Waking up at the temple curled up on my side, the memory of the knife entering my head providing a phantom splitting headache. Trying to calm down and relax my breathing, the red hot ache dulling and fading away. The surrounding statues all looking at me, full of overwhelming judgment, but not much mocking laughter. Opening my eyes. Harper about a foot away and covered in a blanket, her eyes half open and unblinking. Not moving, not reacting. Catatonic. Nothing else on this side. Moving my fingers and toes to try and get my extremities limbered up. Mustering the energy to roll over, flat on my back. On the other side Magpie, also with a blanket - hey, where's my blanket? - but her eyes active, and tears rolling out freely.
“Shit happens, right?” Magpie's mouth trying to move and Harper behind me making a small croak. “I'm sorry that happened. I'm going to make it up to you and I'm going to make it right.” Bringing my legs in, putting my elbows under me and trying to rock myself into a sitting position, their eyes following my failures and eventual success. “I know it feels pretty awful, but this gets easier every time you do it.” Some movement over to my left. There she is. “Vivian, good to see you.”
“Mac.” Kneeling down and pulling me into her overflowing bosom. “You seem to be in good spirits.”
“I know.” Somewhat muffled. “I'm not sure what to think of it myself, but I feel free all of a sudden. I've been trying to get the guild back together for almost a year now. And I did it. It's back. But it turns out that was probably a mistake.”
“What happened?”
“I'm not welcome there anymore. I'm not who I was – I'm different, I know I'm different – but, I dunno, I just thought everything I'd done counted for more. It's like some kind of giant, cosmic joke. Thanks for the years of effort, here's a pat on the back and kick in the ass. Get the fuck out. At first I was angry about it, and so horribly sad, but that seems like a long time ago. Vivian, I wouldn't recommend it, but dying has always helped me put everything into perspective, and because of that I know exactly what I need to do.” Pulling my head back and trying to sound extra polite. “Where are the Clerics meeting?”
“They're in the Antechamber of the Gods. They've been there for about an hour.”
“I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're an angel. Can you help me up?”
“Mac, do you really need to head over there right now?”
“Yes, immediately.” Harper making another sound, trying to say something but too wiped to get it out. Looking down at Magpie, with liquid still freely running down her face. “Maybe I'll take a couple minutes. Could you please get me some robes and sandals?”
Vivian heading away.
“You probably feel like your head's splitting.” Gently massaging Magpie's scalp. “Keep your eyes closed, breathe in for about ten seconds and then out for five. Focus on doing that. You're fine now.” Harper making another almost sound. “Sorry, sorry. You were hit back here, it feels like a bar of fire, I know. It's not happening now but you're remembering what it felt like and it's just not going away. Try and focus on anything else. Breathing or counting your heartbeat or something. Let me see your hands. I know you've got no energy but try and squeeze them together. Concentrate on that.” Vivian coming back with my complementary death garb. “You two are doing good, I want you to know that. I'll be right back, I just need to have a chat with them real quick.”
Getting to my feet with more than a little help from Vivian. The next tick not for another forty minutes. Zero mana and one spirit. Unsteadily tottering down the hallway, leaning on her basically the entire way for support. Three entrances to the auditorium, the Antechamber of the Gods. Struggling all the way over to the very far entrance.
“Vivian, thank you. I have a serious favor to ask, those two girls in there, they're going to need you. The redhead, Julie, it's her first death. And the other one, uh, Grace, can't have had very many. I'll be back to collect them, or I maybe I'll find myself joining them again soon.”
“Mac!”
“I'm just kidding, they probably won't get trigger happy. There's serious punishments for attacking people here.”
“I'd been hoping what you said the last time you were here wouldn't happen.” The woman searching me for some sort of reassurance.
“Everything is very much moving along in that direction.”
“I wish you wouldn't, but I'll do what I can for them. Good luck, Mac.”
Leaning against the door while watching her leave and hearing muffled echoes of someone speaking inside the auditorium. Preparing myself to not stagger in. Hair unkempt, toss it all back. Here's the plan. Open the door and find the first free seat. It'll have to be close. Turning the handle and pulling it open.
“-which is why I'm making this appeal.” The amplified words of the man speaking on the round dais becoming intelligible. “My mistress has counseled caution in this matter. A decision made in haste will surely not lead to-”
Tuning his prattle out and looking for a free seat. There, to the right, in the back row, and real close. Wait, is that her? Oh shit. And the man sitting next to her as well. Both of them. Any nearby seats to the left? Nope, nothing close. This may end up being an extremely short affair. Quietly entering the large, domed room and the door closing behind me, the rambling exhortations of the speaker continuing uninterrupted. Using the back wall as an aid to move toward the available seat. Putting both my hands on the chairback to steady myself.
“Excuse me.” The woman glancing over at my soft tone, and the man doing so, as well. The brown and green insignia of House Haven prominent on their clothing. “Is this seat available?”
Opening her mouth and then closing it. A vein visibly popping out on her forehead. Turning to the man sitting next to her and a silent exchange occurring. Coming to a decision, the man reaching out his hand - dotted with naturally healed scars, more recent scabs and small burns - and squeezing hers. The gesture momentarily obscuring the extravagant ruby ring on her right hand.
“Sit.” No mistaking it, an unvarnished command.
Pulling out the chair and taking my seat next to Madam Garland, Mistress of House Haven, and her husband sitting to her right. Or maybe he was nominally the Master and she the power behind the throne. Could see it either way. Both her and her better half keeping their eyes on me. A golden doe on her outfit and a silver anvil on his.
“I just died and I was wondering if I could trouble you for some bread.” Both wordlessly staring. “I'm not going to be able to make it down these steps otherwise, and I'd really like to clear up some misunderstandings while everyone is still here.”
Mister Garland muttering something, a few short words, and a dark colored roll appearing in his hand. Starting to hand it over, but the bread intercepted by his wife.
“You owe us for what you've done.”
“I do.”
“You're going to make it up to us.” Her meaty ham hock emphasizing each word with a shake of the roll.
“If doing so means we can put everything behind us, I will.” A flash of dark emotion marring her expression. “It's an awful shame what Stormhawk allowed in the harbor.”
Her anger draining away. “When you put it like that, I suppose you have a point.” Handing over the bread, pumpernickel with a slight flavor of butter, each bite chasing away small slivers of fatigue. “I suppose the blame rests entirely on their staggering incompetence.”
“I'm glad,” between bites, “we can both agree on that.” Finishing the bread. “Thank you.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Mister Garland favoring me with a nod. Madam Garland studying me while absentmindedly fingering one of her overly garish jeweled necklaces before returning her attention to the man finishing up his meandering appeal on the dais.
“-and that is why I am in favor of rejecting the proposal. Too dangerous, at this precise moment, and still too many unknowns. Thank you.”
Conversations resuming, or getting louder, throughout the entire assembly as he returns to his seat. A woman near the bottom standing up and reading off a sheet.
“The last person on the agenda for this matter,” her amplified voice reaching the room, “Sister Riley.” Riley standing up over on the other side of the auditorium and walking down the steps. My heart loosening in my chest, the feeling of relief more than palpable. Riley looking around at the gathering with a severe expression. Visibly taking a deep breath before muttering something, and then starting.
“I'll make this brief.” Her now amplified voice filling the room. “I've had the opportunity to get to know the person that a number of you have been slandering this morning. Before I met her, my first couple cycles here had me questioning pretty much everything. I first saw her the morning she came in, skin and bones and half dead. To be honest, at the time, I didn't really want anything to do with her. The next morning, however, I saw her again, fully recovered and wearing new clothing. Out of selfishness, I admit, I decided to approach her for help. I thought that maybe she had figured something out and I wanted to know what. Do you know what she did, this person who'd been in more dire straits than I could imagine? Instead of turning me away, or being less polite and telling me to buzz off, she took the time to help me.
“She told me her name, Macarthy, but that didn't mean anything to me when I heard it. It certainly didn't have the same effect on me that it has on a bunch of you. From what you've all been saying about her, she never should've helped me, it never should've entered her head. I was hopelessly ignorant at the time, and yet she decided to help me. I know I must have slowed her down, and yet she still decided to help me. As far as her alleged behavior, the only thing I've seen since I've gotten here is the campaign of harassment she's endured. From being blacklisted by the Director and all the Houses, and now with some of you blaming her for what happened a couple days ago. Think about that for a moment. You're all blaming one person for what happened when it's clear that a large number of people were involved. Maybe instead of reflexively trying to blame her for it, you should take a long look at yourselves. Maybe instead of further antagonizing the situation, you should try to reach out a hand, instead.”
My planned speech falling to pieces as she went on. By the middle of it tears rolling silently down my cheeks. After all of my sins, all of my ignoble deeds, too lucky to have met her, to have been afforded a second chance. Too undeserving. Another person with undoubtedly that same exactly line of thought standing up over on the other side. Lane.
“Sister Riley.” In the big voice. They all get to make themselves real loud and then there'll be me having to scream like some kind of hysterical nut just to be heard. Almost laughing aloud at the thought, blinking the tears completely out of my eyes, and the pieces of my planned speech starting to stitch themselves back together in a different sort of order. Checking my mana, a couple little dribs coming in from the bread. Not ready yet. Well, for both, but maybe someone has something to write with.
Madam Garland not watching me. Doesn't seem like it. Wait, did she put that ring on her left hand? No, that's not it, she has two matching rings. This woman has some issues wearing all this jewelry - it probably weighs half as much as she does. Yes, you're the head of a House. How nice. Yes, you have gobs of money to spend on whatever you want. Also nice. And, yes, most of that jewelry is probably enchanted, to boot. Very nice. Be a little more subtle, you cow. How many necklaces are you wearing, two, three? If they're enchanted you only need one. That brooch is overly large, those earrings are hugely impractical and almost begging to be torn off. Can't imagine why Haven was my target when you're always gallivanting around in public flashing gear like that. Collier, for all her faults, demon worshiper, hedonist, different principles on different days and no spine, only has small gemstone earrings and a thin gold bracelet. Much more tasteful. Same status as you.
Shaking my head. No, nothing over there to write with. Looking at my nails, not necessarily all chewed off, only a hangnail removed every so often. That's a pointy enough spot. Better than using my teeth, but that'll be the backup plan. Extending my index finger and scraping at the skin on the back of my right hand while listening to Lane spin his little bit of pageantry.
“I'm moved by the sympathy you have for your friend. Your alleged friend.” Riley not pleased at his clarification. “I've got a question, how long were you aware of what exactly was going on with your friend.” Is that a threat? No, couldn't be. This isn't some internal House proceeding, there's representatives of every one of those things. Even the weird ones, and, of course, the less than nice ones. Probably just a paranoid remnant after dealing with Parnell. And, if not, can't do anything in here, anyway. Supernatural punishment.
“Lucy told us everything last cycle but we always knew something was up with her. We assumed she was her sister within a couple days of meeting her, but it's sort of a different situation than that. Don't you dare claim she's only pretending to be my friend. She's been through a lot, and she's one of the strongest people I know.”
“Well, you've inadvertently hit the nail on the head.” Lane performing a calculated sigh. “There's no question concerning Macarthy's fortitude. I asked one of,” pausing, “Lucy's former guildmates about her. An old friend. Almost a hundred deaths.” More than that. “All sorts of things. How many kills do you think she's racked up doing all that?”
“The only people she's killed since I've met her were trying to rob us.”
“And before that? All of Macarthy's crimes over the years, all the theft, all the violence, all the murder, all of that doesn't go away because of the current situation. And, even if you say it does,” holding his hand up to forestall her, “everything going up in the harbor proves Macarthy hasn't changed one bit. You've been fooled.”
“Fooled?” Riley spitting the word. “She's been more honest with me than anyone since I got here. I didn't imagine all the lies and omissions at the Academy. I didn't imagine not being told what things are actually like out here. And then actually getting out here, I find out that the guilds that used to be here, that used to help guide newcomers, were shut down by you solely to move into the old locations.” The man denying that charge with a quick shake of his head. “She even told me what really happened with the Bonneville. I didn't imagine that.”
Lane obviously neither liking nor expecting the mention of the Bonneville. His mouth staying closed, and his easygoing confidence, so ready to interject, choking out. Mutterings, curious and inquisitive, springing up around the room. Seems like Lane didn't realize that particular detail had slipped. Madam Garland looking over at me and getting to witness the final moment. Finishing the rune drawn in my own blood on the back of my hand and the shield springing into existence, then fading to invisibility. Standing up, a little unsteady, but much better than earlier.
“The Bonneville.” Yelling to be heard. Wasn't part of the plan, but no reason to pass up the opportunity. “Now that's an interesting topic. Maybe even more interesting than the war they're trying to sign us up for.”
The crowd turning to see who had the audacity to speak so loudly without the assistance of the big voice.
“I think there's a more pressing topic at hand,” says Lane. Oh, he's very angry with me. The feeling's mutual. One step at a time, nice and easy. “For the person who assaulted two members of my House. Gouged out the eyes of one, and then did such irreparable harm to the other that she had to commit suicide.” Down one more step. “For the person who-”
“She actually did it?” Yelling back. “I didn't think she'd have it in her. I have more respect for her now than I did. Maybe next time she'll think before she speaks.” Another couple steps. Doing good. “I know what you're going to accuse me of next, but everyone knows the truth and, with all your imaginary friends as my witness, I'll show you...that...” The light in the room dimming very ominously and the weight of the heavens starting to press down. “Absolutely no offense intended by that.” Gesturing. Clearly in hot water. Losing it a bit. “Then do it, if you're going to do it, strike me dead. Or knock it off, instead of this. Trying to make me trip down these stairs.” A feeling pervading the room, a combination of the usual judgment and mocking laughter overloaded with overwhelming amusement. The pressure fading, the light returning to normal and our gathering being allowed to continue.
Moving down the last remaining steps as gingerly and as swiftly as possible while conversation engulfes the entire room. Riley trying to make it seem like she's not thrilled to see me. You don't need to tell me that insulting them in one of the few locations they can directly reach out and touch wasn't a good idea. Ear to ear. Good to see you. Lane staring at me in abject hatred.
“Lane,” taking up a pose and getting some payback, pointing my finger like all those that had been pointed at me all those times, “you're the one responsible for those fires in the harbor. You and Stormhawk. You're only trying to deflect the blame for what you did.” Jabbing with my finger. “I'll make you pay for that. I'm going to cut off your hands and I'm going to cut out your tongue and I'm going to lead you around the city on a chain like a dog. If you thought I was dangerous before then you have no idea what you've-”
Riley's open handed slap sending my vision askew – almost sending me to the floor – and considerably more conversation filling the room. “What do you think you're doing, you stupid idiot?” Exasperation and a kind of manic terror fluttering in her barely controlled whisper.
“Evie,” standing up straight and rolling my shoulders back, “you know I love you, right?
My statement nearly sending her reeling back. Her anger and panic starting to fade. Looking me up and down.
“Did you just die?”
“I'm so glad you're alright. I was worried about you.”
“I call for a vote on my proposal.” Lane's amplified voice doing little to disrupt the ongoing conversations. “With the criminal blatantly issuing threats there's nothing more I need to add. All of those-”
“Brother Lane.”
Madam Garland getting to her feet, her amplified snarl rolling over the entire hall and bringing every conversation to an immediate halt, succeeding effortlessly where Lane had failed only moments earlier.