[Spirit Walk:  Pohl's Perspective]
 

  'Well, wasn't this just delightful', Pohl thought sourly to himself as
both aspects of Nicholas along with the giant falcon winked out of view.  He
turned to round on the two Kievet who had gone utterly still when the other
three disappeared, only their throats moving as they hummed something that
was beyond the Anaran's range of hearing.  Enough was enough!  He was going
to demand that they return Ayar---not only back to his line of sight, but
also to his keeping!  The heavy hand of the Jedi Master on his shoulder
stopped him.

  "It would be wise to let them be," Qui-Gon advised him, his voice
strangely slurred as if he wasn't quite *there*.

  Irritated, Pohl shook the hand off and stepped back.  "Where did they go?
What is happening?"

  "Nicholas is being.. assessed.  Then they will attempt to heal him."

  "I donah give a yampa's hind end about 'Nicholas' and whatever ails it!
Where is my Ayar?!  I am taking him back.  I've had enough of this nonsense.
Ayar is *mine* and you can all be thankful if I don't come to collect those
two"---he jerked a finger towards the two kievet---"as well!"

  "I'm sorry, Dr. Anders, but I have no time to spare for this talk.  And
neither do you."

  "What?"

  But then the zoologist heard it too, the sound of rushing air coming from
above.  Before he could even look up, the great, taloned feet of an immense
raptor attached themselves to his sides.  Within seconds he was being flown
away from the lake.

  "Qui-Gon!!!" he yelled, half in fear, half in anger that the Jedi had let
the attack come without trying to protect or even warn him.

  Twisting about as much as he was able, Pohl fully expected to see the same
avian that he had seen earlier, however his captor was not the midnight
falcon.  Instead he looked up at the form of a woodland owl, its dirt-brown
feathers highlighted with a shimmering metallic green.  He tried to reach up
enough to yank out some feathers---maybe the bird would drop him---but
succeeded only in having the owl grip him even tighter.  Wincing at the
claws digging into his skin, Pohl wished fervently for a gun, a knife,
*anything* to keep from being the owl's next meal.

  "Fraggin' beast!" he cursed loudly.

  "my name, v'enk, is k'an.  kindly remember that is so."

  Pohl blinked at the softly whispered words in his head.  He could barely
make them out.

  "Who is there?  Speak up!"

  The owl's head bowed enough for their eyes to meet.  Round mosaics of
ochre-orange eyes the size of dishes with pupils so dark a green they made
him think of the great conifer trees they were flying over.   And the irises
reminded the doctor of a deciduous forest in autumn when the leaves of the
trees seemed afire.  For a moment he forgot about everything else but those
enormous eyes.

  "i am speaking as loud as i can.  it is you who must be quiet to hear."

  "I'm still dreaming, are naught I?"  Pohl frowned.  The Kievet must have
slipped him something really powerful to make his mind conjure up such a
crazy dream.  Yet..  he could still think analytically.  He snorted with
some self-satisfaction.  Showed the good breeding of his stock, that.

  Above him, the owl began to hoot in a series of short, stacatto barks.  It
took a moment before the Anaran realized that the bird wasn't just
hooting---it was 'hooting'---at him!  "Find something funny?"

  "truly, aye.  you are so puffed!  even more so than v'rek and thought that
was impossible!"  More hooting.

  Reminding himself that this whole thing was just some hallucinatory herb
messing with his mind, Pohl ignored it and concentrated on where they were
going.  If this stupid dream was actually *going* anywhere.

  "the trip is short, do naught you fear, your destination draws swift
near."

  With that, the talons ceased pressing into his torso and he was released--
  --to fall straight downwards into a circular hole in the ground.

  Frantic grabbing at the compacted dirt around him failed to slow his
descent into utter darkness.  Pohl screamed as his body continued to fall
for what seemed like forever, the sound coming to an abrupt end when he came
into contact with the bottom.  Every bone felt jarred loose from their
joints, his muscles spasming in reaction.  It was a good thing this
nightmare was only that---or that fall would have killed him!  He groaned,
trying to get his arms underneath him so he could push himself upright.

  Strange how the ground felt unnaturally smooth and--

  "Well, well, isn't *this* a surprise?"

  Pohl's head snapped up as a pair of black trousered legs ending in fine
leather shoes stopped just before his nose.  A pale hand grabbed the back of
his collar and helped him up, nonchantly tossing him onto a leather couch
before his knees could buckle on their own.

  Confused, Pohl blinked.  A myraid of candles glowing softly from their
stands gave him just enough light to make out vague images.  He was in a
large room made of brick and concrete.  Two stairways descending on either
side.  Large windows blocked off by layered strips of what he guessed was
metal.  A little away sat a large box shape on legs with its lid propped up
part way.  Beyond it, a bi-wheeled contraption.  There was more, but his
attention was drawn back to the strange man that was observing him.  Pohl
decided to observe right back.

  Tall.  Almost as tall as he was.  Slim.  Pale hair receding a bit and cut
very short.  Even paler skin a sickly white color---not a healthy yellow.
Ice colored eyes.  Predatory aura.  The fellow was not from Anara.  He
didn't recognize him from Jinn's transport.  Pohl sighed.  Another alien.
He was getting sick of aliens.  They were even invading his hallucinations.

  "Are you a Jedi as well?"

  An elegant eyebrow lifted.

  "Jedi?  And what, pray tell, is a Jedi?" the alien asked with an
aristocratic air.

  Pohl smoothed down his clothing with his hands, determined not to lose
face even in a dream.  "I'll take that as a na.  Naught that it really
matters seeing as you do naught really exist."

  "Really?"  The other man looked amused, yet without losing that deadly air
of menace.  "And what gives you that idea?"

  "Oh... maybe the fact that you were preceeded by a talking owl, falcon, my
arrival by way of a yampa tunnel into a place that looks nothing like a
burrow.  You are nothing but a drug dream, a figment of my tired brain.
Indeed, you have na more basis in reality than Jinn's precious 'Nicholas'.

  The alien stiffened.  "Nicholas..?"

  Pohl grimaced.  "Naught again."  His eyes widened in indignation.  "Is
*that* was this is all about?  To get me to believe that Ayar is really gone
and that there is only this 'Nicholas?'"  He rose up from his seat, anger
making his aches recede into mere annoyances.  "Well, I will naught believe
it!"  He was shouting now, eyes staring accusingly at the ceiling as if
challenging some invisible being perched there.  "Ayar is *mine*!  I made
him!  I *own* him!!  It is this 'Nicholas' that is the fraud---'vampire' or
'human' alien!!"  Drawing a deep breath, Pohl was ready to continue to
vent---however, a hand around his neck prevented it.

  The ice blue eyes had shifted to Anaran gold.  Dr. Anders could tell that
right enough since they were mere inches from his own.  In a blink he found
himself flying upwards in the alien's iron grip, landing just before a door.
He remembered the stairs and presumed that they were now on the second
level.

  "You will tell me everything you know vampires and especially about the
one you call Nicholas," the alien commanded.

  "There is na Nicholas...he doesn't exist," Pohl managed to wheeze out.

  The pressure on his throat relaxed enough to allow him to exhale.  Pohl
warily cleared his throat.  This fellow was as strong as Matek!  It was
getting harder to remember it was *just* a dream when they felt so real!
Eyes never leaving his accoster's, Pohl related everything: finding Ayar in
the company of the Jedi, how Jinn and Kenobi had insisted that Ayar was
really this Nicholas character, and how K'yer must have slipped something
into his food or drink because everything had gone weird since the cave.

  The alien seemed to deflate.  Shoulders slumped as he half turned away,
disappointment thick in his voice.  "Then your 'Nicholas' is only a furry
animal of some sort?"

  Pohl hesitated.  "Until the dream started---aye.  Now they've changed his
image.  Want me to think that he looks like you."

  Ice blue eyes again, now filled with curiosity.  "Like.. me?  Explain!"

  "Your species," the Anaran clarifed tiredly.  He really wished this dream
would end--- he was getting weary of it.  "Listen to me---I'm talking like
I'm starting to believe all this is actually exists," He frowned.  Surely
the herb must begin to wear off soon?  How long since he had consumed it?

  The hand returned to his throat.

  "*Describe* him!"

  "Who?"  Pohl asked in exasperation.  He *really* wanted to sleep.

  The golden eyes turned an alarming shade  of red, their fury almost a
living thing.  Pohl felt a stab of fear---which was, he reminded himself,
patently ridiculous considering.

  "NICHOLAS!"  bellowed the alien.

  "Like you, only a bit shorter, longer...  more golden hair that curls a
bit.  Dark blue eyes.  At least one of them did.  The other's tended to glow
amber and had a pair of fangs."  Pohl shifted uncomfortabley in the tight
grip as his captor sported his enlarged canines.  The doctor could see that
his last two sentences had confused him a bit, but it was replaced by an air
of triumph.

  "Nicholas is alive then?!"  The alien howled with glee, twirling them both
around in a circle.  "My son still exists!"  Golden eyes fixed on his own,
bright with fierce intent.  "You, creature, will take me to my son.  Now."

  "My *name* is Doctor Pohl Anders of the Tanaken House."  Pohl haughtily
protested.  "This Nicholas can be fed to the raptors for all he means to me.
The being isn't even real.  And I dona care if this is a dream or na---only
Qwanaten can command--"  He gagged as his air was blocked off.

  "I don't give a carouche's leftovers who or what you are,"  the alien
snarled; "For *my* name is Lucien LaCroix, Elder of the Toronto Community.
And, yellow mortal,  I *command* whomever I wish."  His grip slightly, yet
still firm enough that Pohl could not move.  The door was thrust open and he
was dragged inside to where a silent figure lay outstretched on black
bedding.  With a start, Pohl realized that it was the same being everyone
had identified as Nicholas, dressed only in a dark robe.  He appeared to be
asleep... or maybe recently deceased, as he didn't appear to be breathing.

  LaCroix sighed, reaching out to smooth back a wayward lock of hair out of
the figure's face.  "I can't get him to wake, and our link is silent---yet I
know the stake did not kill him," he whispered softly, as if trying to
convince himself of an old argument  "He is not dead.  The wound would not
have healed if he had died.  So I made him comfortable up here, you see?
Until he awakes.  He can't hide forever."  Without missing a beat the
grieving voice became steely, full of a cold determination that made Pohl
want to take a step back if the other's hold on him would have allowed it.
"Nicholas is *mine*.   *Mine* to do with as *I* please.  *Mine* to protect
from the likes of you, or *mine* to punish if this was all part of a scheme
to escape from me.  Either way, you *will* help me get him back"

  Attempts to pry the fingers from his throat proved fruitless, Pohl nodded
his acquiesence.  At this point, his neck was so sore that he thought his
*pride* was the only thing he could swallow.  To his immense relief, the
alien released him again.  He rubbed his throat.

  "I'll..  take you...providing I can get.. back myself.  I have never tried
to control a.. dream in that way.  Frash!---I never had a *dream* anything
like this before."

  "Then I suggest you start trying to get 'back' immediately, lest I turn
your 'dream' into a nightmare."

  "I am thinking!" the Anaran bit back.  "I am trying to look at this from a
scientific viewpoint..."---he rubbed his forehead---"but I do naught seem to
be getting anywhere.  Maybe if I called that K'an thing back..."

  "Who?"

  "The big owl."

  "An owl?"

  "Aye.  I think it's related to the giant falcon."

  LaCroix's eyes narrowed in annoyance.  "You, are either mad..or lying."

  "I am *naught* lying... though I am beginning to wonder if there is some
validity to your first hypothesis."

  "*Can* you lead me to Nicholas?"

  "Actually?  I have na idea."

  "Then you are useless to me.  Except, perhaps, as a snack."

Swift as lightning, Pohl felt two fangs enter into his neck, felt his blood
being sucked out of him...

And there was a brilliant light.