* * *
Lyric
* * *
I can't tell whose panic that is, leaping up in my chest. Is it mine, or Ebrellin-i's? Whose despair is plunging down through me? Whose tears are these? In the moment after I hear Edward's words, I can't tell. It's so hard to recover - it's so hard to even believe. My grip on Ebrellin-i's hand is the thing that pulls me out of it - he's clutching at me, another spasm.
I'm here. It's all I can say to comfort him.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no-- Ebrellin-i doesn't hear me. There's only despair in his head, and agony all through his heart. I was protecting him all this time, that can't be true--
I see a flash of Ebrelle hunching himself over something, cradling it, protecting it. Was that the Poet King? Was he spending all of his remaining energy protecting his brother instead of fighting off Nul?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no--
Is there anything else for you to live for? Edward's words sound hollow, as if from a puppet - and his eyes are blank. But it doesn't matter - they have as much effect on Ebrellin-i as the Jherent Nul would want.
Ebrellin-i's grip slips from mine.
* * *
Gerald
* * *
The bird plunges down, even though Patrick's done a perfect job of directing it up until now. There was this weird wobble in the air, almost like a cross-current, and then--
I look behind me, making sure that my brother's still holding on. When I see him, I draw Wagner, or perhaps he draws himself.
That black stuff on the Peacock King that's started to crawl all over him, that used to just look like face makeup-- it's writhing up from the King. It's grabbing my brother, and the bird.
Lyric doesn't open his eyes. He just grimaces, as if he's having a nightmare.
We continue to fall. I level Wagner at the King.
* * *
Lyric
* * *
Ebrellin-i, I'm still here. It's all I can say after that revelation. It's all the truth there is to me right now.
There is no answer.
I take his hand again and squeeze it. I'll be here after you die. Please don't leave me.
Edward's smiling, the victorious expression on his face looking a bit distant... but still very genuine. I hate him in that moment, and I don't know if I'll ever stop doing so.
The Jherent Nul chuckles.
Ebrellin-i is silent.
Please, Ebrellin-i. I huddle next to him, laying my head against his side. I don't want to be here alone.
His fingers twitch, the motion tiny and feeble.
Please!
There's a whisper of thought that fails, and then it grows just a little, becoming a thought. I lived to protect my brother, little that he knew of it. It's the only thing that kept me from letting this part of myself die here, all these years. I have nothing left to live for.
I clutch his hand with both of mine. Live for me.
My plea is met with silence.
Edward frowns. Master? Should we just put him out of his misery?
He'll do it to himself. Patience, fledgling. Learn to savor it.
Silence, and the slightest twitch of Ebrellin-i's fingers. I take that as my answer.
* * *
Gerald
* * *
I squeeze the trigger. Then the damn bird gains its bearings and throws off my own as we lurch back onto a proper trajectory. Wagner misses.
Wait, no mere lurch could make Wagner miss. The bullet could damn well turn mid-air, if it needed to do so to do our job. But then... the black stuff that was crawling over the King and my brother has withdrawn.
False alarm. Wake me when the action starts. Wagner holsters himself.
I let out an exasperated sigh, then tie a couple of ropes over my brother. His grip on the King is amazingly strong, but if another accident like that happens, I want him to be safe - even though I feel like the most dangerous place Lyric could be is pressed against the Peacock King. There's a lot in life that doesn't happen the way I think it should - I've started to give up on having a choice in that, and just deal with the situation I'm given.
"Hey, if you're gonna fire, aim towards the front!" Patrick doesn't sound like he's noticed anything amiss, but then, if he were looking back here instead of in front of the bird, that'd be pretty distressing for us all. "That little dive didn't throw 'em off!"
Sure enough, the windbirds ahead are converging on us, their Avian riders just as adept as Patrick at guiding their mounts. Wagner and Bruce are both ready for some action, and so I ready them. Time to scare off some birds.
* * *
Aaren
* * *
I can feel Father near. It's comforting, which throws me off the most. Father is never comforting when he's near. At the best of times, he's a terror. Besides, I've been hearing Father ever since Schiphael woke me up, so why's it notable that I feel him nearby? One type of crazy is close enough to any other, right?
Somewhere beyond the hatchmarks that Schiphael's left carved into my mind, I can see him, though. Wait, no... too tall.
Oh. The Judge. On the other side of the bars. Good. I flop back against the floor again.
He's been more like a father than Father was...
Wait, no, something's wrong, Schiphael's trying to get me up again oh damnit, oh damnit no, he wants to attack again--
Why would Arms want to attack the Judge? Has he broken the Law? No, Diyn would take care of that. Schiphael wants to bite, though. Wants to rip and tear, and I can't let him, so he'll just tear me a little more, is all, and if there's not enough left of me to tear then, well...
There's worse ends.
I don't get very far. There's not much strength in me, something that Schiphael rails against. He tries to get me to flail him out through the bars. If I were in a condition to do it, then it'd be a sure shot. Textbook. But my arm can barely raise up off the floor, which is all for the better. And while Arms can draw themselves sometimes, I'm focusing hard on keeping Schiphael undrawn. It's strange, I can't even sense him in this room. Diyn took him, right? I have a vague impression of that. But you can't separate Arms from their Armed, and so... so he's still trying to emerge from me. To be drawn. And then to kill the Judge.
Why'd the Judge have to come? I ask that even as I feel happy that he's concerned for me. That someone came. I feel so sick in here and Schiphael's managed to break enough of me that I really can't sort out which parts need fixing. I can't think right at all. Did I do something wrong? I did like I was told. I came back to report. I can't remember much of it.
There's just Schiphael hissing in the back of my mind, hissing like a wounded snake. I can't even make out his words. I just hear Father instead.
Aaren, you're a curse on the family
if you can't get up
and kill him
He keeps saying it, over and over, and Schiphael hurts me, and I can't tell the Judge to get away, that I'm no good anymore and he needs to get rid of me.
A hand closes on my shoulder. Father? The Judge? No, not the Judge--
"That's good, Jhe Voitre. Keep your grip on Schiphael. You're doing very well, and," she swallows. "It'll all be over soon, mmkay?"
Katherine? She sounds so... weird. Young. Am I that crazy?
"Just hold on, okay? Jhe Voitre?" She shakes me a little. I manage a nod. When I try to talk, I have to swallow back bile.
There's an odd pull, as if someone's trying to tug something out of my grip. Schiphael. Schiphael's in my hand now, and he's trying to free himself. I grip him tight. He pulls harder, almost slips out of my fingers. I redouble my strength, and remember what the Judge said about Will during my training. Will is its own grip, and I have plenty of it in spades.
I hold onto the blade with my mind and just let everything else go. I can't control anything else. But I can control Schiphael, even as the blade spits broken curses at me, even as my Father calmly cheers on my failure.
Just one slip, and you'll make me proud, my boy
I grip with everything I am. Only, I don't know if I'm enough.
There's something else, though. Something else holding Schiphael back. Something much bigger than me, letting me match my strength to its power. Diyn doesn't talk to me that much, and to be honest, I'm a little scared of him. But he's big, and he's helping. It reassures me in the way that nothing else could, now.
Let go, Armed. He doesn't sound angry. He sounds patient like the Judge does when he trains us. I thought Diyn would be mad at me for what's wrong with Schiphael, but...
Let go, Aaren Voitre.
I don't want to hurt anyone. I think about that, and then remember what I am. Anyone that I'm not supposed to hurt.
Do you think I'm in danger? That I'll endanger my Armed by letting Schiphael attack him?
It takes awhile to mull that over. Arms are, after all, strangely vicious about their Armed. But they're protective. Even Schiphael hasn't killed me, yet. It makes sense, and it's... it has to be enough. Thinking right now is like groping at my thoughts through gauze. I can barely make things out if I flounder enough... but it's taking longer and longer as I lose my bearings. Fine. You take him. I loose my grip. Diyn tightens his. Schiphael doesn't move.
I'm sorry. I don't get why he says that. But then, there's this incredible ripping sensation, like someone's uprooting my brain and the spine attached to it, and I scream, and I understand the motivation behind the apology.
* * *
'Sy
* * *
From my angle, it simply looks as if Katherine soothes Aaren into laying down flat on his back. Then she beckons, and Schiphael appears in his hand, the blade still strange and dark. She leans forward, grips the Arms--
'Sy, don't watch this. Diyn sounds... different. There's an odd waver to his voice, and I realize that it is concern.
I have to watch this, Diyn. I curl my fingers around the bars of Aaren's cell. He's my son. My fingers tense up. They all are.
That may be true, but it would be better if you didn't watch this.
I stay. I look. Katherine is still holding Schiphael as Aaren loosens his grip. The boy's hand falls to the ground. Nothing happens, though. It's as if the Advocate is waiting for something.
There's the foreboding sense of someone shaking his head. So be it.
I feel the rip in my own head, as if Aaren's pain were my own. I expect it, in a sense - I knew nothing nice would be happening to the boy once Katherine entered that cell. Still... still...
You can't be doing that. I can't justify what I'm seeing, what I'm sensing, with the world that I thought I understood. That's not-- shouldn't be possible!
There's only the impression of sadness from Diyn, deep sadness, and the knowledge that he can't make this better at all. I told you not to watch, 'Sy.
I clutch the bars - something firm and steady in my existence now. Sometimes watching is all we can do. I can't abandon him.
Diyn only grumbles, and attends to his work. The discussion is only a matter of semantics, in any case. I would feel this pain regardless of if I watched Aaren's Arms get ripped away from him.
How is this possible? I don't even know, and I'm the first Armed. Their commander, their leader. I can't even fully explain Diyn's existence in the first place (though if you ever persuade Emperor Theos to divulge the full reasoning behind the Trident, I'm sure the story would be delightful). How do some people have Arms attached to their soul when others don't? It's the only thing that defines whether someone is Armed, and we don't know why it happens. Lyric has certainly proven that it's not genetic, at any rate.
Still... how can you take Arms away from their Armed? I don't understand it, which makes sense considering Katherine is a part of it. All I know is that it hurts. Some inviolate part of Aaren is being tugged and pulled until it rips away, the connection cauterized by the fire that is pain. The boy has every right to scream. Godsbreath, I scream.
The cries cease when Aaren loses consciousness.
Diyn glowers. Schiphael tore at Aaren while he was being separated. It didn't have to be that way. He grows quieter. I must see what is wrong with Schiphael. He has been taken to one of my spaces. Don't follow.
Katherine cradles Aaren's head in her lap, stroking his hair. Schiphael is nowhere in sight. "He'll heal, 'Sy." She frowns. "It will take a long time, and his head will be... far too quiet."
I try to imagine a life without Diyn growling in the back of my skull, and I just can't. I haven't always had him, but... how would I be myself without Diyn, now?
"It won't be a problem for quite some time." She bites her lip. "He's... not going to wake up very soon."
I nod. "We'll get him into the infirmary. He doesn't pose a danger to anyone while he's like this." I consider everything that's happened regarding Schiphael. "Perhaps even afterward. We'll keep a close eye on him."
I lean down and lift Aaren, still mulling over the fact that Diyn considered the boy such a threat to me. I'm just glad that he's still alive.
