"Mysteries are flame. Truth burns."
--
The Tsenkhai practically burst into the tent. Her dreadlocks had been flailing behind her, taking on an appearance that was remarkably more dishevelled than their default state. She collapsed almost immediately onto her cot, her hands pinned to her head. Her horns were ringing, as the memory of what she saw in Kaarad-El seemed to pursue her like a hound on a wounded deer.
Tsanai closed her eyes, and she could see nothing but the colours. She tried to shut her eyes tighter, and the colours only became brighter. And yet, what was her consternation, her misgivings about this? The idea, the prospect should have thrilled her. But it didn't. Perhaps it was because of what she knew that it didn't, that they couldn't see.
The scars, the secrets, the chains. The flesh, the mirrors. The blood! So much blood...! Crimson, welling, flowing. There was no time to drown. No time to drown. But it wasn't him. Not really. Something else had taken its place, something whose reckoning would not be postponed indefinitely. The Tsenkhai couldn't see it. Only she did. And it was only a matter of time until they sent more; until they decided she was not adequate to bring what they thought they wanted.
All shall be well. All shall be well. All shall be well.
Her tent flap opened. She recoiled from the influx of light.
"You are not well," a familiar voice rumbled. Tsanai sat up in her cot and felt moisture on her face that felt suspiciously like blood, matching the dark stains on the sheets. She ran the sleeve of her dark azure robe across her face. Kasrjin closed the tent flap behind him, his emerald eyes filled with equal parts confusion and concern. A part of Tsanai resisted the urge to smile wistfully; even now, he was too honest.
"No," she replied flatly. "We have one hundred suns. I dare not risk any more than that. Have you coordinated a training regimen?"
"We've given our part to Alaqu as best as we we can. At the least, none will be unprepared should they face a combat situation."
"Good. That's good." Tsanai breathed deep, allowing herself to relax. At the least, she had to give the appearance of calm and collection, especially in front of him. While Kasrjin was endlessly honest, she could not be the same to him. She could not tell him what this was all for, why it had to happen. In the back of her mind, the echo of ringing chains sounded again like the bells inside Kaarad-El.
"What did you see?" Kasrjin prompted. Tsanai winced at his bluntness. Her throat felt dry. Damn the Correspondence.
"...the mirrors. They want to use the mirrors," was all she could force herself to say. Kasrjin's look of consternation deepened. "For what purpose?" he asked.
"They believe it to be the key to repairing Kaarad-El." It was not explicitly a lie, but it was not explicitly a truth either.
Kasrjin sat beside her, and instinctively she placed her hand on his. It was such a familiar sensation, and yet so distant as well. The colour of memories returned unbidden. She wanted to tell him everything, but pride forbade it. She could not predict exactly what would happen, and so she couldn't. If he fully understood why, would that change things? Would it change nothing? She could sense his confusion. He wanted to know, but did not want to ask. She wanted him to know, but did not want to tell. It was for these purposes that the Correspondence was developed...and yet, they did nothing but sit in silence, their hands grasping one another, taking what comfort they could in the ignorance of the other.
"I am glad you volunteered," Tsanai murmured softly, finally, breaking the silence between them. "I would have forced you to go otherwise."
"You know mercifully little of me if you felt that forcing me was necessary," Kasrjin returned. That caused Tsanai to wince too.
"Once Alaqu has finalised our regimen, we will likely not be able to see one another," the Khadai continued. "We must spend every sun efficiently, so that we are prepared for the West."
"I know," Tsanai breathed. "I would not have it another way. I will not sacrifice you again."
"And you will join us?"
"If it comes to that...yes. Eventually. We will go West as well if it is required of us. At the least, to retrieve what you find." Tsanai loosened her grip on his hand. Kasrjin tilted his head toward hers. "You are stubborn," he commented. "You have yet to tell me. But I think Tsuven would have forgiven you."
She shuddered. Mercifully, her memories of Kaarad-El chose that exact moment to flee.
"Perhaps not," she murmured in response. Kasrjin slowly stood up, gently leaning Tsanai lying down on the cot, and left quietly.
--
The Tsenkhai practically burst into the tent. Her dreadlocks had been flailing behind her, taking on an appearance that was remarkably more dishevelled than their default state. She collapsed almost immediately onto her cot, her hands pinned to her head. Her horns were ringing, as the memory of what she saw in Kaarad-El seemed to pursue her like a hound on a wounded deer.
Tsanai closed her eyes, and she could see nothing but the colours. She tried to shut her eyes tighter, and the colours only became brighter. And yet, what was her consternation, her misgivings about this? The idea, the prospect should have thrilled her. But it didn't. Perhaps it was because of what she knew that it didn't, that they couldn't see.
The scars, the secrets, the chains. The flesh, the mirrors. The blood! So much blood...! Crimson, welling, flowing. There was no time to drown. No time to drown. But it wasn't him. Not really. Something else had taken its place, something whose reckoning would not be postponed indefinitely. The Tsenkhai couldn't see it. Only she did. And it was only a matter of time until they sent more; until they decided she was not adequate to bring what they thought they wanted.
All shall be well. All shall be well. All shall be well.
Her tent flap opened. She recoiled from the influx of light.
"You are not well," a familiar voice rumbled. Tsanai sat up in her cot and felt moisture on her face that felt suspiciously like blood, matching the dark stains on the sheets. She ran the sleeve of her dark azure robe across her face. Kasrjin closed the tent flap behind him, his emerald eyes filled with equal parts confusion and concern. A part of Tsanai resisted the urge to smile wistfully; even now, he was too honest.
"No," she replied flatly. "We have one hundred suns. I dare not risk any more than that. Have you coordinated a training regimen?"
"We've given our part to Alaqu as best as we we can. At the least, none will be unprepared should they face a combat situation."
"Good. That's good." Tsanai breathed deep, allowing herself to relax. At the least, she had to give the appearance of calm and collection, especially in front of him. While Kasrjin was endlessly honest, she could not be the same to him. She could not tell him what this was all for, why it had to happen. In the back of her mind, the echo of ringing chains sounded again like the bells inside Kaarad-El.
"What did you see?" Kasrjin prompted. Tsanai winced at his bluntness. Her throat felt dry. Damn the Correspondence.
"...the mirrors. They want to use the mirrors," was all she could force herself to say. Kasrjin's look of consternation deepened. "For what purpose?" he asked.
"They believe it to be the key to repairing Kaarad-El." It was not explicitly a lie, but it was not explicitly a truth either.
Kasrjin sat beside her, and instinctively she placed her hand on his. It was such a familiar sensation, and yet so distant as well. The colour of memories returned unbidden. She wanted to tell him everything, but pride forbade it. She could not predict exactly what would happen, and so she couldn't. If he fully understood why, would that change things? Would it change nothing? She could sense his confusion. He wanted to know, but did not want to ask. She wanted him to know, but did not want to tell. It was for these purposes that the Correspondence was developed...and yet, they did nothing but sit in silence, their hands grasping one another, taking what comfort they could in the ignorance of the other.
"I am glad you volunteered," Tsanai murmured softly, finally, breaking the silence between them. "I would have forced you to go otherwise."
"You know mercifully little of me if you felt that forcing me was necessary," Kasrjin returned. That caused Tsanai to wince too.
"Once Alaqu has finalised our regimen, we will likely not be able to see one another," the Khadai continued. "We must spend every sun efficiently, so that we are prepared for the West."
"I know," Tsanai breathed. "I would not have it another way. I will not sacrifice you again."
"And you will join us?"
"If it comes to that...yes. Eventually. We will go West as well if it is required of us. At the least, to retrieve what you find." Tsanai loosened her grip on his hand. Kasrjin tilted his head toward hers. "You are stubborn," he commented. "You have yet to tell me. But I think Tsuven would have forgiven you."
She shuddered. Mercifully, her memories of Kaarad-El chose that exact moment to flee.
"Perhaps not," she murmured in response. Kasrjin slowly stood up, gently leaning Tsanai lying down on the cot, and left quietly.