, leaving him and Epona exposed like an ocean boulder at low tide. Most faces looked relieved; a few, mournful or pitying. No one around them looked jealous.

“Come away now, child.” Someone from the crowd pulled at Epona’s other hand.

Both child and parent reacted instantly. Epona let out a high scream and kicked at the woman, and Zordon swept Epona off the ground into his arms. “My child too!” he yelled.

Shocked faces surrounded them. “She only needs one!” and “Just a child…” murmurred out toward him. He utterly ignored them.

“A man of true faith!” The prophet, on the other hand, was pleased. “Skera accepts your child as well, of course! Both of you will experience the ecstacy of her presence!”

By now, a pair of humans – Terrans or aliens, Zordon wasn’t sure – had made their way through the crowd to them. “This way,” one said.

“Who from your household will distribute the wealth?” the other asked.

Zordon hesitated only a moment. “No distributor,” he answered, then pitched his voice to carry again. “My household has enough! All the cloth goes to the widows and orphans of the city!”

A murmur of surprise, then applause. Awed and pleased faces surrounded him as he followed the prophet’s men.

“Father…” Epona asked in a quiet, fearful tone.

“Remember-“ he began, then remembered himself and closed his mouth. [We’re not really here. We’re still on the ship. We can go and find out what’s going on, and then whatever it is doesn’t happen to any Terrans today.]

[OH! Oh good!] Epona exclaimed too loudly. Zordon mostly hid his wince; new telepaths often had trouble regulating their volume.

The men leading him had brought him to the ladder up to the prophet’s roof speaking platform. Zordon set Epona on the ground reluctantly to climb up the ladder first. There were no surprises waiting at the top, though: just the prophet, baskets of cloth, and several more presumed-Terran followers. Zordon took Epona’s hand when she’d joined him and walked to the prophet, wondering what came next.

The alien man smiled at him unsuspectingly. “And now,” his voice rang out over the crowd, “witness the power of Skera!”

Dense gray clouds rolled out across the neolithic city, darkening the sky. The people below them drew close to one another in fear, but the reaction was far milder than Zordon would have expected from magicless humans. They’d seen this performance before. In the clouds just overhead, a crackle of yellow-white light arced. The prophet raised his arms to the sky.

A fake lightning bolt began at their feet. It didn’t hurt at all, but it looked immensely believable as it raced toward the clouds. Because the man hadn’t incanted or gestured, though, the spell’s main effect caught Zordon off-guard: teleportation.

Zordon cursed inwardly as he tried to analyze the spell on the fly. Since they weren’t there physically, there were no physical beings for the teleport spell to grab, and unless he could analyze the spell fast enough to determine the location and transfer the illusions of themselves there, the jig was up.

He might be the most powerful mage in the galaxy, but mages all have limits, and he was thoroughly unprepared. He caught a second’s glimpse of the determining image at the end of the teleportation spell, then the prophet and his men were gone. All Zordon could do in time was end his own spell so that it looked to the Terran audience like they’d vanished.

*****

“Daddy!” Epona’s shriek was the first thing he heard when his awareness returned. He blinked and looked around. He was sitting in his spell room, just as he’d been when their minds had left.

Epona’s small body slammed into his, and he wrapped arms around her reflexively. “Why did you let go?” she demanded, half angrily, half in tears.

“I didn’t. We were always sitting apart,” he said. He just held her tightly until his words sank in.

After a few seconds, she relaxed all over. “Oh. Right,” her muffled voice came from his shoulder. “I knew that.”

“I’m not going away,” he assured her. Though he left off ‘like Mommy’ this time, they both heard it anyway. “I’m here, and you’re safe.”

She wiped at her mostly-dry eyes. “Okay. So… so what did we learn?”

He frowned. “You don’t have to-“

She glared at him. “I’m fine. What did we learn?”

Zordon sighed inwardly and gave in. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know who or what Skera is, or what they’re doing with the humans they’re taking… but I do know who that man was.” The memory of his signature from the impossible teleportation spell lingered in Zordon’s senses like an after-image. He tried again to suppress the bubble of rage swelling inside him, with less success this time.

“Who, Father?”

“The Wizard of Deception.”

Chapter 43: Too Pretty to be Wrong

Chapter Text

“He’s been missing from the War for months,” Zordon briefed his Teammates minutes later. To Atalanta and Sarrai, who had joined the Team during those months, he added, “I assumed he was out there somewhere, but I didn’t include him in your original briefings while he appeared to be inactive. He’s a wizard, much less powerful than me but with a lot more experience. Illusion magic is his specialty, and he can outclass me there easily if he’s prepared.

“That’s not what makes him a threat, though. He’s cruel.” A flash of memory: the Wizard taunting him as he discovered Kiori had been kidnapped, Allaise killed: ‘This isn’t how you fight a war!’ ‘It is if you want to win.’ It was a moment before he could steady his voice to continue. “He makes personal emotional attacks whenever he can. If Repulssa put him in charge of the invasion of Earth, at least one intent of the attack will be to inflict as much trauma on me as possible.”

He took a steadying breath, steeling himself against what he needed to do next. “Clearly our enemies know how much I care for the Terrans. The Wizard of Deception will use the Terrans to destroy us if he can. He probably plans to manipulate me into doing something that will hurt the War, our Team, maybe even the Terrans themselves. So, effective now, I’m turning over Team leadership to Aemil.”

Sarrai protested the loudest, inevitably, but Atalanta made it a close second – Sarrai because she loved him and Atalanta because she respected him so deeply. Their words jumbled together so entirely that Ferin used telepathy instead to send Zordon the comparatively mild, [This seems unnecessary. You faced the Wizard of Deception with reasonable effectiveness before. Aemil is not…]

The Yellow Ranger paused, looked at her old classmate, and frowned. […protesting. Why isn’t Aemil protesting?]

Because the one person who hadn’t spoken was the Red Ranger. He looked nervous, even a little flighty, but his chin was held high. He waited for Sarrai and Atalanta to stumble to fuming and perplexed halts, respectively, before he started speaking. “This is a failsafe, not an earthquake. If Zordon wants us to go a certain way, of course we’ll hear him out. But he doesn’t want to have the power to order us into one of the Wizard’s traps. It’s smart and honorable, and we’re going to respect his wishes.” He paused for just a second before adding with quiet authority, “Understood?”

As the other three blinked, then nodded in agreement born of surprise and training, Zordon let out his held breath silently. Aemil was a highly unusual Red Ranger, but he was still a Red Ranger. More than any of the rest of them, he’d trained for commanding a Team. Aemil could do this.

[You talked to him before this meeting,] Ferin sent.

[Of course I did,] he replied. There was a little edge to his thoughts, but only a small one.

Ferin went silent as Aemil gave them initial orders, but Zordon suspected she was listening with only one ear. He listened with two, by contrast. He trusted and respected Aemil, but he had little idea what direction Aemil would take the Team in.

Aemil was ordering a cautious approach – more cautious by far than Zordon would have done. But then, that was the point: to make sure that Zordon’s desperation and anger didn’t send them hurtling into an ugly situation. Aemil’s plan was sound, and it took advantage of the various Rangers’ strengths. He noticed that Aemil hadn’t given him any orders directly, though, and caught his new leader’s eye as subtly as he could. Did Aemil know it was all right to order him?

“And of course, once we know where we’re aiming for, you’ll be the bait, sir,” Aemil answered it smoothly.

Zordon blinked. “I will?”

“Yes sir. They’ll all be expecting you to rush in headlong because that’s what they’re trying to provoke. They won’t possibly expect that action to be a feint.”

“But that’s incredibly risky!” Sarrai burst out angrily. “We know that Repulssa’s trying to kill him. Why give them any chance of getting him on his own?”

“Sarrai-“ Zordon put a hand on her arm to try to calm her, but she shook it off, glaring at him.

“How many times have you almost died since this War started?” Sarrai demanded of him. Without waiting for an answer, she turned her attention back to Aemil. “Are you going to stay in charge when we leave Earth?”

Aemil blinked. “I… I don’t... um…” His words stumbled to an awkward halt.

“We haven’t deci-“ Zordon tried to help him.

“Oh you two haven’t have you?” Sarrai cut him off. Her hair was starting to smoke. “What do you think of this ‘bait’ plan?” she asked Zordon.

“I…” Zordon hesitated. Sarrai was right that it was risky, but Aemil was right that their enemies would never expect it.

Sarrai gave Zordon only a second, just long enough to make it clear he wasn’t wholeheartedly on board with Aemil’s plan. “Give me one reason why I should go along with this!”

“Hello, complete lack of discipline,” Ferin muttered.

Sarrai and Zordon both bristled.

Suddenly the room was a riot of color, startling all three arguers into silence. Aemil had stood. His wings, so often slightly revealed when he was nervous or surprised, for once had burst open completely. As wide as he was tall and a symphony of colors, the gossamer wings pulled everyone’s attention easily. “Because,” Aemil answered Sarrai in grim tones, “I’m entirely too pretty to be wrong.”

Zordon, Sarrai, and Ferin gaped at him. Atalanta kept her soldierly formality for all of a second before her lips twitched too far and released a single helpless giggle. Aemil spared the Kerovan an annoyed glance, but it didn’t work: she could see the mirth behind his eyes at last. It seemed the infamously joyless Red Ranger had a secret sense of humor.

“It’s a risk,” Aemil continued, speaking primarily to Sarrai, “we all know that. We’ve taken a lot of risks and come out the other side. If I’m wrong, we’ll just have to go rescue Zordon again. Not like that’s new. No offense, sir.”

“No, that’s fair.”

“And as a bonus, if he gets captured, you can set me on fire. Deal?”

Sarrai looked him over, eyes narrowed. “How on fire?”

Ferin scoffed angrily and Atalanta giggled again, but Aemil held up a hand and both went quiet. “I’ll let you be the judge,” he told Sarrai solemnly.

Sarrai thought about it, then nodded. “Deal.”

Red and Pink Rangers bowed to one another in Ignan custom to seal an agreement. Aemil then turned to Ferin, whose familiar closed expression had returned full-force.

“Discipline can mean a lot of different things. Rae tried really hard to teach us that.” At their former leader’s name, Ferin’s rigidity softened slightly with embarrassment. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t need you to defend me from our Teammates. I got this. We’ve got this. Okay?”

Ferin let out a very soft sigh, little more than an exhaled breath, then nodded.

“Good. Anyone else?” Aemil eyed Zordon and Atalanta, and both shook their heads. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be the best leader I can be. Now, just one more thing: Zordon?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s skip this travelling-through-space stuff. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just be there by now. You can do that, right?”

“Oh.” Zordon thought through the complexities. Moving one starship, a dozen diverse humanoids on it, and five massive robots, securely enough that the teleportation beam couldn’t be deflected en route and would stay hidden on the other side. The thought hadn’t occurred to him to try to move that much that stealthily by magic. “A bit of a challenge,” he said, “but if I go carefully, yes.”

Aemil grinned. “Everyone, let’s take the next hour to get fully prepared for battle. Then we’re a go.”

He folded his wings at last and stepped away from the table. The rest rose. Zordon thought he’d go spend some time playing with Epona and made for the door. As he passed them, he heard Sarrai and Ferin exchange quietly:

“So, spar?” Ferin asked.

“Oh yeah,” Sarrai all but growled.

He hesitated, wondering if he should intervene.

[Move along, Ranger,] Ferin said in imitation of Academy instructors’ clipped commands.

[Yes sir,] he played along, with only a slight nervous edge. [Just… don’t break each other.]

[Who are you, my leader?] Ferin quipped as she and Sarrai walked away.

*****

Ferin finished her battle preparations within twenty minutes through a burst of righteous energy. When she arrived at the ship’s gym – a much smaller version of the training hall Aemil and Allaise had built on *Morpheon in better days – it was to find Sarrai already there. This didn’t surprise her. It only confirmed her opinion that the new recruit was indolent compared to a proper Power Ranger. What surprised her, though, was when she realized that Sarrai was not just stretching.

She was dancing.

A deep lunge moved up to balance on the forward leg, and the hand that went out for balance curved upward in a gesture of utter grace. The pose held, showing improbable muscle strength and balance, for a slow five-count before the raised leg lowered and the lowered arm raised, and suddenly she was spinning, both hands upraised, the very tips glowing with soft flames, almost invisible in the bright, Eltarian-like lighting.

It was incredibly beautiful. Ferin felt like she could watch it for hours. Heat flooding her cheeks, she cleared her throat before she could think too much about that.

Sarrai stopped with the abrupt startledness that people usually did when they realized Ferin was in the room. She recovered, though, bowing to no one in particular before straightening.

“I didn’t know you dance,” Ferin said, tone carefully neutral around the pain in her heart.

Sarrai seemed to see that ache, or else she already knew. “I didn’t,” she said.

The twist in Ferin’s heart tightened several painful degrees. “Oh.” She went to a bench at the edge of the practice area and sat. Sarrai didn’t join her exactly, but she spread the deep Pink towel out on the floor near enough to the bench once she’d toweled off and sat there.

“After the Transfer, I realized how little I knew about healing,” Ferin found herself saying. “I took a course on battlefield First Aid at the University in the last day before we shipped out to Horoth. It seemed like the most important thing. It was Adam’s most important, though.” What was she doing? Was this an intimate moment? With Allaise’s replacement?

Sarrai didn’t rush to answer. “Aemil says dance was her Talent,” she said at last.

Twist. “Yes.”

“But the instinct will fade if I ignore it.”

How long had it been since she’d thought about healing as anything more than something Zordon would take care of? “Yes,” she agreed.

“So I practice.”

Ferin looked directly at her. Sarrai was stretching again, gently pushing at the limits of her flexibility. Her dark red eyes were as serious as Aemil’s.

“Why?” Ferin asked, leaving off the ‘you didn’t even know her.’

Sarrai shrugged. “I always thought dance was hot but never made time for it. I have a few spare centuries to devote.” As Ferin boggled at that idea, Sarrai turned pensive. She added, “She died a hero’s death. I honor her. Gone doesn’t mean forgotten.”

Ferin stared at her long and hard then. She could see only sincerity in the mage’s expression. The idea that this woman would carry on Allaise’s legacy far beyond Ferin’s lifespan was confusing: wonderful and startling and prompting a strange territorial anger. At last, Ferin just huffed out a breath. “Never,” she agreed.

Sarrai sighed too, then stood. “So. Still beating each other up?”

“Yes please!” Ferin said with deep relief.

Sarrai grinned. “Oh good.”

*****

An hour later, all 5 Rangers were gathered on their bridge. Sarrai’s fat lip and Ferin’s bruised eye drew concerned looks from the bridge crew, but as none of the Rangers had commented on it, none of them asked either. In the center of the lower level of the bridge, Zordon sat cross-legged and meditative – but the captain’s chair was occupied. Slight, wary Aemil didn’t have the presence to fill the seat as Zordon did, but he looked more confident than he might have.

“Ready,” Zordon murmurred.

“All right everyone,” Aemil said. “You know your parts. Let’s find out what play we’re in. Zordon, bring us across in three… two… one…”

The transit wasn’t entirely seamless, but the only signs were a lurch in everyone’s stomach and the beeping of about a dozen alarms from various bridge systems. Zordon slumped forward, putting both hands out to halt his fall.

“Zordon?” Sarrai asked.

“Fine… just… need a minute,” the war-wizard said. He sounded utterly exhausted. Sarrai wavered, eyes fixed on her friend, clearly wanting to rush to his side.

“Sensors, report,” Aemil commanded.

Sarrai spared him a resentful look but refocused on her console. “Orbital defense network confirmed. Multiple armed satellites in upper orbit and a network of smaller ones causing heavy sensor interference. No ships in orbit that I can detect, but likelihood of lower-orbit craft escaping my readings is high. There’s construction on the Moon – analyzing.” After a moment, she continued, “Exact readings are scattered by magical means, but there’s at least one large structure there, and I think there’s atmosphere around it.”

“Could that be the place you saw, Zordon?” Aemil asked. “Where they’re teleporting Terrans to?”

Zordon straightened and rubbed fatigue out of his eyes. “Unlikely,” he replied, “unless they’ve added a lot of plant life on the Moon too. It looked like a natural Earth setting.”

“We’ll need to scan the surface better, then. Are you ready?” Aemil asked him. Zordon’s magic was the only remotely subtle means they had of disrupting the security satellites.

“Sure,” Zordon said. The Blue Ranger pulled himself to his feet. “Give me a visual.”

The viewscreen, which took up a substantial portion of the forward wall of the bridge, shifted from opaque to show the planet below. It looked just as Zordon remembered… except for three rings of glinting satellites orbiting at different angles. It was a large enough defense network that without his cloaking magic, the ship would be in serious trouble by now.

He reached out to the Morphin Grid around the planet. It was vibrant and strong, with the wild edge of a place whose sentients hadn’t yet decided which side they would fight for. He sank into that perception, soaking it all in until he could see where the satellites intersected the Grid as small dead zones diverting the lines of magic. Once he was sure he could see the satellites and their effects clearly on all levels, he shut his eyes and twisted.

It wasn’t a hard spell. It was quite like throwing a boulder up a sheer cliff: perfectly simple if you could summon the strength. Zordon noted that the satellites were operating just as they had before but no longer shielding the planet or updating their masters just before the world fuzzed out to white.

Sarrai was out of her seat fast enough to catch him as he fell. Aemil got no further than to open his mouth in protest before, after laying Zordon carefully on the ground, Sarrai leaped over the back of her chair and into the seat with a, “Yeah, yeah, reporting.” Several keystrokes later, she said, “Orbital array’s interference is down. Scanning…”

The bridge medic checked Zordon over while most everyone else held their breaths, focused on Sarrai. The medic had only just nodded that Zordon was okay when the Pink Ranger burst into a string of angry Ignan cursing. “That bitch!” she concluded.

“I take it you found something,” Aemil prompted mildly.

“Several dozen extraterran Signatures from nearly as many species, at least four of them mages. About a hundred Terran Signatures. Most of them hurt, maybe a quarter of them badly. Several hundred of the teguloid creatures. All of them at the Rangers of Earth’s old base.”

Aemil groaned. “Oh no.”

“Makes sense,” Ferin murmurred. “Giant pile of our technology, undefended…”

“So not at all why they’re there,” Sarrai glared.

“Well,” Aemil sighed worriedly, “at least he’ll be on familiar ground.”

Chapter 44: Illusions

Chapter Text

Winter had set in hard in the mountains of the Rangers of Earth’s base. Bitterly cold wind whipped Zordon’s hair and robes around as he strode toward his former home, fury etched into his pale features. He gripped a tall, thick staff as he went, and on alternate steps when the staff touched the frost-bitten ground, cracks formed as if the ground had been solid stone shattered by the impact.

“I am Zordon of Eltare!” he yelled into the wind. A sliver of magic carried his voice through the nearby doors of the Rangers’ compound to ensure that whoever was within heard him clearly. It was one of the false “six basic wizard spells” that he’d learned from the Wizard of Deception, the same spell the Wizard had used in Çatalhöyük. “I am the protector of this world! If you are not of Earth, you have no right to be here. I give you one chance to leave in peace!”

Dozens of teguloid soldiers teleported in, surrounding him thickly on all sides. He slammed the end of his staff into the ground with far more force than he had before. All the clay creatures’ legs below the knees grew cracks of their own. They burbled in seeming confusion, then charged him. The charge was singularly ineffective: they moved haltingly and stumbled over one another, crippled by the cracks in their legs.

Zordon slammed the staff down again. A trio of gems inlaid into the wood about 3 feet up lit up, and in all directions a narrow beam of dark blue light flared out. Where the light touched the clay minions, it bisected them. The soft sound of a hundred mounds of disanimated clay thudding to the ground was all that remained.

“You really shouldn’t have come without your Team,” Eve’s voice said in his ear. Heart pounding, Zordon whipped around to face “her.” The dead Green Dragon Ranger’s smile was wide and mocking. She slashed out once with the Dragon Dagger, but he dodged.

“Let the Terrans go!” Zordon cried.

“Hmmm, how about… no?” Eve let out a taunting peal of laughter. “Every one of them agreed to come here out of their own sense of avarice. They deserve what we’re doing to them.”

Fury lit Zordon’s blood on fire, and he went on the offensive. “Eve” evaded or blocked his every strike, as talented at hand-to-hand combat as she ever had been in life. Between one blow and the next, her shape shifted.

Kiori’s black curls and swirling Black dress made Zordon automatically turn his blow aside. Before he could regain his balance, someone, probably “Kiori,” swept his legs out from under him. Though he took the fall well and sprang back up to his feet, his opponent was nowhere to be seen.

Knowing he had seconds to find the Wizard before his next attack, Zordon twisted in every direction. A fire-patterned light like the Wizard’s fell through the air to reveal-

Zordon’s gut lurched. He rushed to remind himself it was just another illusion, but that logic didn’t help overcome shock much. The Wizard had never taken Zedd’s shape before.

“Zedd” got a hit in while Zordon was surprised: a long, curved dagger scorched Zordon’s cheek as it drew blood. Zordon brought his staff back around and sent a bolt of energy hurtling at him. It struck him squarely…

…and the illusion didn’t shatter.

Zordon’s mind spun on that for precious seconds. Always, when he struck the Wizard with anything but a glancing blow, his form popped and vanished. But Zedd was obviously just another illusory shape of the Wizard… wasn’t he?

A low chuckle came from Zedd, at once melodious and frightening. “Surprise,” he said as he threw a white-hot fireball at Zordon’s chest.

Zordon countered it, but not fully. Fire washed across the edges of his body. The searing hot pain was disorienting. Zedd followed it with a fire-augmented punch to Zordon’s gut and another to his face. For all Naatam’s training, Zordon’s body wasn’t any more resistant to actual fire naturally than another Eltarian’s, and he could feel somewhere under his shock that there were blisters bubbling up across his face. The pain was intense enough that Zedd had hit him another glancing blow with the dagger before he could finally focus a spell of his own.

A lance of ice burst from Zordon’s hand. It hit a shield Zedd hastily threw up and burst into snow. Zordon punched a metaphysical hole in the shield while the snow was still falling, and through the small crack, a few flakes got through to land on Zedd’s arm.

Zedd howled in pain.

That did it. The Wizard was brilliant at illusions but not nearly so skilled at play-acting. This was really Zedd.

Terror slammed into him. Zordon stumbled backward several hasty steps and threw up a shield between himself and Zedd. “It’s Morphin-“

A blow like a sledgehammer caught him between the shouder blades, and the end of the cry was a yell of pain instead. He fell to his knees, head and back ringing with pain. Last year, it would have been enough to break his focus, but he barely managed to keep the shield up between him and his former leader. He even scraped together enough focus, given the likelihood his life depended on it, to change the shield from a forward-focused protection to a half dome.

“To be fair,” said someone who looked like Allaise, stepping around him to Zedd’s side, “it’s not like he’s totally without his Teammates.”

“No, not like that at all,” answered Dregon from Zedd’s other side.

The Blue Ranger looked up blearily. Dregon was standing over him, near Zedd and “Allaise.” His eyes glowed with sinister green-gold light of a spell. Shock and despair echoed in Zordon along side the dizzying physical pain. Rita had taken Dregon anyway, even through the protection of White?

“Stop snarking and take him out,” Zedd snapped. “We have to hit him hard and fast, before he can counter. Mage talent, remember?”

Zordon shook himself, trying to clear his head and get back to his feet. It was frighteningly slow going.

Another laugh that still rang in his nightmares bubbled up behind him. “Oh, we did. He’s not going anywhere.”

Even as he recognized Scorpina’s voice, he realized he had to put all of them out of his mind. Something was very wrong. The pain from the blow across his back was still there long after it should have faded, and it was moving. Prickles of pain rippled down his back and arms like slow-dripping water. He could move, but his body was sluggish and unwilling. What was going on?

Time to gamble. Trusting his shield to hold against whatever assault the three evil mages and his enspelled Teammate were about to throw, he shifted his focus to the Morphin Grid. The structures of magic around him filled his awareness, and he learned several things he’d have been happier not knowing.

First, because it was closest to him, he saw the spell Scorpina had delivered along with her blow. It was not only creeping down his skin but burrowing inside him, toward his mage-light. It was a nasty bit of Black magic that would restrain his magic and then corrupt him from the very root of his Power. He hadn’t seen a spell like it. He could counter it still, probably, but not for much longer – it was already binding up his magic.

A second later, his Grid-sense spread out as far as the people around him. Zedd looked so much like Naatam to Zordon’s mage senses that his Dark shade was obscene by contrast. “Allaise” was only the Wizard, whose Signature was utterly familiar to Zordon by now. Behind him, Scorpina, if that’s who she actually was, looked nauseating, nonsensical, and, under an obscuring cloak of magic, stronger by far than Zedd himself. She was also under an enslavement spell whose Signature felt like Repulssa’s.

Dregon, though, wasn’t. The Edenite neither held the Power anymore nor was actually under any kind of spell besides a cantrip to make his eyes glow. Horrified, Zordon tried to look away from what he suspected he was about to learn, but too late: he saw the scar across Dregon’s Signature left there by the Power. He’d violated the rules of the Power willingly, and it had abandoned him. He would never be a Power Ranger again.

Just before Zordon could pull his focus away from the Grid and focus on the spell squeezing tighter around him, he felt one more thing: beneath his feet, a vast cavern had been carved under his old base. Inside were two immense dead zones that were without the Power.

[Pull out!] he sent toward his Teammates, the most complicated message he dared send with Dregon standing so close. Surely he’d heard everything else already…

Sure enough, Dregon swore. “How the Light… he just figured out about half the Empress’s plans in three seconds!”

There was a slight pause, then: “When his shield goes down, kill him,” Scorpina ordered.

Allaise’s voice spluttered. “Rita’s been very clear that-“

“Yes, she has, but this is her first time out and it’s not mine. He’s too dangerous to hold. If he knows that much and gets away, she could be seriously harmed. I’d rather defy her orders than risk her plans.”

“Sure, sure – except that she’ll kill us!”

The villains squabbled above him, arguing about how and when to kill him. The pain in his body was getting worse, threatening to cripple him even before he lost his magic. With every inch of focus he could summon, he blocked it all out and threw himself into dismantling Scorpina’s spell and maintaining his shield. He analyzed the spell binding him as fast as he could. It was a slippery, terribly Dark thing, shifting several times when he thought he’d figured out how it worked. All the while, it burrowed deeper into him. As it bound up edges of his magic, the percentage of his available magic skill the shield took grew larger. Finally, he pinned down what the spell actually was and how to undo it. In that moment, he realized that he would have to choose between the shield and the counterspell.

“He’s about to counterspell,” Dregon announced. “But he’s got to drop the shield to do it.”

Zordon cursed inwardly, and Dregon laughed. Only later did the Blue Ranger realize that it was the first time he ever heard Dregon laugh.

Scorpina chuckled. “How lovely. Ready…”

Zordon looked up. Through his flame-patterned shield, he saw Zedd, the Wizard, Scorpina, and Dregon all pointing weapons at him. There was no chance he’d survive the first attack.

“Go on then,” Scorpina whispered, her smile sad*stic. “Choose. Give me your life or your Light. I’m good either way.”

The spell constricted again, binding his magic tighter. He felt the edges of Darkness creeping in. It was so familiar. The vast, seductive, thrilling, sad*stic song that had held him once before seemed quite willing to embrace him again. Once his magic was bound, he knew the Darkness would overwhelm him in moments. It would be a sweet, simple life… and he’d become a monster beyond the nightmares of Eltare. Drop the shield and he’d die at their hands, but he’d die free.

Life or Light? Either way, it looked like the end of the line.

“You really are an idiot,” Dregon said with a small, nasty smile, “coming here alone.”

A person-height bloom of fire flared in the small space between him and his would-be murderers, blinding them all.

“He didn’t,” growled his best friend’s voice.

“Sarrai, no!” Zordon cried… as he dropped his shield and threw himself into the counterspell.
There was a burst of brutal heat and magic above his head and three screams. Sarrai had gotten three of his attackers at least partially. That must mean…

“You inept, incompetent child,” Zedd laughed. “Fireballs? You’ll never measure up to me.”

“Oh yeah? Give me your best shot.”

A blast of Dark magic so strong it almost broke Zordon’s focus, then silence.

“How did… you can’t… Cheater!” Zedd sputtered from stunned silence into fury.

At last, Zordon found and broke the last corner of the spell. His magic came rushing back to him. He was exhausted and in pain on so many levels, but in the triumph of the moment he couldn’t resist throwing Zedd’s own words from years ago back at him: “Yes,” he panted, “we cheat. Because… Power Rangers.”

Zordon looked up at last. A Pink Ranger, skirted like Allaise but taller, stood between him and Zedd. His former leader was as tall and muscular as he remembered, with a few more scars, blatantly sinister clothing, and a silver staff with a “Z” at its top. The Wizard was nowhere to be seen – presumably his illusion had popped from Pink’s fireball attack. Dregon was on the ground behind Zedd, singed and groaning. Zordon couldn’t see Scorpina but had a vague hope that she might still be behind him and knocked out. The shield Zordon had cast on Pink before he teleported to Earth was visible now: a luminescent shape around her like a faceted crystal. It was one of the more resilient models he’d created so far. He hadn’t been at all keen on betting his Teammates’ lives that it worked as well as he thought it would, but Aemil had had more confidence in his spellwork – and fortunately, he’d been right.

“No you don’t!” Pink said to someone. She spun and dove for him. A second later, her shield flared brighter around both of them as it absorbed the impact from whoever had just attacked him. Ah. Scorpina was not unconscious, then.

A concussive boom echoed from his old base. Zordon looked up to see humanoid figures fleeing from the nearest few exits. At the same time, dozens of white lights were streaking upward into the sky.

“What? No! How is this possible?!” Zedd gasped, fulfilling every stereotype of evil outmaneuvered.

A moment later, Pink teleported them both away in streaks of Pink and deep Blue light.

Chapter 45: Debriefing

Chapter Text

“Oh Stars, are you okay?!” came their leader’s frantic voice when they landed on their Bridge.

Instead of answering, Sarrai took off her helmet to reveal a massive grin. “Best,” she said.

“Reconnaissance mission,” Zordon continued. He took advantage of the sudden lack of immediate threats to his life to flop against the deck.

“Ever!” Sarrai squeed. “I was so wrong about you, Aemil, your plan was great!”

Atalanta valiantly tried not to crack up as Aemil said mildly, “Uh, thank you?”

“How many did we get?” Zordon asked.

“All the Terrans who were gathered in the subterranean level, about half of the total. The rest were too distributed,” Ferin answered.

Half their victims were still trapped. Zordon winced. If he’d gone in at full magical capacity… but out loud, he said, “That’s really good for a start.” 7 seconds was his limit for resting under the circ*mstances, he decided, and he pushed himself back up to sitting. His skin prickled and burned in protest. He summoned a small white ball of energy and set to healing the blisters on his face and hands first.

“What did you find out?” Atalanta asked him and Sarrai.

“That the Wizard isn’t nearly our biggest problem,” Sarrai said. She sounded cheerful about it. Zordon guessed she was still riding the high from death-defying fiery combat.

“Uh. He’s not?” Aemil asked.

The weight of what – rather, who – he’d just seen crashed over Zordon. He shuddered under it.

“She’s put Dregon under some kind of evil spell,” Sarrai said, her voice sobering. “And… and Zedd’s there.”

“Zedd? Your…” Ferin glanced between Sarrai and Zordon and didn’t finish her sentence. Sarrai nodded.

“Oh.”

Zordon caught Aemil’s eye pointedly. Whatever the Red Ranger saw there made him gulp. “Debriefing in our meeting room,” Aemil ordered.

*****

“The good news is,” Zordon began quietly after they’d all sat down around the table in their private meeting space, “if they were here to destroy the Earth, they’d have already done it.”

“That’s, uh, pretty bad good news,” Aemil said worriedly.

Zordon sighed. Which bombshell to drop first? The question left him feeling exhausted. “The one you didn’t recognize,” he said to Sarrai, “is Scorpina. She was my first Team’s enemy, half of the pair trying to destroy Earth. She’s…” He found himself at a loss for words. Memories of her and Goldar torturing him, still vivid after the Wizard’s mental attack last year, washed across him. It simply wasn’t fair that he had to face her again…

Sarrai’s always-warm hand found his shoulder and squeezed. He could feel the worry rolling off of her and his other non-telepathic Teammates and pushed himself to get it over with.

“Scorpina’s going to make the Wizard look like a joke. She’s devious, sad*stic, unpredictable, the greatest Light worlds in this galaxy and a Team of Eltarian Rangers haven’t been able to stop her, and apparently she’s been hiding how much power she actually has this whole time. The saving grace, maybe, is that for some reason Repulssa put her under an enslavement spell. If I can break it…” Zordon sighed. “Well, I’m actually not sure how that would help, except that maybe she’d wander off to murder somewhere else.”

“Worth investigating maybe,” Aemil said.

Zordon nodded, though he wasn’t really listening. “Under my old base, they’ve put a huge cavern. I’m pretty sure they have Serpentera and Titanus down there.”

Atalanta cursed. “Both of them?”

“We might be able to take them on, though, with the Megazord,” Sarrai said quickly.

Zordon blinked at her, distracted. “Mega-Zord?”

“Well yeah, because… big, and Zord,” Sarrai said a little defensively.

“Why have two such huge assets all the way out here?” Atalanta mused. “Were they willing to bank that much on the hope that we’d come out here ourselves?”

“Mega-me? *Really*?”

“Well what would you call it?”

“Anyway,” Ferin said pointedly, eyeing Zordon and Sarrai, “hopefully we don’t have to find out any of that. Once you break the spell on Dregon, Titanus-“

“There isn’t one,” Zordon said quietly.

The room went still. Confusion, denial, and fear skittered across the unshielded minds of the Red, Pink, and Black Rangers, piercingly loud for Zordon because he was too rattled and tired to keep up any mental shield himself. He looked at Ferin instead. What solace he found in her quieter mind was limited by unexpected fury in her eyes.

“But there has to be a spell.”

“No way. She’s just hidden it well, right?”

“I mean, power of White…”

“How do you know?”

Ferin looked away first. Zordon shook himself and replied to their Teammates’ last question. “I saw the scar the Power left on him. He violated the rules of the Power. No spell ever made could confuse the Power into thinking he’d done something terrible willingly. I couldn’t even do it.”

“So… He’s evil?” Atalanta asked hesitantly. The furrow between her brows was deep and frightened. “Edenoi’s crown prince?”

Zordon recalled distantly that Kerova and Edenoi were in the same sector of the galaxy. She’d probably grown up in the shadow of their more advanced neighbor. Her thoughts were a downward spiral of shock and despair that drew him in. It was rather inviting, really…

Sarrai’s hand on his arm made him jump. “I said,” she repeated, apparently, “that anyone can turn. It’s a shock, and we can debate about how what could’ve been prevented, but we just-“

Ferin stood suddenly. Her eyes were smouldering still. “Aemil,” she asked tersely, vibrating tension.

With a sigh in his eyes, Aemil nodded permission. Ferin stalked out of the room at once. The rest looked to Aemil in confusion. After the door closed behind the Yellow Ranger, he sighed. “She didn’t want him on the Team.”

Zordon blinked. “She didn’t?”

“She said we shouldn’t trust anyone who kept that perfect a mental guard.” Aemil hesitated, frowned worriedly, and continued, “I think she actually said he could be evil and we wouldn’t know.”

They all sat with that. There were plenty of spells and technological devices that could let someone mask their Signature, so a villain in hiding would often be found out when their thoughts gave them away. That was a practical impossibility for a lone Edenite.

After a moment, Sarrai said, “Okay, I’m not very good at Grid-reading yet, but… pot, kettle? All I’ve ever gotten off of her is the vaguest sense of Light.”

Aemil nodded. “And that’s what I said, along with a lot of other good logical arguments. But maybe she was right.”

Zordon tried to think through the implications. If Dregon had been evil the whole time, it could mean any number of carefully-laid plans were already exposed to Repulssa, had hidden fatal flaws, and so on. Then he realized he’d have to call King Lexian and tell him that his nephew and heir was evil. That was too much. He felt the edge of a manic giggle rising into his throat and swallowed it down.

Focus. Priorities. “How are the Terrans?” he asked.

Aemil and Atalanta exchanged looks that told him he didn’t have all the bad news yet. “They’re stable,” Aemil said carefully.

Zordon pushed his seat back and stood. Whatever Aemil wasn’t telling him, he was going to fix it, now. “I should-“

“I don’t think so,” Aemil said, and though it was said gently, it carried the weight of an order. “Zordon, you’ve been through terrible shocks. We know everything happening here is a trap to destroy you, and it looks like they laid it really well. I need you to get some sleep.”

“Sleep!?” Zordon said indignantly. “If Terrans are hurt, I’m going to help them!”

“And by the time you’re through, our enemies will be ready to hurl the next assault at you. Pushing yourself would be playing into their hands.”

“You really think I can sleep right now?” Zordon snapped back. The next second, he was surprised at himself for admitting it.

“I want you to try,” Aemil said. Zordon opened his mouth on a nasty retort and Aemil cut in ahead of him, “This is why you stepped down. Go. Rest. Do you need it to be an order?”

Just for a second, Zordon was too furious for rational thought. He forced himself to take a pair of slow breaths. By the end of them he could admit that, yes, Aemil was doing exactly what he’d asked him to do. He noticed that he had a white-knuckled grip on the back of his chair and carefully relaxed his fingers.

“No sir,” he said with as little venom as he could.

“Thank you,” Aemil said calmly. “The rest of us will see to any critical duties and then get some rest as well. We just found out a lot more than our enemies expected us to about their plans, so they can be the ones scrambling tonight for a change. We will figure this all out, tomorrow. Good night.”

Zordon successfully released the chair entirely and, as a bonus, didn’t immediately ball his hands into fists as they went to his sides. He gave Aemil a nod he hoped was friendly and left the room first.

Sarrai followed him, of course. Atalanta stood to do the same, but seeing that she and Aemil were the only ones left in the room, she paused. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated.

After a silent moment, Aemil quirked a smile. “Would it help if I said you have permission to speak freely?”

Relief, followed by amusem*nt, lit up her faintly-lined face. “It would, actually,” the career soldier admitted with a smile. The brief smile flickered away. “He’s cracking. Isn’t he.”

“Eltarians are very resilient,” Aemil said loyally. Atalanta raised an eyebrow at him. “But… yes. Probably.”

“If he actually breaks…” Atalanta trailed off, not wanting to say it.

Aemil nodded. “I know. No one will be able to stop him.”

Chapter 46: Life Keeps Happening

Chapter Text

Epona was asleep when Zordon arrived at their quarters. He followed her soft, dreaming thoughts to her room, where he found her in bed curled around Kiren, like a pair of sleeping crescent moons. He watched them for a long moment. At first, the calm happiness of their sleeping minds was a balm for him. As he relaxed, though, his mind started spinning up scenarios where they were caught and hurt by one or another of the terrible villains who’d ambushed him. For the first time since Kiori refused his invitation to take herself and the children to Eltare, he seriously considered sending them there without him. But even if he somehow survived, Epona would never forgive him…

A soft chime at his door pulled his attention from alternating images of Epona’s sobbing, furious, or bloody face. He jumped and spun, convinced for a split second that it was some kind of threat. He had to remind himself he was still on his ship and that they couldn’t get him here. He was halfway to the door when he realized it wasn’t true: Zedd or Scorpina could potentially breach the ship’s defenses, and the best argument he actually had for being safe was that no ship alerts were going off.

Flame-red hair and burnt-tan skin greeted him when he opened the door to his quarters, but they belonged to Sarrai, not her brother. “Hi,” she said quietly. “Can I just…”

She was upset too. Of course she was. He didn’t have any comfort to offer her, though. “Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” he attempted to joke.

She smiled, even though he was pretty sure it hadn’t actually been funny. Sarrai was good that way. “Snoring away,” she agreed. He stepped aside, and she walked in.

Sarrai went to the couch in his front room, lighting flames in two lanterns with an absentminded wave of her hand as she went. She splayed across it with graceless unconcern. “So, this is balls. Rabid Shriinak balls.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He sat on the floor and leaned his back against the arm of the couch beside her.

He felt her scowl. “’Yeah?’ That’s all you’ve got? This is terrible! I feel like someone kicked me in the kidneys, and I only got one nasty surprise. You got three! All you have to say is ‘yeah’?!”

Her incredulity only made him feel more frayed. “How are you still passionate?” he found himself asking.

“I…” She stopped herself, then after a moment, “Because life keeps happening.”

“What?”

Another thoughtful pause. “Terrible things happen. But they don’t last. You might have a terrible century, or even millennia sometime. But life keeps happening. Eventually the terrible things are over, the darkness retreats, something inspires us again and calls us back to life.”

Right. She was thousands of years older than he was. She probably knew a lot more about this than he did. And yet his mind focused on, “I don’t think I’ll ever have a terrible century.”

“Well, I mean, hopefully not, but eventually…” She trailed off as he caught her eye pointedly. “Oh. Right. Forgot.”

Silence took them in for a few moments as they both brooded over death.

“Eltarians are pretty cool, you know,” she said, much to his surprise.

“We are?”

She nodded. “I’ve met hundreds of species, and… you’re different. Evil and good are just so much simpler for you than for most of us. I don’t think I could have held out this long and still be as gentle as you are. It’s sad you die so young.”

“I’m gentle?”

She smiled. There was a warmth to it that was soothing and exciting both. “So gentle.”

He thought about it. “Is that why we’re not winning?”

Her smile shattered. “Oh no, no, please don’t think that way. That’s not a kind of victory you want.”

He wanted to protest that she was wrong, that he’d take any kind of victory instead of seeing his friends and his Terrans hurt. “Maybe,” he admitted instead. Exhaustion, fear, and simple heartache swept through him again suddenly, unexpectedly, exhausting him a little further. He felt like a wrung-out towel. The thought of sleeping was terrifying, though – it was sure to be nothing but nightmares. “I’m tired. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” It came out a whisper, but it still came out. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else.

Her fingers slid down into his hair, gently stroking. “I’m sorry,” she whispered back. “It’s not fair. You’re not meant for this. Your home is so much kinder than mine.” She fell silent again, and he closed his eyes and tried just to feel her fingers in his hair. “Do you wish you’d gone to Eltare?” she asked quietly.

“No!” he said, and he was surprised to hear the vehemence in his voice. “No. I’m where I need to be.” His mind continued, Even if it kills me.

Perhaps Sarrai guessed the part he didn’t say, perhaps not. “Then maybe you just need someone to call you back to life.”

The shape of her emotions had changed. It was such an unexpected shift that it didn’t compute right away. He twisted around to look up at her. Her face glowed a rich amber brown in the lantern-light as she stared down at him, gentle, confident… and seductive.

His heart started hammering in his chest. “I don’t…” he tried to explain that he didn’t want her to look seductive, but changed his mind to, “We don’t…” to explain that Eltarians didn’t usually engage much with sexual passions after Heat and that his renewed passion with Kiori had been unusual, but-

“Ssh,” Sarrai whispered, putting a finger gently against his lips. And he felt it: a spark of desire where their skin touched, his body answering hers. “Just relax. Let me help you rest.”

He thought he really should explain that he’d never considered crossing this boundary between them and that they should think through the possible ramifications. In the time it took to consider his phrasing, Sarrai had slid down the couch so that her lips were bare inches from his. She waited there a moment, poised over him, eyes filled with passion. Heart pounding and head swirling, he watched as her lips met his.

Warmth like summer sunshine built quickly into something so intense he could barely hang on. Instead of trying to keep his balance against the force of it, he let go and sank into sensation.

She pulled at his Blue robes, peeling them away. Then those sunshine kisses were all over his body. He found himself kissing her back, eagerly, and rejoicing to hear her little sounds of pleasure. Her hands followed her lips down. Any rational sense of what they were doing melted into pleasure.

*****

When Zordon resurfaced minutes, or perhaps hours, later, he found himself laying naked on the floor. His head rested on Sarrai’s slightly-too-warm lap. Her bare legs under him were wet, and he realized that the wetness was tears. She had been holding him as he cried. A vague memory returned of crying for some time, at some volume.

That startled him awake. He sat up and looked around for his clothes or something to dry his face with for a frantic moment before remembering he was a wizard. He conjured new clothes onto his body and dried the wetness from eyes and nose with two cantrips.

“Sorry,” he said reflexively.

“What? No, it’s fine-“ Sarrai stood too. She was naked, too. She was very good at it. Flustered and embarrassed on at least three levels, Zordon looked away.

“It’s late. Or early. Maybe you’d better-“

“Zordon, hold. You don’t have to close up.”

“I don’t. Do.” Zordon stumbled to a halt. In the momentary silence, Sarrai closed the small distance between them and cupped a hand under his chin. A little shock of pleasure sparked at the contact. Zordon pulled away. “Things like this. I don’t cry. I also don’t, um… look, let’s just call it a night, okay?”

“What’s wrong?” Sarrai asked, looking concerned and faintly wounded.

The little manic giggle from hours before burst free. “Nothing!” he lied. “Everything!” he corrected. “At least one of those,” he settled on. Sarrai only looked more distressed and equally naked-in-his-living-room, so he took a deep, steadying breath. He’d have to work harder to convince her to go. In a much more rational tone, he said, “I’m fine. I’ve just had one of the longest days ever. I’m going to get some rest now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Sarrai asked, biting her very full, very red lips.

“Oh yes. Completely. I’m beat.” Zordon thought he was starting to babble, but hopefully it would get her to leave anyway.

“Okay, if you’re…”

“Sure. Yes.”

Sarrai looked at him closely for a long moment rather sadly. “See you in the morning,” she agreed reluctantly. She slipped her tunic on over her head, bundled her other clothes into her arms, and left. He found himself watching her bare legs as she swished away.

In a haze of confused emotion, Zordon did, in fact, go to bed too. His dreams had nothing to do with Scorpina, Zedd, or Dregon.

*****

The Team gathered early the next day. Aemil called them together in their meeting room near the Bridge, where they could talk privately. No one was late – in fact, only Ferin and Zordon were on time, thanks to years of Eltarian Ranger training. When they walked in, the rest stopped their early-morning chatter immediately and sat down before Aemil could call them to order. Those who knew what he was about to say were no less eager to get working on the problem than those who didn’t have the full information from their raid the night before. Sarrai tried to catch Zordon’s eye, but he was looking only at Aemil at the head of the meeting table.

“Good morning, and thank you,” the Red Ranger began. “I know it’s been hard to wait, so I’ll cut right to it. The Terrans we recovered were in varying degrees of health, but they’re all stable now. They’re confused and scared, but we’ve done all we can to make them comfortable. They know to expect visitors to help them in the morning. That’s you, Zordon. As soon as we’re through with this briefing, you’ll be on point to assist them however you deem best.”

Zordon nodded gratefully. He couldn’t have expected Aemil to order anything else given who the Terrans were to him, but it was still a relief to hear.

“They’re stable, as I said, but they need your help,” Aemil went on. “From what we can tell, they were being enchanted. Physical and mental transformations to make the Terrans stronger and more aggressive. The most changed ones we had to sedate. We think one or more of the evil mages on Earth was turning them into weapons.” Aemil saw Zordon’s face go tight with horror, and he rushed on as if to forestall a bigger reaction. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t undo. We also could intervene medically to reverse it, but doing it from the magical side would be much simpler. Who do you want with you on this?”

The Blue Ranger hesitated… which no one in the room had expected. Obviously he’d say Sarrai, as with anything emotionally intense. After a short pause, though, he said, “Ferin and Atalanta. Another telepath will be very helpful for picking up surface thoughts from that many people, and I’d like Atalanta to assess the modifications from a battle-readiness standpoint before I undo them. Hopefully that information will never be important, but just in case.”

Zordon’s expression gave away nothing, but Sarrai’s did. She looked surprised and worried, but also clearly like she knew why he didn’t want her. Aemil made note and resisted commenting. “Done. Ferin, Atalanta, you’re with Zordon. Sarrai, you and I are going to see if we can hack through those layers of shielding they’ve put around the Eltarian base and the Moon base and get a better look inside. Once Zordon has a plan of action for supporting the Terran victims we’ve recovered so far and we’ve gathered more information about the situation, we’ll meet back here. Let’s try to move quickly, all; no doubt our enemies are too. Dismissed.”

Zordon rose at once. “Class D protocols,” he reminded Ferin, who nodded crisply. Atalanta joined them as they exited the meeting room. “Have you interacted with Neolithic humans?” he asked her, as “class D protocols” wouldn’t mean much to her.

Atalanta nodded. “Once, briefly. I understand the theory well, though. What are the particulars of this world?”

The door closed behind them, and the two still within didn’t hear Zordon’s reply. Aemil raised an eyebrow at Sarrai. “What should I know?”

Her cheeks flushed immediately. “I… I was just trying to help…”

“And he didn’t take it well?” Aemil asked. Clearly it was true, though he wasn’t sure what help she could’ve offered that Zordon wouldn’t take well. She shook her head, confirming. “Okay. We’re keeping an eye on him anyway,” he confided.

Sarrai looked alarmed. “No, it’s not like that. It’s… it’s me. I made a mistake. I guess.”

Aemil looked her over closely. Not for the first time, he wished he had telepathy like his Eltarian Teammates. “Maybe. We’ll know more after we see his reaction to the Terrans.”

Sarrai shuddered, remembering the state of the primitive humans. “Wish I were going to be there.”

Aemil frowned worriedly. “Yeah. Me too.”

Chapter 47: The Simuroom

Chapter Text

The Team gathered early the next day. Aemil called them together in their meeting room near the Bridge, where they could talk privately. No one was late – in fact, only Ferin and Zordon were on time, thanks to years of Eltarian Ranger training. When they walked in, the rest stopped their early-morning chatter immediately and sat down before Aemil could call them to order. Those who knew what he was about to say were no less eager to get working on the problem than those who didn’t have the full information from their raid the night before. Sarrai tried to catch Zordon’s eye, but he was looking only at Aemil at the head of the meeting table.

“Good morning, and thank you,” the Red Ranger began. “I know it’s been hard to wait, so I’ll cut right to it. The Terrans we recovered were in varying degrees of health, but they’re all stable now. They’re confused and scared, but we’ve done all we can to make them comfortable. They know to expect visitors to help them in the morning. That’s you, Zordon. As soon as we’re through with this briefing, you’ll be on point to assist them however you deem best.”

Zordon nodded gratefully. He couldn’t have expected Aemil to order anything else given who the Terrans were to him, but it was still a relief to hear.

“They’re stable, as I said, but they need your help,” Aemil went on. “From what we can tell, they were being enchanted. Physical and mental transformations to make the Terrans stronger and more aggressive. The most changed ones we had to sedate. We think one or more of the evil mages on Earth was turning them into weapons.” Aemil saw Zordon’s face go tight with horror, and he rushed on as if to forestall a bigger reaction. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t undo. We also could intervene medically to reverse it, but doing it from the magical side would be much simpler. Who do you want with you on this?”

The Blue Ranger hesitated… which no one in the room had expected. Obviously he’d say Sarrai, as with anything emotionally intense. After a short pause, though, he said, “Ferin and Atalanta. Another telepath will be very helpful for picking up surface thoughts from that many people, and I’d like Atalanta to assess the modifications from a battle-readiness standpoint before I undo them. Hopefully that information will never be important, but just in case.”

Zordon’s expression gave away nothing, but Sarrai’s did. She looked surprised and worried, but also clearly like she knew why he didn’t want her. Aemil made note and resisted commenting. “Done. Ferin, Atalanta, you’re with Zordon. Sarrai, you and I are going to see if we can hack through those layers of shielding they’ve put around the Eltarian base and the Moon base and get a better look inside. Once Zordon has a plan of action for supporting the Terran victims we’ve recovered so far and we’ve gathered more information about the situation, we’ll meet back here. Let’s try to move quickly, all; no doubt our enemies are too. Dismissed.”

Zordon rose at once. “Class D protocols,” he reminded Ferin, who nodded crisply. Atalanta joined them as they exited the meeting room. “Have you interacted with Neolithic humans?” he asked her, as “class D protocols” wouldn’t mean much to her.

Atalanta nodded. “Once, briefly. I understand the theory well, though. What are the particulars of this world?”

The door closed behind them, and the two still within didn’t hear Zordon’s reply. Aemil raised an eyebrow at Sarrai. “What should I know?”

Her cheeks flushed immediately. “I… I was just trying to help…”

“And he didn’t take it well?” Aemil asked. Clearly it was true, though he wasn’t sure what help she could’ve offered that Zordon wouldn’t take well. She shook her head, confirming. “Okay. We’re keeping an eye on him anyway,” he confided.

Sarrai looked alarmed. “No, it’s not like that. It’s… it’s me. I made a mistake. I guess.”

Aemil looked her over closely. Not for the first time, he wished he had telepathy like his Eltarian Teammates. “Maybe. We’ll know more after we see his reaction to the Terrans.”

Sarrai shuddered, remembering the state of the primitive humans. “Wish I were going to be there.”

Aemil frowned worriedly. “Yeah. Me too.”

*****

When Zordon, Atalanta, and Ferin entered the Simuroom, they looked rather different than they had at the briefing. Knowing the humans came from multiple regions, Zordon had chosen a different costume for each of them that would match them with similar-looking Terrans. He didn’t expect the ruse to last – there were hundreds of ways a suspicious Terran would mark them as alien – but it might help a first impression.

He gulped privately. This would be only the third time he’d interacted with Terrans directly, and the first time it wasn’t about or with Epona. He still hardly understood a thing about them, really.

The Simuroom doors had opened on a stretch of forest that looked so Earthlike that Zordon suspected his Teammates had gotten Epona to look it over. Through the mixed pine and deciduous trees, the three Rangers saw several small shelters of varying styles, but most of the Terrans seemed to be outside, clustered around small fires or crafting with their hands.

The three Rangers had taken two steps when a hulking figure stepped into their path. “Back off,” he growled.

Zordon did, out of reflex. The figure was grotesque. He was misshapen, with one arm and both shoulders grown out of proportion, swathed in muscle. His face was swollen in places and had spikes protruding at odd angles. He held a thick branch as long as his too-long arm that had been sharpened and blackened at one end – fire-hardened, Zordon recognized, a simple technique to make a wooden shaft strong enough for combat.

“We mean no harm to you or yours,” Zordon said calmly. “You were told to expect help in the morning.”

Thoughts flickered slowly through the aggressive Terran’s eyes. Cautiously, Zordon extended his awareness to the Power around him. There were layers of tangled enchantments on him, the work of at least two mages. This wouldn’t be a simple disenchant.

Behind him, the nearest Terrans were gathering close together, clustering on the far side of the fire pits from the Rangers. Their greeter wasn’t the only one carrying a weapon, or the only one who’d been transfigured, but he was one of the more dramatically changed.

“We decided we don’t want visitors or help. You’re just more sorcerers, and we don’t trust you!” the misshapen man said loudly.

[Some are uncomfortable with his words,] Ferin reported silently to Zordon and Atalanta. Atalanta jumped a little; they’d discussed Ferin including her in the telepathic communication, since Kerovan brains were able to handle it, but it was still an odd experience for the non-telepath. [They are frightened of us, though, and willing to shelter behind his aggression. Some fear that we’re working with Skera, also something about the ‘people sleeping like death.’]

“Sedated,” Atalanta murmurred.

[You’ll have to do something to win them over, or-] Ferin sent, but she was interrupted.

The Terran in front of them swung his makeshift spear at them. The arc was wide and clearly intended to intimidate, not hurt, but it was also enough to show that he knew how to handle the weapon. “Go on! Get out! You’re just here to hurt us too!”

[Or that might happen. Mass sleep spell, maybe?] Ferin suggested.

[Not against their will,] Zordon retorted. Then, aloud, “No magic, no hurting you, and we won’t come any closer. But we’re not going to leave yet, and we will defend ourselves if you attack. We want to help you so you can go home.”

A murmur went through the watching humans. [They like that idea,] Ferin reported.

“Skera is a monster. She had no right to hurt you,” he continued.

Several of them actually cowered. [And not so much that idea,] Ferin added.

[I can tell that,] Zordon replied. “She can’t reach you here. I know many of you won’t believe that, and that’s okay. But my friends and I, and the ones who brought you here yesterday, fight Skera. We will protect you, heal you, and send you home.”

“You can’t fight Skera!” someone called out from the fire pits. The people on either side of her shushed her fearfully, but Zordon responded, happy to engage someone not their door guard.

“Why not?” he asked swiftly.

“Because she’s a god!” another, a man, responded indignantly. Murmurs of agreement rang through the crowd.

Trying hard not to think about the effect this conversation would have on his Terrans’ developing theologies, he replied, “She’s not. I promise she’s not. Skera is powerful, cruel, and evil, but I have fought her since I was a child and she has not killed me yet. She’s human. I have seen her bleed.”

Gasps of astonishment. [Ferin?] Zordon sent.

[They’ll need proof to really believe it, but just the fact you’re bold enough to say it has swayed some of them,] she answered at once.

“You don’t fight her,” the guardian growled, brandishing his fire-hardened spear again. “You’re tiny and weak. I could break you myself.”

Zordon hesitated. He hoped that Ferin was about to say that no one else thought that, because he didn’t like where this was headed.

[A lot of them think that,] Ferin sent.

He sighed in gentle exasperation, found himself wondering what Sarrai would do right now, clamped down on that thought hard, and said casually, “You would find me more than a match. I don’t want to fight you, but if it will help you see that we’re strong enough to fight Skera, I promise you won’t be hurt.”

The layers of spellwork on the man’s mind slowed his thoughts, and it took him several seconds to work through Zordon’s words. In that time, Zordon already knew what the answer would be from the interested, excited, and hopeful expressions he saw around the fires. The man glanced back at the other Terrans, scowled at them, and glared at Zordon.

“You challenge me?” he growled. “I accept! I will win, then you go away!”

Realizing the opportunity, Zordon quickly added, “And if I win, we stay and give healing to whoever wants it.”

The guardian answered with a contemptuous grunt, dismissing the possibility, and raised his spear. Zordon sank into a ready stance. With a yell, the guardian attacked.

It wasn’t a long fight. The man was skilled, and the sorcerous modifications had made him stronger and faster, but they’d also slowed his thinking and raised his aggression. It was effortless for Zordon to dodge his strikes by out-thinking him. The trickier part was making it last long enough not to embarrass the man; in his current state, Zordon was pretty sure that would go badly. After half a minute, Zordon was standing over the man, holding the spear to his chest. “Yield?” he half-asked.

Red light flared in the man’s eyes.

[Drop the weapon!] Ferin yelled in panic.

Zordon threw it aside immediately. Half a second later, with a great snarling cry, the man surged from the ground up to Zordon. If the Blue Ranger had still been holding his spear, the man would have impaled himself to get there. As it was, without any resistance in the way, he overbowled Zordon completely, toppling them to the ground. He landed one punch that sent stars shooting across Zordon’s vision before Atalanta intervened, pulling him off. The man snarled, slavering like a beast, and took a sharp-clawed swipe at her. She dodged and flicked her eyes to Zordon for permission. Hoping he wouldn’t regret it, Zordon nodded.

About two seconds later, Atalanta had the twisted Terran flat on the ground, one of his arms trapped in a joint lock, one booted foot on his back. “Yield,” she said calmly.

Again, that red spell-light flared in his eyes and he lunged, risking dislocating the arm to get back into the fight. Atalanta reacted just as quickly as Zordon had, releasing the man rather than letting him hurt himself, and continued the fight. This time, away from the melee, Zordon threw his full attention at it. That part of the magic binding the Terran, at least, was straightforward: mind control to make him choose injury or death over defeat. He would keep fighting until they killed him.

For a moment, Zordon lost his careful control on his emotions and got to peek at what was underneath. As it turned out, what lay underneath was rage. It swept through him for an intense moment before he pushed it back.

“Enough!” he called out, getting to his feet. “We yield!”

Atalanta stopped in mid-grapple and looked incredulously at Zordon. She nearly had the man restrained again. Zordon shook his head quickly, and, with obvious reluctance, she let the man go and stepped back.

For one second, it looked as though the fight was done. Then the Terran took two strides forward and swung his engorged fist at Atalanta’s head with bone-crushing force. She flew into motion. Dodging, she launched a kick at his head as he stumbled past her. Her long leg caught him in the temple, and he slumped to the ground, stunned at least for the moment.

“Apologies,” she said to Zordon, her mouth set in a thin, angry line as she looked down at the Terran.

“Accepted,” Zordon answered.

The other Terrans were watching closely. Most looked shocked. One man stood, then crouched and watched for their reactions, clearly worried he’d be attacked if he approached. “Please,” Zordon said, backing further away from their hulking opponent. Atalanta fell back in line with him and Ferin. The newcomer, who had tentacles in place of hair, looked over the fallen man’s body in a manner that showed some skill. After a few tense moments, he nodded, smiled, and stepped back. A collective sigh of relief went around the huddled Terrans.

An older woman with no apparent modifications got unsteadily to her feet and took a step forward. Her blue-black skin showed her equatorial African origins. “Why? Why yield?” she demanded.

Zordon took the space of a breath to think before answering. He was finally, probably, talking to the informal leader of the rescued Terrans. Most of their civilizations favored elder women as leaders. “Because of what Skera did to him, he was going to keep fighting us even if it meant getting hurt or killed. The contest wasn’t worth that.”

Many of the Terrans frowned or looked skeptical. The elder said, “You do not care if you lose. You will not defeat Skera.”

He blinked. “No. No, that’s not it. Skera is evil, and I will battle her without hesitation. He was tricked and a victim. I wouldn’t hurt him. It’s not his fault he was so aggressive.”

“But if you killed him, you could stay to help the rest of us as you wanted,” she pursued, as if trying to point out a clear flaw in his argument.

“No,” he repeated, aghast. “I gave my word. I promised he wouldn’t be hurt.”

A few more nods and considering looks, but as a whole the group didn’t seem to agree with him. [Ferin?] he asked, desperate for an explanation.

[Some understand. Many don’t. I’m sorry,] Ferin answered.

[Sorry? Why-] he started to ask, but broke off as the woman continued.

“Then keep your word again. Go.” Her wrinkled face was set into hard lines.

Zordon’s heart twisted. They so clearly needed his help. “I really can help you, I promise…”

The elder didn’t even respond, keeping her expression closed and stern. A few other Terrans echoed her “go.”

Ferin gasped. “Zordon,” she said, touching his arm, “it’s okay.”

He looked at the Yellow Ranger, hoping to catch her surface thoughts and find out what she’d heard, but she shook her head. “Let’s go,” she said simply. He frowned but nodded. The three Rangers exited with no more than a glance back over their shoulders at the suffering Terrans.

Chapter 48: Little Fly

Chapter Text

Zordon took a moment to steady himself as the Simuroom doors closed. The humans were so deeply wounded by forces so far beyond their understanding, and he’d just walked away from them. Emotions broiled deep within him, but he breathed slowly and pushed them down. When he had the blanket of calm laid neatly back over them, he turned to Ferin. “What did you sense?” he asked.

Ferin gave a faint smile. “It was a test,” she said. “That woman just wanted to see that you’d do what you promised. You never said how long you’d stay away.”

Relief surged up right through his carefully-laid blanket. “Stars!” he said, letting out a note of laughter. “I didn’t, did I?” He leaned back against the corridor wall with a long sigh.

“How are you doing?” Atalanta asked him. As she did, the Black Ranger tried her best to keep her tone amiable and casual. If he suspected how much worry lay behind the question, he might not answer honestly.

“I… that was hard,” Zordon admitted. “But I’m okay. I’ll just go find Epona and play with her a bit, then come back.” His Teammates nodded easily. “Thank you,” he said, then left.

Ferin bit her lip. When she was sure he was well outside of earshot or casual telepathy range, she said, “You’re right to be watching him.”

Atalanta turned to her, startled. “How did you-“

Ferin gave her a very steady look. “Try not to think about it so loudly when he’s around, please. He’s not a strong telepath, but really. You were rather shouting.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll come with you to report back to Aemil, then.”

“Yes, I suppose you should,” Atalanta agreed through her embarrassment.

*****

The conversation between Red, Black, and Yellow Rangers was brief but concerned. Ferin had apparently been watching Zordon’s thoughts while watching the Terrans’. She provided details of Zordon’s mental state to her new leader that neither Aemil nor Atalanta could have gathered: both that he still had resolve and that his emotions and thoughts were becoming more unbalanced. She gave this report without any apparent embarrassment about spying on Zordon’s mind. Aemil and Atalanta didn’t comment on that. They were both more grateful for the information than they were concerned about Ferin’s morality at the moment.

Their concerns about Zordon’s mental health shifted into the middle distance that afternoon. Aemil postponed the promised strategy meeting until Zordon could disenchant the former prisoners. While they awaited Zordon’s cures, the rest of the Team set about gathering more information about the bases on Earth and its satellite. Aemil and Atalanta would sift through the patchy information Sarrai had already gathered from sensors, while Sarrai, pushing the breadth of her magical skill, would execute a ritual to reveal any other locations that were veiled from sensors using the same magic as the primary two. Meanwhile, Ferin went where none of the others could follow.

*****

Ferin paused for three long breaths at the entrance to a hallway in the Moon Palace. Though her Talent was a lot better controlled than it used to be, it was still wise to focus before a major lighting change.

One toe first, she slowly crossed from the deep shadows of the stairs into the dim torchlight of the hallway. She could see her own foot in the new light, but only faintly. Good enough. When she was moving around where no one expected her to be, she never needed to be invisible. Her Talent had taught her that people saw what they expected to see. She had the magical equivalent of her Talent in an amulet Zordon had made her that should make her invisible, or at least nearly invisible, to mages who might otherwise notice her through the Morphin Grid.

There was a strange mechanical sound and puffs of vapor coming out of an open doorway halfway down the hall. She moved toward it and began to hear voices.

*****

“But I want to come!” Epona proclaimed for the seventh time.

Zordon hadn’t planned to tell her anything about the Terrans they’d rescued, but her telepathy had surprised him yet again, and she had found out there were hurt Terrans aboard their ship during playtime. Since, she’d argued nonstop that she be allowed to help heal them.

“I know, little berry, really I do,” Zordon said. “But you said you’d help in safe ways-“

“More safe ways!”

“-and this is not even a little bit safe. Maybe once they’re back to themselves again…”

Her face lit up. “Promise?”

“No,” Zordon said quickly, “but maybe.” Epona set her face in pout position, but he cut in ahead of it with, “Or do you want the answer to change to ‘No’?”

She paused, examined his expression for sincerity, then let out a huff of a sigh. “Okay, fine,” she said resentfully. “But fix them fast, ok?”

Zordon smiled. “As fast as I can. Promise.” He kissed her on the forehead, then teleported himself back to the Terrans in a midnight blue ray of light.

*****

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Aemil moaned over the sensor data. “The more I try to line up bits of these readings, the less it all seems to fit together. I so didn’t train for this,” he added at a mutter.

Atalanta flicked him a supportive smile. The Kerovan was, as always, less easily frustrated than Aemil. “Neither did I,” she assured her leader. “I usually have people for this.”

“Pity you didn’t bring any of them here,” Aemil grumped.

“If we really need them, I expect they won’t mind too much if Zordon teleports them all the way out here. I can give him a few names; he won’t need more than that, I think.”

Aemil considered, then his frown returned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really want to remind him of his ridiculous amounts of power right now.”

Atalanta hesitated, then went back to analyzing the sensor gibberish. Seemed more likely to her that it was Aemil who didn’t want those reminders. However, figuring out some random sensor tricks wasn’t important enough to push the point. Probably.

*****

The voice coming out of the open doorway was quiet and genteel, vaguely masculine, but gave few clues about the species of the speaker. Ferin was quite sure she hadn’t heard it before. “Yes indeed,” it said, “the new flow of materials is quite effective. There is, however, most unfortunately a limit to how many forms I can shape in a given day, even with the molds Empress Rita provided.”

“Excuses,” a second voice said. Also masculine, the voice sounded more bored than angry, but there was an edge of a growl to it that suggested a strong probability of violence soon. “I don’t think you’re taking your job seriously enough.”

“On the contrary, I assure you that-“

“-that you’re smart enough not to contradict me? Good. I had to kill the last slave that did. It was… messy.”

Ferin had crept close enough to peek into the room now. She saw two humanoids, one short, white, and rather crinkly, dressed in a tunic, pants, and apron; the other tall and muscular with deeply tan skin, brilliant red hair verging into orange at the roots, and features rather like Sarrai’s. The rest of the room was filled with equipment of various kinds, including a large vat of clay and a table strewn with molds of small dolls…

Ferin held in a gasp as she realized what she was looking at. If she was right, she was about to learn the source of the teguloids – and the source itself was within her Team’s strike range!

“Indeed, I quite understand,” the aproned being said, still agreeable despite the threat. “I simply mean to make clear my limitations. I can’t imagine how I could produce more Putties per day at this point, before I’ve trained up assistants.”

“I see,” said the other man, whom she assumed was Zedd. “Let’s think what could stimulate your imagination. Perhaps if we start random executions of your people?”

There was a pause in which it seemed that the temperature between the two dropped by about twenty degrees. “That won’t be necessary,” the smaller man answered coldly.

“We’ll see. Let’s give your imagination seven days.” The slave’s mouth popped open in protest, but Zedd continued, “And don’t think of bargaining. That’s almost a quarter of what Rita has left before she fails her atonement and all this becomes pointless. Either help us kill Zordon before the year is up, or none of your people will survive your failure.”

Ferin frowned. She didn’t know what “atonement” could mean exactly, but it sounded important. They still didn’t have an explanation for Rita’s intergalactic-war-sized desire to kill Zordon.

“Well then, perhaps I ought to return to work,” the slave replied, still icy. “Of course, you are welcome to remain and help form Putties. That would help the work progress more quickly.”

Zedd let out a contemptuous bark. “Not likely.”

Ferin shrank back from the doorframe just in case. Sure enough, after a parting critique, Zedd strode purposefully from the room and down the hall away from Ferin. The Yellow Ranger couldn’t resist rolling her eyes: from all she’d heard, Zedd was plenty skilled enough in magic to teleport out. He was just sweeping away on foot for dramatic effect. Ferin hesitated, wondering if she should follow him or head back to base with what she’d learned already.

A hand gripping her shoulder made her jump – or, rather, attempt to. When she tried, Ferin found that body and voice both weren’t answering her will. Her heart started running at around a thousand beats a minute just fine, though.

“Hello, little fly,” murmurred a low, growling feminine voice that sounded utterly smug. Its owner stepped into view, trailing her fingertips across Ferin’s chest as she went. Between her physical appearance and the manic, sad*stic light in her eye, Ferin guessed the woman was Scorpina. “We’re going to have a nice chat. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Chapter 49: Gods and Monsters

Chapter Text

Alone this time but back in his Terran costume, Zordon walked from the cloaked Simuroom door toward the Terrans’ fires again. The door guard didn’t bar his path this time. After a moment, Zordon spotted him at one of the fires, glaring at the Blue Ranger.

“I left. Now I come back,” he announced simply. “I want to help you and then send you home.”

The African elder stood again, knees creaking audibly. “You keep your promise this time, but many do not trust you. Show us what you would do.” She nodded to the tentacle-headed man who appeared to be a healer. He was sitting at the same fire and looking nervous. “Do it first to Mbada, so that we can see.”

Zordon hesitated. “Mbada?” he asked, and the tentacled man looked up at him with unmistakable worry. “Do I have your permission to undo the sorcery Skera put on you?”

“You have mine,” the elder said.

“Forgive me,” Zordon said, “but I need to hear his words. I will only help those who tell me they want my help themselves.”

This was apparently surprising, as it set several huddles of humans whispering. Zordon was confused but didn’t dwell on it, looking to Mbada instead. After a long moment, the brown-toned man nodded.

Zordon closed half the distance between himself and the first fire, then gestured to Mbada to join him on the simulated grass. Still reeking of fear, he did, sitting down when Zordon did. Zordon closed out the fearful humans’ thoughts and focused his magic around the man’s Signature. He saw the places where his natural Signature was twisted and smoothed them out.

The tentacles retreated into Mbada’s head, which, now hairless, gleamed in the “sunlight.” He also grabbed at his jaw, first in pain, then wonder.

“My voice,” he said, and the rest of the Terrans gasped and muttered in wonder as well. Mbada looked up at Zordon with gratitude, but also with fear. “Why do you do this? What do you want from us?”

Why couldn’t the Terrans just believe he wanted to do good? There was so much about his wards he didn’t understand. “Nothing,” Zordon promised. “I just want you to heal.”

Mbada opened his mouth, probably to protest further, but the elder walked forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “Zordon keeps good faith,” she said, “at least for now. You fix the rest of us.”

Zordon nodded. “Anyone who wants Skera’s enchantments to end, come close.”

A few stood, nervously, then a few more. So the work progressed: Zordon relentlessly requiring each person’s permission, and more people deciding to trust him and give it as they saw the other humans freed of their afflictions.

Once he had disenchanted all those in the main group who wanted his help for the moment, which included the original door guard in the very last group, Zordon was presented with a moral dilemma. The elder, whose name was Asera, wanted him to help those whom his Teammates had sedated next, but he had no way to get their permission. When he protested, she asked him to at least come see them. He agreed.

As they walked to the sedated Terrans, she had the chance to speak with him. She took full advantage. “You worry so much to take our choices from us. Why?” Asera asked as soon as they’d left the main knot of humans behind.

Zordon hesitated. If he did intend to keep his promise and get these Terrans back to their homes, everything they’d seen and heard already could interfere in the development of the whole planet – and what he said to a leader like Asera might have an even greater impact. Why did everything he did have such grave consequences?

He took a deep breath and tried to relax into the choice. Memories of better days on Edenoi floated to mind. He imagined that he was sipping tea with Lexian. Rather to his surprise, a sense of unhurried peace did come.

“I have a lot of power,” Zordon found himself answering. “More than Skera. Probably. Skera uses that power however she wants to hurt people. That makes her evil. For me, it’s because I have so much power that I’m careful with it.” He hesitated, then imagined another sip of tea and found more words. “I hurt a lot of people once. I was hurt and angry, and that was all that mattered to me right then. Since then, I try harder. I never want to use my power like Skera would again.”

When he’d finished, the familiar sense of nigh-panic rose up again, and he quickly shoved it and whatever feelings were rolling in with it down. He’d said much more than he’d intended, and he hoped that hadn’t been a really bad idea. He looked at Asera.

As if she’d been waiting for him to look her way, Asera nodded at once and said, “You’re not a god,” in satisfied tones.

Zordon blinked. “No, I’m not. But why do you say that?”

“Gods bring good and evil. If we are faithful and obedient, they bring us good; if we displease them, they bring bad. Pleading does not change their will. They are like us, and like the thunderstorm, and like Skera. You only want to bring good, so you are a man. A strange man,” she added with a wry smile.

She had brought them to a large thatched hut. She opened the door for him to enter, but he didn’t yet, looking at Asera instead. He couldn’t let all that go unanswered. “I don’t worship any gods,” he said, tactfully not saying that he was quite sure none existed, “but if I did, I think I would worship ones that only want good things for us.”

She grinned, showing white pearls of teeth. “A very strange man,” she amended. “Go on.” She gestured inside, and he went.

*****

“All right, Ferin’s check-in window is about to start, we should wrap this up. What do we have?” Aemil asked, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He really had no idea how Sarrai enjoyed sifting through sensor data.

“They’re keeping the Terran prisoners exclusively on the planet,” Atalanta recited from their notes. “There are two additional locations, one near the Eltarian base and one on another

landmass, where small numbers of Terrans are being held separately from the main prisoners for some reason. We have an estimate of the protections surrounding those locations, and they look easy for Zordon to take apart. The base on Terra’s satellite is radiating a lot of Dark magic and has begun aligning the satellite toward the Dark side of the Morphin Grid. We have no idea what’s in there or why all the other bits of sensor data seem to contradict each other.”

Aemil whuffed out an annoyed breath. “Well, at least we can tell him where the Terrans are. That’s pretty crucial.”

“And Sarrai and Ferin will be able to give us more soon,” Atalanta said.

Aemil, not to her surprise, frowned worriedly. It was his most common expression by far, and she’d come to realize that worried frowning on him could indicate anything from indigestion to mild delight. “What is it?” she asked.

“I just…” Aemil hesitated, then blew out the breath he’d been holding. “Oh screw it, I’m not cut out to be the enigmatic and confident Team leader. I’m worried she’ll get caught.”

Atalanta smiled. “That’s a natural worry,” the more experienced commander answered. “And it’s not impossible, certainly. But between her Talent and Zordon’s magic, I don’t know who would be able to spot her, let alone capture her.”

Aemil sighed and frowned differently, in what Atalanta believed was his frown of relief. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “It… doesn’t make me stop wishing Zordon had picked you instead of me.”

Atalanta blinked. “Me? I’m still figuring out which way is up on this Power Coin – and it’s round!” she laughed.

Aemil briefly didn’t frown, which she translated as a guffaw of laughter. “But you’ve been commanding troops for thousands of years. Right?”

“Well…” she hedged politely. Aemil glared at her. “Yes. Technically. But Power Rangers aren’t troops. There are so many layers of training, camaraderie, instinctive collaboration… and…” a blinking console light caught her eye, “and Ferin just missed the check-in window.”

Black and Red Rangers exchanged glances. Ferin was so punctual she could make Zordon look sloppy. “Let’s give her five more minutes,” Aemil said.

“And then?” Atalanta asked. “We call Zordon?”

Aemil frowned worriedly, and this time Atalanta thought this time it needed no translation. Mother Kaola only knew what Zordon would do if he thought another Teammate had been captured. “If we have to.”

*****

Ferin had given up trying to wrest control of her body. Nothing she did made the slightest difference. Instead, she’d used the time while Scorpina puppeteered her through the base’s dark hallways to center herself. One of the less painful reasons why she kept an excellent mental guard was that she had studied techniques to bring balance to her own mind. From a centered, calm place, it was far easier to hold up the kind of guard that even a truly gifted telepath would have trouble breaking through.

So went the theory. It was probably about to be tested.

Her body had halted sometime in the last few moments. She brought her awareness back to her surroundings and found them to be…

Pink?

The room was an absurd pink-on-pink color scheme. It was also filled with fluffy, silky, sparkly, and cosy objects. It looked like a pleasant place to spend an afternoon with friends that had been renovated by a child obsessed with a single color. In fact, there was only one person she’d ever met whom Ferin thought would have liked it. Grief panged through her as she imagined the sparkle in ‘Laise’s eyes.

Scorpina waved a hand across her own body. Her yellow armor shifted into a simple, form-hugging dress of soft white velvet. She made a similar motion across Ferin’s body, and suddenly she was holding Ferin’s clothes. She rummaged through them quickly, then more slowly, then she looked at Ferin with suspicion.

“Where’s your Coin?”

Ferin felt the grip of Scorpina’s magic loosen enough to give her small freedom of movement, but she had no interest in answering. She kept her expression calmly wooden. Their enemies didn’t need to know about Zordon’s mobile pocket dimension trick.

Scorpina’s eyes flicked past her to the door they’d entered through, and she snapped her fingers. A moment after, there was the sound of a door opening.

“Yeaugh! What is this place?” Ferin recognized it as Dregon’s voice, but it was more free and relaxed than she’d generally heard it. That wasn’t a surprise, really; he’d been hiding his true self all along, just as she’d suspected. “Did you skin a Pink Ranger or something?”

Scorpina’s smile was thin and rather toothy. “It’s strange. No matter how many young evils lose their lives criticizing their elders for no reason, they just keep doing it.”

“Oh, don’t bother. I know every third thought in your head is about how to help Rita. You’re not going to kill me, and pretending you are just makes you look weak.”

“I will do all I can to aid my Empress,” Scorpina replied smoothly. “Whether her interests are better served by your death I haven’t decided yet. Maybe you’ll convince me by what you can get out of our little treasure here.”

“Not bad looking under those layers,” he said. Soft footfalls behind her, then a hand sliding down her naked back.

She was much too centered to need to react. Not to say that she wouldn’t have punched him given the chance, but she didn’t need to, strictly speaking.

“This won’t take a minute,” Dregon murmurred.

That hand roamed up to her hairline, then twined in among her dreadlocks. At first, she felt nothing change, and she wondered whether that was because her guard was holding or because he was so effective she hadn’t felt it break. The next second, her awareness fractured and swirled in disjointed fragments of light as the assault shook her mind’s functioning to the core. An involuntary sound of mingled surprise and pain escaped her. It hadn’t even been a contest.

The next second, though, was quite interesting.

Dregon gave a yelp of pain. The world which had just swirled out of her control righted itself. There was a heavy thump like a body hitting the ground. She couldn’t turn to see what had happened behind her, but she did see Scorpina’s eyes flare wide in surprise.

“Huh,” the villainness said. “That… was really slick.”

Ferin had no idea what she was talking about, but she wasn’t going to ask. She knew far too much – in theory, at least – about being a prisoner to start casually talking with her captor. Scorpina ducked behind her. “Yup. He’s out for awhile. Well done, Zordon.”

Ferin got it then: Zordon had added some sort of mental defense for her when he set up magical shielding. She kept her breathing steady and her mind calm, but a faint glow of triumph still spread inside her.

“Well,” Scorpina said, crossing back to stand in front of Ferin, “that changes things. I don’t know much about playing with minds, and if you’ve got protection that can take out an Edenite, I’m not touching it.”

Scorpina smiled. It was one of the more frightening expressions Ferin had ever seen. “And here I was, thinking I wouldn’t get an excuse to torture you.”

Ferin’s heart skipped a little beat, but that was all. She could deal with torture. She’d taken classes on it in the Academy.

“Oh, I’m going to do such things to you,” the villainness cooed. “That business with Zordon years ago was a hack job. You… you will be Art. And either Zordon will come charging in here to rescue you, right into my trap, or he won’t, and you’ll wish you had more to tell me so very long before I let you die.”

She let a beat fall as she looked Ferin over closely. The Yellow Ranger had rarely felt exposed while her mental guard was solid, regardless of the state of her body, but there was something uniquely hungry about the way Scorpina looked at her that made her feel naked inside as well as out. “Do you believe me?” she asked Ferin softly.

Her professor had taught that one of the first principles of resisting interrogation was to simply say nothing, or a harmless repeated phrase, so the torturer couldn’t get her accustomed to answering questions. Ferin knew that – in theory – but “No” had slipped out before she quite thought it through. In fact, she thought Scorpina was probably a lot of bluster, and she didn’t mind at all if Scorpina knew it.

This only made Scorpina smile more. “Oh, praise Undine. An intact Eltarian ego.”

Chapter 50: Kubaba of Çatalhöyük

Chapter Text

The Simudeck’s farthest hut was very dim, and it took Zordon’s eyes a few seconds of straining before he could make out anything. He’d almost forgotten in the nearly two years of the War how much dimmer Terran sunlight was than the Eltarian light standard on most spaceships. When his eyes did finally pick up details, he saw over a dozen people laying on low piles of straw and furs, all unconscious. Most of their bodies were twisted horrifically. The most common theme was bulging muscles and grotesque features on a humanoid frame, but some were barely recognizable as human and a few had been bent into small, skeletally-thin shapes. Even asleep, their surface thoughts were filled with fear and violence.

He hadn’t heard Asera enter behind him, and her voice made him jump. “These are monsters, not people,” her low, age-roughened voice said. “But our rescuers say they were people once. You say you want to do good. Help them.”

Asera had been right to bring him; her argument was much more compelling as he looked at their sleeping forms. He valued their free wills so highly, but he had no doubt that they would be mindlessly violent and perhaps actively evil if they woke. He could not save them by their wills.

“I can’t be sure they want my help,” he protested, though his heart wasn’t really in it.

The whites of her eyes seemed to glow in the Terran-like dimness. They narrowed slightly. “No. You can’t. Instead, be sure they don’t want to be monsters.”

He looked out at them again. One of them let out a soft, pitiable sound that might have been a scream if he’d been awake. Zordon shut his eyes, took a breath, and made a choice.

In the shadows of the hut, his blue-black spell-light looked bright as it washed over them all. It faded to reveal fifteen normal-looking Terrans, healthy and peacefully asleep.

It was much showier magic than he’d demonstrated outside, but, as he’d expected, it didn’t faze Asera. He turned to the elder to find her calmly smiling.

Time to go. “They should wake on their own in the next…” He paused, realizing that Asera probably didn’t have a concept of an hour, exactly. “Soon,” he amended. “They will be confused, perhaps frightened, but as safe to be around as normal humans. You will help them, won’t you?”

Asera thought about it first, but she nodded. “Yes. Until we are all home, this is our village. We need each other.”

Good enough. He opened his mouth to bid farewell…

…and his brain caught up to what his eyes were telling him. He turned to the occupant of the bed three away from him on the left. “I know her.”

Asera looked at the sleeping woman. “Her? I thought you would know the other pale ones.”

“She’s the mother of my daughter’s friend.” Yes, he was sure now: this was the woman who’d sheltered Epona after Brinlen attacked her, the one who had found him in the marketplace and brought him back to her. What was her name? His wrung-out brain had no answer, but it was quite happy to suggest she’d been taken because his enemies found out that she had helped him once.

Before he could consider more carefully, he knelt at her bedside. “Hey. Hello,” he tried to rouse her. No reaction. He touched her shoulder.

She bolted upright with a scream of terror.

“It’s okay, it’s all right,” Zordon rushed to reassure her, kicking himself. Around them, the rest of the room dissolved in screaming as these most-harmed Terrans woke from her cry. He heard Asera trying to contain the panic, but he kept his full attention on the Sumerian woman before him. She oriented on him.

“Pimri?” she asked.

Of course. It’s the first thing he’d have asked. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know,” he said.

“Epona?”

His heart warmed. “She’s well. You?”

The woman nodded. “Of course I’m well. You came.”

He blinked. Would Terrans ever stop surprising him?

“I knew you would if you could,” she explained. Her panic forgotten, she turned a frown on the rest of the room. “Help me talk to them all.”

For that, of course, was what was limiting Asera’s effectiveness: though she seemed to speak several languages from her region of western equatorial Africa, many of these Terrans had been taken from Sumeria and other locations too far afield to possibly have a language in common. Without the Power, none of them could understand the others. He wondered vaguely how Asera had become the de facto leader of the diverse main group. Zordon didn’t much like the Sumerian woman’s solution, though, or the fact that she knew such magic was possible and guessed he could do it.

“Please,” she said, putting a hand so lightly on his arm. There was a note of mingled desperation and confidence in her voice that reminded him of Epona when she demanded to come with him. Thinking of his decision then – that his greater power didn’t give him the right to ignore her will – Zordon nodded and muttered the little spell. She flinched with fear as his magic washed over her, but then she nodded her thanks and stood.

“We are safe,” she announced. The fact that everyone could understand her was enough to get the room’s attention. “I am Kubaba of Çatalhöyük. I trust this man,” she pointed to Zordon. “He is Zordon.”

Cries of fear answered her. A lead weight plummeted into his stomach. He hadn’t considered this…

“Skera taught us to fear him,” Kubaba confirmed his fears, “but we should not. I know him. He is a man like us: he loves his child, he does what is good for her and keeps her well. Maybe he is Skera’s enemy, but he is not ours. He broke her power on us. He has saved us!”

Many looked dubious. One man with deeply bronzed skin and long, braided hair asked him, “Is it true?”

Zordon nodded. “I don’t want anything from you, just for you to be well. When you’re ready, all of you may go home. I’ll keep her from hurting you or your families.”

There was more debate, but with Kubaba’s endorsem*nt and translation, Asera was able to calm the rest. As they prepared to follow Asera to the main group, Zordon heard a soft chime from the trees almost but not quite like a bird’s call. “Excuse me,” he said automatically to no one in particular.

Kubaba heard. She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Pimri.”

The number of concerns vying for his attention that were objectively larger than one Sumerian child who was probably perfectly fine was staggering. And yet, he knew the fear in her eyes so well.

What was the point of fighting a war if it meant one child didn’t matter?

“I have to go. But after, we’ll go find him together,” Zordon promised.

Kubaba’s sun-baked face split into a wide grin. “Thank you.”

Zordon turned and left quickly, teleporting himself the moment he was out of sight.

*****

[Zordon here,] the Blue Ranger’s voice came through the communications panel Aemil was sitting near. Relief broke across the new leader’s face.

“Great!” he enthused. “If you’re done with the Terrans for now, you should come to the meeting room. Ferin’s back, and Sarrai’s ritual is finished too.”

[Be right there,] Zordon said.

Aemil closed the link. Ferin put a hand on his shoulder, and he smiled up at her. She was smiling too, to his slight surprise. They started walking together to the meeting room. “And everything really went well?” Aemil asked her again.

Ferin gave a small chuckle. “Yes, really. It was a good plan.”

Aemil reminded his shoulders to relax. “Okay. Good.”

“Anyway, I think the moon base isn’t as big a deal as we thought. A lot of the sensor information that didn’t make sense was because they were ghosting it to make the inside seem more dangerous than it is. I’ll report last at the meeting if you don’t mind. But you were saying something about Zordon?”

Aemil nodded. “Something’s gotten between him and Sarrai, and I’m worried. He’s doing too poorly to be pushing her away right now. She won’t tell me what it was. Do you have any idea?”

“Not yet. Do you want me to…”

Aemil shook his head. “No, no. I know it’s rude, especially if they want to hide. Just…”

They were nearly to the meeting room, and rounding the opposite corner was Sarrai. Aemil saw the little flick of Ferin’s shoulders setting more stiffly. *I do wish you two would let it rest,* he thought pointedly, knowing Ferin would hear. She pretended not to, though. He sighed and went inside the conference room.

Zordon was already waiting, as was Atalanta. Sarrai followed them in. “Sit down, please,” Aemil said as he strode to the head of the table. They did. “Sarrai.”

“I broke through the shielding on the former Eltarian base. Our suspicions were right: they have Serpentera and Titanus down there. I also tracked down the rest of the Terran Signatures there to more specific locations. If Zordon and I do a ritual together using the wedge I put in, I think we can get through the shields to teleport them without having to go there ourselves.”

“Brilliant,” Aemil said, steadfastly ignoring the way that Zordon went rigid at the simple notion of spellwork with his best friend. “Atalanta.”

“Over half of the sensor information is still impossible to sort out. We do have the rest of the Terrans tracked to the old base and a secondary location on the…” Atalanta consulted her notes, “…‘North American’ continent. 230 Terrans in total. Protections are more than enough to defend against anyone who isn’t Zordon, but you’ll slice through them without difficulty, sir. The Satellite Base looks to be a serious problem, though. Whatever’s going on up there, it’s aligning the entire satellite to the Dark side of the Morphin Grid. There are also somewhere between fifteen and three thousand beings up there, and the sensors are refusing to be more specific. No Terrans there, though.”

“Thank you. Zordon.”

“I’ve disenchanted most of the humans we rescued. A few refused magical help, but none of those were altered in ways that pose a threat to the others. The sixteen most critically altered had been told that I was an enemy to be afraid of, but one of them knew me and convinced them otherwise. The main group are suspicious of our motives but warming gradually. I’ve sent them back to Earth with the best shields I can cast covering each of their communities.”

“Suspicious, you say? Very practical, these Terrans,” Aemil said gravely, and Atalanta covered her mouth over a snort of laughter. “Ferin.”

“There are a few lieutenants on the Moon, maybe a hundred teguloids doing manual labor. They’re still constructing the base, but whatever they want it for, it must not be up and running yet. I think they falsified the sensor data to make it look more impressive from a distance.”

Aemil opened his mouth, but Sarrai cut across him with, “You’re wrong.”

Ferin’s eyes went flat, her lips tight. Aemil braced himself. “Thank you, Ferin,” he said, trying to take control before things spiralled between the two Rangers. “Now, Sarrai, what do you mean?”

“You can’t just fake a shift in Grid alignment like you can set up physical sensor ghosts. Maybe the base up there isn’t as big or doesn’t have as many beings as we thought, but if we’re reading a shift in the alignment they have to be doing something to cause it.”

“It isn’t possible that they have technology you’re not familiar with?” Ferin asked dryly.

Sarrai simply shook her head, not rising to the bait. “No, actually, it’s not. I’ve studied the theory under that kind of location-specific Grid alignment shifting for a long time. There are plenty of ways to fake a Signature for one person, but land itself you can’t fake. You missed something.”

Ferin shrugged. “Perhaps,” she said, though her tone said she didn’t believe it.

Aemil tried to sort through all this information quickly, worried Ferin and Sarrai could start arguing in earnest if he took too long. Ferin looked as ready as usual to let the argument drop, but Sarrai was still glaring at her. “All right. Our first concern is the Terrans, and the Moon Base doesn’t matter for that. Let’s get them out before any more fighting starts. Zordon, Sarrai, work it out quickly.” He hadn’t intended it, but in retrospect he didn’t mind the double entendre at all. “If you find out you can’t mass-teleport the Terrans on the other continent, we’ll go get them ourselves. Meanwhile, let’s assume their magic is up to the task and prepare for battle. Without the Terrans in the way, we’re likely to see Titanus or Serpentera take the field, maybe both. Luckily, our enemies don’t know-“

“Stop talking,” Sarrai said.

Aemil did. Everyone looked at Sarrai. The Pink Ranger was still glaring at Ferin.

“Your Signature isn’t moving,” Sarrai said.

“Sorry, what?” Ferin asked with unconcern.

“I think something’s wrong,” Sarrai said. She stood and crossed to Ferin. The glare faded into a more contemplative look. Ferin made to rise. “Aemil, permission to-“ Sarrai began before slamming the heel of her hand into Ferin’s nose.

Atalanta, Zordon, and Aemil were on their feet at once to protest… for the second it took to register that Ferin was no longer standing there.

“-break the Wizard bastard’s nose,” Sarrai finished. Steam curled delicately off of both her wrists. “He’s immortal. How the Sharnak is he immortal?”

“Ferin,” Atalanta gasped into the communications panel set into one wall, winning the race to it. “Ferin, come in!”

After a second, the communication line opened. They heard one brutal, sobbing scream in Ferin’s voice before it snapped shut again.

Sarrai’s hair burst into scarlet flame. Atalanta gave a moan of horror and grief. Aemil barked, “Zordon, stop!”

The Blue Ranger hadn’t been moving, but at the order he glared daggers at his leader. “Why?” he asked in a low, frightening voice.

“Because it’s an obvious trap!” Aemil snapped.

The air had the exact charged feeling of the second before a lightning strike. A pair of rapid heartbeats went by before Zordon said,

“Fair.”

Every other Ranger let out sighs of relief. Zordon’s eyes flicked around the room, running the calculation. Aemil could tell the subtly-track-Zordon’s-mental-health jig was about to be up.

“But I’m getting her out,” the Blue Ranger added.

Aemil shook his head. “No. We make a plan. Fast as hell, but a plan. That’s an order.”

Zordon paused dangerously again, but he nodded. “Fast as hell.”

“Bridge,” Aemil ordered. All four raced out the door.

Chapter 51: A Diluted Red

Chapter Text

Pink, after all, was a diluted red. Ferin found herself musing on this as she watched her blood seep away from her weeping wounds and the pink décor delicately darken. Scorpina had given her maybe ten seconds’ pause after extracting her latest implement from Ferin’s belly. ‘I want you to savor each experience of pain,’ she’d said earlier. Ferin couldn’t help but notice that the temporary reprieve made the next pain worse.

Scorpina twirled the implement – a long, slender awl – in her fingers and gave Ferin a wicked smile. Ferin’s blood ran down it in little drops onto Scorpina’s fingers. More drops soaked into the cuffs of Scorpina’s long sleeves, spreading more wisps of crimson to color the dress. It hadn’t been white for a long time.

She leaned in close to Ferin. The Yellow Ranger couldn’t shy away – she was bound to the floor – but she would have if she could. She wished she hadn’t lost her pride quite so fast.

Scorpina’s teeth were slightly serrated. Ferin tried hard not to picture those teeth tearing into her. “Ready for a question?” Scorpina asked.

Ferin froze. It had been several rounds of torment since she’d been given that choice. She desperately wanted to say no, she’d take the pain instead, but she hesitated.

“It’s a harmless one,” Scorpina cooed. Ferin shut her eyes, and both of them knew the meaning. “What is the most evil thing you’ve ever done?”

At least it wasn’t a hard question. “I murdered Kiori.”

The slight pressure of Scorpina’s thigh against her still-naked hip vanished. Ferin’s eyes snapped open, heart racing, terrified she’d see Scorpina already in mid-strike. But the villainness was simply sitting next to her, an expression of surprise on her face.

“You did? Really?” she asked. She sounded delighted. “How?”

“Electrocution.”

Scorpina barked out a laugh. “Amazing! And they say Eltarians can’t be evil. You know, if I weren’t going to torture you to death, I think we might work out something of a friendship.”

It was the first time she’d said it in so many words, and Ferin couldn’t help but shudder. It was still possible that Zordon would save her, she reminded herself. If he didn’t, she had no idea how she’d die with the slightest shred of dignity. She’d had no concept of what torture at Scorpina’s hands meant.

“Now, what do you think? Hands next, or breasts?” Scorpina said in the same conversational, cheerful tone, twirling the thin rod.

The shudder turned into a sob. Tears mingled with streaks of blood on her cheeks, stinging as they rolled down to stain the room a delicate crimson pink.

*****

“Starting the sensor sweep,” Sarrai announced in response to her leader’s order. The Rangers had been on the bridge for about two minutes. Aemil was sitting uneasily in the captain’s seat while Atalanta and Sarrai were at their usual stations at communications and sensors, respectively, but only Sarrai was paying attention to her console. Atalanta was facing Aemil, arguing with her leader with impeccable respect but passion. Zordon was rigid, pacing back and forth as if trying to bleed off enough nervous energy to make himself stay on the ship. He hadn’t said a word since Aemil had shot down his own plan as reckless.

“It’ll take too long,” Atalanta protested. “Right now, the Wizard’s telling them to move the Terrans. If we have any hope of rescuing them before we lose almost all value from our intel so far, we can’t pause for a full sensor sweep. We know where she is. Probably.”

“I don’t like probablies,” Aemil said stubbornly, “especially not when it’s an obvious trap.”

“I know, sir!” Atalanta snapped uncharacteristically. She swept back behind one ear the strands of black-and-gray hair that had fallen into her eyes during the debate. The gesture seemed to help her restore her composure. Calmly, she said, “And if we were equally matched, I’d probably agree with you. But we’re not. Zordon’s right.”

“I am?” Zordon stopped his caged-tiger pacing to look at the Black Ranger.

“What’s the Terran expression you used? Go in…”

“Guns blazing,” Zordon finished. He was too startled by Atalanta’s endorsem*nt to follow it up.

“But,” Atalanta added in that silence, “you have to take Sarrai.”

Zordon’s face went through at least three distinct expressions in quick succession. It settled on calm and rational. “If I’m going in at full power, she won’t be able to match me. Keeping her safe would limit what I can do.”

“Yes, it would,” Atalanta agreed. “That’s not a downside. Stop making excuses, sir, please. It’s beneath you.”

“I’m not…” Zordon started, but he hesitated. “I…”

“I’m sorry,” Sarrai said quickly.

Zordon looked at her squarely for the first time all day.

“I don’t understand, but I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” There were little flecks of fire at the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry. If you’re going to rip Ferin out of the hands of your worst nightmares, please let me catch you.”

Zordon’s composure finally cracked. His breath started coming fast and hard while his eyes darted anywhere else, like a caged animal.

“I’m fine,” he said, one last attempt. “I’m fine!”

So gently, Aemil put a hand over Zordon’s. The Blue Ranger was trembling all over. Aemil wondered how much he was reliving his own torture at Scorpina’s hands. Zordon met his eyes with tears swimming in his own. Aemil wanted to pretend not to see, knowing how Zordon hated to cry, but he didn’t dare look away from his Teammate yet. “No, you’re not,” Aemil whispered. “But we will be.” Zordon didn’t answer, but Aemil was pretty sure he’d at least heard.

The Team needed him to be decisive, and, to his surprise, Aemil found he knew what to do. “We follow the general outline of Zordon’s plan, but we go together and in Morph. They sure as Stars escalated this battle first. Agreed?”

Sarrai burst into a grin. Atalanta gave a pleased, rather fierce smile with her brisk nod. Last, reluctantly, Zordon nodded.

“You get her out,” Aemil told him. “We catch you.”

“Okay,” Zordon gave the barest whisper.

Aemil squeezed the Blue Ranger’s hand and let it drop, then put that hand behind his back. His fingers found the magical fold in space that Zordon had made to store his Morpher. “Guns blazing. Right,” he gulped. This was not at all his kind of plan. He found the cool solidity of his Morpher and thought of his Zord to steady himself. “IT’S MORPHIN TIME!”

“MASTODON!”

“PTERODACTYL!”

“TRICERATOPS!”

“TYRANNOSAURUS!”

*****

“You know, there is one other option,” Scorpina said in a languid, pleased tone. “Besides death, I mean. But first, I have a question. Would you like that?”

Ferin paused her sobs long enough to nod. “Please,” she whispered.

“Why does Zordon still fight with you?”

Ferin’s brow creased a moment in confusion, but terror drove her to figure out Scorpina’s meaning without asking. “He wouldn’t at first. I ran so he wouldn’t kill me.”

“Zordon, kill a Teammate? That would have been something. What changed?”

“He needed me, because of Serpentera. We’re not… not friends.” A wave of new panic rushed over her – had Zordon decided not to come? Was he finally punishing her for Kiori’s murder?

Scorpina chuckled. “Maybe he is,” she replied to Ferin’s thoughts. The Yellow Ranger’s mental guard had broken long ago. “But I don’t understand. What difference would one more Ranger make against Serpentera?”

“Because of the M-“ Ferin’s eyes, closed as they always were when she was answering Scorpina’s questions, flew open wide as she cut herself off. She shoved her thoughts away from the answer as hard and fast as she could. Scorpina had finally maneuvered her into almost revealing something that mattered.

Scorpina’s eyes went flat and hard with anger. “Oh come on, aren’t we past this?” she muttered. She drove her current tool, a slender, serrated knife, through Ferin’s hand.

Ferin screamed and bucked against the pain, but her instinctive reaction only drove it deeper into her. [Never. Resist. Me,] Scorpina sent into Ferin’s mind as the room filled with her screams.

“No! No!” Ferin screamed. It wasn’t fear – it was more refusal. The Ranger wasn’t nearly as broken as Scorpina had hoped. The villainness was professionally insulted. She twisted the knife and felt a satisfying scrape against bone. Ferin’s screams redoubled.

And the door burst open.

Scorpina twisted around, furious. “How dare you-“ she snarled before she saw who the intruder was. Then, she plunged the blade into the floor, through her toy’s hand, brushed off her own hands, and stood.

“Are you finished yet?” Zedd said in a bored tone.

“Do I look finished?” Scorpina demanded. “You just interrupted a critical moment. Go away.”

Zedd rolled his eyes. “I’m helping you. You don’t want to be caught without results to show when Rita gets here.”

The effect was electric. Scorpina went ramrod straight, wonder and shock replacing fury. “Empress Rita? Here?”

“Arguable. But Rita, here.”

A chuckle bubbled up from deep in her that set Ferin’s heart racing again. “Well, that changes things for us, doesn’t it,” she murmurred down to the Yellow Ranger.

“Do you need help finishing up with her in time?” Zedd teased.

Scorpina glared murder at him. “I was breaking Power Rangers when you were in diapers.”

Zedd barked out an incredulous laugh. “I doubt it!”

“Want to bet?”

Zedd saw something in Scorpina’s expression that made him hesitate. Distantly, Ferin was very glad she couldn’t see it. “One day,” he said coolly. “But not today. If I want to keep Rita’s favor, I really can’t waste time right now chatting with slaves.”

Scorpina’s rage broke loose in a snarl. Zedd gave her a little, nasty smile and left, shutting the softly pink door behind him.

Knowing her reprieve was over, Ferin felt more tears fall. It surprised her. She thought she didn’t have any more to shed.

With strangely delicate grace, Scorpina sank to Ferin’s side again, folding her legs under her. “Now then,” she murmurred, “let’s discuss that other option. It seems we’d need to move fast on it. Once my Empress arrives, if you’re still resisting, she will take you herself. I wonder if she’d be gentler or harsher with you than she was with Allaise?” Scorpina savored the burst of anger and grief from Ferin for a moment before continuing. “I’d be curious to find out. But I do like our other option better. Ask me.”

The sharp tip of one of Scorpina’s fingernails idly traced a shallow, ragged cut that stretched from Ferin’s chin to her collarbone. Ferin gave a whimper. “What is it?” she asked obediently.

Scorpina smiled. “I cast a little spell. You relax and let me.”

Ferin chanced a look at her torturer, eyeing her for sincerity.

“Then there’s no more torture. No more pain. No more of all that insipid Light crap that got you into this mess, either.” She pressed the sharp tip of her nail into the cut, deepening the wound just enough to make it bleed again. The young Ranger whimpered but didn’t even try to resist. “You go free – for the first time in your life. You think you’ve felt the Power, but you never have. Just the tiniest diluted drops of it available on the Light. Lay back and don’t fight me, and you’ll be more powerful than you ever dreamed.”

Ferin’s terrified, exhausted mind finally caught up. “Evil,” she whispered. She remembered vaguely learning at some point that spells to turn someone evil had a greater effect if the victim didn’t fight. Like Scorpina’s questions, Ferin wanted to refuse, but she hesitated. She could be done. No more pain.

“You could try to hold out for some miracle rescuer who’s probably not coming. I think you know you won’t last that long. I’ve played with your type before. You’re so dedicated to resisting that your sanity will give out before you really break. You’ll tell me everything then, sure, but there’ll be nothing left of you after. So, you can refuse, I go back to torturing you, and we’ll see if your mind shatters before or after Empress Rita does so much worse than kill you. Or you can be done.”

Scorpina leaned in close, lips brushing Ferin’s blood-soaked ear. “One chance. What do you say?”

Chapter 52: The Moon Palace

Chapter Text

“Which way did he go??” Pink called out, her voice tense with frustration. She let a narrow arc of pink-red fire fly from her fingertips to incinerate a nearby flower bush. It caught on fire with satisfying speed and brightness – despite the fact that the bush, like the rest of the hedge maze the four Rangers were lost in, was likely an illusion. The Wizard of Deception’s maniacal laughter echoed bodiless around them in response.

The Team had gotten lucky, in a way. Only one of the four powerful villains leading Rita’s offensive on Earth had appeared to stop them from reaching Ferin. However, the Wizard had prepared. He’d laid layers of illusion on top of one another around the Moon Base, so that whenever Blue managed to disenchant one layer, another layer underneath was revealed, each sophisticated enough that it took awhile just to prove it was an illusion. Meanwhile, the Wizard would run through the illusory scene as one of the other villains, himself, or Ferin. It was a simple, utterly aggravating stalling tactic.

“I don’t see him!” Red’s voice called out worriedly from the other side of a hedge wall.

Pink glared at her on-fire bush, then frowned at it. It was thoroughly on fire, but it also wasn’t changing shape in the least. “Augh!” she fumed loudly. “Illusion again!”

“We know!” Black’s voice called back. “Zordon’s disenchanting already, but it’s slow!”

“Dammit,” Pink moaned. “What’s the point of all this? What are they wait…” a movement among the twinkling stars above her caught her eye, “…ing…” she felt her eyes go wide, “…for…”

A vast, sinuous shape had just entered her view overhead. Instead of black and silver like when they’d seen it last, the massive machine glinted red in the sunlight, but it was unmistakably Serpentera.

“SHIELD!” she cried, following her own advice as she did. With a metaphysical sensation not unlike the strain of trying to lift a cow with her bare hands, Pink gathered all the energy she could and forced it swiftly into a faintly glowing half-dome of flame-patterned light shielding as much of the maze as she could.

Terrible light and noise, and the ground shaking under her. She saw the laser beams from Serpentera’s eyes slice straight through her curtain of fire-light and realized both that she’d used magic pointlessly against Serpentera and that she was a sliver of a second from dying… when the blinding light was turned aside by something that plunged everything around her into shadow.

The hedge maze illusion flickered and vanished. In its absence, the four Teammates were standing on the dusty lunar surface, all in the shadow of an immense circular object that was floating about 10 feet above their heads, angled toward Serpentera’s last location. Under the middle of it was Blue, one hand raised up as if keeping the vast disc in the air.

Which, of course, he was. He was holding a moon-dust-colored shield about 50 feet across in the air with force of will.

“A literal shield?” Pink demanded. “You ridiculous, brilliant man!”

“I… can’t…” Blue panted, then dropped his hand. The shield flew apart into swirls of moon dust, and he fell to one knee, momentarily the Gray Ranger.

“You don’t have to!” Red said quickly, running to him and Black. Pink followed suit. “We have friends for this. You get Ferin, we’ll stall Serpentera. Was that the last illusion?”

“I think so,” Blue said. “But-“

“Great. Get in, get her out, then meet up with us. TYRANNOSAURUS!” he called.

“MASTODON!”

“PTERODACTYL!”

Red, Black, and Pink lights sped off into the lunar sky to meet up with their behemoth allies. Blue pushed himself to his feet, steadied there for a moment, and took his first look at what the villains had really done to Earth’s moon.

The palace was a hundred feet high at least, made of shining gray stone and accented with purple and fire-yellow lights. The vast double door was open, inviting him in like a hungry mouth. The sinister building did nothing to intimidate him, though, really: it was only window dressing to a confrontation he’d deeply hoped never to have.

He had more power than any other mage in the galaxy, probably, and yet taking Ferin from Scorpina seemed all but impossible.

Now he had to do it alone.

Of course he did, a tired inner voice replied. Even if his Teammates had followed him to the door, it made sense somehow that he would go in alone. They’d laid the trap so well. Maybe it was even his fate to face her alone, whatever ‘fate’ meant.

A stray blast from Serpentera kicked up a plume of moon dust a dozen yards away, and he shook himself. His Teammates didn’t have time for his gloomy musings. With no further delay, Blue ran inside.

*****

Almost as soon as he’d crossed the threshold, Blue started to lay his spellwork. A simple invisibility spell would be woefully incomplete – there were a hundred other ways to sense someone, and his opponents could access dozens of those at least. He could count on facing Scorpina and likely the Wizard of Deception, plus either Zedd or Dregon – he guessed the other of them was Serpentera’s new pilot. So, as he ran toward Ferin’s Signature, he wove layers of magic to help him avoid detection in as many ways as he could think of. It was possible Dregon would still hear his thoughts despite all his magical protections, and he had no real idea what Scorpina could do, so he assumed his presence would be noticed. He tried teleportation, was utterly unsurprised to find a blocking spell, and set off at his fastest run instead.

Ferin’s Signature was easy to find. He’d expected that. If they wanted him to come, there was no point in hiding her. It was unstable – thin and ragged as he’d never seen it. Was it changing in Shade? Not that it mattered; if she’d had a spell put on her he’d break it.

The path to her was a winding route, drawing him deeper into the palace. A quick check at the magical structures around him verified his guess that there was spellwork on the palace itself to inhibit Light teleportation. He could take it apart, of course, but even punching a hole would take time. A quick exit was not going to happen that way.

He was most of the way to Ferin’s Signature before he spotted his first intended opposition: a trio of grotesque, monstrous figures carrying weapons. They were magically shielded as well, so he saw them before he sensed their Signatures.

Instinctively, he crouched, though that made no difference; these monsters wouldn’t be able to see him. They looked Dark, but that could just as easily be obscuring spells as their actual nature. Were these henchbeasts or Terrans?

Carefully, trying not to attract notice from any mage watching, Blue knocked a few corners off of the shield around one of the beings. Its Signature looked human, its mind compromised to the point of insanity. Without a longer pause, he couldn’t be sure, but it might be one of his Terrans.

That decided it. He wasn’t going to fight them, and he wasn’t going to cast more hostile spells on them. Trying hard not to think about what a bad idea it was to leave them at his back, Blue snuck past.

The path to his Teammate had wound steadily up, and now he thought he was near the center of the palace. The stairs he’d climbed opened out into a large, low cavern of a room. In the center was a throne of dark stone. One side of the room opened into a vast balcony that overlooked the Earth. The space was lit by torches that gave low, flickering light that seemed to hide more than it revealed. As one of those hidden things, Blue didn’t mind.

There were a few figures visible, deliberately so he guessed: teguloid foot soldiers burbled in two mindless groups, and a tall, spindly, dark-blue-furred creature with skeletal wings that Zordon could almost but not quite name the species of was standing beside a five-foot-high tiered fountain. The fountain was burbling out streams of noxious-looking and magically-active fluids. The bat-like being was bottling the streams and handing them out to several more of the monstrous maybe-Terrans. Though Ferin’s Signature blazed clearly not far on the other side of them, neither she nor Scorpina, Zedd, the Wizard, or Dregon were visible. The room was utterly flooded with magic, making it impossible to sort out what pieces of magic might be spells concealing his foes or his Teammate without a much longer pause.

Zordon guessed that the villains’ plan from here was that he’d burst out, demand to know where Ferin was, and they’d throw a lot of potions at him. In Morph, probably they’d do little more to him than spark dramatically against his suit and maybe launch him backward across the room, but that was still a terrible start to a fight, and there were enough potions and potion-flingers to keep up the barrage for quite awhile. He might have to kill these foes to end it – which, knowing they might be Terrans, he wouldn’t do. And, of course, whichever of the four villains was hiding invisibly nearby would take full advantage of his distraction. He couldn’t be sure of facing off against any one of the four successfully while potions exploded all around him.

He looked into the Morphin Grid itself to try to find whoever was hiding. Though it was faint and skewed, Scorpina’s Signature was there, hiding near Ferin’s. He couldn’t find the other three villains anywhere, but Scorpina was enough. He looked closely at his Teammate’s Signature again. It was a few slivers Darker than it had been. Whatever spell was changing her was happening right then.

Scorpina was taking Ferin away, too.

No time to hesitate.

No time…

All at once, his heart was doing a double-speed tattoo. He didn’t have to face any of these layers of their trap – not if he slowed down his presence in the local timestream. He only wanted to get Ferin and leave, and she was also Eltarian, so moving her around extratemporally wouldn’t risk the integrity of local time. However, the first and only time he’d left the timestream was the day Eve was killed, and Scorpina had somehow moved herself independently of time then too. The memory brought him almost to a panic by itself. Maybe stepping out of local time was playing into the same trap.

He took a deep, slow breath and made his decision. Blue sat down cross-legged on the frigid Palace stones. If this strategy was also part of Scorpina’s trap, at worst he would have only Scorpina to deal with.

Well. At worst, Scorpina and Ferin.

He took several more slow breaths. It was impossible to slip the local timestream without perfect focus. He imagined the Saharan oasis and Lord Naatam at his side, so patient with him as he struggled to find his inner Power. Immediately, as back then, every thought he’d pushed aside over the last few days tried to ambush him at once. He had to wait for excruciating long seconds before his mind could begin to calm. Then, at last, from that place of inner stillness, he brought to mind half-forgotten extratemporal lessons from his Teammate Lilith.

*Find the stillness between this second and the next. Breathe into it. Let that space be the infinity it can be.*

And almost to his surprise, he felt the gentle snap of time shifting.

The potion-maker had paused in the midst of giving another potion to a monster. Behind them, the flow of liquid from the fountain itself had frozen in place. The teguloids were as motionless as clay usually was.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Blue walked across the utterly still room to Ferin’s Signature.

Nothing was there to see, of course, but Blue could feel achingly subtle weavings of magic in the air around the nothing. He reached out a hand and brushed them aside.

Ferin became visible in time to see her swing a literal axe at his head. He rolled far to one side instead of simply dodging and heard a second blow ring against the stone floor where he'd have dodged to.

He came up and spun around to see what he’d desperately hoped he wouldn’t: Scorpina was pulling on a long, serrated sword that had buried into the stone. Sure enough, the villainess was moving out of time in exactly the way she shouldn’t be able to. She gave another tug and released the hilt. It bobbed up and down twice before it slipped back into time and froze in place just the way it would if a reckless Eltarian had released it.

“Kill him,” she said.

Ferin’s eyes glowed Yellow, and she advanced with the wicked-looking axe.

Blue shot a bolt of electric energy from one gloved hand at Ferin. It hit her full in the chest and threw her back against the far wall. She slumped limply to the ground.

He wouldn’t hurt Terrans, sure. If they’d thought the same was true of Ferin…

Scorpina did look surprised. Worse, though, she looked pleased. “Electricity? You are still mad at her.”

“Get away from my planet,” Blue growled.

Her lips curled with amusem*nt. “No. Surrender to my Empress.”

“No.”

“Well then, shall we?” Scorpina drew a new, more vicious-looking sword from nowhere.

He shot an identical electric blast at her. She parried it with a wave of her sword, blindingly fast. He didn’t wait to see her parry: the second it left his fingers, he was sprinting for Ferin’s limp form. He just outpaced a stream of fire that sizzled the air behind him, then immediately had to leap over a sudden fissure in the stone before his feet. Rolling again, he reached Ferin and threw up a shield over them both. Sure enough, three bolts of a sickly gold-green light hit it almost immediately. Instead of dissipating, they spread across it, wobbling the surface of the shield like jelly.

Blue summoned up a spell to punch a hole in the anti-teleportation working just large enough to get him and Ferin out before he couldn’t hold time still any longer. As he released the spell, he felt it fall apart like a piece of cloth unweaving itself. It was an incredibly sophisticated counterspell that Scorpina shouldn’t have been able to throw against a mage talent in normal time, let alone atemporally.

“What are you?” he asked in frustration before he could stop himself.

Scorpina threw her head back and crowed with laughter. In the second that gave him, Blue grabbed at his last option. It would either make the situation better or so much worse.

The spell binding Scorpina’s will was magic on the level of art. It was well-composed and had no obvious or subtle flaws. Its Signature clearly marked it as Rita’s work. An expert mage might have broken it with a week of immense effort and no resistance from Scorpina. Zordon focused his will for two tense seconds.

Scorpina gasped and staggered. She shook her head to clear it but lost her footing in the process and fell to her knees, then flat on her rear. His Team’s old foe, Eve’s murderer, Ferin’s torturer, was helpless. He could kill her effortlessly.

He considered it.

“f*ck. f*ck *f*ck*,” she gasped out as she began to recover. “That bitch!”

Scorpina let a single shudder run through her, then sat forward and looked up at Blue with an intense light in her eyes. His heart leapt into his throat. He shifted to better shield Ferin from her attack.

“She’s coming,” Scorpina said. The light was fear, he realized belatedly. “Today. We don’t have much time.”

Rita. On Earth. “Truce,” he heard himself say before he could think better of it. Then, staggered and terrified at what he’d offered, he added, “Swear it.”

“By the Power,” she said, giving a single nod. “One Terran week.”

She couldn’t know what it would cost her to swear by the Power and break the vow… could she? The grave, scared look in her eyes told him otherwise. Either way, the oath was made, and the Power Itself would force her to fulfill it honestly.

Rita on Earth. He needed help. Scorpina was offering hers.

“One Terran week,” Blue agreed. “What should I know?”

Chapter 53: Tactics

Chapter Text

[Sure you don’t need me up there, friend?] Dregon's voice came over comms.

Zedd just growled into the communications receiver in Serpentera. He didn’t have a lot more attention to spare than that, and it got the point across better than most verbal options would. He fired Serpentera’s ocular weapons again, and again Pterodactyl was a sliver of a second faster. “Blessing!” he swore.

[Because, you know, since you’re flying the greatest Dark war machine of the century and can’t destroy three little Light spacecraft…]

“I will end you if you don’t shut up,” Zedd growled more articulately. He’d tried shutting off the communications circuitry already, but Dregon had switched to telepathy, which was distractingly painful, so he’d turned it back on.

[Sure, sure. Just like you’re ending the Rangers’ Zords.]

Zedd’s roll of the eyes ruined his shot at Mastodon, but the last ten hadn’t landed either, so it wasn’t such a waste. He swung Serpentera around sharply to aim for Tyrannosaurus instead. He’d landed two good blasts across the larger Red machine, and though it hadn’t gone down yet, it was clearly hurt.

“Augh. Don’t call them that,” he protested.

[What, Zords? It’s just their name.]

“Go away.” He waited for a measured second of Dregon’s laughter, fired at Tyrannosaurus, missed by a hair’s breadth, said, “Or explain to Rita why you distracted me during battle,” waited again as Dregon taunted him about tattletelling, landed a shot across Tyrannosaurus’s flank, grinned, and finished, “when you see her today.”

Dead silence on the line. After a long enough moment for three good shots, one of which landed on Mastodon and sent sparks shooting up and down its trunk, Dregon’s voice came shakily, [Rita? Here? I’m coming out there!]

“You kill-steal, you stay where you-“ Zedd started to growl his indignance, then saw the new to that.”

[The Sharnak I w-]

Zedd snapped his voice like a whip: “Scorpina is a strategic resouce. Rita’s made clear what happens to us if she’s killed or captured. Go find out if she’s alive, you egotistical little snot.”

He dodged a concerted volley from all four Light machines that were definitely not called Zords, but the Pink beam caught the edge of Serpentera’s scales. He let out a snarl of vicious frustration that his baby sister had scored on him. Dregon conveniently seemed to interpret the snarl as directed against him, because he gave a little startled noise. As Zedd had anticipated, the four machines then shot toward their ship. “Besides, they’re retreating.”

[All of them? You didn’t even get one?]

“This is the part where I count down from 5. 5. 4. 3-”

With an indignant noise, Dregon closed the communications channel on his end. Satisfied that the little half-Light princeling was dealt with for the moment, Zedd focused his attention on the planet below him. It was tempting to just blast a few subcontinents off from here, but that wasn’t Rita’s plan. For whatever reason, she’d given him command authority if Scorpina went down. However briefly he had it, he wanted to use that power to impress her with some actual results.

He opened a new channel. “Wizard,” he said, “pull ten from the reserves and set them loose.”

[Oooh,] the Wizard’s growl sounded pleased. [Right away.]

Satisfied, Zedd ordered Serpentera back to her lunar cave. “See,” Zedd said, “this is what I like about you.”

[What is?] the Wizard sounded highly skeptical.

*Your unquestioning obedience,* he thought. “Your excellent villainous instincts,” he said.
The Wizard laughed malevolently and hung up. Zedd got Serpentera settled again swiftly and teleported himself back to the Moon Palace’s observation deck. He didn’t want to miss a moment of what was about to happen on the planet below.

*****

[How is she?] came Aemil’s anxious voice about two seconds after they’d disengaged.

“Enspelled. In one piece,” Blue answered briefly.

[Enspelled? But you can fix it?] His leader’s voice got more worried instead of less.

Blue caught hold of his ‘yes,’ thought of Kiori, sucked it back in, and said instead, “I don’t expect a problem.”

[Oh thank St-]

[Are you okay?] his best friend’s voice cut across his leader’s.

Why did his heart have to beat faster to her voice just like it had to Scorpina’s? Blue forced himself to take a slow breath. “Fine,” he answered. It was too short, too curt to be right, but he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

[Mm-hmm,] she replied, and her skeptically-raised eyebrow came across the audio clearly. [So you didn’t face Scorpina or Dregon?]

“I… did…” Blue glanced over his shoulder at still-sleeping Ferin, thinking through the plan he and Scorpina had made. “Scorpina. Actually, I took her down. Hard.”

[You… oh.] There was a beat of silence, then, [Wow. Congratulations. I bet that was really satisfying.]

Blue didn’t answer. He pointed Triceratops toward the open Zord hangar bay, turned off his comms, sent it clear telepathic instructions, and let Triceratops take it from there. He sat back in the pilot’s seat. “Well,” he said to no one, “that didn’t go as planned.”

*****

By the time Tyrannosaurus, Mastodon, and Pterodactyl arrived in the hangar, Blue was already walking out of Triceratops with Ferin in his arms. His leader made no pretense: as soon as Tyrannosaurus was stationary, he teleported down in a stream of Red to land practically at Blue and Ferin’s feet. Blue set Ferin down, and Red knelt beside her.

“She looks like she wasn’t hurt much,” Red said, a little relief mixed in to the worry in his voice.

Blue bit down, again, on a truthful response. He knew plenty about what Scorpina had done because knowing would speed up his spellwork, and it was as bad as he’d have expected from her. She’d gloated as she told him all she’d done to his Teammate, utterly confident in their truce to protect her.

“Did you try breaking the spell yet?” Red asked.

Blue shook his head. “Just landed.”

“Sure, sure. So, is here good?”

A klaxon alert went off in the hangar bay, startling all of them. Pink raced to the nearest panel and, a few keystrokes later, groaned. “Uh oh.” She looked up at them. “Twenty creatures have just teleported to five distinct areas around the Terran globe and started attacking local humans. Their Signatures are distorted, but at least half of them read as Terran.”

Red looked at her, then down at Blue and Ferin. Blue could only guess at his leader’s expression. “What do you want here?” Red asked.

Blue tried to consider quickly. He trusted that this wasn’t Scorpina’s doing, but he hadn’t expected one of the other villains to act this quickly while she was supposed to be in charge of the conquest of Earth. It was clearly meant to pull the Team away from helping Ferin. The tactical response would be to stay put for long enough to cure Ferin and probably to do the ritual with Sarrai to teleport out all the remaining Terran captives. Ten minutes at least, between breaking the evil spell and then healing Ferin enough that she didn’t wake up and immediately go insane, then executing the ritual with Sarrai. Maybe twenty. *Yes, but you’re not going to do the tactical response,* he thought. *Because how many Terrans just died while you sat here thinking?*

“Stop them fast. Capture, not kill,” he said.

“Obviously,” Red scoffed. He was looking down at Ferin as he said it, though. There was a little pause filled with swirls of worry and guilt for his oldest friend before he said, “All right everyone, back to it. Sarrai, you have ten seconds to get as much information as you can out of those sensors, then I’m going to ask you where to send our heavy hitters.”

Pink had started working on the word “ten”, but this time she didn’t bother typing. Her fingers were motionless on the keys and glowed a fiery red-Pink. Four seconds after Red stopped talking, the tiny screen pulled up a map of the Terran globe with five glowing red-Pink markers on it in a way that defied the screen’s programming entirely. “You and Atalanta can hold these two areas for a little while,” she pointed to lights in future Indonesia and Nigeria. “Send me here,” she pointed to the light in western future United States, “and the other two are where Zordon starts. He does his thing as fast as he can, joins up with each of you, gets to me last.”

“That one’s very close to the suspected second base,” Black said with a frown in her voice, pointing to the light Pink had selected for herself.

“That’s why I’m going there and not you,” Pink answered.

“But if our suspicions are right, it might be the most dangerous one,” Black argued.

“And we can’t afford for Zordon to get locked down in a longer fight straight off,” Pink returned. “Aemil?”

Red nodded. “We follow Sarrai’s play. The rest of us are only guessing what’s out there. Zordon will move fast.”

Just for a moment, Blue glanced at Pink. He knew she was likely tackling a much bigger problem than she could deal with on her own. So were all his Teammates, though. “I need to make one call, then I’ll get started.”

His Teammates paused with curiosity, but none were suspicious. “Got it,” Red said. “I’ll get Ferin in cryo and then go down. Back to Action!”

Red gathered Ferin into his arms while the other two teleported, then followed. While his Teammates vanished in streams of light, Blue was already channeling his own magic through the sensor panel. He wasn’t nearly as efficient at that sort of techno-magic as Sarrai, but he didn’t care about energetic efficiency, just speed.

The seal of the Kerovan Commission on Interstellar Exploration took over the beleaguered little screen, then was replaced by a bored-looking Kinwan. Zordon dropped to half-Morph, setting his helmet on the ground next to him. A frown creased Kinwan’s brows before he looked up, then his eyes popped when he saw Zordon.

[Zordon! How- this was my day’s itinerary a moment ago!] Kinwan protested.

“Is it connected to any networks?”

[No, of course not, it’s just my itinera…] Kinwan paused. [I see. That secret?]

“Not for long, but yes.” For a sliver of a second, Zordon balked at what he was about to say. He shook himelf mentally. There was no time for that. “I pulled the Team out to Earth. They were attacking my Protectorate,” he added swiftly over Kinwan’s protest, and the old general calmed into a frown. “Scorpina, Zedd, and the Wizard of Deception are all here with several of her most skilled henchbeasts. Rita’s arriving in a few hours. I think this is her end game. She can’t know that we know.”

He could see Kinwan’s tactical mind spinning quickly. [Sharnak. That’s a good end game. The coalition doesn’t have a lot that can get all the way out to the Western Arm today, but consider it on its way.]

“Only tell the captains that can get here in the next six hours why you’re sending them. After that, we won’t need secrecy.”

[Understood. Atalanta?]

“She’s well.”

Kinwan nodded, letting a small smile show. [Good to hear. May the Power protect you,] he signed off.

Zordon released the spell. After a few flickers, the screen returned to its natural state. Apparently it was actually an environmental control panel. A gentle blanket of weariness briefly laid itself over his thoughts, which began lobbying for a nap. He shoved the thought aside.

“Back to Action,” he sighed and teleported to Earth for the first of five battles against monsters he was sworn to protect.

Chapter 54: Running

Chapter Text

A few minutes later, the lights activated in Epona’s bedroom. The five-year-old Eltarian groaned. “Illumination at zero,” she moaned as she rolled over in her bed.

The lights stayed on.

“Illumination at-!” Epona started to repeat her command indignantly, but she stopped. Her waking brain remembered her father telling her that she would have to wake up even if she didn’t want to that morning. Her body was readjusting to the 24-hour Terran day and Sumerian local time, and that meant that morning was now in the middle of the night instead. He had set the illumination in her quarters not to respond to her commands to help with that. Once she adjusted, she’d be able to visit her friends much more easily, especially now that their cities were protected from extraterran evil by his magic. She’d agreed enthusiastically the night before. She hadn’t expected waking up to be quite this hard.

She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and got out of bed. Her brain felt like a pile of slippery fish flopping around her skull. More eye-rubbing didn’t help, so she decided on breakfast instead.

She crossed the little common space to knock on her father’s door, but she wasn’t particularly concerned when she didn’t get a response. Maybe she’d find him or one of the other Rangers on the way.

A yawn hit her as she stepped out into the hall. In footed pajamas, she padded softly down the corridors until she found the mess hall. She didn’t find anyone on the way or inside. The first frown touched her lips.

Climbing a stool up to the food synthesizer put her on a level with the synthesizer pad. “Epona Breakfast 3,” she told it. A puff of light and noise, and a dish of food appeared. She lifted the synthesizer’s door to extract a plate of stewed wild onions, beans, and blueberries. The frown faded into a proud grin instead. She’d gotten up just like she needed to prepare to go back to Earth, and soon she’d be eating the real version of this dish at one of her friends’ houses in Çatalhöyük. She didn’t remember what breakfasts had tasted like back then, but she knew they were much better than the synthesizer version.

“Computer,” she said as she sat down with her plate, “locations of the Power Rangers.”

A viewscreen set into the far wall clicked on. It showed a simplified outline of the Earth and their ship in orbit. Red, Black, Blue, and Pink lights were scattered across the surface, but the Yellow dot was on the ship. Something Interesting was happening. “Show Father,” she said.

The image zoomed in on one of the boring continents – she didn’t remember its name. The Blue dot expanded into the Blue Triceratops Ranger battling a rather frightening-looking humanoid. Its body was muscly on top and its arms were too long. It slammed too-big fists into the ground, and cracks appeared. Blue rolled at the right moment to avoid falling into the crack that opened at his feet.

“Woo!” she cheered. “Show Aemil!”

The scene vanished, replaced by another battle. For the next few minutes of eating, she cycled through views of the Team’s battles. By the time she was done, her father had joined up with Black, and the two were battling a massive sea creature with a bulbous-eyed, too-thin human rider. The battle was going much better now that her father was there, and she told the screen to turn off with every confidence their battles would resolve well soon. She was ready to go play. “Computer, light a path to Ferin,” she ordered as she stepped out of the mess hall.

Yellow runner rights glowed softly along the base of the corridor walls, appearing as she approached and then vanishing behind her. It didn’t lead her to Ferin’s quarters but away from them. When she realized at last that the lights were headed toward Sickbay, she broke into a run.

“Computer!” she gasped as she ran. “Is Ferin okay?!”

The computer, of course, didn’t talk, and she groaned in frustration. As soon as she skidded to a stop inside of Sickbay, she whirled around to find the nearest screen. “Computer, display Ferin’s status on this screen!” she ordered, and she jumped to press the activation button.

It lit up with long, complicated descriptions. Epona could sort out most of them with time, but she wasn’t in a patient mood. She needed to know now if someone else was going to die.

Thankfully, the word “stable” showed up prominently in a few places. There was something wrong with Ferin that meant someone – probably Father, she mused – had put her in suspended animation. Maybe the cryo system had fixed her by now.

“Computer,” she said, “will it hurt Ferin if she wakes up now?”

More scrolling Eltarian text, but the summary seemed to be “no.” Epona sighed with relief. Ferin was okay now. “Okay, computer, let her wake up then.”

A whoosh of released gases oriented Epona to where Ferin actually was in the room, a detail she’d been too much in a rush to bother with before. The glass-like door of the cryo tube had slid back, and Epona could see some movement within the tube already. She smiled, pleased with the situation and her own initiative…

…and then she Saw the black thing caging Ferin’s energy.

It looked so, so much like Mommy’s. Epona backed away and bumped something that fell to the floor behind her with a clatter. She didn’t bother looking. “No no no, computer, put her back in!” Nothing happened – the computer didn’t know what she meant. “Computer, reactivate cryo suspension!” she yelled.

“Computer,” Ferin’s voice came lazily from within, “belay that. Override code saffron-three-xg. Exclude Epona from computer voice access and lock Sickbay doors.”

Epona knew she had to run, but her feet seemed stuck to the floor. For a few heartbeats, she could swear she felt grass under her toes. And in any case, how could she leave? The doors and the computer were locked.

Ferin sat up and stretched. “I was dreaming,” she said. “Haven’t had that dream in awhile. It’s the one where ‘Laise is just fine because I chase down your daddy and stab him to death instead.” She chuckled. “Wow. That dream really used to disturb me. Now it makes perfect sense. He’s the one who should have died. If he’d just surrended to my Empress, ‘Laise would still be alive.”

If you’re ever by yourself with someone evil, her mother’s voice drifted back to her, they might start talking about evil plans instead of hurting you. That’s good. Keep them talking, and you think your way out while they do. “Um…” Epona tried to get her voice to cooperate, “really?”

Angry sparks of emotion flew across the black cage – and maybe inside the cage too? “Don’t you know? Hasn’t anyone ever told you?”

“Um… no?” …and you think your way out…

Ferin slipped out of the cryo tube, but instead of advancing on Epona, she just crouched low where she was. “This is all your father’s fault. Every death, every pain. He’s caused more suffering than most evil beings ever have. ‘Laise. Rae. Your mother, for that matter.” Epona was sure the angry sparks weren’t just in the spell-cage that time. “Father the cause, Mother the tool. You know, your parents-”

Ferin had only locked her out of computer voice access! Epona spun on her heel and sprinted for the nearest exit, jumping to pound the door unlock button on the access panel without breaking stride. The doors opened for her, and Ferin’s surprised shriek followed her out.

Epona had spent about half her waking life running for fun. She’d never run like this before. She knew what Ferin maybe didn’t yet: that they were alone on the ship. Until the other Rangers came back, Epona had to defend herself. The first step was to put as much distance between herself and Ferin as she could, and then… do whatever she could to keep Ferin away?

“Computer, hide my Signature from internal scans!” she ordered.

A low, grunting beep answered her, and she smacked herself in the forehead even as she ran. She could only access the computer through panels now, and the only sensor panel she knew how to operate and could physically reach was on the Bridge. She was not going anywhere that predictable. Similarly, as desperately as she wanted her old pendant from her babyhood on Earth – the one that let her teleport – it was in her bedside drawer in her room, surely the first place Ferin would look for her if she did shake her off. Plus she wasn’t going anywhere that had only one exit.

She realized as she passed the hangar bay doors that she was crying. She wasn’t sure when she’d started, but as soon as she realized it, the tears flooded out. She hated being small, being weak, being less able to keep herself safe. The hangar bay was a symbol of that: just inside the bay, if she went in, were a few spacecraft that would get her far away from Ferin – but she couldn’t pilot any of them. She didn’t know how, and she was too small to reach all the controls.

[I’m going to kill you,] Ferin’s voice echoed in her head.

Epona screamed and burst into a fresh run. She pressed her hands over her ears.

[I’ve just decided,] Ferin continued, because of course keeping out telepathy was just one more thing Epona was too small to do. [The woman I love is dead because of your parents.]

It was lies. Her father hadn’t done anything to Allaise. And her mother… well, yes, that afternoon on Morpheon was the last time she’d seen both of them, but that didn’t mean…

[Killing you isn’t fair, but I’m done with that. It will feel good.]

Footsteps. Every time Ferin stopped talking, there were a fast, quiet rhythmic sound. It was footsteps. Epona spun all around, looking up and down the hall, but she didn’t see anyone. She caught herself about to yell for Ferin to leave her alone and bit down on her tongue to stop herself. While the cage was around Ferin, nothing was going to stop her wanting to do evil things. Epona would only give herself away.

Instead, she dodged through the nearest door. It was a maintenance area, with lots of tools and protective suits on the walls. What she really needed was right there: a laser cutter. If she had a weapon like that, Ferin would have to leave her alone or get seriously hurt. So of course, the laser cutter was bolted to the wall about six feet up, safely out of her reach.

Tears started blinding her. She shoved them out of her eyes angrily. Still, she couldn’t see much. She grabbed the most solid thing she could see just as the door opened behind her.

Epona whirled around and finally yelled, “Go away!” despite herself. But there was no one there.

Except there was.

Epona’s heart felt like it was going to burst, it was beating so hard. Little traces of energy were moving toward her from the door – energy like Ferin’s, like the cage. She remembered at long last a game she’d played with Ferin sometimes when she was younger, before Allaise and Mother and Rae all died, where Ferin would make herself hard to see.

It had been fun.

The room swam. Would she faint? She planted her feet under her as steadily as she could, held her weapon – some kind of pipe? – at ready in the wrong direction, and let Ferin close behind her. When the Ferin-energy sprang for her, Epona whirled and swung her weapon at it as hard and high as she could.

Something cracked. Ferin screamed. Suddenly the air around Epona was filled with huge, flailing adult body, rich earth and sun-yellow falling toward her. Epona swung again, screaming and sobbing, before Ferin’s bulk knocked her to the ground. Epona found only her legs were trapped under Ferin and barely wriggled them free. Not pausing to look, Epona ran.

Again, running was her friend. She forced herself to slow from the panicked pace to a steady one she could keep up for hours. After a few minutes and no sounds behind her, the pounding in her ears eased enough to let her hear the soft sound of her own feet smacking against the slightly springy tile of the ship’s corridors. Her footfalls started singing out a rhythm:

You think your way out…

You think your way out…

You think-

The answer hit her so suddenly she stopped in her tracks. The ship wasn’t safe. It would be when the other Rangers came home, but that might be way too long from now. Without computer voice access, she couldn’t do much. But there was one control panel she knew well, could reach, and could help her: the one in the ship’s teleportation center.

That’s my girl, her mother’s voice whispered in her memory.

Epona shivered. She folded her arms tightly around herself as she ran, finally, with a destination in mind.

[That. Was not. Smart.] Ferin’s voice sounded more monster than human. Instantly, Epona’s budding confidence vanished under pounding, swirling fear. Of course she hadn’t wanted Ferin dead or even badly hurt, the cage wasn’t Ferin’s fault – but unconscious for longer would have been nice. [When I find you, I’m going to-]

Epona started singing. She sang the first song that came to mind: a ballad from Çatalhöyük about their hero-god Ardur. She sang it loudly enough to mostly drown out Ferin’s terrible words. She’d be safe soon. She’d get to Father, and he’d stop Ferin and fix her, and then… maybe she’d wake up in her bed and find out this had all been a nightmare.

Maybe even Mother would be there.

The doors to the teleportation room whooshed open as she approached it. She’d hardly ever been in here before, but Father had shown her how the controls worked several times. And this panel – finally! – she was tall enough to reach. She ran to it and hugged it with joy, then straightened up to key in coordinates.

Coordinates.

Oh.

Where was Father?

Her heart sank. She remembered it was one of the boring continents she never visited. That wasn’t nearly enough. “Computer-“ she started to ask for his location before stopping herself. She was still locked out. She let out a wail of frustration and terror.

Maybe there was a sensor panel in the teleportation controls? Yes- she saw the symbol for sensors. Maybe she could call up the display of the Rangers’ locations herself?

She pressed the sensor search. That symbol led to another display, then another. She’d never tried to operate sensors without voice commands before. She realized she was in a scan for tree life and backed out, trying to find the main search display again. All the while her ears were pricked to the slightest sound, her eyes glancing up from the panel constantly to try to spot a faint cloud of energy outside the room. She made another mistake and had to start a third time.

She couldn’t do it.

The room swirled. She was on the ground, shaking and sweating, tears streaming. Ferin was going to kill her. Ferin was stronger and taller and more powerful in every way, and there was nothing Epona could do.

Just get to Pimri, she told herself. Just find Pimri.

That was a strange thought. When had she been planning to find Pimri? Oh – she was thinking about two years ago, after Brinlen had held her down and hurt her, when somehow she made herself get up again after the ice mage left and find her friend. He’d been her safety then, when she was stranded without her teleporter necklace and couldn’t reach Father.

Just like now.

She sat bolt upright. Father’s magic protected Çatalhöyük, along with the other settlements that had been attacked. No one evil not from Earth could enter Çatalhöyük anymore. No one *like Ferin!*

She’d memorized the coordinates for Çatalhöyük when she was two. Springing to her feet, she closed out the search and started typing them in, fingers flying confidently.

The doors whooshed open just as Epona pressed the final button. Ferin wasn’t invisible this time. Epona could clearly see her furious, blood-covered face as she lowered the laser pistol she was holding toward Epona’s chest. Ferin squeezed the trigger. Epona saw a beam of light leave the laser pistol as the world faded into blank white motion.

Chapter 55: When Heroes Fight Monsters

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes later, a Blue ball of light flared into life at the same coordinates. It was the first time Zordon had teleported into a Terran city. The bright Blue fire of his teleportation immediately drew fearful attention: Terran heads poked out of windows, while most of those in the alley he landed in ran away. Zordon didn’t care.

One figure didn’t run. He focused on her alone.

“Epona?” Even at a whisper, his voice broke with pain.

“She is well,” Kubaba answered. She held out her hand.

Instead of taking it, Zordon collapsed to the sand-brick street. Instead of relief, he heard a howl of pain tear out of his throat not so different from the savage sounds that his wife’s voice had once contorted into. Something broke inside him that he couldn’t put back together, and it was loud and messy and painful and everything he didn’t want it to be.

A hand on his shoulder. Warm, gentle pressure. He wasn’t aware of anything else of his surroundings, but he could feel that.

“I tried,” he heard himself say. “I tried I tried I tried I tried so so so hard!”

“Ssh,” another human voice said, calm against his storm. “Of course you did. And still she was hurt, and so you hurt. And you will try again. This is what we do.”

He shook his head vehemently as he wiped at his face. “I can send her away. I should have! Fool!”

“No. Stay with this,” she said for some reason. He blinked up at her. Kubaba gave a soft, perhaps concerned sound and said, “Come.”

She pulled up on his arm, and he obeyed without really thinking about it. She steered him through a few of the narrow, shadowed alleys of her city and into the cool darkness of a house.

He recoiled. “No, she can’t, not like this…” he babbled.

“She’s not here. It’s all right.”

“Where is she?” Zordon demanded, fear adding to the mix of pains in him again.

“She is well,” Kubaba said again. “Now we care for you.”

Zordon shook his head, but she ignored him. In a moment, he found a clay mug warming his hands, steam from some kind of beverage curling out of the top. He sipped it on reflex. It was bitter and earthy, and he found the taste not quite unpleasant enough to overpower the comfort of its warmth. He thought again of tea with Lexian.

“Ferin. My Teammate,” he found himself saying. “She was under an evil spell, and I left her on the ship to go stop some of the corrupted Terrans from attacking other settlements, and I… Epona woke up, and I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t even leave her a note. She let Ferin out and….”

Kubaba’s skirts paused in front of the random patch of floor he was staring at. She handed Zordon a tray of round somethings made of baked mashed grains. He ate, again on reflex. They were dry and crumbly and sweet.

While his mouth was full, Kubaba said, “I know this. I have already tended her. We care for you now.”

The idea sank in a little more and left him blinking back tears. For some reason, the edges of wetness around his eyes didn’t embarrass him as much as usual. “Why?” he asked.

When she kneeled down to be on his level – when had he sat down? – her expression was both empathetic and amused. “Always questions,” she said. “You helped when I was hurt. Now I help you. It is the way of things. Now be done with questions. Feel this. Your pain will not heal until you feel it.”

“I…” Disoriented enough to believe her, Zordon looked up at her helplessly. “I don’t know how. I always just push it away.”

Kubaba thought. “When there is something I must do and don’t know how,” she said at last, “I ask my Gods for help.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have any gods.”

“There must be something larger than you that you trust. What do you believe in?”

On the point of refusing again, he realized he did believe in something: the Power. He was a Ranger of it, bound to its laws and guiding Light. It had even literally helped him before. ‘Let the Power protect you’ was such a fundamental concept on Eltare that it was more cliché than faith, but he knew it wasn’t just a saying. He’d put his life and soul in its hands. It gave him Power and magic beyond what any other Light mage wielded. It was certainly bigger than he was. Naatam thought it was aware. Did he?

*Help?* he asked tentatively, desperately.

He didn’t hear any answer. However, Kubaba’s arms stretched around his shoulders, human and warm and unafraid of all the emotions that terrified him. Fear and grief and fury and weariness all crashed through him. With a huge effort of will, he didn’t push them away. Wave after wave of feelings burst through him like daggers. He felt completely out of control. It was all he could do to trust this would help somehow and stay with it.

Eventually, it subsided. It reminded him of coming back to awareness with Sarrai, and it was also entirely different. He found his head resting on Kubaba’s lap. He didn’t remember exactly what he’d said or done and had no idea how long he’d been doing it, but he had the general sense that he’d cried quite a lot. However, he had chosen this, Kubaba was – he double-checked – still fully clothed, and for some reason, the embarrassment that had flooded him with Sarrai was absent now. He felt calmer, and not just because he was so tired. There was a steadiness to this calm that was very different from exhaustion.

Kubaba was humming something. It was soothing. He actually stayed put on her lap for another minute, maybe two, and even then sat up with a twinge of reluctance.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yes. Some,” he said. “I don’t know why.”

Kubaba smiled. “Skera is a monster. When heroes fight monsters, you rest sometimes or you turn into a monster too.”

Oh.

Like Ferin.

And like himself, back on Kerova.

Even… he took a deep, steadying breath… even Rita. He remembered from childhood the rush and fury of the first Blue Triceratops Ranger after Eve’s death, remembered her constant cheerful smile whenever she knew he was looking. She’d been so desperate for retribution and to teach him that Eve’s death wasn’t his fault and, incompatibly, to act like everything was okay. She hadn’t ever taken care of her own needs, had she?

Awe filled him. He had faith in Terrans as innately worthy like any other race, and he appreciated their future achievements, but this was new. Kubaba had understood intuitively something that had been staring him in the face for more than half his life. ‘Her grief turned to anger’ was as close as he’d come to understanding it before – a what, but not a why. He thought of Lexian, of Naatam, Atalanta – of these elders who maintained sanity and Light across centuries and millennia. They all rested, often.

Sarrai did, too. Was that why she had-

But that thought was one too many. He wanted to reel away from the sudden flow of realization, but he held himself steady long enough to acknowledge that there was something here to help him understand what had happened between him and Sarrai. Then he let his thoughts go back to the only direction they’d wanted to go in the first place.

“Epona,” he asked.

Her lips tightened. “Are you ready?”

He nodded. “Ready enough. I have to see her.”

*****

The last time he’d been to Kubaba’s house, Epona had been two years younger, a tiny figure curled into a chair and shivering with fright. Seeing her in the same room again, it struck him how much taller, stronger, and more confident she was now. And yet still so young…
She and Pimri, who seemed like he’d grown two feet in the last two years, were wrestling and laughing on the packed earth floor. They didn’t notice the adults walk in. For a second, he just watched his daughter play. She was unhurt. Happy.

‘Thank the Power’ should probably be more than cliché, too, he thought. *Thank you,* he said silently. Then, “Epona,” he spoke aloud.

Epona stopped in an instant, gasping, ignoring Pimri’s new hold around her chest. Only a second later, Pimri noticed and released her. “Father,” she sighed, sagging with relief as she ran to him. He knelt to receive her hug. Her arms wrapping around him soothed him more than he could believe.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

She didn’t answer aloud. He felt her probing his surface thoughts and let down his guard enough to let her feel a little of the grief, guilt, and love filling him. Her own excitement was fading to relief tinged with anger and nervous fear, the last of which he didn’t care for at all. He determined to let her speak first and just tried to savor the hug until she was ready.

“I’m okay,” she said at length. He hugged her more tightly on reflex. “But I’m staying here.”

With his guard lowered, she felt his reaction before he could voice it. “No, it’s not just because I’m angry, Father. I am, some. I love you way more. But so many times you told me it was too dangerous and I made you take me anyway, and…” She hesitated. He saw her eyes swimming with tears. [And I almost died. Really, really almost,] she sent instead. [You were right. It’s too dangerous. It’s safer here.]

Zordon glanced past her at Pimri and Kubaba, now standing close together, watching them. [Did you talk with them about this?]

[Yes,] Epona sent. [You just have to agree.]

Zordon shut his eyes and took two slow breaths. New swirls of grief filled him. It had all been a terrible idea, perhaps, letting her come – and now, the thought of not tucking her in at night was unbearable. What other joy did he have left?

“I’m sorry,” Epona said, “hearing” those grieving, bitter thoughts, too. “I still want you to come and play with me, and you can tuck me in any night you like. But I’m safer here. Aren’t I?”

He checked the wards around Çatalhöyük. They were flawlessly intact. If Ferin had made any attempt to follow Epona, it had been deflected. His protections would probably stymie even a mageblood – which meant even Rita, who was about to arrive on his world while he sat there hugging his daughter. He couldn’t afford to be standing here. Whether his magic would hold against Scorpina was completely unknown, but for the next week that was irrelevant. As much as Zordon wanted to believe that he could protect Epona better if she were close, that clearly wasn’t true.

There was only one responsible answer.

“I think so,” he admitted. He looked up. “Kubaba, you would care for her?”

“Gladly,” she said without hesitation. “She is wise and brave to ask for such a thing.” Zordon clearly heard her think, *And you can’t care for her properly right now.*

He winced. It was true, wasn’t it? And none of them even knew the plan he was about to put in action next, with Scorpina. If there had been danger before…

“I’ll come every day if I can,” Zordon flew into logistics before tears could come. “And I’ll lay spellwork to hide her Signature, so that my enemies don’t target her or you if they do ever find a way in. Epona, you must never leave the city,” [not even by teleportation,] “understand?” he said sternly. [And tell them nothing about aliens or magic or Power Rangers or anything else that’s not of Earth.] “You’ll put them in such danger if you do.” She looked unhappy but nodded. “And both of you will keep her nature quiet as much as you can?” he asked the Terrans, who nodded as well.

“So I can stay?” Epona asked, brightening to a sunshine grin.

“You can stay,” Zordon answered, storm clouds rolling in.

Chapter 56: Arguments Bad

Chapter Text

Three minutes later, four rather ragged Power Rangers were gathered around their conference table. Dregon’s empty seat was a palpable presence in the room as they waited for Zordon.

Their former leader appeared in a rush of Blue-black firelight. “Is she okay?” Aemil burst out first.

Zordon nodded. Aemil, Atalanta, and Sarrai let out cheers of relief and joy. Ferin, already closed in on herself, covered her face in her hands and just let out a shudder of a breath.

“I tried. I…” she babbled for a moment before stopping herself and looking up at Zordon helplessly. The look in her bloodshot eyes begged him to believe her. “I’ve never wanted…”

“I know.” To his relief, Zordon realized he wasn’t just saying it. He did actually believe it. Her murderous goals had only been Scorpina’s spell - a powerful and sad*stic one carefully calculated to rip up Ferin’s psyche and his own, but just as easy for Zordon to break.

Thoughts half-formed kept flickering across Ferin’s mind. It was incredibly disconcerting to feel anything from her, let alone these random, acute flashes of terror and guilt. If they’d still been Eltarian Rangers, she would have been back on Eltare for medical treatment by now. “But there was a moment,” Ferin even voiced the guilt aloud. “S-s-she asked me to let her corrupt me and I thought about it, I did. But I-“

“Ranger,” Aemil snapped in his best leader voice, and though Ferin sagged in her chair instead of coming straight to attention, her expression broke open with relief. “Begin your report from the beginning,” he ordered.

“Yes sir.”

“Wait a moment, please,” Zordon said. Ferin and Aemil both glanced at him with some doubt, but Aemil nodded.

Zordon walked to the far end of the table from Aemil. Flashes of guilt ran through Sarrai and Atalanta’s thoughts, and even Aemil’s – they three had all been thinking about Dregon’s empty chair and all worried immediately that they shouldn’t have been. Dregon’s chair was black like the rest, emblazoned with his Power Coin’s symbol, the 5-toed footprint of Brachiosaurus, in White – the symbolic counterpart to Eve’s old Coin, also lost to Evil.

With a touch, Zordon dissolved the chair into a small pile of dust.

“He’s not coming back,” Zordon said into the shocked silence. “This is our Team now. We need to know that in our bones if we’re going to get through what’s coming.”

He took his own Blue-emblazoned seat. A flicker of doubt crept in. “Ah. Sorry for the drama,” he said.

Atalanta snorted.

“No, you’re right,” Sarrai said. “Symbols are important.”

Aemil nodded once. “Ranger, report.”

Ferin gave one last shiver, then she sat up straight. “The source of the teguloids is a single henchbeast on the Moon. He’s receiving pressure to produce more per day and claimed he’s at his limit. He may be unwilling; Zedd referred to him as a slave and threatened to start executing his people if he didn’t produce more.”

Sarrai’s hair started smoking.

“Species unknown. Zedd also referenced a time limit. A week was ‘almost a quarter what Rita has left before she fails her atonement and all this becomes pointless.’ A second henchbeast on the satellite is likely the one responsible for the abundant potion supplies of her forces. Zedd argued about whether Rita should be called Empress or not with Sc-“

Ferin’s eyes flared wide. Zordon gripped the arms of his chair, guessing what was coming, but rattled as he was he didn’t raise his mental guard in time.

“Sc-c-c-co-“ Ferin’s physical voice gave out, but her mental voice was far louder to Zordon: [-corpina tore me, tore into me, knives and claws and blood and pink, everything pink, broken little me, all the pieces jumbled up, torn up, is my blood still-]

There were voices shouting. Zordon wasn’t sure if one of them was his. Ferin’s thoughts abruptly receded enough for him to focus on anything else. He threw his guard up as high as it went and fought to hold down his lunch.

Aemil was speaking, not shouting, apparently. “When she’s close, yes. But until then you are under orders to rest. Please.”

Zordon looked up in time to see Ferin pushing her chair back from the table. The Yellow Ranger left the room.

“Sir?” Atalanta’s voice came with a tremble. Everyone was staring at him, he realized. Sarrai looked like it was all she could do not to rush to him. How did they know?

“I’m all right,” he said, wondering if it was true. His abdomen gave a phantom throb of pain.

“Are you-“ Sarrai started.

“Memories. I’m fine.”

“You were screaming, sir,” Atalanta said quietly.

Oh. “I was?”

“She was projecting. I heard a little of it myself,” Atalanta said, more to Aemil and Sarrai than Zordon, it seemed. “About being tortured by Scorpina.”

Aemil and Sarrai both looked horrified. “Oh Stars. Zordon-“ Aemil started to speak, and Zordon met his eyes pleadingly. Aemil’s lips drew together in a thin, unhappy line, but he changed his words to, “-can you heal her?”

Zordon considered. “Probably.” He opened to his instincts about this unfamiliar kind of magic. He remembered when he’d tried to heal Rae’ – the way Rae’s pain echoed in Zordon’s body just before he died. The knowledge came to him that mental healing was the same. He’d experience all the mental trauma she held in the process of mending it.

A shiver ran all the way from his head to his toes. Exposing himself to her memories of torture right now would be devastating. “No. I shouldn’t try. Not… not yet at least.”

Aemil nodded. “All right. Hopefully some rest will help her. Anyone know what this ‘atonement’ is or what an Empress title might mean?”

“It could be any manner of local title,” Sarrai said. “The only Empress title recognized intergalactically in this cluster isn’t possible: the Alliance of Evil has an Empress, and it’s not Rita. Empress Quter’nac rules M-31. She’s a real piece of work. Even we don’t really go there anymore.”

“Can we confirm she’s still around?” Aemil said.

“Not immediately. We can work on it though,” Sarrai said.

“Okay, so atonement?” Aemil looked around the table. No one spoke up.

Zordon closed his eyes to steel himself. This one would be hard. At least the only other telepath was out of the room. “From what I heard of Scorpina’s thoughts,” he lied outright, “I think it’s something to do with me.”

The other three straightened.

“I…” Stymied on how to explain enough without giving anything away, he sighed. This information was more important than perfect stealth. “When someone born to evil defects to the Light and returns, they have to atone before they’re welcomed in. They’re set a challenge related to what they did in the Light. I think… I think that Rita’s been trying to kill me this whole time as part of her atonement. Maybe that’s why she killed the other first Rangers of Earth, too.”

A stunned silence followed.

“Well, that’s evil for you,” Sarrai said with disgust. “Always thinking of a new terrible gross evil thing to do.”

Atalanta snorted again, but her tone was serious as she said, “That is a stronger theory than any we’ve had so far. It would suit her early approach to the War, before it expanded into something larger, and likely the present attack on Earth. Trying to bait you out away from your allies where she can kill you. This would imply that she has more forces on the way – perhaps even that she may come herself.”

Zordon’s heart plummeted. It was all he could do to keep the horror off his face. Why couldn’t Atalanta have been a poor tactitian for once? He’d let Scorpina block Ferin’s memory to try to keep this information out of his Team’s hands until it was too late to-

“Okay, so we’re leaving then!” Aemil said, exactly as he and Scorpina had known he would.

“No!” Zordon cried.

“If she’s coming here herself literally just to kill you-“ Aemil argued.

“And millions of Terrans if she can! I stayed to protect the Earth before, I’m not abandoning them now!” Zordon yelled.

“She’s turning your Terrans into monsters to try to get to you!”

“And she’ll murder them outright at best if she can’t!”

“So give me a better plan!”

“I already have one!”

“You… oh. You do? Tell me!”

“A ritual to make it impossible to corrupt Terrans into monsters. Other humans, too, if I can pull it off.”

“But… that… You can do that?” Aemil spluttered.

“Yes! Probably.”

“Probably or yes?!”

“Yes!”

“Okay! Do that then!”

“Okay!” Zordon pushed back from the table and stood. “Dismissed?” he demanded.

“Yes!” Aemil snapped.

“Good!” Zordon turned and stalked from the room.

Aemil’s scowl held for all of two seconds before his eyes flew wide and his mouth dropped open into a small, helpless moan. “What was that? What did I do?” he worried at Atalanta and Sarrai.

“It’s called an argument,” Sarrai said, hoping to encourage him with humor.

Aemil being Aemil, humor didn’t help. “But he… but I… no, no arguments! Arguments bad!” Aemil said, growing more alarmed. The two millennia-old women looked at each other for advice on how to respond without bruising the nervous young man.

The door opened again. Zordon peeked his head in. “I’ll need Sarrai with me.”

“Fine!” Aemil said. The door closed again before anyone had quite processed what the request meant.

Sarrai’s face broke open into a smile of utter joy. “Nope!” she grinned. “Sometimes, arguments good!”

“Huh,” Aemil blinked as Sarrai raced out the door.

Chapter 57: Fire and Ice

Chapter Text

The Pink Ranger moved so fast that Zordon was only just settling onto the floor of his magical workspace when she arrived. There was a space across from him, on the other side of a large metal bowl, that she assumed was hers. She slid into it, folding her legs neatly under her before she’d come to a full stop, and beamed at him.

He didn’t smile back. Her smile melted a little around the edges with worry. Had he not forgiven her, then? Was he still scared of her?

Zordon shook his head. “It’s not you,” he answered her thoughts quietly. “I don’t know if I can do this in time.”

She blinked. “In time for the prisoners?” But as soon as she’d said it, she knew that wasn’t why. “No… no, something bigger.”

“I’m not going to tell you,” he said plainly. “I need your attention here completely.”

Sarrai blinked, then her expression went flat. “Zordon,” she said, “I’m two thousand, three hundred and twenty years old. Maybe I can keep my attention where I want it to be?”

Zordon hesitated. That was a rather good argument. As soon as he’d admitted that, he was bursting with the need to tell her everything. “Promise?”

“I can handle it and I won’t tell. Promise.”

His belly twisted. He hoped desperately that this was the right call. “We have two hours left,” he whispered. “Then everything changes.”

His throat locked up, but Sarrai didn’t need him to finish. She ran the calculation for herself. Her scarlet eyes flared wide. “Rita. Atalanta’s right - and you already knew?”

“Couldn’t let him make us run,” Zordon admitted at a whisper.

Responses swirled around her surface thoughts, some far kinder than others. He pulled away from them before he could more than half-hear them and waited for her to choose one. All she said aloud was, “Okay. What’s the working?”

His belly softened again with relief. “Get out the rest of the Terrans. Stop anyone from doing this ever again.”

“Get them out, sure. Making Terrans immune to transmutation?” Sarrai remembered. He nodded. She frowned, “Um. I’ll help however I can, but that’s pretty far outside my expertise.”

“I’m bottoming out.”

Sarrai looked at the situation in a new light. Zordon had worked multiple huge, draining spells without a night’s sleep in what had to have been more than a day by now. Any mage had limits. He’d run through all his energy, or nearly. She hadn’t. There’d been little call for “kaboom” lately, and in any case, fire mages were famous for their high reserves of spellcasting energy.

She swallowed. Any mage could pull energy from another living being to power their own magic when their energy was depleted. It was illegal in most Light cultures and wildly dangerous. Zordon was Talented but so inexperienced. To add to that, he was exhausted, desperate, and emotionally unstable. She had no idea how much energy a mageblood could hold and whether even her fire-mage reserves would come close to refilling him, and whether he’d have the skill to stop if they didn’t.

Not that it mattered. An evil queen more than her match was coming to kill him. He needed her help to protect millions of innocents. And anyway: “I trust you,” she whispered.

He shut his eyes and shivered, relief and guilt warring across his face. “I’ll be careful,” he promised.

Sarrai hoped those weren’t the last words she’d hear. “I love you,” she said softly, in case they were.

Zordon’s eyes flew wide and scared.

Sarrai kicked herself. “Not like that. I was just… Oh kirj,” she moaned. “I won’t, ever again, not unless you ask me. That’s not why I love you.”

Zordon tried to stuff down the swirl of feelings so he could drain his best friend’s life-force to fuel the working Scorpina and he had designed. Before he’d half started shoving them away, he hesitated. Kubaba’s words floated back to him. Was this the time that ignoring his feelings turned him a monster? Did he need to talk things out with Sarrai despite the rush?

“Sorry,” Sarrai said into the unexpected silence. “Eyes on the prize?”

Zordon met her gaze again. The smallest smile flicked onto his lips. “Eyes on the prize,” he repeated Rae’s saying. He reached out for her hand. She took it. “Thank you,” he said.

The pull was a subtle feeling for Sarrai at first. It was little more than a background sensation, a gentle tugging on a corner of her soul. She was still aware enough to feel when Zordon’s first spell came to fruition - the spell to teleport out the remaining Terran prisoners, she guessed. He’d been economical with her Power - she hardly felt any different.

The drain intensified quickly after that. A pleasant, pervasive dizziness swirled into her. It reminded her faintly of the early stage of a favorite hallucinogen from Andeiron. She knew she wasn’t in trouble yet - he was still pulling from her reserves - but she wouldn’t be able to resist if she let this get any further. Her father would be furious with them both if he could see…

*I trust you,* she thought very deliberately, knowing he’d hear, and did nothing to stop him.

Dizziness turned into a much less pleasant nausea. The room spun sickly like an animal trying to throw her off its back. She did all she could to ride the waves, but they kept getting worse. At last, she couldn’t stay with it.

A tug on his arm brought Zordon’s awareness back to the room: Sarrai had passed out. He felt a surge of fear. He wasn’t halfway done with the working! He had the nucleus of the spell: crafting a shift in the fabric of the Morphin Grid that couldn’t be dismissed or unwoven by any mage that would make someone or something immune to transformation. It only existed, though: he hadn’t linked it to anyone, let alone the whole Terran species or, as he really hoped, even more humans. If he left it off here, the whole spell would be a pointless mess.

He kept going. Pulling just a trickle here and there from Sarrai, being as conservative with the energy as he could, he prepared the latticework of magic that would extend the effect to a wide class of beings. He found the right resonance to indicate the spell would target Terrans and added that in. The next step was something he wasn’t sure any temporal mage could do: he would protect not just the humans alive now but extend the effect through the weave of time itself. All future Terrans would be protected from this terrible warping magic too.

As he was working, his physical arm shifted slightly and brushed against Sarrai. Her hand was cold.

Sarrai. Cold.

Oh Stars!

Zordon tied up the loose edges of the work he’d done so far as fast as he could, making sure it would keep existing if he paused there. It took only a few seconds but felt more like hours. The moment he was sure the whole web of the spell wouldn’t collapse, he cut it loose into the Morphin Grid and shifted his focus back to his local reality.

The world slammed back into focus. He was in his own spell room on his own ship, where his best friend was sprawled on the ground in front of him. Her always-too-hot lips were rimmed with blue.

*Deep breath. Don’t panic. Feel for a pulse,* he counseled himself. He stretched one hand out, planning to use magic to check her. A wave of dizziness crashed over him instead. He had no energy left. His fingers felt slow and clumsy by contrast, but they found her throat.

He couldn’t feel a pulse.

*Happy to fuel your magic myself if you’re so tired,* Scorpina’s voice echoed in his memory. *No risk to your dear sweet friend that way…* He’d said no, because he remembered the rush of pleasure and power evil gave him. He didn’t trust himself to hold that much Dark energy without it seducing him.

Had Sarrai just died so he could avoid temptation?

The faintest throb beneath his fingers. Her hand fluttered against his leg. *Fire,* she thought weakly.

Zordon summoned a fireball into his hand faster than he ever had before. Small as it was, it guttered out before he could bring it to touch Sarrai.

Panic hit him. She would die in seconds if he couldn’t do this. “No!” he cried aloud. “Please!”

He reached deep inside, searching for the last few grains of energy that had to be there somewhere. They weren’t.

Sarrai was about to die, and because he’d screwed up, his magic couldn’t save her.

Just like Rae’.

*f*ck that!* he growled.

In final desperation, he reached deeper inside, past the bounds of himself. He hadn’t pulled directly from the Power in over a year, not since the Battle of Sirius. There had been certain… complications, and he’d promised not to pull on the Power that way again at all. But he wasn’t going to sit there while Sarrai died. Maybe he could tap into that connection just a little.

As it turned out, the Power didn’t do things by halves.

Strength flooded him, wiping away every trace of exhaustion, fear, and prudence. He felt as powerful as he had under the Shard.

It felt very, very good.

He summoned a fireball and shaped it into a blazing blanket. Carefully, he had it float down over Sarrai, covering her and not touching the moderately flammable floor. The Pink Ranger gave a shuddering sigh. Her rich tanned skin lost its unhealthy cast and flushed pink instead as the blanket vanished into her. When she opened her eyes, they held flames instead of irises.

“You did it,” she breathed, sounding exhausted and exhilarated.

He shook his head. “Not yet. There’s more to do. But you were…” He couldn’t say it.

She sat with that for a moment, then nodded. “You got a lot further than you could have. And I feel well enough. We’ll sort the rest out later.”

Again, he shook his head. “No, if you’re okay, I think I can keep going on my own.”

His best friend gave him an alarmed look. “That’s not possible,” she said warily. “I mean, I’m a puddle and I wasn’t even the primary caster.”

“I’m okay now, for a bit. I-“

“Zordon, whatever you did, it can’t be-“

“-have to do this, it could be the most important-“

Their words spilled over one another, neither listening. Both, though, were interrupted by the chime of an intraship communication.

They stared at one another. There was only one reason their Teammates were supposed to interrupt them. “How long has it been?” Sarrai asked, making a not very successful attempt to rise.

“I don’t know,” Zordon said, rising instead and rushing to the comm panel set into his workroom’s wall. He pushed the activation button.

[She’s here,] came Aemil’s grim voice.

Chapter 58: Diplomacy

Chapter Text

Aemil and Atalanta weren’t magic-savvy enough to be concerned when Zordon teleported to the Bridge in a rush of midnight-blue flame. “Update,” he said.

“No aggressive actions so far. Her ship is broadcasting a countdown - an Earth hour from her arrival - but no context,” Aemil recited.

Zordon considered. He had a guess what that meant. “Ferin?” he asked. Had to know their resources.

“Haven’t called her yet. Ship’s sensors show she’s been asleep for the last 4 hours, though,” Aemil said. “Sarrai?”

“She’ll be okay, but she’s out for now,” Zordon said. He weighed options, then said, “All right. Wake up Ferin and tell her battle may be starting imminently. Then let’s open a channel to Rita.”

“You want to talk?” Atalanta blinked.

“Um,” Aemil said hesitantly, “I’m still in charge.”

Zordon slid his gaze over to the Red Ranger. It took a moment for Aemil’s words to compute, and in that moment his leader’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “What’s wrong?” Aemil asked.

Zordon shut his eyes. *Deep breath,* he reminded himself. *Power breeds recklessness.* Trying not to resent the waste of time, he explained, “I want to talk. We should be able to learn something valuable from it about her strategy or her mental state, hopefully both. It might start the battle early, but waiting for her to pick the time won’t get us anywhere.”

“Will Sarrai be back on her feet in an hour?” Aemil countered.

“Probably,” Zordon said reluctantly. He was bursting to take action and starting to lose track of why that was a bad idea. His thoughts flicked back to the Battle of Sirius. He could find a vulnerability in her shields right now, couldn’t he? Blast her out of the sky like he almost did way back at the beginning…

“Zordon,” Aemil called his attention back, “what did you do?”

Maybe the only difference between pulling the Power and being under the Shard’s influence was that he got no pleasure from feeling his Teammates’ worry. He was scaring them. That wasn’t okay. “I pulled the Power,” he said, hoping it would be explanation enough to move on with their plans.

“But you said you weren’t going to do that anymore!” Aemil protested immediately. Zordon bristled.

“Translation?” Atalanta cut in to the budding argument.

“No! There isn’t time!” Zordon cried. “I linked myself to the Morphin Grid directly, I had to, Sarrai was dying, we’re fine now, and I’m not giving Rita an hour to work out how to destroy my planet!”

The two young men locked eyes for an intense moment. “Atalanta, would you open a channel?” Aemil said at last.

“Yes sir,” the Black Ranger said.

“Thank you,” Zordon said with relief.

“Don’t say that yet,” Aemil snapped. He frowned worriedly.

“She’s responding,” Atalanta said with a note of surprise.

“On screen,” Aemil said, sitting taller in his command chair. Atalanta shifted back to her seat at weapons. Zordon didn’t bother trying to sit, but he did cast illusions of Sarrai and Ferin to fill their stations. Rita really didn’t need to know their status.

The face that appeared on their viewscreen looked less familiar than they’d expected. Somehow her hair had gone from shining cornsilk to a tangle of white and gray wires, and a few wrinkles shadowed her beautiful face. That face split into a wide grin when she saw them.

[Got your attention. Hello. Picked out your honor-rites singers yet?] she sneered.

“I am Zordon Sorchae Naatami, Protector Solus Terrae. Take your forces and leave this world in peace,” Zordon declared.

[Okay.] That sneering grin deepened. [That’s what the timer’s for, anyway.]

“For what, exactly?” Aemil asked.

[I’ll leave the Earth in peace. Not one more hair on a single ape-head harmed, if my demands are met before the timer runs out. After that,] she smiled nastily, [I’ll have to get serious. There won’t be much of a planet left for the survivors. And I’ll make sure it hurts you - all of you - as much as it possibly can.]

“We will defend this planet. We have no intention of allowing any such actions,” Zordon said.

Rita sneered angrily. [My forces will crush yours easily. It won’t even be a contest. If you care about any of them, you’ll surrender yourself to me now.]

“We will not be intimidated. The Power will protect us,” Zordon said.

Rita’s sneer turned into a scowl. [You idiot. I’m not some two-bit villain who’s going to run away from your fancy uniform! The Power will not protect you from me!]

“You underestimate the Power,” Zordon said simply.

Rita’s face turned blotchy red. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak, then, “Stop. Quoting. At. Me!” burst out one furious word at a time.

Zordon sounded angry too, at last, as he replied, “Fine. I’ll defend the Earth from you. It won’t even be hard. See you in battle.”

He made a cutting motion with his hand, and Atalanta closed the channel on Rita’s livid face. “Sir?” she asked at once, eyes rimmed with confused fear.

Zordon took a quick breath to steady himself. It didn’t quite work, so he tried another one. Aemil answered instead: “He was quoting the Voyaging Rangers’ phrasebook at her. It’s a bunch of lines we all memorize to use when talking to evil threats. Nobody actually uses them in the field past their first mission, but…” He shrugged. “I don’t know why that pissed her off that much.”

“It shouldn’t have. I thought it would annoy her, but…” Zordon flicked an unfriendly smile. “Running out of time… I wonder. Any sign yet of retalliation?” he asked, turning toward sensors.

The Sarrai illusion looked up at him and blinked, an expression of mild confusion on her face. Zordon shivered; only for a second, but he’d forgotten she wasn’t real. He raised one hand in a theoretically magical gesture and continued to turn slowly, purely to help cover his mistake to his Teammates. He extended his senses outward. His connection to the Morphin Grid immediately flooded him with information on its recent, present, and immediate future flow throughout the solar system. It was immense and fascinating, and for awhile he explored the options.

“Zordon?” Someone was calling his name. Right – he was on a ship, in a body. He was looking for something specific. What was it?

Ah. Two dead zones with living hearts were coming toward them. One had a sickly, brilliant fire at its heart, and the other’s heart was a scarred, blasted traitor. Both hearts had the energetic steadiness of temporals who had partly disconnected themselves from the local timestream. Fascinating. They weren’t naturally beyond time, but they had pulled their physical bodies apart from it in a way that greatly reduced their aging. If he stayed here, he could probably learn how exactly they’d done it…

A warm living something touched his body. It was a hand on his arm. “Zordon, please,” a voice said. Its color flowed Red, but the flow shook with fear.

Action. Right. “Titanus and Serpentera have just launched toward us, with their pilots. They’ll be here in 2 minutes.”

“Stars!” Aemil gasped.

“Ferin, report to the Bridge!” Atalanta’s voice barked.

“It’s Morphin Time!” Aemil called out, and the Power swept through them all.

Their Zords were spoiling for the fight. Tyrannosaurus let out one of its trademark bellows of challenge while Red was still settling into his seat, apparently not minding in the least that the bellow would never be heard. Saber Tooth Tiger shook itself all over as if chasing off flies but then set back for a pounce, glowing eyes narrowed. Mastodon let out an icy blast from its trunk in enthusiasm. Only Triceratops seemed calm – and that was because it was far too deep in conversation with Zordon to posture.

[Some day,] Red chuckled through the comms, [I gotta get you another battle in an atmosphere so anyone can hear you. Atalanta, take the lead.]

“Defense protocol alpha,” Black ordered with steady authority. She’d expected this; in high-stakes battles, Aemil knew he couldn’t make smart tactical decisions as fast as she could and generally passed leadership to her. “No need to get fancy yet.”

The four droids arranged in a loose square, aiming to surround Serpentera and Titanus if they kept on their present trajectories.

“Three. Two,” Black counted calmly, “One.”

In the split second that Serpentera and Titanus were in weapons range but not physical range, Black and Mastodon started off the fight. A blast shot from Mastodon like the first one but more focused. The two far larger droids were already adjusting their courses, but it still caught a section of Serpentera. Ice sprang into being along Serpentera’s sinuous form, and a small section of its body near the tail stopped flexing quite so eagerly.

In return, Serpentera’s eye beams focused on Mastodon. They landed a direct hit that made sparks fly up along Mastodon’s flank and set it flying backward slowly, forcing Black to fire the foot rockets to stabilize their relative position again.

In the time that took, the battle had become a frenzy. Saber Tooth Tiger had engaged Titanus directly, and though it didn’t have Pterodactyl’s dexterity, Saber Tooth Tiger did outstrip all the other Zords for speed. It would probably be disabled if it took one good hit from Titanus, but the largest Zord had to hit it first. Meanwhile, Tyrannosaurus had flowed in close to Serpentera, and both had shifted to humanoid forms. They were raining blows down on each other. Triceratops was focusing on Serpentera as well, but it stopped mid-headbutt as:

[Aaugh!] Blue’s agonized voice came across the comm channel.

[Cover him!] Black ordered, charging forward to do so. Titanus was turning, angling main cannons at a suddenly motionless Triceratops, ignoring Saber Tooth Tiger clawing at its base. Mastodon threw an icy blast at Titanus’s cannons, but even a direct hit only could disable one cannon at best. Its aim was off, and the cannon was only hindered, sparking instead of firing directly for its first shot. Serpentera took it rather personally.

All three remaining cannons fired directly at Mastodon.

Sparks sprang up from every instrument panel, blinding Black despite her helmet’s vision protection. She felt artificial gravity struggle to cope as the Zord went spinning head over hooves, then an impact.

[Oh, I don’t appreciate that, Attie,] Dregon’s voice flowed into her mind like silk.

Black’s heart started racing. Now she knew why Zordon had screamed.

[You really didn’t want to leap ahead of Zordon in this line. But so be it,] he said, a smile in his voice. [You’re a lot easier to destroy.]

A buzzing sound filled Black’s mind, like a thousand flies all vying for her attention. She knew they were utterly irrelevant and could think of nothing else – couldn’t figure out how to move or speak while they were buzzing so close to her every flicker of awareness.

Then the pain started. It was almost inconsequential at first, a background sensation easily tolerated. Seconds later, it was enough to set the hardened warrior to grinding her teeth, then to a yell of her own. Dimly, Black knew that there wasn’t much more telepathic damage her mind could take without buckling – her brain wasn’t set up to handle regular telepathy, let alone this.

The pain abruptly stopped. Black gave herself a fraction of a second to reel before she tried to focus again. Her thoughts agreed to work in a coherent order. A glance at her viewscreen showed Triceratops had head-butted Titanus, and it was so much smaller that it didn’t seem likely that had been any kind of problem for the largest Zord – but Titanus showed damage along its side where Triceratops had hit.

[Atalanta?] Red asked frantically.

“Here,” Black replied. She was surprised on reflection that she was able to speak.

[Cover me,] Blue’s voice came across the comm grimly. [I’m going to try diplomacy.]

[What?!] Red exploded. [You can’t possibly try to reason with-] The end of his sentence was cut off by an explosion on his end. After a cry of pain, he said, [Serpentera’s breaking for the planet!]

“Zordon, abort. I don’t have the resources to cover you,” Black said calmly but firmly.

[I think I can get Titanus back.]

Two rapid heartbeats passed. “Aemil, do what you can to distract Serpentera. Ferin and myself will cover Zordon. Please, sir, make this fast.”

[Understood,] all three replied, Aemil reluctantly, Zordon distractedly, and Ferin shakily. Black’s mouth beneath her helmet drew into a grim line. They were not in a good-

Without warning, her thoughts broke again into static. [Shape for this battle at all, I quite agree. And this is not a good time to have a small-brained Kaolan in charge of battle plans,] Dregon’s voice cooed.

Black quickly moved her thoughts away from those plans. It was hard to direct her thoughts at all in this state, but she had millennia of discipline to call upon. She set herself to pondering her military rank with what control she had left and hoped something would shift in the battle before Dregon could destroy her mind.