“Are you sure you don’t want to wait another day? We really don’t mind! You must have been walking all night!” Quinn offers but Sara shakes her head.
“I’m alright, really. We’d like to get to town quickly, so I don’t mind resting on the way,” she replies. Quinn looks to me with concern but I just nod.
“She’s made of sturdy stuff,” I insist. “You don’t need to worry about us, although we are grateful you do.” Quinn shrugs and shakes his head.
“Well, I suppose if you don’t mind. We do appreciate the escort, It makes us feel safer to have you travelling with us. What with Turner up and vanishing in the middle of the night. Didn’t even bother to check out, and we haven’t paid him in full yet. I wonder where he went,” Quinn responds and I shrug.
“Maybe one of the sages ate him for being such a dipshit. It doesn’t matter, we got you,” I reply. Sara smiles innocently and Quinn simply sighs, turning to go find his husband and daughter. We’ve decided to go the rest of the way with this group, rather than hire another wagon. No point in cooking up fresh bullshit for someone new when these two have already bought our first serving. I also don’t want to leave them alone. Travel between cities is more common and therefore more dangerous than it ever was in Potestia. He is safer without Turner than he ever was with him, but I still want to offer the family what safety I can.
August approaches as Sara and I are reloading our bags into the packed wagon. Autumn climbs onto the seat up front next to Ember, which concerns me a bit. Ember is not known for her kindness. “Looks like it’s us three today,” he says. “Autumn is looking for some fresh air.” I glance at his sister again as she rests her head against the frame of the wagon's cover. Her eyes are closed and she is taking deep breaths of the open air. Her grief feels like an icy breeze, empowering and hurting me at the same time.
“Do you want me to talk to Ember? Make sure she doesn’t say anything stupid?” I ask and August shakes his head.
“No, but, do you have a moment, uh, alone?” He asks. I glance at Sara who nods.
“I’ll go finish packing up the room,” she agrees before leaving me and August to talk.
“What’s up?” I ask. August barely glances up in confusion before dismissing my odd manner of speech, well used to it by now.
“It’s Autumn. Lily, she’s not doing well. I don’t know how much longer asking for ‘one more day’ will help. I have to ask. Will she ever feel better?” I bite my lip. August has been a really good sport. Without him I don’t know if I could keep Autumn going. But that very weight must be wearing on him.
“Define better,” I sigh. “I don’t know. Henry . . . my brother’s death had a permanent effect on her. Everyone’s death–” I pause, “How much did she tell you about her role in that last fight in VIsenar?”
August hangs his head. “She told me everything, I think. I know why she blames herself, at least,” he answers. I nod and continue.
“Right. The guilt of that, and everyone it affected . . . We can put the blame where it really belongs. With the man I killed. But her and I, we both made mistakes that made it possible for him. That’s not something you can just take off. Neither is the absence of someone you loved. It lives with you until you die, and you can never entirely be who you were before you lost them. Before you made that mistake. Before you were hurt. But . . . it does get better. You learn ways to confront it and live with it. Autumn will heal, but she’ll he’ll with a scar,” I say. August’s lips tighten.
“What about with . . . a short cut?” He asks. I pause, still trying to Tetris all the bags to fit while leaving room for everyone riding inside.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He looks at his feet when he replies. “I don’t understand a lot of what’s going on but I understand enough. The people here, in the republic. They don’t have to feel all that grief, right? The only reason we can is because Sarafyna protects us from the influence of the sages, or whoever is doing it. Quinn and Kobe, they seem so happy without it. Couldn’t we let Autumn feel the same?” He asks. His eyes are desperate, with water building up in the corners. I have to close my own for a moment, grieving the question on its own..
“That would surely kill her,” I answer.
“W-what?” He asks, “Why? It isn’t killing anyone else!”
“Is it not?” I counter. “Are you sure? Grief . . . grief doesn’t exist on its own like some kind of cancer to be scraped away. It’s not a disease to be fought off. It’s not the reason she is hurting, it’s the reason she has a chance at working through it. People are complex, and scary, and confusing. We can’t pick and choose which emotions to feel. Without grief we still feel pain, and loss, and guilt. Grief is how we process trauma. Without it, whatever is hurting us doesn’t go away. It festers like an infected wound. We can cover her eyes and plug her ears but that will only make it impossible for her to go anywhere. No. People need to grieve. Without grief, there is no chance at healing.”
“Quinn and Kobe don’t seem to be in pain, Lily. Except when they had their grief back. The rest of the time, they seem happier than you or me,” August complains.
“That’s not because they don’t feel that pain, August. That’s because they lack the tools they need to express it! But just like physical agony hurts more if you can’t scream, loss hurts more if you can’t grieve. Mark my words, Quinn is no happier than your sister. He’s just suffocating on emptiness he can’t express. Think about it, August. He wasn’t witnessing his wife die when he got his grief back. He was in a comfortable wagon among friends, with a new family. So why did he react so strongly? Why did they all collapse under grief the moment it was an option? Because the pain behind it never left. It just built and built and built. Never being processed. Never healing. Think of how many things there have been to grieve for in your life. Every rejection, death, break-up. Imagine if you had never been able to move on. Never able to shed a single tear over one of them. Just living with each and every one like a fresh wound every day, all of your life. Living in this country must be agony,” I say.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
August sets his jaw. “You don’t know that, Lily. How can you know that? Autumn is hurting now, and all we have to do is let the pain stop! She can be herself again! I get what you're saying, but it’s all just guessing! You don’t really know how these people feel! Sara just has to let Autumn get better! That’s all she has to do! Stop!” he insists. I sigh.
“What Sarafyna is doing for us, is protecting us from outside influence. From force. From some other sage digging their fingers through our hearts and heads and setting things in both as they see fit. Even in the world where what this sage, or sages, are doing is harmless, they don’t get to rule our fucking minds! If Sara stops protecting your sister from that, who is to say it stops at grief? What if they change who she is as a person to fit their whims? Look at Ember! She is tearing herself apart trying to be who she is and who she was designed to be at the same time! And August, Sara can’t fix it. She can give Ember moments of clarity but that’s it. Moments. Once they worm their way under Autumn’s skin they are there. We can’t undo it. We can’t give just a little control to the sages. People who love control don’t settle for compromises. They will take your sister from you entirely, and she will never really be happy again,” I say.
August balls his fists and punches the frame of the wagon. “Damnit, Lily. This is your fault! You did this to her! We would have been fine, we all would have been fine if we had never fucking met you. And now you won’t even try to help her! I thought that was the whole point of you! To prevent grief like this! She is hurting so much and it is your fucking fault!” I wince.
“August, I want to help her. I do. I just can’t do it the way you are asking me to. And I don’t think Autumn even wants that. She saw Quinn yesterday too. She saw the option of grief being taken away. She is a grown woman, fully capable of asking for the same herself. But didn’t you hear her? She was angry! She was furious that they weren’t grieving like she was! She was disgusted by the thought. I won’t do that to her, especially if she doesn’t explicitly ask for it,” I insist. There is no point arguing over blame. He’s right. What Autumn is going through is my fault. Henry’s death is my fault. And I can’t even tell him I would undo everything I have done if I could. Too many people needed it to be done.
“Well then let’s ask her!” August insists, gently pounding his fist against the frame again, less in anger and more in frustration.
“I can’t stop you from doing that,” I respond. “But, we are going to go to a larger city first. We are going to have a chance to see how this control affects the people there on a wide scale. Can you at least wait until you have actually seen it, before you try to push this on her? Just let her grieve until then, and we can talk again if you still think it’s a good idea.” August glares at me.
“Fine. But we will be talking about this again,” he agrees. And, as he turns, his angry demeanor melts away revealing the amiable man I have grown accustomed to. I’m a little taken aback, but I understand. August is a good man. A kind man. And he doesn’t like disagreeing with me much. I don’t think his crush ever faded entirely, despite his lack of pursuit once he learned why I was uninterested. But he loves his sister more than anything. I understand. I do. Wanting that pain to just . . . go away. It would be hard not to feel like he does. But the solution he is suggesting is, well, abuse. Well intentioned, but abuse nonetheless. I wish we could help like he wants. But we can’t. If Autumn can no longer process Henry’s loss she will undoubtedly die.
I am left to finish packing the wagon while trying to ignore the hollow aching in my chest.
----------------------------------------
The rest of the trip is quiet. Amber doesn’t turn out to be a problem. She may say stupid shit about the twins when we get slowed down, but she is perfectly happy to remain silent the rest of the time. Those riding up front don’t speak the entire way, and I suspect this is what Autumn was looking for. August is fairly quiet as well, leaving Sara and I to make polite conversation with the owners of the wagon. This is how we learn this arena is in Circoba, the city we are approaching. I suppose this makes sense, as Turner would likely have been looking to bring gladiators there relatively quickly.
I want to get a good look at it when I can. Meet whoever runs it. And by ‘meet’ I mean negotiate a speedy and clean divorce between their head and the rest of their body. But first, I want to visit the library. And the church. The temple apparently exists in a similar capacity to the Potestian version, although some language has been changed. Some worship the sages, and others the nexus directly. Which, if my guess is correct, means they technically worship the Collector. In a way they are kind of like different denominations, or even different religions which share a deity. Although I am uncertain to what degree they are aware of each other. Then again, even after the sages were cut off from Potestia they still managed to limit advancement somehow. A shared deity would certainly aid this, especially considering the level of mind control commoners were under. As for the nobles, well. You don’t really need to control someone’s mind to stop them from pursuing change when they are benefitting from the status quo.
Still. The library is first. An institution I am delighted to learn exists extensively in every city. I could have used one growing up in Potestia. I can certainly use one now. We are going to learn everything we can about these fucking sages. About this country. About the Council, too. And when we do, well. We will do what we do best. Nothing ever burns down by itself, as they say.
As the wagon arrives in the city, the first I have seen without literal walls around it, I am again struck by the complete lack of grief around me. In a way it’s a relief. The feeling has always made me want to vomit. I’ve grown used to it over the years, but it’s never been pleasant. On a surface level it feels good to be around people without my stomach churning so much. But it’s a bit like poison. If you are going to be served any at all, it’s better to get the one you can taste.
“Are you alright, Annie?” Sara asks. I give her a half smile.
“I’m okay for now. It’s just . . . too quiet, I guess,” I respond awkwardly. There is plenty of noise outside the wagon to contest this. Enough that, although we haven’t actually looked at our surroundings outside the comfortable cover, it’s obvious we’ve entered a large and bustling place. Quinn and Kobe look at me with confusion but Sara understands. She wraps an arm around my waste and I rest my head on her shoulder.
She whispers in my ear as the wagon slows. “We’ll fix it, Annie. We’ll fix everything.”