The Rising - Ennead 2

Scene 14.3 - Two Funerals and no Wedding

We approach the building that's the site for today's inquisition, walking under the cover of an overcast sky. It positively looks as if it has a terrible secret that's bottled up, and it's only one breath away from letting loose.

Waxing poetic, aren't I?

I feel stranded ehen I'm told to sit outside the underground room that's serving the Garrison today. Carlos is the one they care about. Apparently he's the only one logical enough to tease answers out of. Is this some sort of subtle sexism, or a privilege of being related to grandpa?

The chair is hard, stiff. The hallway is clean to the level of obscene, lit so bright it might cause brain tumors. Like I any wise person would do, I take out my phone. A glimpse of my reflection tells me that, perhaps, Carlos was right. But who really gives a dip? I'm running from a sociopath Magus, I need sneakers, not concealer.

Listening to music doesn't stop my mind from obsessing over this mess. I'm bereaved. I shouldn't have to worry about a flipping killer breathing down my neck. Or... up my neck. Does it make a difference that he's sleeping downstairs?

Anyway. What's a person to do in my shoes? This person looks like my brother (which I don't really believe he is). I know that he's a killer magus, but who'd believe me. What would it even mean if I exposed him. What could he do to the people I love?

Kady Penny is singing about fireworks and boom, boom, boom. It's weirdly apropos. Except perhaps with stab, stab, stab instead of the booming bits. What kind of insane universe just hands people that sort of power without consequences?

They teach us too little about Magi. Enough to fear the witchy aberrations, but barely enough to handle them. Isn't it about time someone fixed a method to control them? Like the sentinels in Zed-men?

I'm not anti-magi. This is about the safety of normal people. Carlos is my sort-of-friend, and he's Magus. It's not as if they all choose to be that way.

The door opens, breaking my reverie, Carlos. He strolls out looking more relaxed than he did when he went in. An inquisition is not supposed to do that.

But, of course: like the loop of invisible gossamer around my heart; the insidious way in which The Spider broke my younger brother. Magi don't just mess around with the physical.

I flinch when he gets to me and flashes a smile. Am I being paranoid? He fought to save my life. Right?

"You okay?" He asks. Perhaps he's noticed the change in my reaction. I act nonplussed in reply. He doesn't have to know what I was thinking.

He also doesn't have to know that...

"Mr. Estevario. A minute please."

That unnecessarily polite command is unmistakable. Grandpa.

He's surprised to see me, but it barely registers as a twitch of his brow - the one that doesn't lie above his rakish black eyepatch.

"Lord Gainesbury." Carlos salutes.

The retired Knight waits for Carlos to walk to him - typical. They exchange a couple of inaudible words - private 'sending, as if I care what it is they say.

When they're done, they shake hands and Grandpa adds a pat on the shoulder. Naturally. Everyone believes Carlos is the biggest hero of the Silent Night, as if I wasn't right there beside him. I'm not green, it's the honest truth. In a way, he was in the least amount of risk.

With Carlos dismissed, I know what I have to do. I sidle up to my paternal ancestor and give a meek bob of the head. Again, I'm wise enough to know that between the three Knights in the family, I stack up poorly.

He's silent for a moment, long enough for Carlos to vacate his space, then he clears his throat. Honestly, I don't care what he has to say. He's probably going to chide me for my sorrow - it's weak.

I'm shocked when he doesn't. There's no judgement, no brutish honesty or even trite sympathy. He simply murmurs gently, "You did us proud dear, I've never been prouder of my name than I am because of you."

I freeze for a minute.

Then, he sighs, "Sunshine comes after rain, Mayfly."

That does it. I'm not sure whether it's from being called Mayfly so often. Perhaps it's because of that stupid line from a childhood lullaby. Whichever it is, it deals the final crack to the dam inside my chest.

My heart is dragged down in a current of emotions as I break down and cry into a befuddled old man's shoulder.