09-05-2022, 10:37 PM
The night was cold on the balcony. His breath fogged in front of him into the dark and then disappeared into nothing. The sounds of the streets below drifted up but barely impinged in to his consciousness. His memory of Norway was distant enough- the last trip short and not memorable, for all the momentary sweat and blood of a good hunt- he felt a first time visitor. Nothing in this place called to him. No exhibit to experience, no museum artifact to study, no library to search.
Being in a new place was something he'd done enough that even that should have felt normal and comfortable. And yet, he could not shake the disquiet or unease that had grown during the last week. He'd been silent through most of the week, aside from his agreement with Rowan that this seemed the correct direction to go. He'd stood back as Rowan had taken the lead in their preparations.
Something felt off. Only now, by himself on the balcony of their room did he let himself give solidity to his disquieting thoughts. The muffled voices of Rowan and Valeriya in the other room were part of the problem, he knew. Not them, exactly. Not all of them together. That was normal and felt like his natural home for all of the fact that it was a new thing.
No, it was something more. And less. Oh, the sting of having been left out of the last viewing was still there. How could it not? They were the Eyes, weren't they? But were not Eyes part of a larger whole? He had thought it was the three of them together that were the hand of God walking the earth. And yet the naked demonstration that they alone could see clearly only when he wasn't there- especially after he had pushed them to find the next step in their journey- had been a brutal revelation.
Of course, he accepted it. Facts were not disputable. Reality did not care about your feelings. They simply were. And he had made peace with it. Of course he had.
Still, the unease was there. It didn't help that for all his training and knowledge, he felt blind. Rowan's vision sounded correct. Of course it did. One eyed Odin and the great tree were well known, now, though the Marvelized version of the story had cemented itself in the general consciousness. Sacrifice for divine knowledge was a constant theme in human myth, from Eve to Prometheus to Ganesh. No price was too high for understanding.
And Rowan had paid the price. The loose skin over the hollow of her eye socket was an undeniable testimony of that. The thousand scars on Valeriya's back were her own payment too. And Armande? His body was covered in scars that bore witness to hundreds of battles and hunts in pursuit of knowledge. His devotion to his creeds had left still deeper wounds than anything physical could, the memory of a pair of green eyes having never lost their power to cut him to his soul.
What more could be asked of him? He had died and had been reborn countless times. Armande to Athari to Regus to Father Rasputin. until finally, he had found his place. The Heart of the Khylsty with the Eye Valeriya and the Eye Rowan. The pattern of the universe had finally revealed his role and who he was. Forged and shaped by his experiences and knowledge acquired, he was on the path, his battle with Apollyon at the very end of the road.
And yet they couldn't see with me there. The thought was a splinter deep in the finger, small and slight, and yet not ignorable. And surprisingly painful for all of that. Of his disquiet he said nothing. Of his disappointment he did not speak. Of his unsurety, he dared not utter a word, not even to himself.
But for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt wrong. The vision was not his. The clues to follow not of his discovery. The direction not his to give. The loss of control was something he had not experienced in what felt like lifetimes.
And he did not like it. It was a loss he had trouble fathoming.
But what was he to do? Whining was weakness. Lashing out, seizing control would merely be a manifestation of impotence. None of that was him. He breathed deeply, the icy cold cutting his lungs, his first breath in what felt like a lifetime.
Patience. There was a plan. Or at least a Pattern. His life up to this point was proof of that. His connection to Nikolai Brandon, their mirrored life, their ascent in parallel, was proof of that. He had a role. He would watch and see. He had enough faith for that, at least.
He stood, preparing himself before turning to rejoin them. Faith. He must have faith. I have faith! Help me out where I need faith! He smiled weakly at the quote. It was something, at least.
Being in a new place was something he'd done enough that even that should have felt normal and comfortable. And yet, he could not shake the disquiet or unease that had grown during the last week. He'd been silent through most of the week, aside from his agreement with Rowan that this seemed the correct direction to go. He'd stood back as Rowan had taken the lead in their preparations.
Something felt off. Only now, by himself on the balcony of their room did he let himself give solidity to his disquieting thoughts. The muffled voices of Rowan and Valeriya in the other room were part of the problem, he knew. Not them, exactly. Not all of them together. That was normal and felt like his natural home for all of the fact that it was a new thing.
No, it was something more. And less. Oh, the sting of having been left out of the last viewing was still there. How could it not? They were the Eyes, weren't they? But were not Eyes part of a larger whole? He had thought it was the three of them together that were the hand of God walking the earth. And yet the naked demonstration that they alone could see clearly only when he wasn't there- especially after he had pushed them to find the next step in their journey- had been a brutal revelation.
Of course, he accepted it. Facts were not disputable. Reality did not care about your feelings. They simply were. And he had made peace with it. Of course he had.
Still, the unease was there. It didn't help that for all his training and knowledge, he felt blind. Rowan's vision sounded correct. Of course it did. One eyed Odin and the great tree were well known, now, though the Marvelized version of the story had cemented itself in the general consciousness. Sacrifice for divine knowledge was a constant theme in human myth, from Eve to Prometheus to Ganesh. No price was too high for understanding.
And Rowan had paid the price. The loose skin over the hollow of her eye socket was an undeniable testimony of that. The thousand scars on Valeriya's back were her own payment too. And Armande? His body was covered in scars that bore witness to hundreds of battles and hunts in pursuit of knowledge. His devotion to his creeds had left still deeper wounds than anything physical could, the memory of a pair of green eyes having never lost their power to cut him to his soul.
What more could be asked of him? He had died and had been reborn countless times. Armande to Athari to Regus to Father Rasputin. until finally, he had found his place. The Heart of the Khylsty with the Eye Valeriya and the Eye Rowan. The pattern of the universe had finally revealed his role and who he was. Forged and shaped by his experiences and knowledge acquired, he was on the path, his battle with Apollyon at the very end of the road.
And yet they couldn't see with me there. The thought was a splinter deep in the finger, small and slight, and yet not ignorable. And surprisingly painful for all of that. Of his disquiet he said nothing. Of his disappointment he did not speak. Of his unsurety, he dared not utter a word, not even to himself.
But for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt wrong. The vision was not his. The clues to follow not of his discovery. The direction not his to give. The loss of control was something he had not experienced in what felt like lifetimes.
And he did not like it. It was a loss he had trouble fathoming.
But what was he to do? Whining was weakness. Lashing out, seizing control would merely be a manifestation of impotence. None of that was him. He breathed deeply, the icy cold cutting his lungs, his first breath in what felt like a lifetime.
Patience. There was a plan. Or at least a Pattern. His life up to this point was proof of that. His connection to Nikolai Brandon, their mirrored life, their ascent in parallel, was proof of that. He had a role. He would watch and see. He had enough faith for that, at least.
He stood, preparing himself before turning to rejoin them. Faith. He must have faith. I have faith! Help me out where I need faith! He smiled weakly at the quote. It was something, at least.