A scream echoed forth. Like no other before it, the whole of the world awoke, or seemed to. It was a mind shear ripped forth from an undone soul. Every creature, every wraith, upon the plateau of Gabriel's Tear howled their stricken dirges to the night, for death was nigh.

Like a wave unfettered, Shirell's tortured soul tore through the minds of every man, woman, child and beast that still drew breath upon the face of Lagoon. On this fear could stake no claim and bowed in reverence to the witch and to the solitary name she bellowed. "CIROC!!!"

# # #

Nothing remained of night but the blackness and the moon that pierced it. Not a soul slept. Not anymore. The night was alive with a start. A multitude of decidedly quieter screams paired with earth shattering gasps that seemed to give every heart pause. Diote's own gifted or not, resonated within her brain as if to tear it in two. Yet that was a danger from another.

A moment earlier her anger was silenced by the revelation of a confession. Love. Had it never before existed? At that crucial moment she'd never experienced anything that could compare. "Ciroc", was this scream her own? Death had claimed Ciroc and at that very moment, that tearful farewell, she'd screamed his name into the night. Yet this power was not hers. This came from another and with it a familiar form of terror swept in.

The witch screamed. Shirell screamed. No other could. Mother Sea claimed Ciroc and was forever lost to the witch. His soul was free. In death the witch was defeated. It was, she now and finally realized, the only way to win.

# # #

Fear tore through the island like a plague, but not to be undone those that followed Ciroc pushed on. They knew from whence the cry had come. How could they not? They were the ones who'd banished Shirell so long ago. Through much combined effort they were the ones who'd brought down the sudden fog. They were the ones who knew from whence Ciroc had come. They were the ones who'd told so many lies as gospel. They were the council and they'd come for the witch's progeny.

In much the same way as his mother, they’d not wished death upon him. He was . . . useful. Though, he couldn’t be in death. They were already fast upon his heels. Here there existed little coincidence. He was meant to be taken this night. The coincidence was that they were in the right place and time to save him; an unlikely and equally unwanted savior.

From here he was to be thrust into a life of servitude, experimentation and eventual banishment, if not death. Once the threat was studied it must be disposed of, lest death claim them all. He would become the warlock to his mother's witch, should he live, but they'd learned their lesson the first time around, so that was unlikely.

For now he'd live, much to his agony. For the council had known the truth. Shirell hadn't cried out at his would be death, but rather at a life subjected. Each member of the council knew freedom was all she’d ever wished for Ciroc, so taking him would pull the final string, unraveling their greatest threat and with it . . . victory.

# # #

From the blackness of the tide Ciroc was drawn . . . violently. Only one thought came past the scream that tore through his mind. The witch, Shirell, she'd caught him. Mother Sea hadn't taken him. No. NO! This could not be. As hell would have it, it was not. A moment before opening his eyes he spoke.

"Mother . . .?"

She hadn't answered, yet another did in her stead.

"She'll not have you this night, boy. But . . . be ever patient."

"Shirell . . .?"

A pause ensued. The void was filled with suddenness. Who from, Ciroc couldn't guess, but his head had wrenched to the right and he'd reentered Mother Sea's eternal realm.

"NEVER A NAME SPOKEN, BOY!!! Little learned and such a loss! You'll not speak it! You'll never speak again for it! Undo the whelp's tongue!"

A shudder of fear overcame Ciroc as Mother Sea once again released him. Two shaky words followed. "I . . . I'll . . . I'll NOT SPEAK IT!"

"Surely not! CUT IT FREE!!!"

A bony blade emerged from tanned hide, and with intent to bleed. It, along with its owner was given reason to pause. A word tore through . . . a name.

"ALION!!!"

Indeed it was Alion that bore the blade, though it wasn’t he who’d given the command. No. That was Shion, the elder who’d spoken so eloquently at Jerret's rite. Who even then, planned this night's specifics to perfection. His name, too, soon followed for all to hear.

"SHION!!!"

A certain dread swept down and upon this wave Alion let fall his knife. It wasn’t enough. The moonlight revealed Shion smiling wickedly. Then he spoke, but not to anyone present.

"Ah, witch! Yours is a fear that tears free! Yours is a power that wanes! Here is a place you hold no sway! He is mine! He is mine! HE IS MINE!!!"

To prove it Shion pulled free his own blade and brought it down upon Ciroc. The intent was death. The possibility remained that was his intent from the moment he knew what the boy was to her. A hand jerked up in defense and within a moment the blade had slipped inside it, buried to the hilt through Ciroc's palm.

Ciroc's scream outpaced the pain in the expectancy of it. Even so it was to be worse, death notwithstanding; this marked the origin of his pain, not the end. The knife began to drag down to split his wrist in two, but that was a chance never given. Shion stood a moment, though he was already dead.

All heard the whine echo forth, muffled as it was. Yet it was so muted for a reason. It had concentrated elsewhere . . . within the mind of a high elder named Shion. Here he heard one word louder than comprehensible; beyond all he'd ever known. Fitting that, it would be his last. It was such a simple word. Die.

In that moment Shion could literally feel his synapses shredding and nerves splitting. He was experiencing his very own lobotomy as his brain near to imploded. Then as his eyes rolled back into his head, he fell, knees first into his own Mother Sea. He'd returned to her.

His hands spasmed a moment prior to falling limp, fingers sliding loose from the blade one by one as if, even in death, he meant to finish what he'd begun. Shion's knife remained embedded as Ciroc's hand began to tremble violently with the growing pain. For it Shion was all but forgotten.

A fear they'd never known washed over the four elders that remained. They stood dumfounded with each mouth agape. No sound uttered forth, but then none was needed. The deed was done. The example had been raised. The message was sent. It was so simple.

"Do NOT lay a hand on MY SON!"

All obeyed, though they couldn't know they didn't need to. Shion was right. Shirell's powers were finally spent in the effort she'd not even known she possessed. Nothing remained and she couldn't even be certain one iota of it would return to her. She was beyond speaking even. Still, they didn't know that and soon they were gone; all of them, blending into the night.

From Ciroc's mind one word was uttered into the black.

"HELP!!!"

This time Diote would heed the call.