Bio in brief: Born of the Qdus Atharim in Eritrea in 2023, the second child of Kidani Ali and Miriam Fitsum, Sesuna never fit into the life. She loved the thrill of the hunt, but not the kill. Her mother died when she was ten, an accident she has never forgiven herself for, and after that she found herself mostly in the care of her older brother, Anbessa. He swore his hunter oaths at nineteen, but continued to look after her despite their father's wishes. She roamed the city streets, honing her skills following people and learning of their lives. She never planned to join her brother or father in their oaths; instead she dreamed of travelling and living an ordinary life. But prophecy conspired her brother to be heralded saviour of the Atharim, and when he sparked a year later Sesuna was not far behind. She was sworn to the Qdus to save her life, and now works with her brother to control the channeler threat and the flames of Al Janyar.

Appearance: Tall and willowy. Thick black hair, often traditionally braided, and sultry hooded eyes. She wears a small gold cross that once belonged to her mother. Most times she is expressive and seems open with those she meets. She loves life and lives it in full colour. Agile and lean; fast more than strong. The gazelle to Idris's lion.

Personality: Something of a well-intentioned miscreant; often in trouble as a child, with boundless reams of curiosity and the gumption to nose right in, though she had the charm to smooth out the adults' chagrin too (mostly with that beatific smile). The rules of the church have always chafed, though she rarely outright breaks rules. Particularly if it means upsetting Idris, or bringing him shame. She idolises her brother something fierce, and takes his side in all public affairs. Privately she will make no bones of telling him when he's wrong, though.

Sesuna accepts her responsibilities but won't be crushed by them. On the hunt she will scout out the terrain or enemy ahead, rarely involved in the actual kill unless necessary, though she is far from defenceless -- with or without the Power. In the Little Rome of Asmara she is an information gatherer -- which suits her curious personality just fine. She will often notify Idris when she suspects a channeler.

Full Bio:

They called Asmara Little Rome.

Sesuna always fidgeted during the sermons, legs swinging, gaze taking in the backs of heads, the beads on a necklace, or the red and white tiles of the surrounding pillars. If there was a bug she watched its progress along the pew, each wriggling antenna forging ahead, teeny tiny legs whirring. She wanted to touch it, watch it climb the mountain of her finger, but knew she was supposed to be sitting both quiet and still. Ahead, the priest's words fell heavy as a rainstorm, but she would have preferred listening to the weighted thunks of water slapping leaves instead. It was cool in here, like the rain really had fallen.

On one side of her, her brother Anbessa's gaze was straight ahead, serious as always.

On her other, mother loomed like a doulm palm dripping sweet shade. The marks on her face told the story of home more authentically than talk of God or the gold cross she always wore around her neck. But the mark on her wrist told the biggest truth of all. Her hands twitched in the folds of her lap and Sesuna scrunched her nose. She was paying attention. Of course, mother never looked down to see her expression; her eyes were glued to the priest's lips.

Better were the days they roamed out from the city to learn of the trees and wind; of the bends in the scrubby grass and the pattern of dirt splayed under dry paws. Sometimes father loaded them onto the train to Massawa and the world sped by until it erupted into the shifting blue plains of the Red Sea. Other times they hiked the red cliffs or plunged into the rainforests. She adored the game of reading the land to unearth its secrets. Loved it all until the day father handed her the knife, the dark mark on his arm catching her fearful gaze. Her throat dried up. She loved the chase but baulked dramatically at the kill. Father's stern expression marked a first strike at that, but he had always been more tuned to her brother. Born under a super blood moon, his life was mapped from his first breath. But there were no such designs for her. Especially after that.

Sometimes she watched when father and Anbessa sparred in the yard at home, grinding up coffee beans with the pestle and mortar tucked in her lap, listening to the snap of wood or slap of flesh. Since the day the blade had fallen from her sweating fingers, Sesuna did not hunt with her father anymore. It was as though on that day he forgot how to see her. She puzzled over it as she puzzled over everything, until her mother ushered her away to other tasks. We are not all born to be warriors, her fingers said, and in that there is no shame. In the evenings their parents told the stories of their people. There was a pattern on father's arm; the mark of the Qdus. Mother bore the same symbol, but she said she had sacrificed enough for that life and it had let her go. Sometimes there was so much sadness in her eyes when she told those stories Sesuna stilled her hands and snuggled in close instead.

Those memories are precious now.

As she grew, father became even more distant a creature, like mists from the sea just swallowed him up. His hunts with Anbessa became longer; the kills harder, the lessons more ferocious. Sesuna scouted the land with her mother in the days before a long hunt, burying caches of weapons or food in the earth. She knew the demons they tracked, in principle if not in flesh. When her father and brother came home bloodied she helped her mother scrub the blood and skin and hair from their clothes; helped clean their recycled weapons and sew their wounds. If father presumed her soft-hearted and squeamish, she never once squirmed away from those tasks.

But her gaze caught Anbessa's sometimes, bright with question. Father pushed him so hard.

When father was not hunting with Anbessa or plying his skills at Medeber's famous metal market, Sesuna and her mother continued to unfold Eritrea's secrets. From the muddy rivers that rushed towards Sudan to the forested highlands. Her favourite was the green belt of Filfil, where the arid starkness of the steep road from Asmara gave way to lush verdant life. Hamadryas baboons skipped in the trees amidst the flash of birds. They followed the path of majestic kudu as they feasted on sweet fruits, or watched the flighty klipspringers as they danced from rock to rock.

She tasted the very air.

Sometimes they played games that honed their skills, until Sesuna was so weak from happiness she almost sleepwalked home.

And on that day, she didn't pay attention.

She was mother's ears.

But she didn't notice when the world fell quiet, not quickly enough.

They were almost home, the sky blood red about them on the mountain path. Sesuna was yawning into her palm when a desperate flick of mother's fingers sent her scurrying back. The stranger's eyes glinted like gold as he emerged from the scrub. Blood matted his beard, the stench of rotted meat wafting from him and turning her stomach. She knew what he was; knew what turned his mind, and she sent a furtive glance into the distant trees around them, listening for the pad of paws. But wolves did not usually hunt men, and in Africa they dwelt in the desert. He was alone. And likely newly turned.

Still, she was afraid. She only had the paring knife Anbessa had made her from the market's junk metal. Her small fingers wound around its handle, testing it in her grip. Her mother's back was to her now, inching closer, pushing her further down the path. One hand wound behind her back, fingers making a frantic gesture, the other edging out the knife at her belt. The one she always carried but never used.

The golden eyes moved their mark, sensing the sweeter meat of an easier prey. Mother made a terrible, deep-throated noise as she charged.

And to Sesuna's deepest regret, she ran.

She skinned her knees on the rocks along the steep path home. The sun drained its warmth, and she was panting by the time the city came into focus an hour later. Barely paused for relief as she threaded through the evening crowd of tourists. Father was in the open workshop with her brother. Medeber was a marvel of the city. Metal stacked the walkways alongside heaps of piled junk upon which men plied their craft. The heat and sparks bit her skin. The air screamed with hammering, sawing, cutting, as corrugated iron was flattened into baskets, or car tires became sandals. Her father lifted the goggles from his face, but it was to Anbessa she cried her plea. "Come quickly!"

There was no logical sense in hindsight, but at the time Sesuna was consumed with the desperate understanding that her brother fixed all things. It had been the single thought that loosed her like an arrow from mother's side.

Hours had passed already. She was shivering and fraught and desperate, and no sense passed her lips. She only pulled Anbessa by the hand until he followed. What was time? Of course mother was where she had left her. Sesuna was still a child, and the land by then blanketed by deepest night, but she still found her way back. Her small legs ate up the distance when she saw the shadowy mass ahead, but the cold had already begun to freeze its way in her chest. It was Anbessa who pulled her back, but not before she saw the torn mess of mother's throat. Sightless eyes. Blood black like tar.

Their father keened.

The night they buried mother, four days after they brought her body home, Sesuna cried herself raw, tucked beneath her blankets, desperate to shut out the world. In the dead dark something moved her from her half sleep, drew her to crouch at the top of the stairs like a moth aching for the burn of light. Her heart stung with loneliness as she absorbed the muffled voices below. Her eyes swam glassy, chin pressed tight against her knees. The second strike against her, this time not in a look but in her father's voice; each sharp as a knife. Each never forgotten.

(A true Qdus child would have protected her mother or died trying)

(It is not fair on her, my son. We must let her go. That is our duty.)

(Then she is your responsibility, Anbessa. You will learn you cannot be all things.)

Her brother always swore otherwise, but Sesuna knew the truth of it. Mother's death was her fault.

Life was strangely quieter without her. They all grieved, but perhaps especially father; sometimes he looked at her when he thought her ignorant of his gaze, and its weight felt like a mountain. Duty took him away more often in those days, leaving Anbessa the man of the house exactly like he'd promised. She tried not to be a nuisance to her brother, but her grief drove her to find distractions. Suddenly home felt a foreign place. Asmara was a large city, and now she learned it like she learned the wilderness beyond its walls. Without her brother's escort she could not leave, and father forbade her from joining them on the hunt. She made the most of the new bars enclosing her in.

The covered market thrived under the cathedral's watchful eye. She'd come here often with mother to translate for those who did not understand sign, its familiarity both an ache and a comfort. She began to read the people like she read the wind, and learned to unravel their lives through simple observation; what they wore, or which stalls they visited, how hard they haggled, where they went when their baskets were full.

Such as Afwerki Hagos with his long slender hands searching for diamonds among the dross; his gambling debts were great, and he bargained with desperation or smugness depending on his fortunes.

Or Hyiab Mustafa, a Muslim woman, who ran her fingers through imported silks but never purchased more than meat and vegetables; her husband died last year, and now she lived with her brother and two young babes.

Another man favoured red items; beads or fabric and sometimes fruits. For a daughter or a lover? He wore no ring and always smelled strongly of suwa.

Sometimes Sesuna earned a little coin shifting wares, or curried favour by nudging vendors to notice opportune thieves in their midst. Today she sat upon a salted barrel of fish hauled in from the coast, peeling back the pads of a sweet beles fruit she had earned from one of the traders. Birhane next door sold mostly trinkets, the sorts of things tourists lapped up to take back to their families to boast of exotic travels. She nudged him with her foot and nodded to the red man browsing further down the busy isles. Today she noticed his brow was damp, like an addict kept too long from his vice.

"That man will pay double for anything ruby red, and you have some beautiful scarves."

Birhane paid her no mind, but he did call out to the stranger. Once the transaction was complete the man tucked his purchase into a satchel and left.

Sesuna grinned and slipped down from the barrel.

People were easy to follow, especially when you were as insignificant as a small girl. She trailed and drifted and followed him beyond the market and through the city until he disappeared into a white, arch fronted building. She explored all around its back and sides until she found somewhere to sneak through, then padded her way in cautiously. The stink of perfume was overwhelming. The float of gauze and silk amongst the carved wood draped over her head as she peeked beyond. The sultry tones of shambuko music overlaid the breathy noises deeper within. She caught a tease of mnzerma flesh that made her blush.

Oh. Not a daughter or a lover then.

It was the giggling, hand clapped over her mouth, that betrayed her trespass.

Only eleven, and still small for it, the proprietor held her arm at an angle that almost wrenched it from the socket as he marched her home. She was truthful about that, a little afraid of the consequence of lying, though when she saw her father's face she wondered if that was a mistake. He was furious when the man explained where Sesuna had been. His face darkened like thunder, but maybe it was only her that noticed. When the man joked to buy her, father forced him from their threshold and shoved him until he fell flat. The door slammed.

Why was she not at school? Did she pay no attention to the city's troubles? Sesuna shrank back from an anger that had never been shot so violently at her before, so accustom to his ambivalence, but it was father's anger at Anbessa she regretted most. The failure he heaped on his shoulders for not keeping his sister safe. She knew about that promise of course, though neither of them mentioned it more than obliquely now, and it burst like glass in her chest and shredded everything up inside. Her lungs wouldn't work properly then, and her eyes stung as she ran to her room before the sobs heaved themselves out. When her cheeks were cold and the emotions passed, she stared blindly at her wall in silence.

It was true. She saw men with guns more often in the city these days.

She vowed to be more careful, for Anbessa's sake.

Or at least not to get caught.

Sesuna was fourteen when her brother took his vows. The night before the ritual she sneaked into his room to perch on the edge of his bed and interrogate him. Was he scared? Would it hurt? They'd both heard the rumours. But Bessie was as pure Qdus as they came. She wasn't afraid, but it didn't stop her remembering mother's face with the light winked out and her eyes as still and cold as glass marbles.

She couldn't bear the thought of losing him.

That afternoon Sesuna toiled in the kitchen to prepare a meal for his return. Spicy goat tsebhi and flatbreads like mother made to mark their birthdays. The coffee would be fresh, and she had traded for a sweet pannetone cake to celebrate his welcome amongst the holy ones. Only as the shadows deepened and the sun bled in the sky, Anbessa still did not return home. Father's silent vigil gathered like storm clouds. The stew congealed in the pan. The breads grew cold. In the end Sesuna made an escape to her room, where she perched on the window ledge and waited under the watchful eyes of a thousand stars. She never prayed to God before, but she did that night.

She had fallen asleep, face pressed against the glass, when the door softly clicked shut below. Voices murmured too low to hear, even though she tried. Forcing herself to patience, she waited for Anbessa to come upstairs before she ambushed him.

"What happened, Bessie? You were gone so long."

“It is alright, Sessy. It just took longer than expected is all.” In the shadowy darkness he stooped to hug her close. But he didn't answer her question, not really, and these days she had a young teenager's understanding of the world. She chafed at the words meant to ease her fears, angry that he shut her out and toiled with his pain alone. It was only because it was Anbessa that she bottled it down and said nothing, just signed him goodnight and returned to her room.

Sesuna was resourceful; she would find her answers through other means.

Though as it turned out, her father did the work for her. They called Anbessa the Heart now. It fractured something between them when her brother revealed the brand on his hand but refused to share the secrets of the Negus Mena, and that rift only grew. For Sesuna it was painful to watch, but her life -- for a long time now -- had diverged from the path of Qdus. She could be neither comfort nor mediator to the struggle between them, but it made her sad all the same to see them begin to lose one another.

Anbessa was all father had.

By 2038, Al Janyar had begun to shake the roots of the city in earnest, revelling in the dissonance left in the wake of the Sickness that swept the world. In those days they were still little more than a nuisance, but even Sesuna grew more cautious in her wanderings when she was alone. By fifteen she was all long limbs and elbows, but her little girl's body had faded, and sometimes the crawl of men's eyes made her uncomfortable. She traded for an early model Wallet that she tinkered with in the evenings. Dreamed of travelling and spoke of it in earnest.

The tech was another world to explore. She had never been allowed to touch mother's research, and truthfully it had barely interested her back then. Now she realised there were secrets behind the screens no different to the ones in the land or in people, and her inquisitive nature pulled her into its deep waters and kept her quiet for long stretches of the dark evening months.

Later that year Anbessa grew Sick. The bad kind. Sesuna tended to him through his fevers, while father prayed at the church for God to spare the life of his son. She wasn't so sure there was anyone listening, but she didn't begrudge his absence during the hours Anbessa moaned and thrashed through twisted sheets. Mother's death had pulled his heart from his chest; she didn't like to think what seeing his son like this would do to what remained of him. Anbessa simply could not die, for both their sakes. So she wiped his brow like mother had done during all their childhood ailments. Boiled broth when his stomach rejected all else. Told him what the land was doing or stories of the people she watched at the market. And eventually his strength returned bit by bit, until father returned from his prayers and they both returned to work and the hunt.

Then one night Anbessa showed her what the Sickness had done. He wound around the words like they wound their path around the city, until they tracked beyond the white palm-lined roads and into the grassy, wild heart that had always been their mother's domain. The taste of freedom made her smile even as the reitcence with which he stuttered made her want to poke him in the stomach until he spit it out. She had some idea of what he might say; she had been making full use of her Wallet and the knowledge it bared to her fingertips. Already she was discovering ways and means of digging deeper than simple searches.

Still, knowing and seeing were different things. She grinned and placed her hands around the globe of light before he could tell her not to. It was cold like ice and pushed the blue glow through her palms so that she could see under her own skin. The power of the g'brim was both a blessing and a curse. He must have agonised over this decision, already knowing the heavy weight of duty's path. He was Qdus. There was only one route he could go.

But he was still her brother. And Sesuna was Sesuna. Her grin widened until she was laughing at the mix of hope and fear in his expression. "Show me what else you can do!"

It never phased her, the line he walked. She was aware of his burdens at times but never shared them then. Their mother raised a fearless daughter, a little wild maybe -- but utterly prepared to forge her own path. She wasn't the child she had been, if not yet entirely a woman either, but she was growing confidently. Just as she accepted the unknown puzzle of her father, she accepted the unique gifts of her brother. They might call him Heart. But to her he was just Bessie -- and she reminded him of it often, then and now, when things got dark or difficult.

But Anbessa was not the only one who suffered on fate's road.

When the Negus Mena called Anbessa forth to visit the sacred urim (that known only later, but still, father must have guessed) she saw him anew in his vigil. She knew the prophecies that surrounded her brother, and now that she was older she presumed to guess at the thoughts that might pass behind her father's distant, foreign eyes. He could not have imagined it this way in all the many ways he must have imagined it. He, at the kitchen table, elbows dug into its grooves, weary eyes counting the seconds drift to minutes stack to hours. Left behind alone. Unseen.

She knew how that felt.

Sesuna moved around the kitchen silently, like the last time they had awaited Anbessa's return to them. She roasted the coffee beans over an open flame and ground them down while he watched the view from the window. She watched him like he were a stranger. There were more scars than she remembered among the flecked burns from his welding torch. Others from hunts she only knew by the bloody remnants of clothes and weapons she had cleaned afterwards. Some of those wounds she had sewn herself after mother's death. He was not an old man, but he had walked a hard road. Some of it his own doing. It weathered him like the unyielding rocks in the mountains.

His faults were accepted not forgiven.

For this man had never wiped her tears or soothed her fears. He'd never brushed the hair from her eyes or whispered her stories at bedtime. He'd never defended her against bullies or helped her with school projects. He did not know her secrets or her dreams. There were times as a small child she had been afraid of his sternness, or had wilted under the way his gaze skimmed over her like she did not exist. They'd lived under the same roof all these years but there were few bridges between them. None but the ones that intersected through Anbessa.

The knife of his words the night they buried mother had never left her. His rejection still stung; it always would. But she was still his daughter.

The last time they waited she had fled his fearsome company, but she was a child no longer. Now she joined him at the table with mother's favourite jebena pot set between them. There were no words to speak, none that could sooth or excuse the past hurts and mistakes. She didn't even know if he truly saw it that way, or if even now she sought a love that simply was not there in his heart for her. But when she served the awel for them both he accepted the steaming cup, and for the first time she could ever remember, his eyes met hers.

Awel became kale'i, then kale'i led to baraka -- the third cup shared -- before they saw Anbessa.

Qdus g'brim. A holy weapon. That was how Idris returned. With new name and purpose. The brief bond with her father left her melancholy to the news, like she had lost Anbessa and the last real link to her old life. What would mother have thought? Of the fire and blood her son saw to consume their land. Of machine gun fire ripping the red soil and myths reborn with inexplicable gifts. She absorbed all he said with wide eyes and for once a silent tongue. Her earliest stories had been filled with the truth of the dark things in their world; she had lived on the fringes of these truths all her life. But what he said now rippled her with fear.

But she was not Qdus. And she trusted her brother, and even her father to keep her safe. To keep the world safe.

Even so, she couldn't sleep that night for the images that consumed her mind; bloody war drums and the skittering of gunfire. Not monsters. Just men. The house was silent when she slipped out of it. It was not safe this late for a girl her age alone, but she was not looking for trouble; she was looking for clear air and the moon's breath and the memory of her mother's wisdom on the wind. She was looking for comfort to ease the lonely ache in her chest. Standing between worlds, and never before had she felt torn by it.

Once taught and never forgotten, Sesuna eased between shadows to make her escape unseen from the city, until it was only soil beneath her feet and the night noises of animals around her. It had been years punctuated by brief trips with her brother since she had breathed the wild, but it still felt like an embrace of the child who had revelled all those years ago in nature's bounty. This was where her mother lived now. In the dirt and wind and stars. She had needed her these past years, to explain a woman's changes, to sooth the troubles that neither a brother or father could truly understand. But never so desperately as now. She signed to the night. Easing her soul, knowing no one listened. I miss you.

The walking helped her think -- or, it helped her not to think. Until her skin prickled and she hearkened to instinct. She paused in her tracks. First panic. Then calm. She stood still, using her eyes to search the rippling shadows until she saw the creature that had been stalking her. The leopard crouched low, lambent eyes catching the barest reflection as it patiently waited; then, sensing the shift in its prey, stood. It rippled tawny gold as it moved, velvet paws silent. Too small for a male, and if it were a female prowling at night, most likely it had cubs. That twinged her chest; she almost gave a hopeless laugh.

It had seen her. She was as good as dead anyway.

But it was beautiful. And despite the fear beating out her chest, it passed almost close enough to touch and did not stop. For a damning, awe-filled moment she almost reached out her fingers to the mother cat and felt the soft beating warmth beneath its spotted fur. But she was not her father to believe in such portents. It passed her by, a swish of tail, and the darkness consumed it quickly as it came. Sesuna lifted her eyes to the star-filled sky, and wondered at the answer.

Three days later she did not rise from her bed.

Three days after that she knew she was dying; had seen enough on the news feeds by now of girls burning up in their beds until the life left them. She was supposed to call her brother Idris now, but when they were alone she always seemed to forget. Idris was the Qdus's tool; their holy weapon. Bessie belonged to her. He was there through the fever and the pains that wracked her double. The streaming tears and the mumbled inanities of the night terrors. He sang the songs of the hunt, or maybe she remembered them as the car rumbled home under the disappointed father's eye, bright as the moon. She confessed her sins and cried for her mother, held Anbessa's hands tightly even as they slipped in her sweating palms. He tried to teach her as he had taught himself, but the words meant nothing. She begged him to stay close until the end.

After five days she finally woke for the first time with clarity, fingering a leather cord about her wrist curiously. It was one she recognised as a gift made many years before from scraps salvaged from the junk piles at Medebar. She was able to drink a little that day; water, then broth, and by the next she was sitting up amongst her blankets. This time it was Idris that sat by her bedside. The Heart of the Qdus. Not Anbessa her brother.

He tried to teach her, but was as unsuccessful as the first time. Her lips quirked a smile at his frustration, though she tried very hard to be a good student for his sake. Sometimes father watched from the doorway, his face unreadable as he observed his children. Both of them. And for a while it was as if the past echoed little ripples of happiness. A family forged together; learning and laughing and loving. For a short while at least.

Though she was still recovering from the fever's grip, she had not lost her edge; she sensed the war in her brother long before he broached the words. She wondered if father planted the seed, or if perhaps by now he knew anything he spoke to Anbessa would be as poison so said nothing at all. Duty burdened Anbessa more than father ever had, and he did that all by himself. Idris. He was Idris now. The distinction grew ever clearer the morning he told her he must take her to the Negus Mena. That she must let God into her heart and swear the oaths of the Qdus, so that he could be sure she would be accepted and safe.

The fear made her still as the night she had stared into the leopard's eyes. But she trusted him.

Even so, on that day she was afraid; more than afraid. They said the Shegurah bared your soul and judged you for it, marking only those worthy of the title. Sesuna was not true Qdus; she knew that in her heart, from the very night at six years old she had been unable to even take the life of an animal. She'd never killed. Never wanted to, even as it sieved her father's love through her fingers like sand and added another stone to her brother's burden.

She knew the lore and histories of her ancestors; knew the difference that marked the Qdus from their Roman cousins across the ocean and why it spared her brother's life. Knew too that it only offered her a chance and not a right, and maybe she was too weak to pass this test.

Mother had spoken true; she didn't have a warrior's spirit. But she had lied that there was no shame in it.

Because the shame was eating her up.

Sesuna had survived the Sickness, and she didn't want to die now. Not here, in the office of the Negus Mena with her brother staring down with hopeful eyes, and suddenly all she could see was the disappointed moon from her fevered dreams. She was only a teenager, and no one ever swore this young beyond necessity. Perhaps the Negus recognised the fear carving up her face, or took pity on the way her hands were shaking. She gestured Anbessa from the room, and in the quiet emptiness of his departure she felt the earth swallow her up.

But at least her brother wouldn't watch her die.

"Sesuna, daughter of Kidani, are you Qdus?"

Her mouth was parched, the lies drying up her tongue. Her heart pounded in her chest and her gaze dropped. She shook her head, scalded by her own honesty.

"Are you holy, child?"

"I go to church, but... but I don't always listen, Negus Mena."

A smile sounded in the woman's voice, but Sesuna still stared down at the desk. "Then tell me, Sesuna Kidani, what is your heart?"

"My heart is the wind and the dirt and the stars."

The answer sounded foolish even as it left her mouth, but the Negus did not respond, and Sesuna did not dare look up at the woman's face. A hand stretched across the desk, a stone nestled in its palm. Sesuna could barely swallow. It was red like mother's blood soaking into the earth as she raced the path home to her brother. Father spent four nights hunting the monster who cleaved the heart from their family, while Anbessa rocked her through the wracking sobs and guilt.

"Take it, and make your vows."

What would happen if she refused?

They would make Idris do his duty, and Anbessa would buckle beneath the pressure. Her brother would be dead. A husk. So she took the Shegurah and let God peer into her soul. Her tongue tripped over the words she had helped Bessie memorise but never thought to swear herself. It burned. Something tightened, like her skin shrank a size too small as it accommodated the new mark on her skin. And then, to her wide-eyed surprise, it was done.

She carefully laid the Shegurah down on the desk, quite content to never have to touch it again.

He only waited outside. Tall as the mountain that crushed him with duty. The relief sparked like rainbows in his eyes when she emerged, but Sesuna couldn't muster a smile. She ran her fingers over the mark of the Qdus on her skin, the snake eating its own tail. Thought of all the times she traced the same circle on her mother's arm and felt safe. But she had never coveted this. She could feel the tears swimming, waiting for a blink to spring them free. Because she ought to be pleased, and she wasn't. All she could see was fire and blood.

"Will you make me kill now, Bessie?"

She held out her arm so that he could see the mark and looked up, the tears rolling a fat path down her cheeks. She didn't want to make him feel guilty, but she'd never been good at chasing back her emotions. The tears were for her, not for him.

He kissed her forehead. Eased away her fears. But he couldn't promise there would be no war, and her dreams were awash with blood for months to come.

Life changed. In good ways and bad. The shining dreams of her future slammed a door in her face and shoved her another direction instead. It took time to adjust to the new scenery. In some ways Sesuna was delicate as summer flowers, but she had learned to be adaptable many times over; she always managed to spring back up. Only this time it took her a little longer first.

Though obviously pleased God judged her worthy, Idris was as reluctant as her at first to accept what this meant. She was sworn Qdus now, no longer a child to be protected. Her vows came with duties of their own, and while she mourned for what she lost it did not break her either. She welcomed the jungles of her youth, but he would not let her return unarmed. Mother's ghost watched them both with her sad eyes. So under Idris's tutelage she learned to defend herself. Sometimes, despite herself, she searched for the glow of leopard eyes in the darkness. And then there was the bright power that slipped through her fingers like bright fish in the shallows. He seemed hesitant to let her loose with it, despite the enamoured way she smiled at the prospect. Or perhaps because of it. But he had little choice, for though he had tried his best, there was no one else to teach her.

So the years passed and Eritrea slipped into the chaos of Al Janyar, now under the hateful warlord Taddesse Tsegaye. Sesuna works alongside her brother and two others. Because sometimes the monsters do not slink in the darkness. Sometimes the monsters are men.

anyone know of a list posted anywhere that describes the members of the ascendants that MV has been writing?

Jet sat on the aisle seat, in his customary posture of long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankle, blessing first class and the efficiency of Joshua Ledger. The flight attendants had given up politely reminding him to fasten his seat belt. He would sit up straighter, smiling and say, “Of course!” and obediently follow their directions. Within minutes he would ultimately unclip it to get up for something in the overhead, or simply with the need to stretch. When he sat back down would “forget” to fasten back up, his distraction served to cement his reputation as a mild mannered rebel.

Sleeping only in spurts since the soul sucking night terror – for that is what he figured it must be – the same kind maybe that had plagued his little cousin – Jet dozed on and off, finally and fully waking with a sharp intake of breath. He pulled his plain white t-shirt up to expose tight abs, and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow and he was thankful he didn’t remember the dream. He had only had regular nightmares since that first one, but they startled him awake with a vehemence he hadn’t experienced since childhood.

“You ever dream, Beto?”
he said to his cousin sitting next to him, breaking a silence that had lasted halfway across the pond.
Edited by Jet, Mar 4 2018, 09:21 PM.

Ivan tried to act normal over the next few days. He went to the gym in the mornings, work in the afternoons. He did go visit ma and pop every night too. If they were watching him, they'd have to expect that. He was human, after all.

Let then think he was cowed and scared. Well, to be fair, he was. Scared anyway. Not cowed tho. Nope.

He took care of the recording, though it was not as easy as she said it would be. Of course. He'd had to steal someone else's login and then had to sneak into an office to pull the footage. None of this was his style, of course. For all his cloak and daggar bullshit, he knew he was leaving trails everywhere. Video footage, passcard swipes, people's memories. If someone cared to look into it he'd be super easy to zero in on.

He realized that was another way they tied you up neat as a kitten in a sack. Like quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper. That was what happened to pops. Blackmail, threats, shame, fear. Each one a cord tied to his arms and legs and around his neck. And when pops tried to get out, they shot him, a dog in the alley. Whether he lived or died was of no great loss to them. He either learned his lesson and continued their man or died and problem solved.

Ivan had to act before things got worse.

Alex had to have gotten his note to Drayson. He'd been a bit fuzzy- they'd had quite a few that night- but hoped his message had been clear enough for him but vague enough if anyone else read it.

Cap. We sure had an interesting time when we met Xena and crazy sword lady. And the disappearing chick with the purple hair. I found a new monster, though, and need your help. Same place? Same time? 4 days? It's a pleasant walk, if you can do it.

He'd left his phone at home and taken the metro to the edges of the city, where the outlet tunnels flowed. Not straightaway, of course. Meandering and all that. Took a couple hours before he arrived. He hadn't been here since that last time with Nox- and those creatures. Another idea flashed in his mind and he pocketed it. Maybe.

The sky was overcast and it was chilly, enough there was a slight mist to his breath. His collar was turned up to shield his exposed neck from the breeze and his hands were jammed into his pockets. His ears pricked at every sound. He was just in the outlet entrance, standing near the angled concrete wall that jutted up on either side.

He had no real interest in going any deeper. He'd been down a few times but still didn't like the idea of all that rock above him. Irrational, but hey. Didn't have to make sense.

So he just had to wait, constantly listening for the sound of footsteps. He hoped Drayson got his hint about not bringing his car. He didn't suppose it really mattered. Just seemed like a good precaution.

He was paranoid. But he had reason to be.

Few artists in the height of popularity can simply walk away. But true to form, Jet Terrones surprised everyone at Wednesday night’s US Choice Music Awards ceremony by announcing his departure from the industry. With an uncharacteristic humility, thanking everyone who helped “get him where he was,” he said that like “an athlete dying young” he was leaving Red Hot Blues at the pinnacle of success. His decision to leave the group he helped to form 10 years before, and to leave the music industry completely was to “pursue private endeavors.” When later asked in a press conference if he could elaborate he just smiled and responded, “Well, if I told you it wouldn’t be private now, would it?”

It was long thought that his oft chanted threat to quit the music industry if he ever felt he could no longer contribute in a meaningful way - that he would walk away and never look back - was just to draw attention and keep public interest and just an ongoing publicity stunt. It appears today, it was no empty threat.

The mystery surrounding this announcement has all the Swags gossiping. This reporter has heard several rumors, but is not ready to venture an opinion one way or another regarding their veracity.

When Jet’s twin sister, the much loved and respected midnight luna-evangelist Melany Torrones was asked to comment, she said she didn’t have much to do with her brother since he turned to “that evil music.” She cared about his eternal soul, and hoped that his stepping away was a sign that he was coming closer to the goddess.

When asked if there was any hope that he was making any moves to reconcile with his sister, Jet snorted and wiping his eyes, refusing to comment.

Jet has been sighted several times in the last three months in the company of his cousin, Beto Trujillo, renowned Justice Department attorney and Fordham University alumni. Something is in the works, but right now, like usually with this master of evasion, nobody knows exactly what’s up.

Melany Terrones, famed head priestess of the Temple of the Goddess of the Moon has decided to make a pilgrimage to Moscow, much to her supporters dismay. This news comes right on the tail of Jet Terrones’ announcement that he would be quitting Red Hot Blues. Coincidence?

Having long been a proponent of the US joining the CCD, Ms. Terrones has decided to make a religious circuit of the CDD, starting with a six month visit to Moscow. The decision was also right on the heals of a harrowing experience for the young religious leader when some 50 members the KKK burned an effigy of a young woman on the front lawn of the Fort Worth temple where Ms. Terrones’ organization is located, and where she does most of her charitable works. The KKK have long accused the courageous young women of harboring channelers. The accusation has only once garnished a disgusted reply of “No es importa.” She has otherwise refused to address the matter.

When asked to comment on her departure from her temple so soon after the incident, Melany said she has no room in her heart for hatred and that she has no intention of endangering her charges by keeping them in an atmosphere of ignorance and barbarianism. Her mission plan had always included bringing the word of the Lady of Light to the rest of the world, and that these plans have actually been in the works for a few years now.

“I hope to bring the ways of the Goddess to the people living in the CCD. My mission here has come to its natural end. I hope the people in this community will support the temple, and with the help of Mrs. Dix, continue my work in spreading kindness and understanding and to help protect young women needing sanctuary.”

The Temple’s long time supporter, heiress Mildred Campbell Dix says she plans to continue Melany’s good works and while she is sad to see the younger woman go, understands her need to move on and spread the word. Mrs. Dix plans to keep the Temple running as it has been, the octogenarian adding that she will be “adding some serious security” and will “kick the craven asses of anyone fool enough to try to cross my line.”

Melany smiled fondly when asked about Mrs. Dix. “I will miss the time I am able to spend with Mrs. Dix who has always been such a staunch supporter and a good friend. But we’ll be communicating regularly and I have the utmost confidence that she will do a first rate job at keeping the Temple running and helping women in need.”

Melany’s decision to move her operations to Moscow comes on the heels of her brother’s sudden departure from the music industry. When he said he was done, he meant it and little has been seen of him since his announcement. When asked if Jet knew of her decision to move to Moscow she replied, “You know, I’m not sure if he knows. He never was one to read to the newspaper much …” and left it at that.

This reporter wishes Ms. Terrones great success in spreading her gospel of kindness and light and may her virtue and bravery be an example to all women.
Edited by Melany, Feb 22 2018, 10:15 PM.

Age: 28
Height: 6’6”
Weight: 270 pounds
Build: Athletic
Ethnicity: Eritrean

2018

I have been born three times in my life.

On January 21, 2018, I was born Anbessa, son of Kidani and Mariam

My father told me the story of my birth. He had been hunting in the Takkaze river valley in Shire, along the western border of Ethiopia. There had been rumors of rakshasas haunting the caves that dot the ancient valley, of their periodically venturing out to feast upon the nearby villages and cities.

My mother, Mariam daughter of Ali, was heavy with my impending birth, but my father felt the threat of the rakshasas too important to ignore. It was his duty, as Qdus. Duty was all there was, he said, as he had learned from his father before him. ‘Kidani’ means ‘dedicated’. And that was what my father was and has always has been. For the good, sometimes. But as I came to learn, sometimes not.

On that night, during his hunt, he encountered a lion and slayed it. They are far more common now then they used to be. The lion itself was not an unusual encounter, but tonight, of all nights, my father had taken it as a sign. And not the only sign, either. It was also the night of the super blood moon, something that occurred once every few hundred years, a portent of still greater significance. That was the night I was born. Anbessa, Lion, son of Kidani.

I never was let to forget that story, with all its omens and pregnant promise. Nor any of the other stories of the Qdus, our purpose, the histories. The lies and deceptions of the Romans. It has been by God’s gifts that we have stayed hidden from them all these centuries and have been able to watch.

And so I learned at the feet of my father, the hunt and the kill, who and what we are, had it driven into my soul. But I also learned from the hands of my mother, herself a skilled hunter. It was one of reasons my father first loved her so. But years before I was born, she had been injured and lost her hearing, beyond any ability of medical science to repair. Her hands and fingers became her voice- Ethiopian Sign Language- which I learned along with my own language of Tigre, of Amharic, English and Arabic.

My mother taught me the signs, the words in a bent tuft of grass, the whisper in a broken branch, the scream in the scratch on the rock. Perhaps in the quiet of her mind she had learned to hear with her eyes and nose and skin and hair. Nothing was invisible to her. And she showed me how to open my mind and senses, to be one with the face of the land, to feel the passage of quarry as bad smells or faint discolorations or the discordant cry of a bird.

It was a happy time, made happier still with the unexpected birth of my little sister Sesuna, ‘pop-corn’. I’ve never been able find out where the name came from, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Even now, I can see my father’s seemingly puzzled face at what to do with this new little one in his arms. A daughter had not been part of his plans, I would later learn. But for me, it was a blessing. I remember being five years old, peering into her bed, seeing her swaddled and bound tightly, smiling up at me with my mother’s eyes. My sister. Even now, thinking of her, my heart is filled with love. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

And so, we were happy. We both continued to grow and to learn. Father and Mother were not rich, of course. But they had jobs that allowed them to carry out their true work as Qdus. Asmara is as modern a city as any in the world- London, Paris, Nairobi, Moscow. And at times, we traveled to the Red Sea for work and play; swam in the waters that sometimes took on a reddish cast; sailed out through the Bab al Mandab into the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean; visited the islands where fishing industries thrived; saw trade goods from Yemen and Saudi Arabia wind their way west. And we observed as anthropologists explored the birthplace of humanity; scientists and engineers leveraged the rich geothermal energies that were a natural byproduct of the natural geological formations. And all the while, we hunted where possible.

We lived and grew and thrived in the soil of two worlds, Sesuna and I- the distant past and the ever forward facing present- and we effortlessly switched back and forth between the two. I spent much of my time with father and learned our craft and the lore. Oni and rakshasa, wefuke and djinn. And all of them became my prey, now. If not dead, then driven off. The hunt was all, the pleasure and power that came from it. Above all things, I was to be Qdus. Even, as I gradually learned, above more than casual relationships.

And Sesuna too was being taught our ways. The hunt is learned and then honed first by chasing prey that was to be food. At only six years of age, father gave her the task of quickly taking the downed animal’s life. I remembered performing the same when I was her age. Of course, I had been scared, but I trusted my father. It was the right thing to do. And so as difficult as it was, I did it. And though I wanted to vomit after, I didn’t, for which he had been proud.

So I understood Sesuna’s fear. I smiled at her encouragingly and nodded, put my hand on her shoulder. But she looked at him. And whatever I had seen in my father’s eyes, whatever reassurance and trust I had found in them, was missing for her. Maybe she simply didn’t recognize it. I honestly hope that was the case.

Because maybe- and God forgive me for this and for my hatred that seems to grow the more I think on these things, but I simply cannot understand how a father can feel so little for his own little daughter- he only had room in his heart for me

Whatever the reason, she couldn’t do it. And my father could not, or did not try to hide his disappointment. Sesuna was quiet the whole trip home. I held her close to me and tried to teach her the songs of the hunt. I like to think it helped her.

Sesuna began to spend more and more time with my mother. I saw my mother’s angry words with father- hands and arms and fingers flashing her displeasure. I even heard her voice, something I had never heard in my entire life, words barely intelligible from lack of use, and yet completely crystal clear in their meaning. I agreed with her. But I was only 11. What could I do? Father was truly deaf in his heart, while mother heard all despite her own lack of hearing. Sesuna was completely hers. And mine, I vowed. As busy I was, I would always have time for her.

And did she learn from our mother! And though I knew myself an excellent tracker, even before 10 she had far surpassed me. It was as if she was aware of everything, had become the land and the sky and everything in between.

Our father never saw that. For him it was about the end, the final leg, the stalk and the kill, rather than all it had taken to get there. He did not acknowledge the caches of food and supplies they prepared and stationed for us. He did not think of all it took to track a djinn across the land, or to ferret out the whisper of a wefuke. Perhaps he too was simple minded. But as this continued, I confess, I became angry with him. I had words with him, violent disrespectful words. And while he did not dare try to punish me- perhaps he could already see that though I was only 15, I had a grown man’s height and build on me- and was still growing- it was clear he just couldn’t or wouldn’t give what Sesuna needed.

2033

So I would do it for her, for my little sister, now 10, just a girl. When I was with my friends in school or from the neighborhood, she was never treated like a nuisance. No one bothered her. Despite any tiredness or injury, I helped her with school work or whatever project she wanted help with, carried things too heavy for her to carry. And sometimes, it was as simple as laying on my bed reading or listening to music while she curled up in the chair with a book of her own.

But it was as if the universe had conspired against her, had determined the path of her life from birth. She and our mother were off on a simple tracking exercise. I had been working with my father in the open air market of Medeber, bending and cutting and wielding metals into artwork and other useful objects. I can still remember seeing her through the goggles, her breathless form tinged yellow, running at full speed, passing father and coming straight to me. I bent down and took her gently by the shoulders, my eyes searching for any sign of injury. “What happened Sessy? Are you hurt? Where is mother?”

She pulled at my hands. "Come quickly!" The fear in her eyes, the panic in her voice, stabbed me to the heart. I followed, wishing she could run faster. I did not know the way but I wanted to run, to feel my legs pumping, to feel like I was in control. Father was close behind.

There, in the distance I saw her, a shadowed mound. I knew instantly. I grabbed at Sesuna, turned her toward my chest, shielding her from the image no one should have of their mother. My father plunged onward and a sound ripped from his chest, so raw and deep it tore the sky open. I dropped to my knees, holding my sister, feeling the hot fat tears roll down my cheeks.

I will never forget that day for as long as I live.

My heart died that day. We wrapped her as best we could and carried her to the church for cleaning. But it was not real to me. In some ways, it has never become real. A nightmare I have never awakened from. I grieved for my dear mother. I missed the smell of her, the smell of the spicy berbere in the siginy stew permeating her clothes, the yeasty smell of the dried injera dough on her fingers. I missed her quick sharp laugh; the way she sat with my father on the couch, head leaning against his shoulder peaceful in sleep. I missed seeing her staring through the monitor, a half dozen windows open before her as she did research, pen in hand hovering over a piece of paper, lost in thought. I missed her quiet hands as they flicked and gestured telling us in every way that we were loved, her beautiful voice, now stilled forever, never to sign I love you, my son again.

And my heart broke for my sister, too. If I had lost my mother, she had lost her anchor, her world. I could not imagine the loneliness that had to be threatening to swallow her up. Father disappeared for four days, hunting the wolfkind that had ripped our family apart. And I held Sessy, let her cry, trying to comfort her.

And I even broke for my father, despite my increasing disappointment in him, bereaved of his partner and friend of so many years. Perhaps that was what ended it for him, the death rattle to the possibility that he would ever truly be a father to Sesuna. Because something in him snapped. From that moment on, he became even more singularly minded, if that were possible. Perhaps it was what he saw hidden behind her eyes, the hint of the woman she would become only making it clear that it would be mother’s face she wore. It seemed from that day forward, he could never even look at her without disappointment and hurt. Blame. As if she could have stopped a wolfkin at 10. I have often told her it wasn’t her fault. This time, I don’t think it helped her. I don’t think believes me or that she’s ever forgiven herself. And that tears my heart to pieces.

It built up slowly, over time. After a few years, he began looking for ways to send her away, to go to a boarding school, to live with relatives or even- even to marry her off. Sesuna never knew this. I would never tell her. No daughter should know that much rejection from her father. In his mind, I think, he felt that if she was gone, she would be happier. I truly want to believe that. And he would not have to keep being reminded of what he’d lost. But there was that other thing, the thing that made me most angry, what was poisoning the love I’d had in my heart. That I was all that mattered.

I had had enough. I stood up to him, by then my full man’s height, and told him that would not happen. He trotted out the tired lie of the selfish, that it was for her own good. ”It is not fair on her, my son. We must let her go. That is our duty.” Then, more truth. “A true Qdus child would have protected her mother or died trying.” And finally, hands thrown up. “Then she is your responsibility!” At which I nodded. She always had been. “No! She is yours now. You must learn, responsibility, Anbessa. You will learn you cannot be all things. You are to be Qdus. Sacrifices have to be made. You have a purpose, and nothing can get in the way of that.” To which I laughed with contempt. I did not think it was possible for me to think less of my father than I did at that moment. Family was not one of those sacrifices. Not for anything worth having.

I want to believe my father was not an evil man. And I do not think he was. But the world was black and white for him. Everything had a place. In many ways, he was like the Romans. All or nothing. My truth or nothing. And for some reason, he was never able to figure out where Sesuna belonged in his mind and heart. But those are just excuses, I think.

In the end, it did not matter why. Pain is pain, whether intentional or not. I do not forgive my father for the nights Sesuna ran into my room crying. Or the sounds of her weeping in her room until I went to her and sat with her, sang to her until she could find peace. Intent or not, pain caused is pain caused.

So she was my responsibility. And I did my best. I did not begrudge her her desire to explore, to go to the markets, the friends she made there. I did try to her warn to keep clear of the dangerous ones. There were groups of men- or boys really- already causing trouble. I don’t think any of us truly took them seriously. The peace and prosperity of the last few decades had made us complacent. Even with the sicknesses sweeping the world, I don’t think any of us believed it could fall. So I warned her and protected her.

And where I failed, father heaped disappointment on me, tried to make me see I could not be a father and the Qdus I was meant to be. I didn’t understand. Wasn’t he Qdus and father? And our mother? Were they any less dedicated for having married and having a life outside of the hunt? Or did father believe he had been weakened by such things. I do not know how he could think so. But no matter the case, I believe he was wrong.

I am glad I was there for her. That she needed me so very badly. Perhaps that is why God allowed this to happen.

Because she saved my life.

2037

The Negus called for me. I was 19, ready to take the vows of the Qdus. I had never been to Axum before. According to the Kebra Nagast, King Solomon and the visiting Queen of Sheba had a son, Menelik, the first emperor of Ethiopia. When he came of age, he visited his father. And then audaciously stole the Ark of the Covenant from Solomon’s temple and took it back with him as proof of his lineage- and to cement his new Dynasty. Though treated as mere legend by most people, the fact is the story is true. The Chapel of the Tablet houses that Ark.

Cared for by the brothers of the monastery, only one guardian monk is permitted to see the Ark. But the Qdus have always been here, behind the scenes, carrying on our work with whatever tools are available. The Negus Mena assists the abbot of the monastery in its day to day business. And she leads the Qdus. Unknown to the monks, inside the Ark are relics of ancient days, from back when the g’brim walked the earth and were worshipped as gods.

The Urim is one of those relics. The other, though, is the Shegurah Amlak, the Stylus of God. I knew what I should expect. To be marked as my parents had, not as with needle and ink, not a brand, but as part of the skin.

But the Shegurah does more than mark the bearer as Qdus. It is the Eye of God, calling on Him to look into the heart, weigh it on His scales, and decide whether a person is worthy of the mark. There were rumors of those who’d failed this test, men and women struck down in judgement.

None of my family was allowed to be present for this, for which I was disappointed. It wasn’t my father I wanted to see. I worried for Sesuna. She was my responsibility. And yet so was being Qdus. We are Holy, set apart, sacred. That was what it means. The Qdus Atharim, the Holiest of Atharim. In my heart I was torn. I had duty on all sides of me, pulling me east and west. And there was more. Despite my father’s admonitions, I did want more. I am man enough to admit I wanted my own life too. I remembered the smile my mother used to give my father, before things had become difficult between them. I had seen girls and women in the villages and towns and cities, noticed their beauty and smoky eyes; the tribal marks on cheek or forehead or temple that somehow made them more alluring; the way their clothing flowed over their bodies suggestively. And I saw when they noticed me. I do stand out in crowds. I longed for companionship and connection. Duty sat on my shoulders like a weight.

Was I pure in heart? What would the eye of God find in me? Would the Shegurah of God write his name on my heart and soul and on my skin? Or would he stop its beating after a mere 19 years. And if that happened, what of Sesuna? I had no illusions about that.

I was determined.

The Negus Menu led me to a building near the church. It was a simple place, modern and with plain office furnishings. This is the mid 21st century, after all. Monks and clerics, while living a more contemplative life, had the same needs as anyone else for email and internet and telecommunication. This was her office. She bid me sit in an office chair. Two other men stood in the room, robes that left their arms bare, the identical snake biting its own tail visible on their forearm.

I confess I was disappointed I was not allowed to see the Ark itself. But one does not ask for such things when one is a penitent. She opened a drawer and pulled out a blood red disk smaller than my palm. The disk bulged out slightly at the center. In the light I could make out the ridges of some shape carved into it.

She looked at me, letting it sit in her hands. “Tell me, Anbessa son of Kidani. Are you Qdus?” she said in a reedy voice. A slight smile played on her lips. She had asked this many times before, he knew. Perhaps even of his father and mother.

The question was a trick, of course. Are you Qdus? Not yet, not until after my vows. Are you holy? The question is now deeper, the knife slipping through the skin and muscle, piercing to the divide between a bone and where it joins to another. What is your heart? The knife is needle edged now, cracking the bone, sliding along between the hard white lace and the soft marrow in the center.

How does one answer? How can I answer when Sesuna will be left alone if I am wrong? I hate my father and that is a sin. I love the hunt and the power I feel doing it. I want to be Qdus more than anything. I cannot abandon my sister. I am a man and want a wife and children.

What is the answer? With a prayer, I open my heart. “I am not Qdus. But I want to be. I want to be Holy in all I do, for everyone that depends on me, for my sister, my community, for the world.” I was not lying or playing false to the eye of God even though I did not mention my personal desires. How could I hide from him? But he knew that I wanted to be a good man. And was willing to sacrifice. I hoped. I hoped that was enough.

Her eyebrow raised, as if she could look through me into my heart, and she smiled and handed me the disk. As I held it, even though it looked like stone, it felt smoother than glass, except for the ridges my thumb played over. Now, up close, I could see it was a tear. No, that was wrong. It was red, blood red. It was a drop of blood.

“Hold it,” she instructed, and made me say the words. And then she spoke in a language I had never heard before.

My heart was racing now, the fear flowing through me. Qdus. Sesuna. Life. Pull. Pull. Pull. Can I do it all? Father’s words were shouts, telling me I had to choose. The disk felt hot. Her words picked up and the sound of a rushing wind filled the room. Vaguely I was aware of movement of the men behind me. I felt a sizzle and burning on my forearm. And though it hurt, as if every nerve were on fire, it was as nothing to the pain in my palm. The disk felt like it had heated to glowing metal, then molten rock, as if it would flow around my hand, sloughing off charred meat and bone as it fell. And I couldn’t let go!

I wanted to scream but my jaw was clamped shut, my neck corded with tight muscle. My whole body was one straining mass and I felt as if my limbs were about to rip apart, my skin ready to burst open. My eyes bulged and filmed over and the room went dark.

You have been found wanting!!! echoed through my mind. I could feel myself getting light headed, as if I were prey and had been seized around the throat, my airway crushed by sharp teeth and filling with blood.

And Sesuna’s face flashed before my fuzzy mind, and I latched onto it, seized it, refused to let go. I would not die. Not now. Not today. She needed me. I played one memory after another, every song, every laugh. The heat and pain and strain did not lessen, but became more bearable. I played them over and over again. I will not die!! I yelled it repeatedly. I laughed in defiance. If I was judged, well I would be judged. But I would not die. I refused. I would not bend! I welcomed the pain. Do your worst!!! Pain could be endured. I will suffer a thousand times as much!

And gradually, somehow, over time, it receded. I do not know how long I was there. It seemed like eternity. My sight slowly returned to me and suddenly I was just in the room holding the disk. I was drenched in sweat. The Negus had a wide smile on her face and the men behind her were chanting.

I looked around in puzzlement. I held out the disk but she didn’t take it. I was tired. And done. In irritation, I turned my hand over to drop it onto the desk- and it stayed put, stuck to my palm. I stared at it, and then tore it away. My skin came with it and yet it did not hurt. Like peeling the dead skin of a sunburn. I looked at my palm. The drop of blood had been branded into it.

The men behind me dropped to their knees and the Negus smile grew wider. “The Heart of the Qdus has been reborn!!” she intoned.

And then she spoke.

“The heart of the remnant, he is a lion,
coming with a moon of blood.
The heart of the remnant, he is a holy fire,
burning out the stubble,
The heart of the remnant, his hand is a bloody tear,
holding the remnant as one.”


I could only stare at my hand in confusion, refusing to remember. Foolish. How do you refuse a memory? “That could mean anything”, I told her with a measure of desperation. She merely smiled. She knew I was lying.

“My son, I have studied the stories. For millenia we have marked ourselves as Qdus. The faithful, the pure. In all that time, no Qdus has ever received anything but the mark we all wear. None, until you, Anbessa son of Kidana, you Lion. You are reborn the Heart of the Remnant.” But I only half heard her, because I was hearing my father’s voice, speaking to mother. Those words of the prophecy.

And my life replayed itself in my mind and suddenly it all became clear. My father, always my father, driving me, pushing me. The need for focus. The cutting away distraction- even family, even hope for a future. All, because he believed I was this Heart. He wanted me to be the Heart. His ambition, his dream. How much of my life had been fortuitous accident and how much had been forced?

I didn’t want to believe it. Which part I’m not sure. That I was some foretold Heart of the Remnant? That my father had been trying to force me into some prophesied skin my entire life? Worst of all, the part that made my blood boil, was that our own father had sacrificed Sesuna’s happiness for this.

In that moment, I hated my father and did not feel any sense of guilt or shame for it.

Somehow, after all of that, I was able to leave. The Negus said I would return when it was time. I went home. I should have been glad for the snake eating its own tail marked on my forearm. I was Qdus, as I had wanted. But he had stolen it from me, stolen my joy. I had been his puppet. I took my time, let my life play over and over in my mind, watching every conversation, every interaction, every decision he had made through the lens of this new information. And knew it for truth.

The house was dark and quiet when I got home, the smell of a ruined meal filling the house. Sesuna had cooked for me and I didn’t even call. Father was there waiting and tried to talk to me but I brushed him off. He must have seen something of the anger in my eyes because he didn’t press it.

I went upstairs and headed to my room when suddenly Sesuna was there, her large white eyes peering up at me, the fear plain, and I just knelt down and enfolded her in a hug. She would never know that all of her pain was my fault. She was but a sacrifice to our father’s ambitions for me. “It is alright, Sessy. It just took longer than expected is all.” But I was glad of the dark, covering the brand on my palm like a blanket. I was not ready to talk about it.

Of course, that only lasted until the next day when Father could see it for himself. There was a gloating in his eyes that made me want to shove my fist in his face, no matter how wicked that was. He pressed for details then, but I refused. I was not his puppet. Nor would I reward the pain he caused with vindication. Father was angry but there was nothing he could do about it. Things settled down and I think he resented that. That maybe I should be off doing something he thought great.

Well I was. I was Qdus. I did my work, my trade some days, my hunts others. I would not leave until Sesuna could.

By now, the sickness had continued to spread and while not many were dying in a numerical sense, there was a growing sense of unease. Among the Tigre, Tigrinya and Ethiopian peoples, there were higher numbers. We began to hear whispers of entire families dying. They were always rumors, as difficult to chase down as the wind. But we among the Qdus had our suspicions. The Romans. They had their fingers everywhere. Groups like Al Janyar took advantage of the fear, sowed chaos.

I could only focus on my work and Sesuna. She was fiery and seemed to find trouble without meaning to. Or maybe she did. Her abilities as a tracker had become far more. She saw deeply, really perceived things, things that went far beyond tracks, but instead was about people, their bonds and intent. It is a heady thing to discover about yourself. And she tried, dear sweet Sesuna, but sometimes she just couldn’t help it. And I sometimes despaired that she would ever grow up enough that I could trust her to be safe.

And then came the day of the hunt. It was a simple one. A luxury boat docked at Massawa. Accounts of young people going missing. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the mystery called to me. It could be something as simple as human trafficking. I had checked the logs of this particular boat and each place it had docked, people went missing. If that was what this was, here would be where the kidnapped youths would be delivered to whomever was doing the buying. That alone would be worth the hunt. All too often, I have seen that sometimes monsters were human faces and have human hearts. And if they wear something else, dreyken for example, then even better. Dreyken would not be selling people, people who might still be rescued.

It never occurred to me that these might be enterprising dreyken who pursued both as a way to satisfy their hungers and finance their lifestyle. I was caught by surprise, a gun raised and ready to spray my brains all over the wall, and all I could see was Sesuna waiting for me at home. And I struck out with my fist. It was as if something snapped in me and exploded out from my fist, a blast of air slamming all the men into the walls and rails. I heard the snap of limbs and backs and the crack of heads from the impacts.

I was able to get out of there and call the authorities in. I was just trying to concentrate on one thing at a time. I found my way back home, shaking in puzzlement at what had happened. Maybe I already knew and was lying to myself. There had been whispers and rumors. I spent the next few days working in the market, trying to wear normalcy like a blanket around my shoulders. Until I too got sick.

I spent the next few days in bed, Sesuna by my side. The chills were hot and then cold and my body contorted in pain as it twisted into shapes that threatened to pop my joints from their sockets. And all the while she was there, taking care of me. Of my father, I saw nothing. Perhaps the idea of seeing me sick unnerved him, especially after having felt so vindicated with my special brand. Maybe I am too judgmental. Maybe he could not bear to lose another person. Yet he was willing to lose his daughter, so I don’t think I am. Who knows.

Gradually, I was able to get up and walk around for small periods of time. I was able to keep food down too, which was good. It wasn’t long before I felt normal. Well, almost normal. Because I noticed something. Sometimes, when I was on the verge of falling asleep or was meditating or praying, I could sense a light flickering around me. At those times, I was aware of the brand on my palm and usually clenched it, as if to hide it away. It seemed enough, and I could reach out, seize the light. It fought me, but fighting was what I had done my whole life. It was like mounting a wild beast with blades for horns. Like riding a 1000 meter wave. And yet everything was more vivid and alive at those times. As if the world was plugged into a power source and had been switched on. And I found I could control it, play with it, do things.

I knew what this was. The power of the ancient g’brim. Part of me feared. I had heard the ancient stories, of how these ones worshipped as gods had enslaved humanity. Humanity had fought back, led by the Atharim, fought back and destroyed them. That was the Roman history. But the Qdus knew one other fact the Romans had either lost or hidden. Not all the g’brim had been evil or enslaved mankind. Many had fought alongside man, given their lives in the struggle for justice, names now enshrouded in myths of gods who had sided with humans, stealing fire, granting forbidden wisdom, or whispering warnings of impending doom. All distortions, but behind it, truth. G’brim who were the allies of man

And yet the Qdus had never faced an actual g’brim before, not since those days. Rumors abounded, but until now, I do not know if any of the Qdus had ever encountered one of them. Stories of better relationships were one thing. I, a g’brim in the flesh, was another entirely. But my entire life had been dedicated to the Qdus, to being good man. This power did not change that. But would they understand? With one in their presence?

I had to tell someone. At least one person, if only to share this burden. I asked Sesuna to walk with me one evening. She was now 15. It was dusk and the moon hung low in the sky, already having begun her journey for the night. The air was sweet with the smell of mango, the sounds of insects humming and the wind over the tops of the high grass and through the trees masking their breathing. And I was not afraid, not of my sister. But I still didn’t know how to say the words. Finally, “Sessy, something has happened to me. I am…different now.” And then I did pause because I wasn’t sure how to go on. And then I clenched my fist and seized the power, made a light appear to float in front of us. It was a cold and blue light, just hanging there. And I looked down at her, smiling slightly, hopefully. Well, maybe I was afraid a little. I didn’t think I could bear it if Sesuna turned her back on me.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at her reaction. Even though she is young, she sees far and true. And since she scraped together enough to buy a wallet, an entire new land to explore had opened up for her. She did not jump or shrink back. If anything, she grinned, took hold of the globe and examined it. I couldn’t help but laugh. She too laughed, asking what else I could do.

And what could I do but show her? I was proud to show her. I was only new then, but had puzzled out a few things. I made swirls of fire, added earth to change the colors of the flames. I wove air and water into blades, tinging them with fire to sear as I threw them into a tree trunk. Gusts of wind, gouts of fire that appeared and disappeared at will. Not complicated. Anything that seemed useful to the hunt came easiest to me. I had so much to learn, but just having someone to share it with seemed to drain away any last residual fear I might have had.

I was Qdus and g’brim, A Mighty Holy One. They were not mutually exclusive. I noticed the brand on my palm and I will confess that I did wonder, then, about the prophecy. But I rejected it. It felt like I was rewarding my father for his cruelty.

At the time, I did not understand how, but the Negus had her ways of learning. I was summoned back to Axum. My steps were as lead because deep in my heart, I knew she had somehow learned I could touch the power. I did not question Sesuna’s discretion for a moment. But somehow, all the same, she had learned.

It seems odd that meetings of such importance to you can occur in the most plain of places. Once again, I was in her office. Two men stood behind me, as before. But I did not sit this time. Whatever happened, I would face this as a man. I had no desire to die. And I had no desire to kill these people. I don’t know that I could have made myself. Perhaps, yes. If they were following the pattern of the Romans, at least what was rumored to be happening, very likely Sesuna would be effected.

No, I was not going to die here and now. Especially not now. She seemed to read my mind. “Be at easy Anbessa, Heart of the Remnant. God had spoken to me. It is time for you to be what you were meant to be.”

My eye narrowed. “And what is that?” I asked suspiciously. I was Qdus. A hunter. What else was there to do?

She smiled. “The Heart of the Remnant is the heart of the body, my son. It pumps the blood. It is the source. For too long, the remnant- all of the remnant- have been scattered into a thousand tribes. There is one leader of the Romans, but he is a cancer on the body. The poison in the bones that weakens and kills.”

I frowned at her. This was ridiculous. “And what am I supposed to do?”

Her eyes twinkled at me as she pulled out a crystal with a golden hue. It was clear with now warping or bubbles or discoloration to it. I stared at them. “You should ask God.” I couldn’t help it. I snorted. I had prayed many times, of course. And I believed he listened and answered. But not like this. This was not like ancient times.

She held it out. “The Urim, like the Thummim, was used by the priest to ask questions of God. A story, aye?” And then her eye went to my brand and then to the mark on my arm. No, these were not just stories. Or at least, if they were, they were based on realities, however changed over time.

I took it, turned it over in my hand. “What do I do?”

She mimed me holding it up, looking through it. “It will show you what you need, Anbessa.” Hesitantly I put it to my eye, not sure what to expect. I saw the room, the Negus sitting at her desk, but through the crystal, as if through water. Despite its clarity, the image warped, as if a wind had blown across the surface of a pond, distorting the image.

Somehow, the pond grew closer and I felt myself sucked in, as if I were falling. My face crested the surface and I could see…..destruction. Fire red across the landscape. It was my homeland. War. I saw men walking the streets, balls of fire dancing on their hands. I screamed as watched one and then another let their burning missiles fly into a nearby home or market, watched the explosions of rubble and bodies. Other men ran through the streets, machine guns spitting their angry fire.

I couldn’t help it. I clenched my fist and seized the power, felt it course through me. I saw myself hurling bolts at the men with fire. Suddenly I was not alone. To the left and the right of me, others- a man and a woman- stood with me, fire in their palms. Together, we were able to stop them all.

My eyes snapped open, even though they had not been closed. Suddenly I was in the room with the Negus. She was standing, fear etched on her face, the two men behind me with blades drawn. Puzzled I looked around as I brought the Urim down from my face. And then I felt it. At my palm a ball of fire floated. My head shot up and I looked at her, my eyes locking with hers.

I let the flame go. Strangely, I felt calm come over me. “I am Qdus. The Ashegurah has judged me. But I am g’brim. I am both and the same, Negus.” She stood, walked around her desk and peered up at me, peered into my eyes. Her hands snaked out and took my right arm, ran her fingers lightly along my Qdus mark. It could not be denied. She took my hand, touched my palm, the brand- the bloody tear she had wanted to call it.

“The Heart of the Atharim….” She pondered. “It could be so. It could be…In the ancient stories, some of the g’brim were brothers to mankind. Is that what you are, Anbessa?”

I hesitated. I saw my family in my mind. “I don’t know what I am except for this. I am Qdus. And I am g’brim. My entire life I have lived up to the code. I do not know if I am this Heart. I did not see anything about the Romans or the remnant in my vision.”

Her voice hissed. “What did you see?”

I could still feel the anger and fear from the vision. “I saw men with fire in their hands, killing, destroying our land. I saw others with guns, doing the same. And so I fought them. And suddenly I was not alone. There was a man and a woman with me, fire clenched in their palms. Together, we fought. That was my vision, Negus.”

She paused, thinking, tapping her lip absentmindedly. Her eyes darted between him and the two men behind him. To be honest, I had forgotten they were there. She gestured and after a moment, they seemed to relax. At least, they lowered their swords a little. It would have made little difference. I could have killed them all without a thought. It was not something that gave me pleasure to think on.

Finally, she spoke. “The winds have changed. We know the g’brim had returned. They will wreak havoc. But as before, so will it be now. The Qdus will not turn out their back on any ally. You have been washed clean by God, Anbessa, our lion. But the vision is clear. Do you vow to protect mankind with all your power, Anbessa?”

It was another oath. And yet the same oath. Nothing had changed. I knelt. “I do, Negus.”

“Rise. You are Anbessa no more. You are born, Idris, the Fiery Leader of the Qdus. You must find others like you. If they pass the test, if they would do no harm, they may live. But none that is an enemy of man can be let go. This I charge you.”

It was strange. The world seemed to swirl around me. I was not the Heart. I didn’t believe that. But this, yes, I could do this. I nodded somberly.

This time she did not let me slip away. I was taken to a larger gathering of Qdus and she repeated these words, now a ceremony. The first time, I had felt sincere. But repeating what had been private and sacred for others bothered me. I did understand it though. Still, I didn’t like it.

I went home but word of my change had run ahead of me. Maybe someone there was friends with my father. He embraced me, the smug look on his face irritating. I got myself free as soon as possible. I wanted to see Sesuna. To tell her what had happened. She seemed sad, as if she had lost something. I tried to explain to her. I knew she understood. But still, something bothered her. I hoped she’d tell me one day.

How was I to know that she would be the first g’brim I would find. It was nothing I would have expected. She was far younger than me, 15 years old, tall, as tall as our mother, and beautiful with her mane of black hair and wide almond shaped eyes that twinkled when something struck her as funny. She touched the power in some way- she never told me the story- and it was a few days later that she came down with the sickness.

My heart tore watching her suffer, seeing her body twist and bend so that I thought I would hear the snap of bone. It was my turn now, nursing her, praying for her, gently mopping her brow with a cool damp cloth. I heard a noise at the door. It was our father, a bowl of broth in his hand. I smiled at him and took it, put my hand on his shoulder. I saw pain and fear in his eyes. For some reason, relief washed through me. I don’t know why.

I sometimes slept in the chair, drifting in and out. All concern for other g’brim and flown out of my mind. Qdus, the Heart, the power. None of it mattered to me, not if Sesuna died. I sang to her, the old songs. Read to her. And my father, thankfully, only helped. This time there were no corrections about what he had time for. I think he knew that I was at the end.

At one point, I took the simple leather cord she had made for me all those years ago- I can’t even remember how old she was- and tied it around her wrist. It had been her gift, girlish and simple and it meant the world to me. And I wanted her to have to hold on to it. To know I was always going to be with her.

Maybe prayers do work. She got better. The pains and aches subsided, the fever broke. She was able to eat and drink and keep it down. My father changed a bit. Not completely. But something about him was different. I hope so, anyway.

I tried to show her how I used the power. I wasn’t sure what it was like to teach another. I felt nothing around her, saw nothing. I had only her word to go on that she held it. I tried to demonstrate simple weaves, explained the five flavors of the power. Maybe she understood that part. But she never saw what I saw. And when I did see a result, the movement of a leaf, the appearance of a flame, I never saw the threads.

But she was tenacious and learned quickly. She was g’brim. Part of me was worried, though. They had accepted me. The Shegurah and the brand had made the difference. I wanted them to accept her. I wanted her to be safe. The Negus had told me to find others. And she was my first.

I told her. “We must go to the Negus, Sessy. You are g’brim. It will not stay secret forever. You know what the Romans have been doing. The Qdus are not them….but still…It would be better if you were sworn.” I saw the fear in her eyes, knew what frightened her. She was not a hunter. She had never been one. I cupped the side of her face with my palm “Trust me, Sesusna. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

My heart swelled with love at her assent, her simple trust in me. And I was determined. I would not fail her. This was the only way to keep her safe. I had all these responsibilities pulling at me. I had to make sure she was safe. She trusted me. I would keep her safe.

I introduced her to the Negus, explained who she was to me, what she was capable of. The woman’s eyes sharpened. “It seems the Romans were right about the blood.” At my sharp glare, she answered “Oh relax, my son. I did not mean they were right in what they do about it.” She looked up at Sesuna, peered into her eyes, tilted her head this way and that. As if one could tell anything from. “So, child. You wish to be Qdus….let us see if you understand what that means.”

I could tell Sesuna was terrified. And this was the moment I had dreaded. The Ashegurah had to know the truth. I knew my sister. I was dismissed from the office and waited outside. I had nearly refused, but I know she would say no. Still, I seized the power. With my enhanced hearing, I listened for my sister, for any sign she was in distress. I would do whatever it took to save her.

Instead, it wasn’t long before she came out, touching the mark on her arm. My heart seemed to cry with relief and I enfolded her in a hug. But she did not seem happy and I didn’t understand. I looked at her, seeing her trying to blink tears away. She looked up me with fear. “Will you make me kill now, Bessie?”

I smiled at her comfortingly, kissed her forehead. “No, Sessya. No. You are g’brim. But not all have to be hunters. It is enough that you are my sister. And that you are safe.”

And so we went home. I continued to hone my skills with the power as assiduously as I had practiced at the hunt, and she was dedicated to learning it as she had the art of tracking- and the many other skills she had picked. And my father seemed content. It was strange. Something had changed, in all of us. Somehow, peace and tranquility came to our home.


Edited by Idris, Feb 23 2018, 11:57 PM.j

<big>Melany Terrones – New Plans for Spiritual Retreat Centers in the CCD.

</big>

Melany Terrones, famed head priestess of the Temple of the Goddess of the Moon has decided to make a pilgrimage to Moscow, much to her supporters dismay. This news comes right on the tail of Jet Terrones’ announcement that he would be quitting Red Hot Blues. Coincidence?

Having long been a proponent of the US joining the CCD, she has decided to make a religious circuit of the CDD, starting with a six month visit to Moscow. The decision was also right on the heals of a harrowing experience for the young religious leader when some 50 members the KKK burned an effigy of a young woman on the front lawn of the Fort Worth temple where Ms. Terrones’ organization is located, and where she does most of her charitable works. The KKK have long accused the courageous young women of harboring channelers. The accusation has only once garnished a disgusted reply of “No es importa.” She has otherwise refused to address the matter.

When asked to comment on her departure from her temple so soon after the incident, Melany said she has no room in her heart for hatred and that she has no intention of endangering her charges by keeping them in an atmosphere of ignorance and barbarianism. Her mission plan had always included bringing the word of the Lady of Light to the rest of the world, and that these plans have actually been in the works for a few years now.

“I hope to bring the ways of the Goddess to the people living in the CCD. My mission here has come to its natural end. I hope the people in this community will support the temple, and with the help of Mrs. Dix, continue my work in spreading kindness and understanding and to help protect young women needing sanctuary.”

The Temple’s long time supporter, heiress Mildred Campbell Dix says she plans to continue Melany’s good works and while she is sad to see the younger woman go, understands her need to move on and spread the word. Mrs. Dix plans to keep the Temple running as it has been, the octogenarian adding that she will be “adding some serious security” and will “kick the craven asses of anyone fool enough to try to cross my line.”

Melany smiled fondly when asked about Mrs. Dix. “I will miss the time I am able to spend with Mrs. Dix who has always been such a staunch supporter and a good friend. But we’ll be communicating regularly and I have the utmost confidence that she will do a first rate job at keeping the Temple running and helping women in need.”

Melany’s decision to move her operations to Moscow comes on the heels of her brother’s sudden departure from the music industry. When he said he was done, he meant it and little has been seen of him since his announcement. When asked if Jet knew of her decision to move to Moscow she replied, “You know, I’m not sure if he knows. He never was one to read to the newspaper much …” and left it at that.

This reporter wishes Ms. Terrones great success in spreading her gospel of kindness and light and may her virtue and bravery be an example to all women.

After collapsing on a bed, Jay slept hard. Maybe they laced that last shot with something, but he slept like the dead. When he woke, his neck ached from not having moved all night. At least, he thought it had been night. Lacking a view of the outside world, it was hard to tell.

Speaking of lacking views, the only thing surrounding him were bunks. Each neatly made, he found himself tucking his own into good order out of sheer habit before going off in search of someone when a wave of darkness rushed his senses. It immediately cast his heart into a harder beat as he followed its origins.

When he came upon an open chamber that reminded him of a concrete gymnasium, he flat out gawked like an idiot at what he found.

Five men faced one another in line. Each wore athletic apparel as more than one brow was slicked with a sheen of moisture. Jay suddenly felt ridiculous shirtless in sweat pants and bared feet. But what really stole the show was the symphony of flows lashing around the room. He could barely follow the lights, though the sweep of each weave cast a shadow on his heart that made him want to retreat.

Instead, his fists opened and closed, itching with anticipation. The power rushed into his grasp and filled him to the brim. It was only a moment before one of the men spun on a heel and thrust a storm of power at him.

He threw up a shield of light, and his own arms in front of his face. A flash of light sparked like a beam across his eyes, but the attack never landed. The flows were cut by another. Jay didn't even know that was possible.

Blinking, panting, he looked up when a clap landed on his shoulder. One of the men, an Indian a few years older than himself helped him up.

"You must be the newbie. Welcome to the pit of doom, Carpenter."
He leered with a smile.

Jay blinked as each of the five came to appraise him.

"Uhh-- Thanks?"
He tried to smirk, but honestly, was too fucking shocked to do anything but stand there like a fool.

When she finally spoke to the consulate of channeling, it was not to discuss the ideas she had presented during her meeting with Brandon; those she left to fertilise in Evelyn's cupped hands. In fact it had not even been with Marcus DuBois himself she negotiated, but with his people. She had leaned a little too heavily on Brandon's authority and her position as a Patron's granddaughter to smooth an untroubled path; and how surprisingly easy to silver-tongue her way to the things she needed. Though it was not like she asked for anything untoward.

All she wanted was a room. A piano. And the space to practise and record her findings.

The room was one of hundreds of administrative spaces along the wide corridor, as grand and beautiful as everything she had seen since passing the Kremlin's threshold. A dark-stained bookcase lined the length of one wall. Beyond, the arching gilded windows hung with velvet drapes, stuffed chairs that had perhaps once bracketed the open fireplace now pushed to observe the view beyond. The rest of the furniture had been removed. The piano itself claimed the newly central space, its glistening grain catching gold in the streaming late afternoon light.

Such an indulgence. She could have done this from home; her apartment housed a stately Bösendorfer, utterly untouched but for a callous glance the night she had arrived in Moscow. A guilt-shadowed gift from her mother, most likely; Eleanor might resolutely funnel her towards this path, but she at least understood that for Natalie each step cut her feet to bloody ribbons. The new piano was far more expensive than her old Steinway, and yet she would have preferred to discover its bitter-sweet memory amongst her new possessions instead. Not that it was her only reason for avoiding the empty shell of the apartment. Demons danced in the silence spaces, and she was wary of the isolation. During her weeks of convalescence in Aubagne, Eleanor had insisted on a therapist; a standard part of the debrief, really, when a project went so terribly wrong, but Natalie was the sort to cling to her wounds; to feel their full wrath before she consented to let them heal. She needed the distraction of bodies moving in the hallway beyond.

It had been a long time since she had sought this kind of escape, but it was the closest earthly feeling she could align to the swelling joy the light blossomed when it lit in her veins. Though after the blood of Africa, neither feeling felt deserved. Her fingers swept the ivory keys like she touched the relic of an old life -- and it did feel that way, something distant and old; too pure to touch.

The instrument itself was beautiful.

It was German designed, rich dark wood and decadently carved, gold capped feet. Tsar Nicolas II had favoured Blüthners, but Natalie had never had the pleasure of playing one. The lid was already propped open, baring the hammers and strings within, and the empty music stand above the keys swirled with inky lattice work, begging attendance even of the unworthy. Despite her own hesitations, she sat at the bench, placed the datapad and stylus beside her. On a whim she slipped the shoes from her aching feet, rested her bare toes on the pedals. Just breathed.

It was foolish to feel so at war with herself, but the battle stiffened her rigidly against relaxing. She ought to be picking up the pieces in Sierra Leone, not nestling in the lap of luxury indulging her passions. Yet despite the shade of guilt, her heart was singing. It only made her feel worse.

You're here for a reason.

One that didn't truly stem from frivolity, not that it helped ease her conscience. Her fingers hovered. She had tried this in a basement of the embassy, hunched over the stub of a candle she'd almost burst a blood vessel trying to snap to flame. She had vowed then to learn the complexities of the gift, but it had never worked. Now the light was not barred from her any longer, but it still did not always come easily. Instead of forcing it, she chose to lull it. The first rich note from the smallest pressure shivered through her soul. The tensions weakened their grip, burdens realised and unrealised snaking a looser hold as the notes blended to the first chord, resonating like a promise of peace.

The light unravelled as her fingers moved in a familiar rhythm, woven like the music itself. She had never seen it so clearly; the colours and textures only caught before in desperate snatches. Like any symphony there were component parts, explored for the first time.

As the music played, the threads danced.

[[Chopin's Requiem for a Dream]]