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Luciprochoros
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I just have to keep writing. While I'm alone, while I'm in here. I have to keep writing before it all goes black.
Why am I so sure that will happen? It's like something riding my heels, chasing me, nagging me incessantly. I've read many an account of Armed recording how they felt when their Arms awakened, and I suppose it might be like this... but I don't feel any strength, I just hear my doom. Our doom. It's coming, if I don't move my quill fast enough. If I don't slap enough ink down in pleasing arcs and dashes and marks, then we're all going to die.
It hurts so much to do anything else. The guilt stings me the most, but there's also that dread every time I leave my study, every time I'm away from the quill. I have so many other things I have to do besides this. How did I end up with so many responsibilities? How did there end up being so many things to do in a day? When I had to write it all out to save us before, I didn't have to do all this stuff. I was just the Song. That was enough.
But obviously it isn't enough anymore. I can't just exist and save everything by being here. I'm not good enough. Not worth enough. Theos would pinch out my existence for the least little crime by this point. I'm worth less than nothing. No one wants me anymore. Those that were with me once are leaving or making other allegiances. 'Sy's abandoned me out of spite for what I've become, Elete died because of what I couldn't be, Rahellene is leaving and Stevane's found someone else to tend. It's nice that she still comes to talk to me, but I know she's pandering. Katherine, bless her, is the only reason I still have an Empire. My position as Jhe o'Radia has amounted to that much.
I really am pathetic, aren't I? A pathetic wretch. But the one thing I can do is write, and it's what I have to do, because I owe them all so much. I have to make reparations. I have to do what I can, even though it's not enough, it'll never be enough, and I know this won't work.
No, no, no, no, no, I have to make this work. But it won't. No, it can't fail! I can't fail! But I will. It's just what I am, after all - a failure, a cheap replacement for Jhe h'Logos. Elete was so much better at this. He'd obviously made the Crown his own. Why'd I have to take it back?
Why am I such a fool?
I thunk my head down on the desk. I think for a moment that the sound echoes, but in fact someone is knocking on my office door. Odd. I tend to detect visitors before they need to knock. But I am a little busy right now. My head's not in the right place... or rather, my task is too important to allow myself to receive visitors right now. I open my mouth, preparing to echo the thought of it and dismiss whoever it is. They can wait. It's bad enough that I'm so incompetent - I can't let interruptions make our plight even worse.
"Jhe o'Radia? Please pardon my intrusion, but a matter requires your attention."
Jhe h'Logos. My shoulders slump. Of course he'd time the request before I could get the dismissal past my lips. We've a little less than six months left now - surely I have time enough for one conversation. The notion still passes through my mind, worrying at my thoughts, but with some effort I dismiss it instead of my Poet King. I rise. "Please, enter." It's not very well-kempt in here, but Jhe h'Logos has seen worse, considering he teaches so many Poets.
Jhe h'Logos bows as soon as he closes the door behind him. As always, it's strange to look upon him, and also just a bit painful. No... more painful than ever, but I'm not sure why. Maybe my failures feel especially poignant now, and so it's easier to think of Elete's death right now. Maybe it's seeing the circlet on his brow instead of the crown on my head. The crown I don't want, but I have to keep. It'd kill him.
His eyes widen when he looks up at me, but he says nothing. I remind myself to stay composed. I must look like as much of a wreck as I feel. "You have business, Jhe h'Logos?"
He laughs, the sound a bit uncomfortable and mirthless. "It's strange to hear you say that, your majesty, while looking at you with that crown. I'm still not used to the sight." He shakes his head. "Forgive me, I'm a bit easily distracted. I had to have a nap this morning - I was a fool and skipped sleeping last night."
"Some things just don't change, I see."
He shrugs. "So it seems! I've resolved to take better care of myself. The first step is admitting you have a problem, yes?"
That was a rhetorical question, I'm sure. "Good to hear. Your business, Jhe h'Logos?"
He waves his hand. "Forgive me, I do seem to stray. Jhe Stevane had a breakthrough with Ebrelle today, and well... I'm aware of your standing with him, and his with you. I'm also aware that you've just this morning had a very high-pressure meeting-- your majesty?" He breaks off his question, then steps closer, and then he's got my arm. I realize it's a good thing, too. I was about to tip over.
I'm about to stammer out an apology, or more likely an excuse, when he just shakes his head. "You simply must have a seat. There's no reason for you to rise in my presence. Quite the opposite, yes? Here now--"
I miss the next few words he speaks, and just nod to pretend that I hear them. Everything's a bit blurry... and then it isn't, and I hear again. I blink.
I'm in my chair again. He's fanning a paper in my face in an attempt to rouse me. Once he notices that I'm back to my senses, he lowers the paper. I recognize it as one of my writings. "I... please, Jhe h'Logos, I know you're concerned for me but I have to keep the pages in order!" I snatch it back from him, then scan over it to get a sense of where it belongs in this mess of an office where more papers coat every flat surface.
Jhe h'Logos gives me a look that's not quite concern, but isn't suspicion either. I can't exactly place it, but for some reason I feel as if I'm in trouble. If I didn't have him to focus on, I'd be overridden with guilt from it. He looks at one of the nearby papers. I feel a spike of panic. I don't want anybody to read these! Not yet, not before I'm done... and I'm so far from being done!
He walks to the other side of the office, looking down at another pile of papers from the batch. His eyebrow tilts up, a polite yet interrogative hook. "You've been busy. How much ink have you used?"
"By now? Gallons, surely. Jhe h'Logos, I must ask you to--"
"Where are the bottles?" He cuts through my words.
I'm pretty annoyed at being interrupted. He may be a King, but I'm the only Emperor in the room. I'm about to reprimand him, but then the question nags at me for a moment. I realize that I don't have an immediate answer. And wondering about that is strange, because well... why would anyone care? I've obviously used a lot of ink, why does Jhe h'Logos need it quantified?
Now he's got that look on his face again. That sort of inquisitive pity that makes me wonder what I've done. "Jhe o'Radia..." He sighs. "The paper in your hand. I didn't think it was part of your work, and I apologize."
I'm even more thrown off by the unexpected apology. "Well, it's good that you understand my ire. I didn't mean to react in the manner that I did, but this is all very important work, Jhe h'Logos."
His expression gets sadder, and my chest wrenches. Even worse, though, I'm starting to feel that frenzy. Enough scrutiny! Back to work! He shakes his head. "I apologize. I should have come to talk to you much sooner. I understood that you were avoiding me, perhaps to let me gain my own feet in my new role. You always did give Elete his own room to grow, but that means that I should have known even moreso not to let a rift develop. I should have also taken charge more as Jhe h'Logos instead of staying so quiet. I've been remiss in my duties, and so I take responsibility for what you're about to discover. Please look at the paper in your hand, Jhe o'Radia."
I give him a look of such scrutiny that he flinches, but he doesn't back down. I find I've little to do but accede to his request. Now I'm wondering what he's on about. I raise the paper and peer at it. Same handwriting as usual, a bit frenzied and even smudged in a few places. I inwardly curse. Sloppy work could be the undoing of us all. "Yes, and?"
He takes a deep breath, composing himself. "Read the words. To yourself, if you'd prefer. I don't need to hear them."
That's a strange request. I know what's on this sheet, after all, wrote it myself, indexed it and sorted it and even edited it a bit after some later work. I practically have it all memorized, but I humor Jhe h'Logos. I read it methodically from the beginning, word by word.
I'm at the middle of the page before I know it. Odd, I tend to fit more on a page than...
Wait.
The room starts to spin. The guilt's not pressing in anymore, but there's worry. Alarm at being caught. I feel... naked. But it's confusing, most of all. I swear... I swear I wrote it. I still remember the feel of the quill twitching between my fingers, the scratch of the nib over the parchment. It all happened, I know it did. Why else would I have spent most of the last two months inside my office? I was writing, I know I was.
But the page is blank. I hazard a glance up, then see a few stray sheets next to me. They're also blank. The piles of paper all around... they're all blank.
I feel sick. Jhe h'Logos helps me out of my office. I make my own way to the privy. My stomach can lodge its complaints in private.
It's several minutes before I can emerge again. I feel Jhe h'Logos prod at my mind as I wash up. Checking to ensure I'm alright. It's understandable. Every page in that room is blank. He knows what a madman I've been all this time.
But Rahellene saw all the work! 'Sy never said anything about the blank pages, either! Stevane surely would have said something!
"You cast a strong glamour in there, Jhe o'Radia." He bows to me again as I come back into the room. "Had I not had the paper in my hand, I might not have seen through it myself."
I find a seat and then take a suitable posture from which to bury my face in my palms. I'm a mess. I'm an utter, complete mess. To boot, I'm also insane.
"It's always a little strange when we show our eccentricities, isn't it?" I look up, taken off guard by the lightness in Jhe h'Logos's tone. His back is to me, hands clasped behind his back. He's looking at my office decor. It's strange to see his hair so long, so much more like his brother's. And Val's too, come to think. But not Eistinn's. That boy's got hair like my sons have. That's right, so curly-headed, like Jax and Edward--
Jhe h'Logos steadies me, his hand on my shoulder again. I didn't see him walk up to me. It's as if he teleported. No... no, I think I lost some time, there.
And I feel something. Fear, but not mine.
How could you be wearing the Crown? Why would you wear the crown? The voice is far off, and it's half malice, half horror. It's my son.
Edward.
Jhe h'Logos is the one who's smart enough to take the crown off of my head. Once I'm free of it, I feel clearer than I've felt in months. Then pure panic stabs me once I realize I'm not wearing it anymore. My overtaxed mind decides that the most reasonable solution is obviously to black out.
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Erynn
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Looking up at the night sky gives me a crick in my dream-self's neck after a while. Besides, long periods of contemplation in dreams aren't all that satisfying because I tend to forget most of what I think during them. Sort of like taking one step in a dream-journey and then in the next two steps I'm at my destination. The same sort of rule applies to making Gates out of Poetry, come to think of it. Anyway, I'm sure I had lots of brilliant ideas and revelations from looking at the complex relationships and divisions between all the constellations in my dream sky. My subconscious will surely burp them up for me sometime when I'm awake.
Right now, though, I could use dreamtime to do something. I've been laying low for a bit to make sure Edward finds something else to ruin instead of camping around and waiting to catch me again. It feels like enough time's passed for that to happen, though dreamtime's passing is a bit harder to judge. Hopefully the turning of my fantasy stars was somewhat accurate. Time to try and see, then. Time to go drop in on the real Jhe h'Logos.
He's remarkably easy to find, and it seems he's listening for visitors. Jhe h'Logos?
I get the sense that he jumps. Oh, Jhe Blackirons. I apologize - I did not expect you at this moment... ah, but apparently you're about to tell me something that explains quite a bit for me. His confusion clears up as he speaks - must be his future self giving his present self a few tips. I get premonitions and hunches, but hardly anything close to what Jhe h'Logos can do with his different selves in different times. Heck, I think he's better at it now than he used to be as the other Jhe h'Logos.
Still. I'm glad to hear that. I have no idea how what I'm about to say could explain anything, because all it does is confuse me the more I think about it. I suppose I'll just drop the whole of it on you, then, since it's what's called for now?
Please, Jhe Blackirons. And quickly.
I explain to him what Edward just did in my dream, and what Edward said about Jhe h'Logos. Being in a dream right now makes the explanation quicker, and speaking mind-to-mind means I can lend emotional impressions and visual recollections much more quickly than in writing. It means that I can't much perceive where Jhe h'Logos is now, though. In the Poet Hall it's a different story, but other places aren't as specifically built for mental travel. Additionally, it seems he's in a place that the wards won't allow me all the way into. No worries. I've no reason to stick around for much longer.
Ah. Yes, that does help immensely, Jhe Blackirons. You have my gratitude for reporting this.
Usually that would be the end of it and I'd dismiss myself, but something's nagging at me. My King, is there anything amiss? What my former teacher said doesn't make any sense, by my reckoning. To be frank, you sure seem mentally sound to me.
He laughs. That's not a compliment I hear often! In any case, there's a suitable explanation for Jhe Edward's actions. To make the story short, he's had a case of mistaken identity, and attacked someone else. I will brief you on it later, but for now stay on the alert for him. You're going to be one of the best Poets for doing so, especially considering your status as his former student. For now, you may be dismissed - no one's life is in danger now, but I have a bit of cleanup to attend to.
That's that, I suppose. I want to hang around and see exactly what he's up to, but it sounds like there's trouble enough already without me causing more of it. I take care traveling back to our camp, making sure not to be tracked and staying wary of traps. I'll find out what's been going on soon, I'm sure. Until then, a more peaceful nap is in order.
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Edward
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Why did he have it? Why was Father wearing the crown? Of all people, why him? He doesn't need to be ruler of anything else but Crux Radia, so... why be Jhe h'Logos? Maybe it's some sort of mistake. Maybe he was just holding it for a bit. I've been attacking the new Jhe h'Logos since the first one died. The new one that my King is so furious at for continuing to exist, for some reason. It's been... months, right? It's so hard to tell time within Nul's lands...
How long? How long has my Father been wearing it?
All this time. It hits me, hard and heavy. Father could have been the possessor all this time, and I'd have not known otherwise. It's hard to deny. His struggles just now were just as frantic as the ones of whomever I've been attacking all this time. I've been haunting the same mind, the same person. There couldn't have been a switch.
Why? Why would he wear that crown, especially after it killed Jhe h'Logos Elete? WHY?
He was so heartbroken about his failure. All that work that I made him do... all those inkless writings, that wasted time. Why would he do it at all, though? That's what I don't understand the most: that Father was taking on the role to begin with! He was hurt and exhausted and out of his mind from the stress of it all, but... what was he doing? Why would he let me do that to him?
I've never seen him like that, so confused, so pitiful, pulling at his own hair, pounding on the desk, sweating and swearing and most of all pleading with some unseen force for more time, more time, more time...
Was he pleading with me?
I can't take this. I can't understand what he's done. I don't know why he'd do this. Betray me... betray all my expectations... block my work by taking the brunt of it? How could he?
How could he do this to me?
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