After the biting brisk cold of the Norway evening, the warmth of the suite was stifling. The heavy pea green wool he wore felt leaden, smothering him. He struggled to get it off, pulling at the toggles with more force than he realized. A short dark rod, small twisted broken lace of leather still sticking out of it, was clenched in his fist, jacket forgotton in his other hand. He stared at the stained piece of wood, suddenly feeling a pressure all around him.
For a moment, facing the door, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the headache the threatened to come up. No. No. He forced his breath slower, letting his mind drift, seeking the stillness of the Chong Rann. It came- barely. But it was enough. There, inside that void, he could see the threads of pressure around him, like tight coils of razor wire, slicing at the edges.
He focused, enough at least to push them off. They wouldn't go away, of course. That would have been too easy. Lines of pressure could not be ignored. That let them fester and grow. He could lock them behind a closed door, but they would only get worse.
The pain of reality must be faced. To do otherwise was cowardice. Everyone had their moments, of course. Things they'd rather not see. He had. But had faced it, finally. Pain had to be lived with.
This....this was different. Not pain. Frustration. Uncertainty. It felt like an earthquake underneath his feet. The razor threads closed in again and he relaxed. He had to face it....once he knew what it was. What this was. Until them, calm was what he needed.
The jacket off, he lifted it and hung it on the coat hook, putting the torn toggle in the pocket. He turned to see the women in the room. Valeriya's green eyes peered into him, curious. But other than that, she was still. Rowan's single piercing blue eye looked at him and, he assumed, saw his ruddy cheeks, by the way she commiserated over him.
Another time- or rather- in another way, he would have been comforted by her ministrations. His breath caught as he saw the bottle move of its own accord, the splashing dark liquid into the steaming mug of coffee. The cup floated before him and his stomach roiled, as if facing a viper- except he had faced vipers and all other manner of creature- without this feeling.
Pride stiffened his spine, rooting his legs to the ground, and he deliberately took the cup, watching her the whole time. They had shared intimacies...all of them had together. And in that bliss, it was easy to forget what she was. Or at least to subsume that in his knowledge that the three of then constituted something beyond- the hand of God, the will of the pattern, an expression of the Tao, the Way, in the earth.
But at this moment, he realized he still was not truly open with Rowen. He was wary of her, of her power. A lifetime of teaching and training was not casually dismissed so easily. Not when the price he had paid for it was so high.
Another pair of green eyes floated across his vision and this time, he did feel pain. Did they appear accusatory? Were there tears in them?
Despite his resolve, he did shove them away now, pushed them into the corners of his mind, hiding from them. He was weak. He was not ready for this.
The heat from the mug stung his palm and he savored the distraction, in fact drank deeply, feeling the slow burning down his throat, relishing the pain.
The peace that had been the Chong Rann had been shattered at the site of those ghostly eyes. And yet another duller sense of peace fuzzed his mind. A trade off, he supposed, and not one he normally liked. And yet this time, any peace was a port in the storm of his mind.
Pushing his disquiet off to the side, he took another drink- smaller and more measured. The slack skin over Rowan's empty socket was unavoidable...and yet not hideous. No, strangely, it was somehow...he couldn't find the word. The feeling it prompted was not disgust, though. Not at all.
He looked from her to Valeriya and back. Twins for all their obvious differences. He had seen Valeriya's green eyes hot with anger and rage, passion and life. She was honest to her core, lacking guile. In many ways it was childlike, though he would not add the word innocence to it.
And Rowan, her twin, he realized she was the same. Her emotion and feeling was worn on the skin. He'd spent decades reading between the lines, playing games, hiding nuance and messages in glances and seemingly meaningless words.
It was a lesson. Do not get lost in the details and so miss what is obvious.
So what was obvious here.? That was the problem. He couldn't see it. All he knew was that it seemed to be part of what gnawed at him
"Thank you, my dear." His next words were deliberately casual. "I will send a message to Patricus. If.... He couldn't help the bit of concern that tinged his voice. " No luck yet?"
For a moment, facing the door, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the headache the threatened to come up. No. No. He forced his breath slower, letting his mind drift, seeking the stillness of the Chong Rann. It came- barely. But it was enough. There, inside that void, he could see the threads of pressure around him, like tight coils of razor wire, slicing at the edges.
He focused, enough at least to push them off. They wouldn't go away, of course. That would have been too easy. Lines of pressure could not be ignored. That let them fester and grow. He could lock them behind a closed door, but they would only get worse.
The pain of reality must be faced. To do otherwise was cowardice. Everyone had their moments, of course. Things they'd rather not see. He had. But had faced it, finally. Pain had to be lived with.
This....this was different. Not pain. Frustration. Uncertainty. It felt like an earthquake underneath his feet. The razor threads closed in again and he relaxed. He had to face it....once he knew what it was. What this was. Until them, calm was what he needed.
The jacket off, he lifted it and hung it on the coat hook, putting the torn toggle in the pocket. He turned to see the women in the room. Valeriya's green eyes peered into him, curious. But other than that, she was still. Rowan's single piercing blue eye looked at him and, he assumed, saw his ruddy cheeks, by the way she commiserated over him.
Another time- or rather- in another way, he would have been comforted by her ministrations. His breath caught as he saw the bottle move of its own accord, the splashing dark liquid into the steaming mug of coffee. The cup floated before him and his stomach roiled, as if facing a viper- except he had faced vipers and all other manner of creature- without this feeling.
Pride stiffened his spine, rooting his legs to the ground, and he deliberately took the cup, watching her the whole time. They had shared intimacies...all of them had together. And in that bliss, it was easy to forget what she was. Or at least to subsume that in his knowledge that the three of then constituted something beyond- the hand of God, the will of the pattern, an expression of the Tao, the Way, in the earth.
But at this moment, he realized he still was not truly open with Rowen. He was wary of her, of her power. A lifetime of teaching and training was not casually dismissed so easily. Not when the price he had paid for it was so high.
Another pair of green eyes floated across his vision and this time, he did feel pain. Did they appear accusatory? Were there tears in them?
Despite his resolve, he did shove them away now, pushed them into the corners of his mind, hiding from them. He was weak. He was not ready for this.
The heat from the mug stung his palm and he savored the distraction, in fact drank deeply, feeling the slow burning down his throat, relishing the pain.
The peace that had been the Chong Rann had been shattered at the site of those ghostly eyes. And yet another duller sense of peace fuzzed his mind. A trade off, he supposed, and not one he normally liked. And yet this time, any peace was a port in the storm of his mind.
Pushing his disquiet off to the side, he took another drink- smaller and more measured. The slack skin over Rowan's empty socket was unavoidable...and yet not hideous. No, strangely, it was somehow...he couldn't find the word. The feeling it prompted was not disgust, though. Not at all.
He looked from her to Valeriya and back. Twins for all their obvious differences. He had seen Valeriya's green eyes hot with anger and rage, passion and life. She was honest to her core, lacking guile. In many ways it was childlike, though he would not add the word innocence to it.
And Rowan, her twin, he realized she was the same. Her emotion and feeling was worn on the skin. He'd spent decades reading between the lines, playing games, hiding nuance and messages in glances and seemingly meaningless words.
It was a lesson. Do not get lost in the details and so miss what is obvious.
So what was obvious here.? That was the problem. He couldn't see it. All he knew was that it seemed to be part of what gnawed at him
"Thank you, my dear." His next words were deliberately casual. "I will send a message to Patricus. If.... He couldn't help the bit of concern that tinged his voice. " No luck yet?"