*Weekly updates* "There are no leashes now, no bindings," she says, her voice a dark lullaby in the flickering candlelight, "and it is their sacrifice that gave us this. Nothing can ever repay it. No one can ever take it from us. So now, in this hal...
Jokul's hand shakes as he lights the cigarette; he watches as a thin plume of smoke drifts up from it into the tall cavern of the library's ceiling, dispersing amongst the faint shimmer of dust. His breath shakes as he inhales. Some weird shit has happened.
Ben sent Mennit and some of the others back to Quersido. Jokul, in his infinite luck, was chosen as one of the merry few to travel with the head of the Cabal to the green city.
The green city. He feels the cigarette tremble with his lip and he bites into it and then spits it out, smashing the burning embers underneath his foot. He ought to quit. Really ought to, but he keeps getting pulled back around to these things and how the hell is he supposed to face Tazdahur City again without something?
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries to ignore how they twitch.
It's just that he didn't think he'd ever go back—did not ever want to go back, but that's not really up to him now, is it? They're going, and he just has to face it.
Freaking plant lunatics, he thinks then, scuffing his feet on the floor, scattering leaves of paper everywhere. Fucking Feuilles.
He remembers the last time he was in the city—or maybe, more accurately, underneath the city. The guards had sneered at him as they lowered him down into that hole, that tomb, underneath the dead tree.
All because of what we fucking Skilled, he thinks, regretting snuffing the cigarette, if only just for its flame. Because that automatically made us in league with that fucking lunatic on the other side of the continent.
It's mighty impressive, he decides, chewing on a nail now for some relief, how stupid intelligent people can be.
And it was because of their impressive stupidity that he spent three weeks in there. Three weeks in a long, oppressive dark.
"Alright, Jokul?" Darma's voice comes from behind him and Jokul flinches.
"Ah-huh," he answers, clearing his throat as he turns around. "Just thinking."
The man grimaces.
"Yeah," he says. "Me too."
They stare at each other a moment longer before they both turn and look at the door.
"What do you think he's looking for?" Darma asks.
"Shit if I know," Jokul answers, finding another fingernail to release this tension on. "I don't know how to fucking read."
"Weird, being in a place like this," Darma continues, glancing around. "Wonder what it all says."
Jokul fidgets with the empty box in his pocket. He glances around at the shelves of books, the little symbols etched onto their spines, then back to the main entryway of the library, with its swinging broken door.
"Your guess is as good as mine," he grunts.
Darma moves closer.
"How'd you think he knew about this place?" he asks in a low tone. "Wasn't on any of them maps it seemed. Didn't see any symbols in this territory."
"How does he know anything?" Jokul murmurs back. "He's a smart man. Smart men know all kinds of things. We know this ain't his first time in Solveig. Could be he's been here before."
"Aye," Darma mutters. "Still... dunno what a bunch of books will do to help."
Jokul doesn't bother to answer. Book blind he might be, but he isn't a complete idiot. An old library full of stuff written by long dead people might have some good information about the task at hand. Much better information than the sad sacks Ben has with him, anyway. Jokul, for one, knows not one fucking thing about killing a Paragon and could not even point Ben in the right direction of someone who would. Gods (and books, apparently) only know what you gotta do for that.
"You think..." Darma says now, and Jokul has the sense he might be turning toward what's really getting at him now. "You think he can do it?"
Jokul glances at the door, though at this point, he thinks he knows the man inside well enough to know he wouldn't give a shit even if he could hear Jokul's reply.
"I think if anyone can, it's him," he says very quietly. "He sure as shit is crazy enough to try."
Darma's eyes widen at this last bit, almost drawing back.
Jokul shrugs at him.
"I like him," he explains, "but you gotta have a little bit of crazy to think you can do what he thinks he can. Just comes with the territory."
Jokul thinks Ben would think that's fair. He'd probably agree, and do one of those strange laughs of his, the ones that go a little too hard and on a little too long. Which is precisely why Jokul knows he's crazy.
"Well, I think he's great," Darma says with a touch of resentment. "What would you do instead, if you're so smart?"
"Build a house, go hide in it, and shut the fuck up," Jokul answers. "But if that can't be done, I'd probably leave that nonsense to the crazies and focus on building up Quersido so shitheels like Feuilles can't come in and take it from us."
He kicks at the dusty ground.
"You know, make a space for us instead of going in on everyone else's."
Darma scoffs. "Well, what you gonna do when they come knocking on your door?"
"Knock on their heads and then knock on yours," Jokul snaps back. "I don't know, Dar, I'm not a politician. I just know I wanted some space of my own away from these assholes when I joined and it seems to me like that's what a lot of us want. If I had to run things that's what I'd be chasing, not these books and this crazy bitch who has mind control."
He clears his throat, realizing, in his annoyance, that his voice had been raised.
"But I'm not in charge, thank any god that might be out there," he says with some finality, "so all I have to worry about is doing my part and saving my own sorry ass, just like you."
They fall silent for a bit, listening, furtively for any noise coming from the other room.
"You really think she can control minds?" Darma asks suddenly.
"I sure as shit do."
Another pause.
"We're fucked."
"Yep," Jokul responds, and his will breaks as he conjures another cigarette into his hand. He holds it up and breathes fire into its tip so that the embers glow back at him warmly. "We are truly fucked."
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A/N: Gods and books are often the only ones who know what to do in dire circumstances.
Chapter Notes: Jokul first appeared in Progeny's "The Nagging Inclination" and the Solveig Smith-callers are liberated by the Cabal in Partisan's "The Hunted and the Hunter."
