Chapter 9 - Hidden Amongst Us

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Elete
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I advance down the halls, led by Jhe Gerude as Jhe Blackirons chatters as if to mark our path with words instead of breadcrumbs.

"--can't really imagine what this is doing to poor Gerald. Looked practically hangdog, he did. Worst hangover I've ever seen on a man, worse even than mine this morning. Can't really blame him, what with Katherine doing that dead thing again. And what with her coming back on top of that. What a way to twist the knife!"

I catch myself from tripping.

"Oh, sorry Jhe h'Logos! I forgot that I was in polite company. The politest company of all! ...But you know how those two are. They're bad enough 'round each other that I'm surprised they aren't going out again. Most terrible relationship ever, too terrible to quit! Unless you quit it five times."

Gerude sighs heavily. "Erynn, you twit. Shut up and let the condemned suffer in peace."

"What? 'Rude, they'll get plenty of peace in the Void. Anyhow, do you think Gerald and Katherine are gonna finally quit it? Because I think I've still got a chance with her."

I disguise whatever sound that was going to illicit with a polite cough.

"Were all the boys in Robinstead born with rocks in their heads instead of brains, or was it just you, Erynn?" Gerude snorts. "Even if you did have a chance with Jhe Katherine, you'd still have to get past Jhe h'Akribastes. It's like trying to do it with one of his kids."

The Blackirons boy grins. "Well, he hasn't kilt me yet over you, has he? I'm already halfway there!"

Gerude sputters, trying to make his mouth work again. "And just what the fuck does that mean?"

I manage to hide my mirth. "Ah, it seems you've guided me true, Jhe Akribastes." I give Gerude a short bow, which both he and Erynn return. I turn to the cell which lays only a few meters away. Before it are posted three guards. They each give me a bow upon seeing me, and not a few questioning looks, but from the mental echoes that are bouncing about I believe that explanations are being given to them. It shouldn't be too hard to grasp, really - the prisoner is my brother, after all.

One of the guards - Jhe Bloombrucher, if memory serves me - gives me another bow and then clears her throat. "Jhe h'Logos, while you are welcome to visit, we must warn you from stepping too near the cell. He's got a power over him that's difficult to contain, and very wily in nature."

I nod. "That's nothing new to my knowledge, but giving him a wide berth has always been wise." I step in front of the cell, which my mind keeps wanting to call a cage, but far away from the bars. I look in, bracing myself should I need to shield. I feel Gerude take a post behind my shoulder, and note that Erynn stays far enough back but close enough in to have a good view of everything should recording be necessary.

My brother is out of sorts. That is... somehow more surprising to me than I thought it would be. I should have expected this. I've just... even preparing myself for it mentally, I never expected to see him this weak, to see him lying down, chained and vulnerable, in an enemy's fortress. Ebrellin-i is barely awake, his form twitching every now and then. Perhaps he is sleeping with his eyes open. His blank, whited-out eyes...

Everything goes grey in my vision, and a voice comes into my head, along with a hand that seems to grip me by the hair and pull me forward. Come in, Elethe-travente. It is warm in here. You can have rest in here. You shouldn't strain yourself by walking about alone. Come with me, and let me protect you.

I shake my head, and feel a hand on my shoulder. "Jhe h'Logos!" Jhe Blackirons's voice, Jhe Gerude's hand. The grey is past. The voice of my brother echoing from my childhood is gone.

"I am fine," I lie, and face the cage again. Brother's eyes are closed. He is still lying down peacefully. There is definitely some force that surrounds him in the cage. I feel light-headed, but I hide it. I have to face my brother. He's near-dead, bars between him and I, so how could he have any power over me anymore? What am I afraid of? Looking at him, though, the memories shake me. I still feel betrayed, even though the last time he ever took action against me was long ago. I'm still as afraid as I was when I was a powerless young teenager who was, by the standards of Xaillyndessen, Ebrellin-i's property. What am I even doing here? Trying to let go? Why should I? The old anger's coming back now, and instead of empowering me as it used to, it just makes me feel weaker for all that I'm about to die anyway. I wonder who will expire first, then: my brother, or myself? Will Mother take the Throne of Audiva Rocale when we're both dead? What will happen to the treaty then, and through it, to Katherine?

Why do I feel like throwing my life away despite all that to spite my brother? It makes no sense. I can't even speak with him. He might as well be dead already. All there remains is the force surrounding him - something I have to wonder about, now. Now that I know through Jhe Lyric's writings that Ebrellin-i has played a pet for the Jherent Nul, it's putting my own past in a new light. How early was he consorting with such a force? Mother likely did so for all of her life. What did she teach her eldest son? Did he do anything to me before I fled Lyiannethe?

That's a silly question. I know he did something. Back then, every time he'd walk past my shadow I'd black out. And 'Sy wondered what I was running away from. My eyes scan over the unmanned-puppet limp body that is my brother. I wonder too much about the past, and have no idea what it will mean for I and my brother's very short futures.

I keep myself on guard. That first shield I tried to keep up did nothing against that which surrounds Ebrellin-i. I can't become a puppet myself. I may be surrounded by Armed and a cherished Poet, but none of those here would be comfortable with dragging me out of here against my will. A detail that I may exploit, but am also exercising caution because of.

Don't be so sure of yourself, Commander of Words. A cold steel voice slides through my head, the feeling familiar and strangely comforting. I smile.

Why, Diyn. Such a rare pleasure to be spoken to by such a fine weapon as you are.

Flattery will only grease down the path to your end, but I appreciate the compliment all the same. What are you doing in my domain, sniffing about in my business?

I must apologize. I wanted to visit my brother.

You are acting a fool, and what's worse you're a Xaillyndesse. One of these you can correct. Come here. I have something more interesting to show you than a mumbling idiot of a puppet. On the heels of that I hear 'Sy mumble an inquiry to Diyn as to just what the hell he is doing and who he is talking to. The Lord Word Salad, of course. I've my own things to attend to, why don't you babysit each other? Come, Poet King, see how Tesynnodai and I have added to our growing Xaillyndessen collection, and try not to become a part of it. You've been asking to be locked in the cells here for years.

Would you shut up? 'Sy's voice is clear and gold and infuriated. Go attend to Schiphael. You run your mouth too much, you three-tongued beast! I hear a sigh behind those words. Oh, get over here, Elete, you walking pillow-stuffing, your useless brother's likely not going to so much as twitch until the Advocate glues his brain back in.

I hear genuine affection in those words, and enough weariness that I think the talk of pillows is more wistful than anything else. He's not far away, attending another cell. I stroll towards where I sense my comrade, waving Gerude and Erynn to stay posted near Ebrellin-i. "I'll come back if I need your assistance, but it seems the Judge requires mine."

It's only a minute before I reach the cell. I note that it's far enough to be out of earshot of the others. I have a premonition that what I'm about to see isn't something that I want the youngsters guarding my brother to hear discussion of. My hunch is proven correct when I set my eyes upon the cell. 'Sy is inside, looking a bit pale and haggard but mostly angry. It's understandable - nothing pleases him when it takes him away from a Trial. With an Armed Poet lying on a bed and more unconscious than my brother...

"Jhe Aaren Voitre." Diyn was correct to attribute him as a Xaillyndesse, but I do concede that the ability to not go by such an onerous name is a blessing. If Aaren wants to be named for his mother's line, all the better. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

'Sy grimaces as he leans over Aaren's unconscious form. "Maybe you can help find out. He should be in Sul with the rest of his brigade. Instead he was fighting with Lute, another Armed that should be in Sul. Right outside of Beleth, no less. Lute could barely hold him off. Both the Voitre boy and his Arms have gone..." he pauses for a bit, jaw tilted, as he tries to find a way to put it. "Feral. That's the best word for what this is."

I frown, looking over the boy. There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him, but as we've learned in the last few days, looks can be deceiving. "And Jhe Lute?"

"On his way, with Kevrin, on a windbird, with a stray Avian in tow." 'Sy blinks. "...Kevrin shouldn't really be here either, but it just seems more normal for something odd like that to happen with him."

I smile. "I keep telling you he has Poet potential."

"A phrase that strikes fear into the heart of every Armed, even the Mixed ones. Come in here. If you're going to insist on being useful while you're walking death row, you might as well help me."

I chuckle, then step into the cell.

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Diyn
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That idiot Tesynnodai has someone to keep him company now, so he can stop prattling on to me about his problems. I have my own children to deal with. Specifically, this errant child Schiphael who had the lack of wit to attack me.

Not that it's uncommon for my children to attack me. To attack is in our nature. Often it's how we communicate. But there is a difference between 'Oh hello Diyn here's a friendly feint-and-tap' and 'I'd like to take the shortest course possible to disembowel your Armed.' Even the latter is acceptable at some times, especially if it's Gevurah and Gedulah. Jhe Katherine at least has reasons to disembowel Tesynnodai - quite regularly, at that. Even then, there's little in it that has to do with myself. Schiphael quite deliberately attacked me, and I must say that I'm not used to that from the older ones. Maybe if he was younger, and still learning the extent of his reach and the sharpness of his teeth. Such a lunge would have been a part of his education.

Even then, the feral edge... something I'd possibly expect from Dyennah? She's a wild creature... no, she's colder. There's a wild touch to her and Jennelcia, but it's the same as with Kuroroi and Lute. It's natural, expected. Even then, they act respectful. Schiphael's actions were...

Rabid? That doesn't make sense, though. Arms don't go crazy. The Armed go crazy and act stupid and get drunk and tempt death and are too foolish to even breathe in air instead of water at most times. The Armed are ridiculous, which is half from being human and half inherited from Tesynnodai. Arms are consistent, they are absolute, they are the Law, and most importantly they are ME. Arms do not go crazy.

Schiphael is quiet. Too quiet. His physical form lies on the floor, light winking at me from the limp chain. It's mostly dark in here, with no humans inside to need torches to see by. Here we are surrounded by the shelved Arms of long-dead Armed. This is the physical resting place of those Arms who no longer have Armed to bear them.

Do you want to become one of them, then, Schiphael?

I receive no reply, only the glint of a sneer across Schiphael's blade. I narrow my eyes. There will be no playing games with me. It is time to end this farce that we act out for the Armed's sake. I will stop seeing through the eyes of a mere weapon - something only done for Tesynnodai's sake so that he and his Armed can function normally in their own space.

I see with silver eyes, stand on my own feet, look upon this resting place where the retired Arms quietly watch from the stands. This is the view from our own world, which may run parallel to Tesynnodai's but certainly doesn't mirror it. We are unconstrained here by the steel shells and wooden frames that we act through for the Armed. You could say this is where we truly exist. Some few Poets that have dared describe this world consider it as a phantom one below their own - we consider that your world is the phantom. After all, we exist in a world of Law. What other world could be more real than that?

I look down at this child of mine as he kneels before me, wrists chained to the floor. His silver hair is cut to hang across his face almost down to his cheek, obscuring his eyes. He is pale, but his cheeks are strangely flushed. His clothing is strange for Arms - we dress for our business. I have my simple cloak and riding wear, for instance. I have a cane for the appearance of authority it lends me. Schiphael usually dresses in close-fitting garb, dyed in the hues of midnight. Now he is in dirty white baggy pants and shirt, his feet bare.

"You haven't been keeping yourself up," I say. "What is wrong with you? Has your Armed gone astray?" They sometimes do, as much as Tesynnodai tries to lead them true. He can only do so much, though, considering what materials he has to work with. You cannot cast something fast and true out of flesh and bone, only whip it along the proper path until it bucks you off or finally tires and gives out.

Schiphael turns his head to the side, still smiling, and stays silent. His hands are shaking now. They're the only normally-dressed bit of him, fitted with neat black gloves. The rest of him begins to shake. I realize that he is laughing.

Laughing at me.

I extend the cane, propping it up under his chin, turning his face upward so that I can look him in the eye. Those damn bangs still shadow his face. Through a part in them, I manage to glimpse just a sliver of iris. He sees me, yes. He hears me.

"Isn't it funny," he says, purring the words. "Isn't it funny how my Armed suffers? We were only doing as you told us, and now look at him. Attacking his fellows. Is that what you wanted, Diyn? When you sent me out to see what you couldn't?" His eye widens, glaring into mine. I'm so surprised I almost start. It's not silver, it's a pure, alien white. What could cause that? Our eyes are the truth of us. All Arms have my silver eyes. He only laughs more, that purr escalating into an eerie chuckle. "Isn't it funny? Did you think this would happen? Diyn?" A grin cuts up into his cheek as if to split it.

I lower my cane, releasing Schiphael's chin. I look away and I think. My eyes skirt upwards over the crowd of Arms. The Arms that may no longer move about in either world, as their Armed have gone into the Void and not returned. I wondered why some didn't return, that was all. Arms always return to me when their Armed are irretrievable.

At least, they're supposed to.

"What did you see," I ask, no emotion in my tone. It is the frost tone of brushed steel.

"Did you expect it, Diyn? You have to tell me. I have to know." I look back at him, at that crazy white eye staring back up at me through the part in the silver curtain. At that wicked sickle of a grin. There's no sanity in that face, as much as any of us can claim what the humans call sanity. Sanity is just another component of humanity, and humanity is a frail thing that decays. There's no reason in that face, to be more clear - just the shattered remnant of it.

"I am sorry," I say. I am. I did not know what danger lay in wait for my child, but I sent him out on a mission nevertheless. "Tell me who sundered you."

He barks out a laugh, the sharp thing cutting through the whole chamber to make the witnessing Arms wince. "Sundered? Is that what you call this? Sundering would be a pretty thing, Diyn, and nothing that ever happened to me on that mission was pretty."

I close my eyes, sigh, then open them again. Tesynnodai says I show too much favor towards my children and too little towards his. He doesn't understand - his Armed sacrifice something to become what they are. They pay, and then receive. We have no choice about it, and no mercy in us at all. If there is favor to be shown, my children will have what I must give. "Report, then, Schiphael, so that you can rest your silver tongue."

He snorts, then spits at my feet. "Go on and do it yourself, Diyn. Consign yourself to it, and we'll see where the Law is then, whose feet the fucking Judge will be at, where the Arms will roam in the shadows and on the heels of the humans that have borne them--"

I hold my cane against his throat, cutting off the testimony, crazed as it is. "I understand. I will ask you no more, then. You will rest in solitude. I apologize for sending you to a mission that you were incapable of accomplishing." I turn and leave, then. I must talk to Tesynnodai. Schiphael may stay here - the curtains are drawing tight around the stands, leaving the retired in peace from his mad rantings.

"Go on to your chain-bearer then, you lapdog. You'll never know freedom." His voice growls quiet across the chamber floor. I turn and look back at him, eyes narrowed. He only sneers.

"Freedom?" I smile. "I am sorry. I understand how you have been warped, then. You were never supposed to know a poison like freedom." With that, I leave. That idiot Tesynnodai has much to answer for.

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