A Sonic the Hedgehog Fanfiction by Taryn "Jnco" Wander’r

tarynw42@hotmail.com

Stay tuned for legal jive.

On the planet Mobius, off the coast of Mercia, secluded and small, was the isle of Cascadia.

In the past, Cascadia had once been strong, rich in culture and power. The ancient, legendary leader, Tristan, bowed only to the planet’s High King, the ruler of the House of Acorn. Tristan was a wise and noble leader, who brought peace to the northern isle and it’s people. He brought unity and pride to the Cascadians, from the Highlander Clans and the gypsy bands to the populous city folk. From the wealthy lords and ladies to the shoeless orphans in the workhouses.

But Tristan had been dead for a thousand years. The monarch of Cascadia now existed only in imagination, in the hopes that a lost son would be found amongst the diverse species and races of Cascadia while the throne sat idle, awaiting it’s King.

The small nation was, indirectly, ruled by King Maximillian Acorn, who had been unable to meet his duties since his unfortunate accident at the end of the Great War. The isle was led by the Prime Minister, whose policy of pacifism and propaganda led the people of Cascadia to not, in fact, be outraged by the country’s lack of participation in the Robot Wars. In fact, very few of them knew very much about the wars, except that there was an uprising in the planet’s capital, and that a defector from Megacentral was causing rebellions all around them, which resulted in the one brief battle Cascadia was involved in.

Few of them knew that the capital had been taken over. Few of them knew that

the King had been banished.

The rest were told that the economy was just low because of the low demand for Cascadian exports due to genetic engineering and cultural dark ages.

In actuality, there was no one left to trade with.

Prices and living costs were raised, and travel prices inflated to the point of collapse of international travel to discourage people from leaving the country.

In actuality, there was no where left to go.

Few knew the truth. It was these few that had lived the coup, came to Cascadia before it’s closure of all it’s gates.

There was one in particular, who had served the King himself, for a brief time before the coup.

Emma Prower.

She had been a Jester to the Royal court. Now she took care of children. Raised them to be artists.

They grew up as writers, musicians, performers, actors, filmmakers, sculptors, painters. They watched and commented, and tried, in a very outsider, obscure sort of way, to make a change.

Some made the people laugh. Some made the people cry. Some managed to make the people think, a feat harder than most believe.

None of them could make the people believe.

Until that one fateful day, though, on the island’s East Coast Highlands. This is where the isle’s original clans and remaining gypsy band resided, mostly. Most were killed by a fleet of Robotnik’s soldiers who had cast off from Mercia. They didn’t get far inland, though, as the Highlanders gave a good fight. They would rather die than be taken. Even the smallest ones, even the girls. But many of the clan members perished. All of the gypsies died.

Except one.

A little white manx cat, her name was Jnco. Jnco Gonae. Jnco Gonae of Clan McKenzie, as this particular gypsy band had adopted the ways of the Highland clans centuries ago. Jnco Gonae, daughter of Juliana, daughter of Regat, daughter of Flora of Clan McKenzie.

It was a predicament for little Jnco, who was ten at the time. The other clans offered to take her in, but what to do when she comes of age? She was the Laird of Clan McKenzie now, technically, that old McKenzie was dead. But she was a girl. She’d have to marry a boy from another clan and give him the title. But he would have to be a gypsy. A gypsy girl who could only marry a gypsy boy. Preferably, in this case, from her own clan.

But they were all dead.

And she was ten.

Jnco, of course, had other plans. She wanted revenge.

There were still small, isolated fishing towns that still received tallships from Mercia, ones that traded with the planet’s main continent. These towns were the first to have been hit, of course, but eventually, a ship came. She stowed away and made it to the main continent.

She had friends outside the highlanders, of course- artist children of Emma Prower. They assumed she had died from the quarantined outbreak on the East Coast. The one that, they were told, was responsible for the deaths of the half the original clans and all the traveller-gypsies.

+++

Six years later, New Edinburgh, Cascadia.

Tricky slept on a mattress on the floor. It was functional, practical, and really quite comfortable. Surrounding his mattress were the calling cards of teenagers everywhere. Old slush cups, chip bags, books and music discs. Notebooks. Sketchbooks. Articles of clothing. Most of which were not his.

That’s not to imply that Tricky was a sex maniac- oh, he was, but that’s not why other people’s clothes were there. He shared the room with two other boys- Grant, a hedgehog, who had another mattress, and Chase, a cheetah, who got the privilege of the only bed.

The bed used to be Tricky’s. He didn’t mind giving it up. Not in the least. A mattress on the floor was just as efficient, not to mention much more cost-effective. Besides, Chase deserved it more- he had been through a bit. The newest addition to Pirate Radio, he had just run from the block of a slave cartel in Mercia and somehow ended up awash on the beaches of Kensington North, the wealthier part of New Edinburgh. Not that anybody in Kensington North could have any uses for a starving young cheetah whose talents included drawing and cringing at loud noises. Chase still had nightmares that Grant and Tricky had to help him through.

But for now, Tricky had his own nightmares. He flipped over on his side, and let out a sigh for the umpteenth time that night.

Eventually, he reached out a hand and retrieved his wallet from the jeans he had been wearing that day. He flipped it open to the familiar, worn picture. An angel.

His mother.

Michelle Prower.

He thought of her a lot. About what she would have been like. About what was meant when his Uncle Merlin would run a hand through Tricky’s headfur, smile sadly, and say, "When I look at you I see so much of your mother."

He thought about that day, that horrible day. When two sisters and a brother, Emma, Michelle and Merlin, were reunited for a brief time. The day he turned five. The day his mother died.

Killed by him. The same monster that sired Tricky in an act of violence.

So here he was. On a mattress on the floor. Patrick Danger Prower. Loved by the Cascadian counter-culture, unknown by Kensington North’s golden boys. Of course, that was the way he would have wanted it.

Tricky Danger. Jester and player/bard to the King. Pending, of course.

A child of rape.

An orphan of war.

Electronic musician. Artist. Fringe actor. Drug addict.

Guardian of the Chosen One. Keeper of the Chaos Rod.

Tricky didn’t like myths.

Christie, as usual, couldn’t sleep. She stayed up, writing, as was her job. It was what helped pay the rent. Barely. She, too, slept on a mattress on the floor…in fact, she lived in a walk-in closet in another room. The mattress, a great old dinosaur of a computer next to it, and lots of clothes and trash on the floor.

She was thinking about Chase. He had been one of the two boys she had found huddling under the dock two weeks ago. The other, Michael, had been taken in by Merlin, as he was a telepath, and had been apprenticed to the old wizard as the next Watcher.

She didn’t look up as her best friend, Tricky, came in.

"Trouble sleeping?" Christie asked, still scribbling in her notebook.

"’F course," They both spoke with thick, jilted Eastern accents, at least that’s what a Mobotropolian would have thought.

Christie capped her pen and tossed her notebook into the pile of clothing, trash, books and papers that lined the mattress. Tricky looked his friend over for a moment. Christie was a true war orphan- left on the side of the road as a toddler with no recollection of her family. She was an interesting mix- what looked like half lynx, half human. If such a coupling was possible. She was beautiful, though- thin, jet black hair that shone silver in the light.

Christie leaned forward and regarded Tricky from half-lidded eyes. "How’s Tricky doin’?"

"Tricky’s havin’ a personal crisis." The redfox sighed and rubbed at weary green eyes. "The nightmares keep coming back. Merlin’s upset with me." He sighed again. "I’m so tired," He collapsed next to her. "And I’m afraid to sleep. Help?"

Christie cradled Tricky in her arms, so that he was lying between her legs with his head on her lap. "Why is Merlin upset with ye?"

Tricky shrugged. "Maybe it’s cause…I don’t understand what I see, and I should, and I’ve been sick and I can’t do anything right and I’m useless."

Christie played with his hair. "And it has nothing to do with the fact that ye’ve been in withdrawal for three months?"

Tricky had no response for this.

His friend sighed and shifted under him. "Has Merlin actually told ye that he’s upset?"

"No,"

"Then he’s not. Merlin doesn’t leave stuff like that in the dark. Look," Christie pushed back her own hair. "Ye’re on the kick and he understands. And he’s as proud of ye as the rest of us. As for yuir dreams, well, things are crazy on the other side of the planet right now and ye can hardly be held accountable for that. We haven’t had a good meal in weeks and that might have something to do with it." She gave the young redfox a reassuring hug. "And I’m here if ye need me. Ye have to stop trying to shoulder all the world’s problems at one time."

Tricky looked up at her from under a shock of red hair. "So do ye," He smiled dazzlingly.

The foundling smiled. "Ye wants ta go out? Good trip around town’ll put ye to sleep."

Tricky didn’t answer for a moment. He could barely keep his eyes open, but fear was giving him plenty of adrenaline and energy to burn. "Sure," He said.

+++

In a cottage outside the city, in the centre of a farm not far from a craggy cliff, covered in rocks and heather and surrounded by rugged hills spotted with non-anthro white sheep, a boy like Tricky was having a similar problem.

Michael got up and wrapped himself in his familiar slim black sweater. He padded across the small, musty cold room silently. Pushing back a rustic wooden door quietly, he regarded his new Master, Merlin, asleep.

"You must never call me master," Merlin had corrected him once, one of the the only times Michael had spoken. It hadn’t sunk in though, and when Michael had dropped a clay dish and cowered in the corner, it took an hour for him to realise Merlin was not about to beat him senseless.
"I would never beat you," Merlin had held the boy who cowered at his side. "And I would never punish you over something so trivial."

Now Michael closed the door softly again, and padded outside. He sat near the door, shivering, and staring up at the brilliantly starlit sky. In the distance, shadows of ancient ruins, from the worshippers of Chaos in the time of Tristan, fell over heather and rocks. The ocean crashed against cliffs in the distance. Michael shivered again; something was off in the Chaotic Scheme. Not wrong, perhaps even good. But off.

"I know," He heard a voice beside him. Michael looked up at the tall, cloak-covered figure next to him. Merlin sat down by Michael and put an arm around the boy, covering him in the dark blue cloak. Michael instinctively ducked his head and nestled into Merlin’s side, feeling, for once, safe in his Master’s arms.

"I feel it, too," Merlin’s voice was a picture of serenity, of joy. "Don’t worry. Only good came come of this,"

Michael sighed and closed his fatigued eyes, comforted. Merlin picked a blossom of heather out of the ground around him, and smiled.

+++

High Street, New Edinburgh.

A young, woe-begotten wolf worked away at a fiddle, amidst the fury and frenzy of the Gaelic musicians- he stomped his combat boot-clad feet over the cobblestone street. Behind him, spread out on an old, thick woollen plaid blanket, was another fiddler, a guitar player, a drummer and a bagpiper.

It was the dead of the night. The city was still awash in lamplight, late-night drinkers yelling from the nearby pubs, the waves crashing in on the cold beaches in the distant.

Tails was tired. He yawned and leaned back in his uncomfortable plastic pub chair, staring up at the stars. Now you didn’t see stars like that where he came from. Knothole was a beautiful place, but all the cast off smog and pollution from Robotropolis made the skies a cloudy pinkish purple colour, most of the time. Sometimes in the winter you would get a clear night, and if you were lucky, a glimpse of searing northern lights.

But here…wow. Of course, the edges were blurred because of ambient light and New Edinburgh’s own pollution problem, but that was nothing compared to the immensity of Robotropolis. Stars twinkled in the distant, dancing to the merry tunes playing out below them. And ribbons of bright green, blue and pink wove through them. It was beautiful.

Sonic wasn’t enjoying it half as much. He stood shivering in his borrowed plaid coat, scowling at the burning sky. He kept close to Tails, making sure the boy didn’t stray from him, at the same time strangely aware of everything that was going on around him.

He knew this trip meant a lot to Tails, and it was really the only reason he had agreed on coming. The only reason he gave up his warm bed at home in favour of trekking across the continent in an old jeep, then jumping a stomach-heaving tallship. Sonic still scowled at the memory. Damned island. He was starting to dislike Cascadia as much as he disliked the Floating Island.

Tails, on the other hand, seemed to love it. Of course, he had his reasons. Sonic could sympathize, after all, he, too, had lost his family. But then, Sonic had the advantage of knowing who they were, and he got to get them back when the terror was all over. None of them figured that Tails ever would. And Tails was okay with that.

Then Jnco had shown up, a rebel posing as a coffee shop waitress in Robotropolis for an allied group of freedom fighters, another village that worked under the Princess. Damned Gypsy. She started coming around to Knothole with her group, and made fast friends with Tails. They would go into the woods together, she taught him how to read the stars and the magic of certain plants. Sometimes Amy Rose would tag along, which no one really approved of. Sometimes they’d catch up with the Wolf Pack, and Lupe would join in on the pseudo-lessons.

Jnco was the one who had filled his head with the false hopes of finding his family, of finding who he was. She told him of at least one living relative on the Isle far to the east, where she grew up. And he was all too willing to follow her. It was a good thing Sonic had insisted on coming along to protect him.

The gypsy was currently engaged with fast-paced, thickly accented conversation with a local, obviously trying to find directions somewhere. Seems she had forgotten about her hometown in the years she had been in the Robot Wars.

Tails was still caught up in the lively playing and dancing of the street band when Jnco wove her way back to them.

"C’mon, it’s in Inglewood…closer to the University."

"It’s late, Jink…don’t you think we should find a place to crash?" Sonic was irritable when he was tired.

"Chill, Sonic," Tails told him. "We’ll get there."

"I just don’t want you to be let down, big guy." Sonic muttered as the two followed Jnco down the crowded cobblestone streets.

"I won’t be, Son. Don’t worry about me."

"I just don’t want to see you hurt, man. I mean, I’ve been there-"

"Son, chill!" Tails grinned up at him. "I trust her. It’s okay."

That, for some reason, seemed good enough for Sonic. For now.

+++

Meanwhile, at the Wayfarer’s Post.

"Ye alright, Trick? Ye barely touched yuir drink," Christie leaned back on her chair in the smoke-filled public house, regarding her friend.

He had his headfur up- one of the little girlish idiosyncrasies that marked Tricky as ‘different’. He had his hands balled up tightly in his tight-fitting red jacket’s pockets, and was sitting rigidly. Tricky didn’t make eye contact with her, staring at the dark pint of ale in front of him.

"Christie…" He looked up at his friend, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and eyeing him enigmatically. "I need a hit."

"No, you don’t." No questions asked. No ands, ifs, or buts.

"But-"

"No, Trick, I’m not gonna let ye do that to yerself." Christie offered him the cigarette, which he shook his head to. She put it out. "Ye’re lucky I even let ye touch alcohol."

Tricky sighed. He attempted to take a swig from his ale, grimaced. "I needs some fresh air." He headed for the door.

Christie sighed and reluctantly followed.

Outside, on the cobblestone, under the twisting northern lights, Tricky fell to the ground, writhing, sweating, and panting.

"Tricky!" Christie dropped to her knees next to him. "Bloody fuck, Tricky, talk ta me!"

Tricky curled up around her arm, gasping. "I don’t understand…" He muttered.

People crowded around the two, not knowing what to do.

"Shite!" Christie yelled at them. "Somebody get some help! Tricky!"

Michael snapped out of slumber, violently, and his head popped up from under Merlin’s arm. He looked at Merlin, frantically.

"I know." Merlin said. "Go get your shoes."

Michael scrambled to obey while Merlin solemnly unlocked the old rusting bicycle from the side of the barn. It was his brother’s…he vividly remembered when the boy would cycle out of Mobotropolis with his sister Emma on the handlebars, to see the magician where he lived in seclusion.

Michael stumbled out of the house, hastily pulling on his simple leather sandals. He stood astride the bicycle and let the older man take the seat, and started the ride to New Edinburgh.

"Whoa…hold it!" Jnco stopped suddenly, fine white headfur whipping around her face. She, Sonic and Tails stared at the crowd gathering in front of a public house. A man, a tall redfox, pushed his way through the crowd and into whatever they were staring at.

Jnco followed him and pushed past gawking artists and merry makers.

"Tricky!" She cried. "Christie!"

Tricky still gasped and writhed, crying on the cobblestone.

Christie looked around frantically and held him to her when a man, a tall redfox, pushed his way forward.

"Let me see him." He said gruffly, pushing her away.

"What-" Christie cut herself off when she saw the look on Tricky’s face, the look of pure terror, as he registered the man currently holding him. "Oh no, ye don’t-" Before she could stop him, he had delivered a mind-numbing blow to her face. Christie fell back, bleeding, and clutching Tricky to his chest, the man ran off.

"Tricky!" An all too familiar voice cried out. Then, when Christie was hit- "Christie!"

Ignoring the voice, and the implications it had, Christie barrelled herself through the crowd and ran after the man she already knew she hated.

"Shit!" Jnco yelled, loudly.

"What the hell just happened?" Sonic demanded.

"I don’t even know," Jnco replied. "But that was him, man, that was Tails’ cousin, who got carried off."

Tails stared at her for a second. "R-really?" He had never been this close.

"Well? Friggin’ follow him!"

Sonic was off in a flash. He refused to let Tails get hurt the way he had.

"Go!" Jnco cried to Tails. "Come back for me. I’ll be here."

Tails flew off after his mentor, already lost in the darkness of the city, leaving Jnco behind, to mutter curses in Romany.

There were disadvantages to following someone down the streets of an ancient city. After alleys and corridors, each one darker than the next, Sonic cut off the man, stopping in front of him. He fell, dropping Tricky, who at this point didn’t even seem to know what was going on.

"Whoa man," Sonic began, as the taller redfox looked up at him in rage. "I don’t want no trouble or nothin’."

"Who the fuck are ye?" Sonic glanced up and saw Christie, panting and finally caught up, staring at him.

"An Overlander?"

"And ye!" Christie pointed an accusing finger at the older redfox who stood now. "You have no right-" She was flung back, violently, by an unseen force as the older redfox waved his hand.

Tails landed at this moment, and witnessed it. "Oh shit!" This was the first time he had seen real magic used by anyone outside of his adventures with the freedom fighters, and the little parlour tricks Jnco could do.

"You!" The redfox said angrily. "I know you. Looks like I’m a little late. Again." He lifted his hand again, as if to strike, but Sonic got himself in between him and Tails.

"Don’t you dare, man. You don’t wanna know-"

"Get out of my way, boy, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences." He lifted his hand again. Sonic flinched.

"Melchizedek." A new voice rang out in the darkness. One that sounded vaguely familiar.

Tails glanced up at Sonic. "Go get Jnco!" He hissed quietly. Sonic nodded, and was back in a second with the gypsy manx.

"How the fuck did ye do that?" Christie demanded. Melchizedek sent another jolt towards her, but it was held back by Merlin, the newcomer.

"Melchizedek!" He yelled. "I have told you time and time again that you are not welcome in New Edinburgh."

"Well if it isn’t old Merlin." Melchizedek yelled back spitefully. "And his new boy." Michael hung back in the shadows, silent. "You’re too late, Merlin. I’m having my way this time. Chosen One or not." He sent another dark, rippling glare towards Tails. "You know if Naugus hadn’t been exiled, I’d be ruling Cascadia now. And it’d be better off for it, too. None of you piddling Chaos worshippers." His anger grew. Jnco drew in a breath as his aura went from a deep red to a raging, violent crimson, bordered with pure darkness.

"Father…" Tricky managed to gasp out.

Everyone was surprised by Tricky’s remembered presense. Merlin’s guard dropped for a moment.

"Please…" Michael, moved by the pain in Tricky’s voice, left the safety of Merlin’s shadow towards the fallen boy.

"Don’t touch him!" Melchizedek flared, sending a wave of magic, knocking Michael strait into the stone wall behind him. He went out cold.

"Fuck ye!" Christie yelled, which seemed to be one of the only things she was capable of. "He’s a fucking child!"

"Shut up, you skanky little human-" Melchizedek was about ready to fling another bolt of black magic towards her, but was stopped by the flow of Merlin’s power.

"Melchizedek! Stop this at once! You know you can’t win."

"I will win, Merlin. Eventually. First I’m gonna kill my pathetic excuse for a son, then your precious Chosen Three, and then I’ll free Naugus. And we’ll rule. And you’ll be out of the picture."

"Father…" Tricky murmured again.

"Look at you. Servant of the Three. Can’t even hold up in the presence of two of them." He began kicking at Tricky’s balled up form. "Do you know how embarrasing it is to have a court jester for a son?"

Melchizedek was knocked to the ground by a shock of blue lighting.

"Leave this place." Merlin said, stoicly. "You know I could kill you if I had the strength, Melchizedek. That doesn’t mean I won’t one day."

Melchizedek glowered at him from where he lay, hurt and bleeding.

"Naugus was a horrible teacher. And he had a horrible student." Merlin threw in. "You should have come to me."

"Fine," Melchizedek muttered as he rose. He spat at Merlin’s feet and glared. Without another word, he cast a hand at the ground and disappeared.

"Bloody fuck..." Christie muttered as she crawled over to Tricky. She cursed more as she held him.

"I will leave him to you." Merlin said sombrely as he picked up his unconscious charge. "And take this one home. Jnco," He smiled sadly at the startled gypsy. "Good to have you home."

"It’s good to be home, my lord." She answered immediately.

"What can you do?" Softer now.

Jnco shrugged, her blue and green eyes still frantic from what she just witnessed. "I can bind him…maybe. I will."

Merlin nodded, enigmatically. "Good." He smiled down at Tails, who was still trying to place him. "And you, little one. Go see to your cousin."

Carrying Michael, the wizard disappeared into the darkness.

"Okay," Christie broke the silence. "What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck are ye?" She glared fiercely at all of them. Sonic glared right back.

"Christie. It’s okay. It’s me."

The girl stared up at the gypsy manx in confusion and anger for a moment. Eventually her face softened. "Jnco?"

Jnco nodded, smiling.

"I thought ye were dead…"

"I wasn’t. And I’m here now."

"Why didn’t ye try to tell us?" Christie was choking now.

"I couldn’t. I was pretending to be someone else the entire time."

Christie stared at her, then at the others, then down at the boy in her arms. "I…this is…" she was having trouble dealing with it. "We have to help Tricky." She said finally, defeated.

"Tails can take care of it." Jnco said simply.

"What? I can?"

Tricky sputtered, coughing up blood. "The rod…" He muttered.

"Who the fuck is this?" Christie cried.

Tricky grabbed Christie’s hand. "It’s in my closet. Please, Christie."

Christie stared at him for a moment. Then back up at Jnco. "He can use, it, right? This bye?" She jerked her head at Tails. Jnco nodded. "But…" her voice was starting to shake again. "It’s in his closet. We’re far from home, it’s on the other side of the city."

"Sonic can get it. Will you show him where it is?"

Sonic sighed, defeated, and moved toward the girl.

"But it’s on the other side of the city. He’ll never make it-" She was cut off when Sonic pulled her into his arms, as distasteful as he found holding an Overlander.

"Can you show him?" Jnco asked again.

"Well, yes, but-" And they were off.

Jnco smiled reassurance at Tails who knelt by her and Tricky.

"This…I have family?" Tails asked her fearfully.

Jnco nodded, stroking Tricky’s forehead. "His mother was your aunt. Your father’s sister. He’s one of the only ones left, Tails." Tricky sputtered and cried, coughing up some more blood. "You can help him."

"How?" Tails stared at her.

"You know." Was all Jnco said, and then Sonic and Christie were back, she holding the burlap-covered rod.

The sun was starting to rise in the distance.

Without even shouting some question punctuated by curses, Christie simply handed the parcel to Tails.

"Here. It’s yuirs. Tricky was holding it for ye."

"Well…what do I do?"

Jnco stepped back. "It’s yours. You know what to do. I know you do, Tails."

Tails solemnly unwrapped the burlap to reveal the translucent, green jade rod. And she was right. He did know what to do.

While the others watched on, Tails held the rod low, his head bowed, and closed his eyes.

Wind shifted. Jnco watched as Tails’ dreamy blue aura meshed with Tricky’s faint one. Tricky stopped coughing and started to breathe again, the blood stopped flowing. He eventually sighed, and opened his eyes. "My lord…" He whispered, to Tails. "Thank you."

Tails slowly opened his eyes and smiled at Tricky.

"What the fuck just happened?" Christie and Sonic cried in unison.

Tails helped Tricky sit up. "You…you’re my cousin?" He asked, wide-eyed.

Tricky nodded, just as dumbstruck. "And this…" He pointed uncertainly at the rod. "Is yuirs." The two just stared at each other, taking in the striking resemblance, for a moment. Then Tricky suddenly pulled the boy towards him in a fierce hug. Beside Christie, Sonic glared.

"I’m glad to finally meet ye." Tricky finally said, not breaking contact.

"Me too." Tails whispered.

Tricky drew back. "What’s yuir name?"

"Miles. But I hate it. Everyone calls me Tails."

Tricky grinned. "Patrick. But I hate it. Everyone calls me Tricky."

The two grinned again, safe in the fact that they were not alone.

"That man…who was he?"

"Oh that was Uncle Merlin." Tricky stood. "Ye’ll meet him. I guess ye’ll have to meet Aunt Emma too. I mean, ye’re stayin’ fer a while, right?"

Tails nodded and grinned. "Yeah."

The end of Bahtalo Drom.

To be continued in Fa\ilte a Chascadia.

* Sonic the Hedgehog and all related characters are the property of Dic/Sega/Archie. Tricky Danger, Christie, Michael, Melchizedek, Jnco, and all other original characters, as well as Cascadia are all property of me, Taryn ‘Jnco’ Wander’r. The contents of this story are copyright 2001 Taryn ‘Jnco’ Wander’r. I mean no infringement and the story was written purely for love of the art. Feel free to distribute this fic as you like, as long as you a) email me and tell me where b) don’t alter it in any way and c) don’t make any money off it, as I’m not.*

Feedback welcome! tarynw42@hotmail.com