1 Soul Bound
1.2 Taking Control
1.2.2 An Awakening Epiphany
1.2.2.30 What can be called into doubt
Meditation Grove, The Burrow
She grew aware again of the tree supporting her back. In a way, her parents were like that, deeply rooted, a strong support. Her father had found his identity, a cause he was willing to risk himself and his friends dying for. She was her father’s daughter, but he’d never demanded that she become a little copy of himself. He’d supported her decisions, even when they’d differed from the one’s he’d have made or wished for from her. Her mother had given up her career to have her older brothers and then herself. She hadn’t, and though her father had doted upon her nieces and nephews, he’d never chided her for not marrying, despite obviously hoping that she’d find a nice young Muslim lad to settle down with.
Hmm, this wasn’t really telling her what she wanted. Let’s try the opposite approach. What didn’t she want? What did she fear the most?
Not death. She didn’t want to die, but when discussing arlife security precautions in the barn, the prospect of her own death hadn’t been her first priority. She didn’t like pain, and the thought of being tortured was frightening, but it was something she was willing to face if the circumstances warranted it. Humiliation. To her, losing her dignity in public was worse than pain. When younger she had practised pieces for days and weeks, until her fingers grew sore, rather than risk dropping a single note when doing a big performance. But during the last week she’d sacrificed even that. What for?
Failure. She hated failing at things. No, more specific than that. She’d had plenty of personal projects that failed. What she hated was failing others, letting them down after they’d trusted her. Sometimes that happened, sometimes you bit off more than you could chew, but accepting a friend’s trust while knowing from the outset that you wouldn’t do what you’d said? Intentional betrayal? That wasn’t in her. It wasn’t something she could do and still remain the same person.
Ok, so that was fear. But you can’t let your fears define you, or you surrender your freedom to the first person who discovers your weak spots and holds them hostage. She needed to look at the past week objectively, see what experiences had made her feel the way she wanted to feel.
What made her feel joy rather than fear? She remembered the jumping dolphins and sailing through the sky with Captain Nafaro.
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What made her feel excited and alive, rather than half-dead and full of dread? She remembered combat against the trolls and floating past a ship’s mast while jumping the river on Tomsk’s back.
What made her feel like she was growing rather than withering away? She remembered her satisfaction at having created Balthazar and at figuring out how to cast mage sight.
What made her feel competent and in-control, rather than helpless and incompetent? She remembered her singing for Pia Trinci and playing the violin for Giovanni.
What made her feel liberated rather than suffocated? She remembered the moment at the Sanctum when she’d realised that everyone else was directionless, that there were no expectations upon her, and she was free to say “screw it” and do things her own way, with no need to compromise.
That. That was the freedom she wanted. The freedom to do things her own way, take her own risks, without the burden of having to compromise because others were depending upon her to succeed.
And she already had that, didn’t she? She didn’t need the sort of badassery that wielded a sword like Tomsk, nor the sort that could out-plan anyone like Wellington. The strength she needed was the strength to say “no”. The strength to look at someone in need and say “No, I won’t promise to succeed. If I try, I’ll try my own way, and that way might not be optimal and it might fail. If you’re not happy with that, ask someone else. I have my own priorities, and what I need are allies willing to share risks, not dependants seeking to be sheltered from them.”
She felt a weight lifting from her shoulders at the realisation. That was something she could say. That was something it would be reasonable for her to say. She had a right to say it, a right to set up that boundary. She leaned back against the tree, letting the feeling sink in, imagining herself sharing its root, its stability.
She opened her eyes and looked about. A strong stable glowing bubble surrounded her, which presumably indicated that the room thought she was now grounded and centered. She caught sight of the sword she’d left behind.
She didn’t object to the idea of weaponry, and she admired the skill with which Tomsk fought. She’d certainly been ok with using her magic to slay undead or violent predators that couldn’t be reasoned with like the trolls. But she didn’t like the idea of killing sentients, even when the cause was just. She thought about the crater she’d left in the plaza, and how similar it was to the roses of Sarajevo. If she hadn’t been as angry, could she have found another way? In a war of mages blasting at each other, would she be one of the ones in the trenches fighting, or would she stand in the no man’s zone between the lines, risking being shot by both sides in order to remind them of their humanity?
She wasn’t sure. Her own path was something she’d have to discover as she went along. But at least now she wouldn’t be afraid to try finding it. She might end up a ruler leading her people into battle. She might end up a pacifist. What she wanted was the freedom to try being either, and everything in-between.
She stood and walked calmly forwards out of the clearing, a spring in her step, her energy renewed.