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This story contains violence, sex and some mild horror. Be warned.

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Like a shadow the dark warrior woman passed through the nightly forest, regarding every tree with suspicion. Her body was tall and muscular, and gifted with these agile kinds of movements one would only expect from a predatory beast. Which came pretty close to what she was. Her shining eyes were an icy blue that reminded her friends, of which she had only few, of a clear morning sky, and her enemies, of which she had more than enough, of cold steel. A trained neutral observer might have understood that this woman with the long raven black hair could be both, beautiful and deadly. It depended entirely on what her eyes would see in you. Tight brownish leather armour hugged her strong figure, presenting a compromise between protection and manoeuvrability, leaving her legs and arms free. It suited her. Her name was Xena and most people spoke of her with respect, fear or terror. She rightfully deserved all of these emotions. She had committed crimes that were worth of all the hatred in the world. Her dark past was her direst enemy.

Only some seven steps behind her a woman of far less threatening appearance tried to find her way in the woods. In contrast to her companion she was almost radiating with light and the sincere open-mindedness of youth. Her reddish blonde hair seemed to have captured the rays of a sunny day in order to make the dark night appear less menacing. Her eyes had the colour of young grass, and her face was open and inviting, maybe even a little naive on the first glance, yet with a profound wisdom that was not often seen these days. Her garments were light and simple, definitely not the suit of a warrior but rather of a traveller, a scribe... or a bard. A forest green top and a brown leather skirt revealed the sight of a stomach that could be described as more than slightly distracting. The staff in her hand that she carried with visible skill made it quite clear that this distraction was not meant as an invitation or sign of weakness. Gabrielle could hurt people when necessary although she preferred vocal fights to physical ones.

She looked up at the trees. These monstrous plants covered the sky like storm clouds and blocked the waning light of the moon. Gabrielle had to think of grim giants, looking down on them with undisguised loathing. But that was probably just her poetically overactive fantasy. Hopefully.

With curiosity Gabrielle watched every single move of the dark warrior who drew her sword. The noise of sliding metal penetrated the air but was too low to produce a memorable echo. The bard stood still. Her hair tickled her nose and she was afraid to breathe lest she might have to sneeze.

Xena held her breath.

Gabrielle watched how her eyes darted from one direction to the other, listening intensely to every sound that emanated from within the woods. It was obvious that her friend had heard something; something that did not belong into the natural way of this scenery. Something that was odd. Only for a few seconds her mind escaped the present and drifted into past...

The last few days had been hell.

Apparently something had risen from a temple graveyard and attacked the village nearby, leaving a trail of blood and devastation. Xena and Gabrielle had no idea what they were up against but they understood that this thing had to be stopped soon, whatever it was. The moon had grinned like a polished skull on that night, and a star had fallen from the black sky. Xena did not believe in omens but she recognised trouble when it looked down on her. They set out for the temple of Hades, god of the dead, and only found empty halls. A ghastly emptiness of unnatural origins surrounded and penetrated the building. Something was missing. The graves were open and devoid of bodies. The urns were smashed; the ash of the dead was missing. Strange symbols in red and pasty white covered the floor and the walls, foreign symbols, of direly exotic attraction. They made Gabrielle's skin crawl. Someone had made a terrible mistake and others were now paying off this debt. The reports of five villagers confirmed their suspicion. They were fighting against an army of undead. Gabrielle didn't know what was worse: the fact that they'd soon have to face a band of walking corpses or the thought that these corpses might have once been the friends or beloved ones of others. She was not anxious for their first meeting but she was eager to finish the whole business.

Right now she only wished she could at least see them. It was relatively certain that she would not enjoy the sight but it was the better choice, considering the possibility that she would only feel cold hands on her throat when it was already too late.

Without a warning everything suddenly stopped. The forest sounds, the movements even the air came to a halt. In such situations it was the best to do what Xena did.

For the moment Xena stood completely still.

Then she reached out and grabbed someone who hid right beside the tree to her left. With a powerful movement of her arm she drew the person close to her sword. The man appeared to be slightly disorientated.

"Who are you? Tell me your name!" Xena commanded. Her sword was pointing at the place between the man's eyes.

He blinked. Then with his deep brown eyes he looked into hers and held her gaze. It did not make the impression of a challenge but merely of a display of pure wonder and shock. His long dark hair lay gently on his broad shoulders, giving him a romantic yet powerful look. But the warrior princess was not easy to impress. So she waited impatiently for an answer, and when none came her eyes began to grow narrow and her blade came closer to the young man's head.

Finally his gaze dropped in thought, staring at a place beyond his opponent, probably beyond this world. It made him look very human. Gabrielle was not very sure about this, but she believed that undead looked... different.

"I... I don't know," he said wearily. His voice was deep yet soft. It did not sound menacing. "Where am I?"

The warrior princess eyed him critically.

"No one can play me for a fool," she said. "Those who tried ended up as a mess. You don't want to be a mess, do you?"

The nameless young man was slightly taken aback by this undisguised exhibition of hostility. He swallowed. Sweat began to form on his brow. He was definitely frightened. Gabrielle decided quickly to step between them.

"Xena, wait! Look, I don't think he's one of them. He doesn't even look dangerous; he looks scared. Why not let him speak first? Please?"

Xena thought about this.

"All right," she said finally, but not without some anger in her voice. "We will give you an opportunity to tell your story, but only one. And it should better satisfy my curiosity."

The man nodded thoughtfully.

Then the battle began.

They came from nowhere. Or from everywhere, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that they entered the scene from one moment to the other, like phantoms. Only that the shapes were very distinct and very corporeal. It did not elude Gabrielle's perception that the differences between living and undead were even less subtle than she had expected. No matter how this ended, she would never forget the sight of them.

With pale skin and red eyes, the group of undead circled their three victims. Slowly, there was no reason to hurry. In the end the humans would break. The living did not stand a chance for it was impossible to kill someone who had gone beyond death already, and never really returned. Parts of their flesh were rotten and stank of death. And their eyes were hungry for life. Not their life but someone else's. And they would devour it eventually. All life there was.

With a professional glance Xena tried to evaluate the strength of their enemies and found the attempt quite frustrating. She had no real experience with these creatures. Although they moved slowly, it was probably due to caution and not due to lack of dexterity. Necromancy was a tricky subject and a very uncontrollable form of sorcery. But considering how many villages these things had devastated and how much life they had consumed already, it was only too obvious that they had to be very powerful.

She looked for her friend. Gabrielle had gone into defence position and was back to back with Xena. They were two against a dozen. Not a good relation in any way. Maybe...

"Hey, can you use a sword?" Xena shouted at the young man. But he appeared to be too absent-minded, too confused to notice her, whispering to himself. She let go of him, disgusted. Well, it was as she had thought, two against a dozen. She thought about saying something encouraging to Gabrielle but feared that it would only have the opposite effect. Gabrielle would know that the situation was hopeless. Maybe she already knew. The possibility of praying never crossed her mind. Xena preferred to be dead than to owe a boon to the gods, even if they would help.

Then the corpses stopped circling around them and began to close in. At a painfully deliberate pace they came nearer, one step after the other. It was a mind-wrecking, psychotic tactic. Xena knew that they would smile if they were still able to. At a certain distance she simply began to hack at one of them, severing one arm from the body. Apart from producing some odd noises and an awful smell it had no effect whatsoever. The thing was still approaching them. Why should it care for an old arm? It would have two fresh ones to choose from very soon. At the edge of her perception she saw the young man retreating into the woods. She couldn't blame him.

Xena turned around when she heard Gabrielle scream as one of the undead reached for her arm and the bard couldn't get rid of it. As Xena stroke at the pale arm in fury two cold hands closed around her neck. She kicked at him wildly, but it was like hitting a soft wall. She heard the cracking of old bones, but her opponent didn't seem to even notice it. At this moment she was quite sure that they would all soon be dead, and she only hoped that Gabrielle would not feel too much pain.

A sizzling sound filled the air, followed by a choir of high, chilling screams. The grip around her neck was loosened, and Xena could see the undead backing away. Smoke was erupting from their skins and their eyes were wide open as if in terror. Xena didn't understand the situation until she saw the young nameless man standing beside her. His wrist was bleeding heavily and every few seconds he would hurl the blood in a circle around himself. And every drop of blood that hit cold flesh produced a whirl of smoke and a series of screams. She didn't know what was going on but it was very effective.

When there was a distance of two yards between them and the corpses the nameless one turned his wrist down, feeding the ground with his life. Xena could hear him murmur something inaudible as he spread his blood all over the place. She could swear the earth began to move.

And in a way it did. All around them the ground broke open and from the holes swarms of half rotten animal bodies began to emerge. There were rats and mice and squirrels and hedgehogs coming out of the earth. Hundreds of them began to fill the place where the three stood.

All of a sudden there was silence.

The nameless one whispered one short word.

And the army of beasts charged at the twelve manly corpses, overwhelming and dissecting them in seconds. The noises that were produced by this nauseating act sent shivers down Xena's spine. When nothing but splinters was left of them the swarm returned into the earth and the holes closed, leaving no indication of their existence.

Xena turned to the young man who had just saved their lives. She didn't know what to say.

"You know one or two things about undead, don't you?" was all she could manage at the moment.

"It's all in the blood," the man said thoughtfully. "By the way, my name is Dorian. Oh sorry," he withdrew his bleeding right hand and offered her his left one. She took it. Gabrielle gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I think I like you," she said seriously. "Although that was a somewhat exhausting way of introducing yourself." She smiled. "So, you remember your name then?"

"Yes," he said. "But I still don't know how I got here."

"But you know where you are?" asked Gabrielle.

"Yes..."

Xena grabbed their shoulders firmly.

"I think we should leave this forest as quickly as possible. We don't know if they will return, and this place can easily become another trap. They will be more careful next time, and probably they will bring friends. Come, we can talk on the way."

So they headed east into the rising sun, which was still no more than a faint streak of blue on the horizon. The birds started chirping around them but the trees whispered angrily above them. Yet no one dared to cross their path as the three companions left the damned forest.

Dorian opened his eyes and reached for the button of his alarm clock. When he couldn't find it he got up and grabbed the whole thing, fumbling at its exterior until it stopped beeping. Then he gathered his long hair with one hand and put on his glasses with the other. The window spoke of dawn. Another day. Another god damned day at the university. Another bloody... come to think of it, anything else but bloody... day at the Institute of Human Anatomy.

He shook his head in defiance. The temptation to crawl back into his warm bed was strong. But he resisted successfully. He didn't do this for the first time. Although he sometimes asked himself why he still tried.

Outside the air drifted in misty formations above the wet asphalt. A day like most days; the sky shone in a pale and damp grey feeding on the city and its inhabitants.

Wearily he put on his black jeans and the black T-shirt. The walls of his small flat eyed him woefully. He threw a glance at the TV set and the pile of Xena tapes beside it. Long night. He smiled inwardly. No, he really shouldn't be at all surprised by his dreams. He provoked it really. On his wall Gabrielle continued smiling. Yes, he really provoked it.

As his feet moved down the stairs his arms merged into his leather jacket. The underground would take him to the anatomy in less than ten minutes.

The old brownish building smelled intensively of formaline as Dorian put on his white coat and pushed open the wooden twin doors that led into the great hall. The voices of some hundred medical students hit him in the face. The dissection tables spread before him like mushrooms. Some of the people greeted him and he greeted them back automatically. He headed for table 55 where the others were already waiting. Together they pulled away the scarlet shroud and the wet cloth that covered their personal corpse.

She must have been very old when she had died, probably around eighty or even older. Her skin was yellow and brown, wrinkled from time and formaldehyde that had been pressed into her arteries and with which her flesh was being washed every day. Her eyeballs were both broken and her whole body was shaven. Her head was tilted back and her mouth stood open in a voiceless cry of eternal pain. Well, maybe it was rather a sigh than a cry. She was so incredibly thin. Her bones could be counted through her skin and her muscles were barely visible. Still the students of table 55 had a name for her: Ellie.

"How is our patient?" Dorian asked Richard, one of his colleagues.

"I'm afraid she's dead," Richard answered truthfully.

Dorian shook his head. "Not good, Dr. R., not good. It's such a shame; our first patient and already dead. How can you tell by the way?"

Richard pointed at the right arm. The skin had been carefully peeled away, revealing perfectly prepared vessels and muscles. "No pulse." He pointed at the open ribcage where a grey and deflated lung was visible. "'No breathing."

"Heartbeat?" Dorian asked hopefully.

Richard scratched his forehead with his gloved finger. "I'm afraid the heart is missing."

Dorian looked down at the table, concerned. Then his expression brightened suddenly as he pulled out the heart from below the corpse's right leg.

"Why, here it is," he said happily. "Maybe there is still a chance of saving her, sir. What do you say?"

Richard shook his head. "Not bloody likely, Dr. D., I'm afraid."

Dorian sighed and threw the heart back onto the table. "Yeah, maybe you're right. So, what's up today, ladies and gentlemen? I sincerely hope it's not just flat jokes and being idle. For if this is indeed the case I will go home and climb back into my bed which is already missing me desperately."

To his left Julia smiled at him coyly. "Is it your bed or the one who's in it?"

"The former, my dear, the former," Dorian replied sadly. "Daniel had to leave for work early today. "

The girl chuckled softly. She was Richard's girl friend. But she had humour and therefore she kept joking with Dorian, even if the jokes occasionally got dirty or nasty. That also meant that she had a lot of patience. And she had a very beautiful laugh as well.

As he put on his latex gloves Dorian looked down at the corpse thoughtfully. He bowed slightly and whispered into its ear. "Esir."

"I beg your pardon?"

Jade was standing beside him. The ear he just spoke into was in her area of responsibility. He looked into her brown eyes and saw that she probably hadn't slept for several nights. She always did that. And he always told her that she should do something about it.

"Esir. Rise. It's necromancy," he answered with a grin.

"Oh," she said, unimpressed.

He shrugged. "Could have worked, couldn't it?"

She brushed a hand against his shoulder. "You should really reconsider the state of your psyche," she said with a smile.

"Hah! At least I don't collect body parts in my kitchen."

Jade burst out laughing. Dorian just smiled. With a series of quick glances he scanned the others' expressions. At this moment he wanted to embrace them all at once. He wanted to tell them how much they meant to him, how important they were to this world, his world. He wanted them to know that they were friends. Yet all he said was: "Let's get to work."

In the pale white light of the hall, their façade shone a reflection of their object corpses. It was cold and the air spoke of death. The clinical lack of colours would become maddening after a while. So they all tried to focus on the corpse.

"Found the nervus cutaneus femoris lateralis. Look, isn't it a real beauty?"

"Does that turn you on? Wow, you're right, it's a beauty. Would you excuse me while I fumble at my..."

"Anyone heard of Ripler's wife?"

"She died, didn't she?"

"Yes. But he still keeps her body in a glass box near the bed. Always wet and ready of course."

"That's quite disgusting."

"Think so? Shall I tell you what he did to his two daughters?"

Everyone started laughing. Compensation. They wouldn't have even thought about laughing four months ago, before this course started. Yet now everything appeared in a different colour. To fight the pallid aura of this hall their humour became invariably dark. And it got closer to black with each new day. When they got out they would pretend to have not changed at all. But something had grown cold inside of them. Something had to. It was a sacrifice they had to make. Ironically as Odin once had to sacrifice one eye for wisdom, they had to sacrifice a part of their humanity to become doctors.

Five hours later Dorian and Jade were sitting in the cafe at the next corner from the institute. The coffee on the wooden table in front of them had grown indifferent in temperature and stopped producing steam. It was bitter but none of them cared. They were not interested in the taste but in the tranquillity of the scene. Jade leant back in her chair, releasing sickly blue fumes from her lungs. Her smile was sad but honest. Her blue eyes stared into his red ones.

"You do look terrible," she said.

"Oh, thank you very much."

"No, I mean it. You need some time off. How do you spend your nights by the way?"

"None of your business. Except... you wanna join?"

She laughed. It sounded rough. "Not really."

Dorian scratched his beard. "You don't sound too good."

"Bloody wonder. Ever heard a cancer talk?"

"That's not funny."

She stopped smiling now. "No. It's not."

He nodded slowly, saving a new piece of information.

"How's your family?" he asked at last.

"Bad. My brother lost his job. The cops are at his tail. Bad story. Mama's worse. She will probably have to get back to the hospital before the end of the week. If we have gathered enough money until then that is. And dad... not important."

"You do not have to tell me if you don't want me to know."

Her eyes turned into slits. "You're so unfair sometimes, do you know that?"

"Of course."

She breathed in. "All right. I suspect that... I think that he has an affair. With another woman I mean."

Dorian saw how hard she worked at her mimic. No one else would have noticed. But he knew Jade too well already. He didn't know what to say.

"Jade, how much do you sleep lately? And please don't lie to me."

"I need no sleep. Waste of time. There are things to be done."

She grinned, trying to look superior. It was barely convincing.

"What do you take, Jade?"

"You don't want to know. Besides, I can't keep all the names. Lots of different colours though. Enough to separate them from one another."

Dorian was completely serious now. "I'm deeply worried about you, Jade. This stuff will kill you."

"No, it won't. It won't have a chance. What kills me every day and what will eventually be my death is this life. There's neither sense nor beauty in all this. In truth it's all about corpses. I just wish for some peace. I would so much like to rest my mind, Dorian."

"Maybe you should get yourself a boyfriend."

"Shit no. Have enough problems already. Can't need this too. Look Dorian, I'm not tied to this life. All these conventions about happiness, boyfriends, Christmas... you know what? I don't give a fuck. For me it looks like drugs, dirty sex and burned trees."

Dorian wished he didn't know what she meant. But he did. "Then why not go someplace else? If it truly doesn't matter, then why don't you leave all of it behind?"

Jade shook her head while exhaling smoke. "There is no other place than this. The problems will always be there, no matter how many miles away you are. They don't vanish. They wait for you. They're patient. And my family... I can't leave them. They need my help. I have to stay. No. There is only one way to leave this world, and I'm not ready for this solution, not yet. Ask me again next week."

"But maybe there is another way," Dorian mused. "Maybe there is something we don't know. Maybe there's more than life and death. Something beyond. Something like a personal universe."

Jade looked at him sceptically. "You know something I don't know?"

For a moment Dorian thought about telling her. But then what was there to tell actually?

"No. Nothing. Just a dream."

Jade took another sip of coffee. "Strange. Like two sides of the same story, the dreamer and the realist."

"Fatalist."

"Realist. That's us. Tell me, on what level do we get along so well?"

Dorian lifted his shoulders. "Don't know. Maybe it's because we both smell like corpses, and everyone else keeps a healthy distance from us. That connects."

"Maybe."

In truth they were best friends because they trusted one another. And they had a mutual, if non-verbal, agreement to help each other whenever possible. No subterfuge. Life was hard enough anyway.

Jade looked at her watch. "Gotta leave. Where's that damn waiter?"

"I'll fix that. You can go. Consider yourself invited."

"I hope you're aware that this will be avenged?" she said as she got up.

"I can live with that."

"Don't be so sure. You're going to any lectures tomorrow? Biochemistry at eight?"

"Possible but not very likely. Coffee lecture starts at nine in the cafeteria. A multitude of interesting themes will be mentioned, I'm sure."

"All right. See you there. And thank you."

"Don't mention it."

The cup of cold, bitter coffee with milk was still half full. Dorian had to think about a bad joke. Four Goths in a cafe - waiter asks for their orders - coffee - how would they like it? - Black, black, black, with milk - three heads turn in annoyance - outsider!

His hands reached out for the cup and his mind began to wander.

"Hey, em, Dorian?"

He turned away from the endless horizon and faced them. They were looking like he was feeling. At least Gabrielle was too tired to keep her eyes open. For five hours they had been walking towards the east. Two hours ago they had left the forest behind them. They were more or less safe now.

"We will camp here," said Xena indifferently. Dorian was not at all sure if it was meant as an invitation. Taking his chances he approached the camp slowly. When he sat down and still nothing happened he was positive that they had indeed invited him. In a few minutes and with practised co-ordination the two women arranged the fire and the beds. Dorian felt quite useless.

"Now," Xena said when she sat down at last. "Will you tell us who you are?"

He knew that this moment would come. He was prepared for this. "I am Dorian. I... em... I come from the lands... in the far north. I am a...." he threw a glance at Gabrielle who looked intensely at him, "bard. Kind of."

"You are a kind of bard from the far north and your name is Dorian?" Xena repeated.

She was right, Dorian thought. It didn't sound even barely convincing. So much to being prepared.

Gabrielle laughed. "Sounds like a very minor character in a play."

"Uh," Dorian's nervousness increased. That was not exactly how he wanted the conversation to progress. "I still have some problems remembering things. Because..."

"...You don't know how you came here."

"Exactly."

Xena arose and drew her sword. The short moment of relief Dorian had experienced a second ago was destroyed in an instant. "I don't believe you."

Frustration took hold of him. He had no idea what to say. "I don't either. I mean if I were you I wouldn't believe me either. Ah... I just don't know what to tell you."

"What about your strange demonstration in the forest? How did you know your blood would harm them?" asked Gabrielle.

"I didn't. It was the first time that I... did this."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because...." Because if this were my story I would have made the hero do that. "I don't know. I'm sorry I can't tell you more."

Xena nodded and sheathed her sword. "All right. I have to admit I have no idea why I should trust you. But I will leave you alone for now. Don't be mistaken; I will watch you even when you think I'm sleeping. There is something about you that puzzles me and I will find out what it is. But for now, it is your time to ask questions."

Dorian thought about this. There were a thousand questions racing through his head, questions every other Xenite in his position would have asked right away. This was his unique chance. "So, are you two together?"

"None of your business," Xena answered coldly. "Next question."

"Eh... what are we... you... we up against?"

"You should know that better than we do. Undead. We don't know how many of them."

"And where did they come from?" Dorian asked hesitantly. A grotesque suspicion was beginning to take form in his head.

"They are the bodies of dead villagers, raised from their graves at the temple of Hades on the other side of the forest. Looks like necromancy as far as I can tell. Yet we have no idea who is responsible."

Dorian winced. "How can you tell it was necromancy?"

"There were symbols all over the place. Strange symbols. Gabrielle copied some of them."

Immediately the young bard produced a scroll from her bag and unrolling it, placed it in front of Dorian. He looked at it although it was unnecessary. He knew what he would see.

"It even felt weird to draw them." Gabrielle shivered a little. "Have you seen any of these before?"

Dorian shook his head a bit too early and a bit too vehemently as he realised a second later.

"OK." Slowly Gabrielle removed the Scroll and put it back in her bag. The warrior princess said nothing. She was merely watching.

When Dorian had fallen asleep the two women began to whisper.

"It is complete nonsense, all of it. This guy is no more real than flying elephants, peaceful dragons..."

"Or an evil warlord who turns into a force for good?"

Xena's eyes turned into slits. "Touché."

"I like him, Xena. I don't know why but I trust him. He is on the right side."

"We don't know on which side he is. Evidently he has powers we have never seen before. And he doesn't tell us the truth. Not even the first grain of it. He recognised the symbols and he lied about it. He is a very dangerous man."

"But you trust him too, don't you?" the bard asked.

The warrior shook her head in defiance. "Damn, yes." She looked at the man who was sleeping in their camp. He wouldn't accept a blanket although he was obviously freezing.

"I just don't know what to make of him. He is so... different."

"He seems very lonely," said Gabrielle. "I don't think that he wants to harm us. Or anyone. Not that he could as long as you're around."

"I'm not so sure," Xena whispered. "These powers of his are frightening. Who knows where his limits might be."

"Who knows."

"We definitely run a risk taking him with us."

"Definitely. So, are you with me?"

"Of course I am."

They went to the camp. Dorian was gone.

There is a very profound kind of darkness in every one of us; A darkness that sits on our shoulder like a raven and whispers into our ear. No, it's actually not that easy. We don't recognise it, since it is somewhere within. A part of us, buried somewhere. Buried everywhere in our flesh and in our minds. We will never know where our self ends and the darkness begins, partly because there is no real borderline. How shall we ever know what is right and what is not? We can tell from the results but then it's usually too late. We are not standing above this world but in it. We are unable to see the symbol that this tragic labyrinth forms out of the paths and walls that define our lives. And even if we could see it, what do we truly know about the meaning of symbols? It might mean anything. What I want to say is that there is no truth. Except when we create it. When we make it up. All right, there are really a lot of people who make the rules but that doesn't necessarily make it better, does it? They still make it up. And then they label it truth, official and everything. But does that mean that we have to stick to these rules that are actually not our own? There should be guidelines, I understand; guidelines that tell you how to behave and what to do. But this is just like a language, isn't it? Imagine yourself speaking a different language than anyone else. That's bad. But what if you start teaching it to others and they adapt to your tongue, to your way. It's not that there are Rules; there are just rules. And you may invent new ones. You just have to make sure that the others play after the same ones and you will all get along. Now, what about Xena? And Gabrielle? Why should Gabrielle be the morally superior one? Her way's not always the best, as we witnessed in The Debt. What she did was wrong, as simple as that. And Xena... didn't she have every right to kill this bastard Min Tyen? Or did she? I wish I had the chance to ask her personally.

- Beltane -

Dorian pressed the "submit" button and waited for the thread to appear on the Scroll. Three seconds and there it was: "Xena and the Darkness". In a few minutes his fellow Scrollers would submit their responses to his opinion. Not all opinions were friendly but Dorian didn't care. He knew most of the participants by now. And although he never met them, he didn't even know how they looked like, he respected all of their opinions. It was one of the benefits of the Internet. And he had found this message board coincidentally, searching for anything connected to Xena. It was nice and very pleasing. Every Scroller had his own personality that transcended the superficiality of electronic standard fonts. Some had style. And all of them were brothers (and sisters) in arms. They were all Xenites. In a sense they're fanatics, occupying their minds with fantastic stories and fictional characters. But more importantly they were part of a big family. The Scroll. Therefore they called themselves Scrollers instead of Xenites. It was a kind of elite. Or that was what they liked to think.

A first response blinked below the thread. Dorian looked at the name: Xerena. Yes, he knew her. She was a serious and tough woman full of lost dreams. Somehow her life didn't turn out the way she wanted to, and somehow she found her peace of mind in a TV show called Xena: Warrior Princess. There she could focus the remains of her broken dreams and watch them sparkle when they were discussed on the Scroll. Maybe it is about fleeing reality but who gives a damn if it brings you peace? Or serenity. Yes, that's Xerena.

-Hey Beltane, I'm impressed. I think your train of thoughts is cool but not to brite. There must be a truth or otherwise there would be no reality at all. And there is 1.

Dorian had think for a second before he responded.

-Is there?

-Yeah! Where do you think you are right now?

-How the bloody hell should I know? It's hard to see the outlines of the black box when you're inside. Maybe this reality, call it whatever you like, is not the right one at all. Or at least not the only one...

-What's that supposed to mean?

Thoughtfully Dorian stroked his beard for a moment. Then he wrote down what had been tormenting his mind for a very long time now.

-Maybe we are not real. And maybe Xena is. Or maybe in a sense she is as real as we are. Who says that we can claim to be the only real persons existing?

-You are real.

-Think so? How can you tell? You just see letters that look the same, as the rest of the Scroll, don't you?

Another name surfaced on the thread: Wicked Willy. Considered a jester but very wise in his own way. Not to be underestimated.

-Oo cumON Belly! Yer no goiN depressav aghen, RU?

A smile passed Dorian's lips. Will was always quite direct. And sometimes he was so very right. Not now anyway. This was serious.

-No, Will, I mean it. What if Xena actually does exist? She exists in our minds already. How far is it from there to reality, any reality? You know every important thing in this planet originated in thoughts.

-I reelly like toO believe U, BeltAne, but it IS simple: We R rEal, Xena is NOT! O gohoHOhohoD!

-Maybe you're right but then again, maybe not.

-OoooooohHH!!

With a click and a smile Dorian left the Scroll. Spending too much time in alternate realities can easily loosen your grip on the premier one. But if another reality becomes more real to you than the actual one, isn't it your reality then?

The images of his last dream came back to Dorian's inner eye. Not like an assault but like a quiet reminder. He had been there. But in a way you always were, in your dreams. Yet this was different. It had been real. Oh, he started to hate this word...

He clicked into his writing program and opened his last document. It didn't have a name yet and probably it would never have. It was just an idea he had, triggered by a senseless thread he had read on the Scroll the day before. All in all it was an occult tale about a necromantic ritual that went beyond the skill of the caster. Originally intending to summon one inhuman guard from the Shadowlands, he lost control of the incantation and raised a whole army instead. These powerful undead, following their natural urge to multiply, began to recruit other dead bodies to their ranks. Their numbers began to grow uncontrollably and there were only a very limited number of methods to stop them. Which ways, Dorian hadn't determined at this point. Well, somehow he had now. The most ironic thing about it was that one day later he had decided that it was a minor type of story and not worth pursuing.

He opened a new document and felt his eyes burn of tiredness. He still had to read pathology for tomorrow. In life you have to set priorities. He rubbed his eyes. Pathology just sank in rank drastically. There was no use starting now.

Dorian looked at the clock: 11.30 pm. Time to go to bed. Go to bed alone.

He took a deep breath. Then he began to write.

"And with his sword drawn and his face grief-stricken he charged into battle, followed by his six friends who had sworn to die at his side. They went against the army without a battle cry on their lips for they knew that death awaited them, and they would greet it with neither cheer nor enmity. Proud figures they were, all of them. They fought bravely this night, better than a hundred Spartan soldiers. It is said that some of their enemies would run away in fear when they looked at them because an aura of death enshrouded their bodies. But no matter how many they defeated, in the end they lost the battle and their lives. And although Bracomorh fought without fear he was not grateful for death for he knew that he would never see his love again who was forever chained to the pits of the underworld, unreachable for those who died as warriors. And to this day he roams the Shadowlands in search of her, unable to forget her beauty and the promise he made to her which he could not keep. Ahem. That's it."

"What a wonderful story," Gabrielle said. And for the sparkling in her eyes at this moment many men would have given at least a right arm. "But so sad."

"A tragedy," Xena commented dryly. "Not very original though."

"I'm glad you liked it," said Dorian. "I thought about the ending a lot. But I guess another one would have been inappropriate. He had broken his promise and therefore he had to suffer eternally. It sounds harsh but it is cathartic."

"The way you told it was so very impressive," said Gabrielle. "I could see his face right before me. It was so real." She put a hand on his arm. A pleasant burning experience rushed up his shoulder.

He smiled warmly at her. "Thank you. This means more to me than you could ever imagine. A lot of other men would die of envy."

"I don't think so. I'm no one special." Dorian could hardly believe that he just saw Gabrielle blush slightly.

"Oh yes, you are," he insisted softly, "you're one of the greatest bards of the world. And one of the most beautiful."

"I knew that," Xena remarked with a grin. "But don't flatter her too much or she might even get a little more egocentric."

"More?" Gabrielle asked.

They chuckled. Dorian was lost in thoughts completely for a second. "So real..." he whispered to himself.

"Yes," Gabrielle reflected, "it was so genuine."

"No, I mean... uh... I want to ask you something. Do you think that a story can be so realistic that it becomes... real?"

The bard woman looked at him curiously. "Are you a philosopher as well?"

"Ahem. Well, sort of. No, but I mean it. Do you think a story could be so vivid, so emotional, so perfect that it may actually start to exist?"

"I don't know. Perhaps if storyteller and listener focused all of their desires onto this one thought, on this wish? Well maybe."

"Oh gods," Xena exclaimed, "TWO hopeless dreamers to deal with. Well, as long as you keep your mind partially connected to this plain of existence, I think I can handle it."

Gabrielle exchanged a sour look with her. "Materialism is no excuse for loss of fantasy. Don't you think so, Dorian?"

Her voice made Dorian's attention reappear. "Ah yes, ahem, right. You are a very smart woman, Gabrielle."

"I know."

"No, you don't. You don't have the slightest idea."

She smiled at him.

Then they lay back, closed their eyes and waited for the darkness to come. For half an hour the crackling of flames was the only sound. Yet less ordinary methods of perception would have revealed amazing things.

"I know I'm not worthy of your trust," Dorian said at last. "You posed many questions that I found myself unable to answer until now. Not a beginning for anything coming close to a... friendship. Or anything. All I wanted was to be here. I am here to help you. I am here because of you."

When nobody said a word he continued. "There's another thing. These undead... the ritual, the symbols and all that... I think in a way it was my fault."

For a while it was very still. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe he had just made his final mistake. Perhaps he had just destroyed the last fragment of trust they had for him. It was Gabrielle's voice that finally calmed him.

"Good night, Dorian."

A curse escaped Dorian's lips when he awoke. For a few minutes he tried to recapture the dream he was losing but it was quite hopeless. It had not even been his alarm clock. Reality simply had claimed his spirit. It had no right to do this. But reality gave a damn about judiciary systems.

He spent the morning watching videotapes. He didn't feel like going to any lectures today. It would be no use. His attention was focused on another world.

The dialogues gave him no comfort although he could quote them word-by-word. The stories were unimportant; he just wanted to watch these two wonderful women. And he tried to forget that he was in his world and not in theirs.

At five he went over to Christian's place. They had planned to gather their efforts in anatomy and study together. These sessions were very helpful and important for mind and soul but really bad for your arterial tonus.

"I'll just make another can of coffee. God, do you guys inhale it or what?"

"Nope, I at least prefer it intravenous, thank you. So, where have we been?" Mat was a bad example for chronic caffeine abuse.

"You lift your arm, bow it slightly, bend your index finger and shoot the medical assistant. Which muscles do you need and which nerves control them," said Richard.

"Half hour break?"

"Agreed. Cigarette anyone? What about you, Dorian?"

Dorian had been silent for most of the evening. Not that he talked a lot normally but tonight he made the impression to be mute. "I don't smoke."

"I know, damn it. I just wanted to hear you say something. You haven't done that for hours."

"One hour twenty-four minutes." He had to smile.

Mat's eyes rolled in its sockets. "Well, I'm impressed. Please say something, everybody does that occasionally."

"I have a story to tell."

"Fine. So go on."

Dorian leaned back in his chair and took a tentative sip of his coffee. It was cold by now and tasted a bit like lead. He didn't mind. It was a symbolic gesture anyway.

"This is the story about a man who awakened.

"His name was Zacharias. He was not an ordinary man. From the date of his birth he had been special. His eyes were quite eerie, of a strange colour, something between blue and violet. But that was not the problem. The problem was that he was a vampire. At night he prowled through the streets, seeking blood and love. And he got a lot of both. Well, not the Disney kind of love, you can imagine. No one could resist his charm for it was soaked with unnatural charisma. People would turn their heads when he entered the room, every time. Still, he was a tragic figure after all. On the night of his rebirth as one of the undead he had killed his only true love. She had been his first victim. And every night he longed to regain her, again and again. But it always ended the same way. A woman died. And he drank her blood. Usually he wouldn't think about it too much. He tried not to. Sometimes he would find himself crying, kneeling on the pavement of a small wet street, and shedding crimson tears. It was then that he realised that his existence, his unlife was unbearable. No sane human being could bear this. But he wasn't sane. And he wasn't human.

"Although they are very powerful creatures, vampires lead dangerous li...unlives. There was an informal never-ending war going on among all members of the undead race. Every single vampire wished the next one destroyed because he was a potential limiting factor to his food source. On occasion two or more vampires would form a sort of alliance because even the damned needed company from time to time. But these alliances didn't last. Not if you got used to thinking in terms of centuries or millennia.

"However, on this night Zacharias was out hunting. Yet tonight he didn't hunt for blood but for knowledge. Maybe wisdom. His contact had informed him that there was a fragment of a very old book in the possession of a group called the Ophemites. He had heard of them before. The Ophemites were a pack of incredibly old and ruthless undead who guarded their secrets dearly. And this fragment was indeed a treasure to be kept very secret. If it was true, this script described the true creation tale of the Vampiric race. I will not go into detail. Let us just say that this kind of knowledge was very precious. For if you know how something was created you also know how it can be destroyed. This mission would require some expertise.

"Zacharias had no problems entering the building. His powers at remaining unseen were unrivalled in this city. On the other hand many Ophemites had heightened senses. So the odds were even. He knew that something went wrong when a steel door closed behind him, sealing the dark room. He remained cool enough not to turn around at once, that would only have drawn unnecessary attention to him. So he tried to hide his aura in the shadows. Then the lights went on. A man, not a vampire sat on a chair before him. They were alone in the room. Zacharias was confused. A mere mortal was no match for him, for no vampire. And he had no idea why he hadn't seen the mortal when he had come into the room. For a moment he thought about killing the human outright. He was an inconstant factor and therefore potentially dangerous. But Zacharias' curiosity won the mental battle, and he decided to kill the man later. Very slowly the vampire sat down on the steel chair in front of the human. Then he re-evaluated the situation. There was one man with him in this room. Between them was one small steel table. One door. No windows. In an emergency situation Zacharias would have to get up, throw away the table and rip off the man's head. That would not take him more than half a second. So, he could now lean back in his chair and wait. He could kill the man anytime.

"'Who do you think you are?' asked the man. It was not what Zacharias had expected. But it was as good as any beginning.

"'I am Zacharias, childe of Morgan, creature of the night, drinker of human blood and your doom, foolish mortal.'

"The man just smiled. 'No, you are not. You are Archibald Hannigan, medical student, child of your parents, Greg and Susanne, and you are dreaming.'

"Zacharias didn't say anything for a while. Then he smiled. 'You are out of your mind.'

"'I am here to help you, Archibald. Your parents and your friends are worried about you. They sent me to bring you back.'

"The vampire bared his teeth. His voice rolled like thunder through the room. 'It was very stupid of you to capture me like this, mortal. I see no problem in killing you like all the others. Just a little more painfully because you ruined my night.'

"The man said nothing but produced a hand mirror from one of his pockets and lay it on the table. 'Take a look.'

"The vampire eyed it suspiciously. 'Vampires cast no reflection. You should know that.' The man still said nothing.

"Zacharias didn't know why but he took the mirror and looked into it. He saw a face that was not his. This had never been him. 'What kind of trick is this? Are you a mage; is that it? Your petty magic will not help you when I open your neck and rip out your larynx!'

"'No magic of any kind is involved here; nothing but your own psyche. You so much wanted to leave your world, to be someone else that you got lost in your own mind. You are dreaming, constantly. It took everyone a few days to notice. You didn't go to the university anymore, you didn't leave your home. In fact you didn't leave your head. You live in your dreams, Archie.'

"Zacharias starred at the mirror. He wanted to smash this thing against the wall and watch the fragments spread across the floor. But somehow he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"'You have one chance, and one chance only,' said the man. 'Come with me and step through this door.' He gestured at a door that had not been there a second ago. "You will return to your reality and live your life. Everything will be fine. If you refuse, you will stay in this world forever, you will never return. This is your only chance.'"

Dorian reached for his cup and took a sip. He was very well aware that all eyes in the room were on him. He kind of enjoyed it.

"What?" Mat gestured impatiently. "How does it end?"

"The story is over," said Dorian. "There is no more to tell."

"Oh, come on!"

"I am sorry. But that is all. I could tell you anything you like but the story is over."

"Oh, you bloody..."

"Friends, medics, countrymen," Richard intervened. "I think we still have a lot to do and we've lost enough time already. Let us continue where we stopped. Arm muscles, wasn't it? Please..."

Everyone started working again. Dorian said nothing for the rest of the evening.

"Where have you been?" asked the bard, with obvious worry in her voice. She stood there between the trees and the night seemed to love her body. Dorian was a bit jealous.

"Gone."

"I noticed that much."

"Where's Xena?"

Gabrielle pointed vaguely to the west. "She is sleeping already. But I couldn't sleep. Yesterday you simply vanished without a trace."

"It's... it is very hard to explain." He didn't even know where to begin. And he was not sure if he should tell her at all. Perhaps it would all collapse then. Reality and unreality should be strictly kept apart.

"I don't give a damn, Dorian."

She stepped closer until he could feel her breath on his lips. It was incredibly sweet and soft. Her green eyes carried the reflection of the waning moon with them.

"You have kept your secrets long enough. You appear out of thin air and save our lives, you tell stories, you flirt with me and then you vanish. I was deeply worried about you. The undead could have taken you or worse. Maybe you are one of them. Maybe you are the necromancer."

Dorian hesitated. "That's rubbish."

"Is it? You said that it could have been your fault. Did you raise the dead? Who are you? And what do you hide from us? I am slowly but definitely losing my patience with you. And it doesn't make it one bit easier that you just vanish and reappear as it pleases you."

"It doesn't please me at all, Gabrielle. I have no choice."

She took his hand. "Why don't you tell me?"

He looked into her pleading eyes. If he couldn't place his trust with her, to whom could he trust? He squeezed her hand slightly.

"Let us sit down."

They both sank to the ground and Dorian searched for the best words to begin his tale with. He decided that it was better to leave out certain things. It all sounded crazy enough anyway.

"I am... I do not belong in this world."

He waited for the sentence to sink in. Nothing happened.

"This is not my reality. It is very different from the place I come from."

"Not your reality?"

"I know how this sounds," he assured her. "You don't have to believe it. It just has to be said. In my world things don't... happen as they happen here. It might appear that we have different physics. Maybe..."

"Hence the powers?"

"Well, yes. I don't know for sure. Actually I don't know anything for sure right now. Only that this world is not like mine."

"That's why you were so confused back then," Gabrielle said thoughtfully. "This is all new to you."

"No, that's... not exactly the reason why. I know this place. I've seen it before. But I've never been here before. Not... really."

Gabrielle offered him a puzzled look. It was evident that he had to be more precise.

"This place is truly wonderful, Gabrielle. As if it was made of dreams. And what are dreams essentially? Uh... I have heard about it many times. I have heard stories. Damn... I know I'm dreaming. You are not real. You are the stuff of legend, of stories. And I am no more than a dreamer who lost his place."

The bard smiled sympathetically. "You think this is a dream?" She began to stroke his arm. "Does this feel like a dream? Could you believe that this is not real?"

Dorian lowered his glance. "You misunderstand me. For me you are more real than anything I've ever experienced in my world. This may be a dream but... I just don't want to wake up anymore. When I'm awake everything fails to make sense. Everything is pallid and bleak. When I'm awake I feel like dreaming. And when I'm here I feel truly alive. I don't want to leave, never. I love this world. And I love you. I want to stay with you."

He looked into her eyes. He didn't know what exactly he expected to find there. But he found it.

When they kissed, Dorian thought that he was dreaming. And of course he was. He pulled her body close to his. It was warm and soft and smelled like the essence of femininity. Her arms closed behind his neck, and he knew that if he died in this moment he wouldn't mind at all. But he didn't die. His lips touched her stomach while his hands caressed her legs. The experience was overwhelming; his senses were drowning. She pulled off her clothes, then his. He kissed her breasts but her hands subtly forced his head downwards, his lips leaving a glistening trail on her skin. Her breathing grew faster until she started moaning. Her body tensed when his tongue vanished between her thighs, then her muscles flexed rhythmically. Moments later her legs were behind his back and he was kissing her mouth again. Her body had become a source of gentle fire, moving like waves. Dorian had given up control long ago. He was one with her and that was all he had ever wanted. All he had ever desired. He was happy when he felt Gabrielle tensing for he was sure he couldn't go on like this for long. Her pelvis pushed against his and her back bent. He could see her lips parting for a last moan...

It was gone.

Her warmth, her smell, it was all still in his mind. Yet the details were escaping his grasp already. It was all gone. He almost started crying. It had been real, so real.

In all his frustration he just wished the day would pass quickly. The night was all that mattered. When he could finally go to the place he loved. To the woman he loved. So much.

The day passed at the speed of a comatose snail. One second after the other. Dorian sat on his couch and stared at the wall. He hadn't moved for a very long time. He knew he could break free of this, simply by getting up and clearing his mind. Thing was, he didn't want to. For the first time in his life he wished for drugs. Life had become unbearable.

Around four p.m. he got a phone call. Richard informed him that it was a beautiful day (that was news for Dorian) and that they would all meet at the small river for a barbecue in two hours. Dorian agreed. He needed company now.

At six he had arrived at the river's shore. Only Christian was there, waiting. His eyes were focused on the mildly blue horizon that was vaguely turning red. He smiled when Dorian sat down beside him, without taking his eyes from the shifting sunlight. Dorian wanted him to speak. He wanted to hear his voice. It was gentle and comforting in a way.

"Do you know what a red shift is?" Dorian asked.

"Yes. For example, our Universe is currently in a state of expansion. That means that all the galaxies are fleeing outwards from each other, increasing the distance to the centre of the universe. We see this manifestation in the Doppler effect, the wavelength of all stars shifts towards the red spectrum. Just like the howling of an ambulance siren changes pitch as it passes you."

"That's correct. Some scientists believe that one day the continuing expansion of the universe will have reached its limit and the stars will return. They will begin their journey back to the centre where they will merge with the other stars. The universe will shrink and finally it will be so small that it cannot even be said to exist. If you would be able to travel to this time, to the last days of the universe, you would see a blue shift. Or an indigo shift. You would see the stars returning."

"But the sunset doesn't have anything to do with the red shift."

"I didn't say it did."

Christian turned his head to look at him. "You think too much, Dorian. There is no need to ponder on ends. We are just about to begin."

"Begin what?"

"Life."

"Life is always ending for someone."

"Where have you been the whole day?" Christian asked. He knew that pursuing this subject any further was useless.

"Home. I was busy."

Christian glanced at the road. "They are late."

"I am not surprised."

For a few minutes they kept their eyes focused on the horizon, letting their thoughts stray. It was very important to do that from time to time. It heightens your awareness of things you would otherwise overlook. Christian's voice had a pleasantly calm tone when he spoke:

"You know, I was thinking about your story."

"Thank you."

"It really left me wondering... what would I have done? How would I have chosen? Imagining you could trade in this life for another one... To choose between this world and this one that was created to make sense. You know what you are and who you are. So, Zacharias was a blood-drinking vampire. But on the other hand he knew where his place was in the story. He was a dark hero but he was one. Who are we? We are just a bunch of disorientated students with no reason to go on except that it's the only possibility we have."

"Yes. That's exactly what I was thinking. We do what we have to do everyday. And there are lots to do, lest we may start thinking about it. We have no idea why we do it or where events will eventually take us. This world has failed to make sense to me I admit that. But you are right; we don't have a choice. Not like Zacharias."

Christian smiled slightly. "It's not that I would have chosen the vampire door. The scary thing is that I don't know what I would have chosen, that I even think about it. Maybe I'm a potential drug abuse case with high dependency risk factor."

"Then we all are. Do you really believe that any of the guys knows exactly where he belongs? I doubt it. They are all unsure but they keep their secrets. As everyone does."

Christian nodded. With a natural elegance of movement that had always fascinated Dorian he produced a cigarette from somewhere behind his ear. He lighted it and blew the smoke away from his friend. "Sooner or later we will all leave."

The sound of the passing water made his words appear heavy. Dorian said nothing.

Blood spurted.

"Artery!"

Xena grabbed for some white cloth and pushed it into the man's stomach.

"Thank you," said Dorian. "This should really have been the last fragment of the broken blade. I can suture up the vessel now. You stay where you are. That was my shirt by the way."

"Sorry."

The army of undead had left an entire village destroyed, the inhabitants ravaged or wounded. Many had died. Some would follow their friends and families tonight. The corpses had to be burned before they could turn into undead themselves, there were too many of these creatures already. And their numbers were growing. Somehow they had to be stopped. Soon.

"Finished. He should wake up in an hour or two. Take him over there, to the others. And give him some wine when he demands it. Awakening will be a rather painful experience for him."

Xena gave him a serious smile. "That was good work."

"He will live," said Dorian. "But I can't perform miracles."

"Xena!" It was Gabrielle's voice calling. They both rushed over to her.

"He's not breathing properly. It started from one second to the other..."

"It's ok, Gabrielle..."

Dorian held his hand above the man's chest. "No, it's not. His heart has stopped."

No one else saw the panicked look in Xena's eyes when she began the reanimation. Dorian didn't move. He could just stare into the man's dead eyes. There was no life in it. Soon these eyes would hunger for the warm essence of others, never to be satisfied. There was no chance that life would willingly return to this shell. If at all it had to be forced. Other wise it would become a vessel for death. Dorian made a choice.

On the other side of the table was Xena's sword. They had used it to stabilise a broken leg. He took it, unaware of his surrounding. "Dorian, what are you doing?"

He drew closer to the artificially moving breast of the dead man. "Gabrielle, stop him!"

Then he drew the blade across his bare chest.

The pain almost made him faint but he resisted successfully. With a trembling hand he took some of his own blood and painted a curved symbol on the point where the man's heart was, whispering as he did so. Nobody understood the words although silence had invaded the room like a death storm.

Dorian exhaled his last word. Then he gently tipped on the man's chest once.

Those who stood around the table made a frightened jump backwards when the man started breathing again.

None of them noticed how Dorian stumbled to the next corner where he collapsed. He was very tired. He was not sure why he had done this. Or how. But he was sure that he could not do that often.

A strong hand grabbed his forearm. "Come. Let's go outside and have some fresh air," said Xena.

The night's breath was cool on his skin and he was grateful for that. He was already starting to feel better. Nevertheless Xena would not let go of his arm. "There's a small house just down that hill. Gabrielle and me have put up our temporary residence there. You have to take some rest."

An open fire that produced no smoke but a rather pleasant smell lighted the room. It was vaguely familiar.

Xena must have noticed his attempt at identifying the odour. She giggled a little. He had never heard her giggle before. "I put some interesting herbs into the fire. They are intoxicating but harmless. It will help you relax."

"What about you?" asked Dorian as he lay down on one of the furs.

"What about me?"

"You are never relaxed. Not even when you're among friends. You are always sort of tense. Alert."

"Yes." She opened a leather bag and pulled out some dry white bandages and a small bottle of greenish liquid. "I watch out for my friends. Just as they do for me."

"So, you also watch out for me?"

She grinned. "Don't get overconfident." Then she poured some of the liquid on his wound. Dorian could only barely hold back a scream.

"Couldn't you have sedated me first or something?"

Xena inspected the wound with a critical look. "Yes, I could."

"Oh great. Thank you very much. I should have guessed your sadistic tendencies the first time I saw your outfit."

With one of the bandages she began to clean the wound. "Hmm. You should have."

He swallowed. "You still don't trust me, do you?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you don't?"

"Yes, I do."

"Now I'm confused."

She stopped in mid-motion and looked at him. "You have earned my trust. And you may keep your secrets as long as they don't endanger us. Still confused?"

"A little."

"Must be the herbs then." Her hands continued their work.

Dorian peered carefully down his body. "How does it look?"

Xena gave him a slightly desperate glance. "Good?"

"I hate you."

"Not my fault. What the Hades did you think you were doing when you cut open your flesh?"

"I don't know exactly. It seemed the right thing to do."

"It was very stupid."

"But it worked. The man will live and I will live. I increased the health rate by one hundred percent. And you loved it."

She looked him in the eyes. "Yes, I loved it."

Then she began kissing his chest and his stomach. She lowered her head and Dorian's heart began to pound wildly.

"You're excited," she whispered. "I can smell that."

"Must be the 'herbs'. The smell, I mean," Dorian uttered. Xena smiled. Her tongue licked over his skin. He knew that his trousers were gliding over his legs but couldn't believe it.

"Unfair," he managed to say. "You're still dressed and that puts me at a disadvantage."

She stopped and erected her body to look down on him. "You're right." She undressed in few seconds. Then she descended onto him.

Her body was agile and powerful. When she moved on him he could touch sliding strings of muscle under her skin. Her moans were lustful and sensual. And she knew what she was doing.

Gently he forced her down and took his time to touch all places of her wonderful body. And he learned that even a hardened warrior had her vulnerable points. He was decided to find every single one of them.

She had only barely escaped a climax when Dorian turned her around and leaned over her back. Xena managed to turn her head to kiss him. But the kiss was interrupted by that oh so beautiful groan of hers. She called his name.

His hands were caressing her back as he pressed his hip against hers. Primal was the rhythm they both joined in. Their sweat glistening like pearls in the firelight. Until Xena gathered her breath for the last outcry of her body, and Dorian loved that sound too much to resist his own any longer.

Dorian awoke. It was dark in the room. He was still tired but it was impossible to fall back asleep. He swore under his breath and fought desperately against the tears that seemed to come up in waves, straight from his soul. Oh, how he hated to awake.

"Hey," whispered a voice beside him. A very warm arm was laid on his chest. It hurt a little but Dorian barely noticed. "What's wrong?" asked Xena gently. "Do you feel uncomfortable?"

Nothing could he do then but kiss her. He felt so grateful.

"Hmm," she purred. "So everything seems to be all right after all. Now go back to sleep. Before you wake up Gabrielle."

Dorian blinked. "Gabrielle?"

"Hmm?" Another beautiful voice hummed sleepily on his other side. A warm body was now noticeably pressing against him.

Without another struggle of thought Dorian leaned back and tried to stay awake as long as he could. Xena's breath stroked softly against his neck. Gabrielle's hair fell on his right shoulder. His blood flow was in complete harmony with that of the two women. That was what he had always dreamed of.

In the morning hours his body was tired but his soul was gleaming with that rare kind of happiness that was too profound to fade with the morning sun. His arms felt quite numb.

Xena was the first of the two to awake. She gave him a kiss and a smile, and Dorian knew that was all he would need for that day. Gabrielle must have sensed her friend rising for her eyes opened as soon as Xena was up. She also smiled at him and it was like looking into the sun. She sat up and began to stretch her back and arms, producing some interesting sounds as she did so. Then she realised that it would probably be a good idea to get dressed before she left the house.

They all met outside for breakfast although Dorian was not very hungry. The sunlight hurt his tired eyes. Xena was the first to speak up.

"Gabrielle told me about your situation, Dorian. It sounds very strange. As I understand you can only enter this world when you sleep. In your dreams?"

Dorian nodded. He had to fight to keep his eyes open. "Yes. When I fall asleep I somehow come here. It has not always been like this."

"She also told me that in your world we exist as stories."

"Yes. In a way."

She put aside her plate. "You want to stay here?"

Dorian looked at her, savouring the wonderful feeling of her presence. He didn't want to fall asleep, not ever. "Yes. But there is no way. Dreaming is the only... path that leads from my world to yours. I can't stay. Awake."

"There is a way. There is an eternal connection between the worlds, one factor that unites them. It is common to all worlds as far as I know."

"And what is that?"

"Hades."

All of a sudden Dorian became very awake. "Death?"

"The life after death," Xena explained. "There is an afterlife to each life. Dreams work in a similar way."

"How do you know?"

Xena hesitated. "Someone told me once."

"But isn't there another way?" Gabrielle asked. "You've seen it, Dorian. You can't go when we hold you."

Dorian smiled at her. "But you can't hold me forever."

"Oh yes, I could do that."

"No," said Dorian. "Xena is right. There must be a more profound solution to this. What is your plan, Xena? I know you have one."

The warrior ground her teeth together. "It's not without risk. And you have to think carefully about it before you decide. All right. All in all you have to die."

Dorian looked into her eyes. She meant it. He grew very tired again. "Good plan."

"Hades owes me a big favour. As soon as you've entered his realm I can come and get you."

"Hades will not let any of the dead souls leave," said Gabrielle.

"He will have to. I demand it."

The warrior walked over to Dorian and kneeled down. "Death can transcend the world. It can be a tunnel or a bridge. Your bridge to this world."

"A bridge," whispered Dorian before he nodded off.

This time he awoke gradually and without a curse. He was all calm, body and mind. Letting his gaze stray across the room he found paleness and banality in every thing he saw. Sometimes it seemed that was all he could perceive here. It was all he really had.

Maybe there actually was a sense to this world, a hidden one. Very, very well hidden. So, where was the difference? What use is a secret you can never solve, you can't even find? Sitting in front of this endless puzzle, you're not even sure that it will eventually form a picture. And we're not talking abstract art here. Or are we?

And if you had the chance to trade it in, wouldn't you do it? How important can a world be that only makes sense when forced? That's if you can. And most of the time we are powerless to act anyway.

What we truly fear is not death but the passing of life. That we gradually approach our final minute. Day after day our existence is reduced by twenty-four hours and principally nothing happens. We fear that our lives could be meaningless. We wake up, we work, we come home, and we sleep. The years pass us by but nothing really happens to make it stop, if only for a short enlightening moment. And we don't think about it that often because it makes us sick. We bury our fear in amnesia - in nothing. This self-induced memory loss is by far more comfortable than the consciousness of what we truly are. Occasionally we turn around and look into the mirror (there is always one behind you if you search for it) and cry out "What have I become?" It's a rhetorical question because you know exactly what you have become. You have become one of them. Just like your parents, their parents and so on. And when death comes to claim you, your fear has finally fulfilled itself. Your life is at an end and your death has no meaning because your life did not have meaning either.

So, if you had a chance to leave, and even if it was a bad chance, how would you choose? Think about it. Dorian had made his choice already.

When they found his body it had been dead for a very long time. His friends had been looking for him. It was all kind of unfortunate. Nobody knew why he had done it. There was no obvious reason. Or maybe the reasons were just too obvious. Like you don't see the forest for the trees. He did not leave a message of any kind although some voices remarked that his death was message enough anyway. Some people missed him. But eventually he vanished.

EPILOGUE

Her tall figure cast a shadow on the hill that fell down behind her. Her mimic was saddened and her body was tired. She looked into the setting sun to dry her tears.

"It's horrible," said Gabrielle who climbed the hill wearily. Her face reflected a soul that was torn from pain. "It's such a senseless death."

"It is always hard to give death a sense," said Xena. "In most cases it's undeserved. The distribution of powers is unjust. We can take life but can't give it back. We are beings of the destructive kind. Some are more destructive than others. And they have to be stopped."

She threw a glance down the hill. "Are you coming, Dorian?"

The young man caught up with the two women. "Could we possibly reconsider the idea mentioned earlier, concerning some four-legged transporting device?"

"A horse is not a device, Dorian," Xena remarked. "And yes, we can look at getting you a horse as soon as we can afford one. What have you found out?"

"Well," Dorian began, "the dead guy told me about a person he called Daikorum. A man as it would appear. I think that he can be held responsible for raising this army. And that he is both, the heart and the weak point of it. So I guess we should go after him."

"How shall we find him?" Gabrielle asked.

"Good question." He pointed at the red spot on the horizon. "Just follow the trail of blood." He turned to Xena and gave her a mockingly serious look. "I sincerely hope that you appreciate this information for it was not easy to get. Try to threaten a corpse. I mean, what could you threaten someone with, who does not even have a life to lose? Tricky."

"Good work."

"Thank you."

"Your wound..." Gabrielle touched his chest carefully. Nothing happened. "You have healing powers."

"No," Dorian's face darkened for a moment. "My power is not over life but over death. I finally understood that."

"Still you can give life."

"I can avert death. There is a fundamental difference. Hmm. I think that makes me a... necromancer, right?" He grinned at them. "But not all necromancers have to be bad, now, have they?"

"What's so bad about being bad?" asked Xena.

"He didn't mean bad, he meant evil," Gabrielle explained. She then smiled at Dorian. "There is a fundamental difference."

A long journey lay before them, with an undead army waiting at the end. It would be dangerous. It would make a hell of a story.

And there are worse places to live in than stories.