Palimpsest

Part VIII

The Academia never called on Buer; it was no longer their right, not with what their leaders had done. They could, however, request her presence. That was how Buer found herself in the possession of eight frantic requests that she come to retrieve someone troublesome from their care.

She didn't bother with a response until a Mahatama who introduced himself as Panah knocked at her door, his presence the sign of an urgent issue. He bowed to her as he spoke.   

    "He was brought in this morning by the General Mahamatra, my Lord. One of other Mahatama recognized him and thought you might know him."

    "Did he tell you his name?"

    Panah shook his head.

    "I'll see what I can do."

o0o

    "He's waiting in here, my Lord." Panah guided Buer to a door helpfully labeled with his name. He pushed the door open, ushering her inside.

    The office—for that's what it was—was small and semi-circular with a desk at the center. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling shelving, every inch packed with books. At her right, an alcove pushed through the shelves, the bench within occupied by a singular tenant. His knees were pushed to his chest, head leaning on the stain glass as he stared vacantly outside. At his side sat a round, blue hat, familiar patterns sewn into the fabric.

    Around his wrists wrapped a pair of metal handcuffs.

    Buer sucked in a gasp, turning to Panah. His brow furrowed for a moment before he began to search his robes, finally pulling out a key.

    "I apologize about the cuffs. There were extenuating circumstances, I'm afraid." He smiled as he passed her the key. "It's up to you what you do with them, my Lord."

    She gave him a curt nod.

"That will be all, Panah. I can take it from here."

    He left in silence with a bow, shutting the door behind him as he went. Buer tightened her grip around the key as she faced the little puppet. He hadn't moved once since she had entered, lifeless expression still directed at the distance.

    "Are you alright?" she began.

    The reply came softly, muttered into blue glass.

    "...what do you think?"

    "Panah told me what happened."

    "That old man doesn't know anything about what happened."

    "Then explain it to me."

    He glowered, finally facing her.

    "What are you really doing here, Buer? Come to yell at me, too? Put me in my place? Tell me that I'm heartless? That I'm a monster? Get in line."

    The cuffs around his wrists clinked as he pushed his legs deeper into his chest and his scowl deepened. She came closer, offering him the key. "I'm here because you needed me."

    "So, what, you suddenly care?"

    "I've always cared about you. Am I not allowed to be worried about you?"

    He mumbled a small 'no' under his breath, taking the key. With a click, the cuffs fell away and he rubbed at the red lines they had left. The sight made Buer inhale sharply. She pressed her thumb into her palm, calming herself with the motion, brows knitting.

    "What happened, [------]?"

    "I saved someone, they got pissed, I ended up here."

    "[------]—"

    "Fine. Fine. I was traveling through Lower Setekh when my path was blocked by a caravan being raided by bandits. They were in my way, so I made quick work of dispatching them—the bandits, of course, don't look so concerned—which wouldn't have mattered if not for the fact that this particular caravan was being guarded by the General Mahamatra himself."

Buer raised an expectant brow. "...And?"

"I may have implied that they were nothing more than weak, mortal humans that could barely fend off an attack. And I may have implied it with some rather...'choice' words. In my defense, they thought I was a threat and attacked me first, so I was merely returning what they dared to shell out."

"...And?"

"And nothing. That's it."

"The only person you're lying to is yourself, you know."

"Who says I'm lying?"

"[------]," Buer chastised.

He deflated. "You wouldn't believe me. No one did."

"You have nothing to lose by telling me."

A shaky breath filled the alcove.

Moments passed patiently.

And then he began.

    "There was a child amongst them. She was... crying." His expression softened, caught in the memory. "I tried to comfort her. She reached for me and I—I reacted." Every muscle in his body tensed and he drew in on himself. He looked so small, so fragile, sitting there.

"The Matra thought I was trying to hurt her, to steal her away. One of them tried to shove me to the ground, away from her, and I pushed him back. He didn't weigh anything to me. It was so... easy. He fell to the ground. Called me a monster. I don't know how long I was standing there for, just staring at that Matra.

"When the General Mahamatra came, I didn't resist. I just let them take me.

    "I'm trying to be better. I am." His voice broke, scratching the air with his dereliction. "But no one sees that."

    "I do." Buer looked at him, trying to force as much reassurance into the words as she could. "I do," she repeated.

He shot up from the bench. At his side, curled fingers twisted the fabric of his hat, distorting the delicate patterns.

"No, you don't. You just want your ignorant, naive little puppet back," he spat. For half of a second his eyes widened, disbelief dawning on him as he absorbed what he'd said, all but directly confirming that he'd remembered everything—everything—since the beginning.

He'd undoubtedly seen it, too. Her hesitance. Her grief. The looks she'd given him in moments where she convinced herself he wasn't looking. He'd had to endure it all, knowing exactly why she acted as she did and believing she would leave him the moment he remembered because he didn't act like the little puppet he'd been.

And then that moment of disbelief was gone, masked by gritted teeth and clenched fists. He tried to walk past her.

    Buer reached to grab his wrist. "[---]—"

He smacked her away, baring his teeth and glaring down at her.

She pulled her wrist into herself with a cry, skin reddening.

His polluted gaze bore into her own.

Horror grew on her features—she had failed him, this was all her fault—and Buer found she couldn't contort her face into something, anything else. Months of hiding her emotions—she was an archon, she must act like it—had taken its toll; she could hide them no longer. It was through terrible, terrible providence that the one person who would misunderstand them the most was there to witness it.

She watched as his anger fell apart, a puppet cut from its strings.

"[---]—" she started.

He approached the door, giving Buer one last pained, burned look as he pressed against it.

"Don't call me that," he managed to grate out, tired. "You don't—" he turned away "—I don't deserve it."

The door slammed shut behind him.