Lt'helo sat and smoked in utter silence. The harsh rasp of her incense-like, stupefying leaf against her throat and lungs served several purposes, but for the moment, she wanted its aid in concentration, its press down upon her mind.
She didn't need the pipe smoke to call up the vision with crystal clarity. It was Warren Castille's vision, Warren Castille's fears, and as he was a man of great purpose, his fears were equally great. The destructive monster slaughtering the Grindstone. The smiling woman who was once his wife, her mind shattered. The despairing Mage flinging herself from a cliff. The herbs of the children of the Mountain Aldgoat tribe had crisply illuminated what was not yet inevitable. Lt'helo was all too aware Warren Castille continued to fear what he had seen, what could still come to pass, and for that reason had taken the Mage girl into his home.
And yet, Lt'helo mused, greater and stranger works were sometimes requires to stave off inevitability coming to flower.
In that service, she had committed sins, great sins. Already, the Masked One sensed those sins, smelled them on her skin like a stench that only another who had committed great sins could perceive. The Masked One, the very definition of a loose cannon knocking holes in the rocking ship that was the Grindstone family, thought himself soiled beyond redemption, and therefore free to do as he pleased. But Lt'helo knew the twin forces of inevitability and duty held them all lashed as prisoners tied by either arm. She suspected he would try to kill her someday. She was certain he would not be the first to try, nor the last.
Toward that end, the end of staving off the inevitable, she had reached out her hand to save the corrupted, granted succor to murderers, healed the unrepentant, spared the conniving. Toward that end, she had condemned the innocent, destroyed pure-hearted love, twisted fate, and bereaved an entire household. She had spoken to Warren Castille frequently of the poisonous cloud of smoke-like grief choking his household. What he did not know was that it was her hand on the bellows, fanning the smoke into the house.
Utter despair lay so close. It was a constant temptation, lurking just over her shoulder, whispering of an end at last. She clung to her anchors, which slipped from her grasp, one by one. Aoi acted the spoiled teenager, petulant one moment and pleading the next, oblivious and uncaring of the forces tearing Lt'helo asunder. Ha'uruh feared her, his own blood, and he was too tamed by city life and weak liquor to put his faith in the movements of stars, the formation of ants on a branch, or the pattern of intestines as they spill from the belly of a freshly slaughtered goat. These were the things that whispered the inevitable. Why would he not learn to hear?
Only Warren Castille and Sudden Impact remained to anchor her to the tumult of the present. Warren Castille of course surrendered nothing he considered his, an admirable quality save when it meant utter refusal to succumb to the inevitable. Sometimes, that could rend fate apart and turn even inevitability aside; but most of the time, it meant being ground within the teeth of turning, inexorable gears.
As for Impact... At first, simply an amusement, a diversion. She has sought him as a woman sought a man, utilizing her arts carelessly, and the more fool she, ignoring some of the strongest indications of fate she had ever seen. She could not afford to be merely a woman - not with him, or anyone else, though he made it easy for her to feel that way. He was as much a puppet of the inevitable as any of them. When she thought of Impact, and then of the future, she felt afraid. That was unusual. Fearing what would happen was foolish.
A reckoning was coming. She could feel it when she breathed, exhaling smoke, and as a knot in the deepest part of her belly. Everyone paid a price for their deeds. But she couldn't afford to lose any more anchors. She couldn't keep holding on then. If only she could talk to the Judge about it, and make him see... make him somehow understand how important it was for him to either return, or move forward. His mind was so alien, it fascinated her as a bird was fascinated by a snake. He could become an anchor as well. If she could only find the right words, could only convince him to let her walk beside him for a time - whether forward, or back.
Would any of them understand? Her choices, her sins, how hard it had been for her, how hard it still was? She didn't need forgiveness, but with no one to follow after her, there were none who could understand, and she found she craved that with the intensity of hunger and thirst.
And yet, on came the reckoning. The Masked One might truly kill her when her sins came to light. Perhaps Aoi would join him, savoring in her mate's righteous bloodlust. John Waterstrike would hide his face and weep for what was lost; Warren Castille would not turn his face from what must be done. Only the Judge's face escaped her mind. Would it be satisfied at justice served? Grieved? Angered? Or blank, as a mask?
Lt'helo could not turn from her path. Inevitability dictated all which would happen now. She filled the room with smoke as she sat alone, and concealed herself within its heart.
She didn't need the pipe smoke to call up the vision with crystal clarity. It was Warren Castille's vision, Warren Castille's fears, and as he was a man of great purpose, his fears were equally great. The destructive monster slaughtering the Grindstone. The smiling woman who was once his wife, her mind shattered. The despairing Mage flinging herself from a cliff. The herbs of the children of the Mountain Aldgoat tribe had crisply illuminated what was not yet inevitable. Lt'helo was all too aware Warren Castille continued to fear what he had seen, what could still come to pass, and for that reason had taken the Mage girl into his home.
And yet, Lt'helo mused, greater and stranger works were sometimes requires to stave off inevitability coming to flower.
In that service, she had committed sins, great sins. Already, the Masked One sensed those sins, smelled them on her skin like a stench that only another who had committed great sins could perceive. The Masked One, the very definition of a loose cannon knocking holes in the rocking ship that was the Grindstone family, thought himself soiled beyond redemption, and therefore free to do as he pleased. But Lt'helo knew the twin forces of inevitability and duty held them all lashed as prisoners tied by either arm. She suspected he would try to kill her someday. She was certain he would not be the first to try, nor the last.
Toward that end, the end of staving off the inevitable, she had reached out her hand to save the corrupted, granted succor to murderers, healed the unrepentant, spared the conniving. Toward that end, she had condemned the innocent, destroyed pure-hearted love, twisted fate, and bereaved an entire household. She had spoken to Warren Castille frequently of the poisonous cloud of smoke-like grief choking his household. What he did not know was that it was her hand on the bellows, fanning the smoke into the house.
Utter despair lay so close. It was a constant temptation, lurking just over her shoulder, whispering of an end at last. She clung to her anchors, which slipped from her grasp, one by one. Aoi acted the spoiled teenager, petulant one moment and pleading the next, oblivious and uncaring of the forces tearing Lt'helo asunder. Ha'uruh feared her, his own blood, and he was too tamed by city life and weak liquor to put his faith in the movements of stars, the formation of ants on a branch, or the pattern of intestines as they spill from the belly of a freshly slaughtered goat. These were the things that whispered the inevitable. Why would he not learn to hear?
Only Warren Castille and Sudden Impact remained to anchor her to the tumult of the present. Warren Castille of course surrendered nothing he considered his, an admirable quality save when it meant utter refusal to succumb to the inevitable. Sometimes, that could rend fate apart and turn even inevitability aside; but most of the time, it meant being ground within the teeth of turning, inexorable gears.
As for Impact... At first, simply an amusement, a diversion. She has sought him as a woman sought a man, utilizing her arts carelessly, and the more fool she, ignoring some of the strongest indications of fate she had ever seen. She could not afford to be merely a woman - not with him, or anyone else, though he made it easy for her to feel that way. He was as much a puppet of the inevitable as any of them. When she thought of Impact, and then of the future, she felt afraid. That was unusual. Fearing what would happen was foolish.
A reckoning was coming. She could feel it when she breathed, exhaling smoke, and as a knot in the deepest part of her belly. Everyone paid a price for their deeds. But she couldn't afford to lose any more anchors. She couldn't keep holding on then. If only she could talk to the Judge about it, and make him see... make him somehow understand how important it was for him to either return, or move forward. His mind was so alien, it fascinated her as a bird was fascinated by a snake. He could become an anchor as well. If she could only find the right words, could only convince him to let her walk beside him for a time - whether forward, or back.
Would any of them understand? Her choices, her sins, how hard it had been for her, how hard it still was? She didn't need forgiveness, but with no one to follow after her, there were none who could understand, and she found she craved that with the intensity of hunger and thirst.
And yet, on came the reckoning. The Masked One might truly kill her when her sins came to light. Perhaps Aoi would join him, savoring in her mate's righteous bloodlust. John Waterstrike would hide his face and weep for what was lost; Warren Castille would not turn his face from what must be done. Only the Judge's face escaped her mind. Would it be satisfied at justice served? Grieved? Angered? Or blank, as a mask?
Lt'helo could not turn from her path. Inevitability dictated all which would happen now. She filled the room with smoke as she sat alone, and concealed herself within its heart.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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