pencil shavings

twenty-eight: the working

"Sir, we have news from the North." The soldier's eyes darted to Kaileen again and again as he addressed Hercules. Agamemnon glanced up with mild interest, but the silver warrior's eyes never lost their glazed-over quality. Her thoughts wandered again and again to the dirt mounds bruising the brilliant forest, to the wet earth that thrummed with death.
"Report," Hercules barked, basking in the attention.
"Forces attacked the Golden Temple. It lies in ruin, hundreds dead."
The knight choked on his porridge. His eyes bulged. "The Temple?"
It couldn't be, his mind hissed. The Golden Temple of the North rose on a hilltop positioned dead center in the Northern Realms. Armies strong enough to reach it simply didn't exist.
"Yes Sir. They sacked it, then rose into the sky. A dark cloud, people say. Some phantom god starting a war."
"That's absurd," Hercules snapped. "I have never once encountered a force capable of such things. These are mere rumors. You are dismissed - I refuse to listen to such... irrationality."
The soldier's eyes widened, but he bit his lip.
"They requested immediate reinforcements," he finally added. And then, a bit more warily - "Sir, you're home has requested aid."
Burnt gold sunk into Hercules' eyes.
"I said, you are dismissed." The knight's voice edged on lethal.
"Yessir," the soldier murmured. He retreated to his horse, head bowed, shock furrowing his brows. But when he mounted, he gave a final darting glance toward Kaileen - her thin figure perching on a rock - and blinked once. Enough for Hercules to see that his hope now hung on her shoulders. That he looked to her for wisdom.
When the trees swallowed the man wholey, the knight finally looked up from his empty bowl.
"Is it true?" he rasped. His confidence fell apart like an egg shell.
"Yes."
But it was not Kaileen who spoke. Aggamemnon sat with his eyes closed and palms spread as gentle green magic brushed up against his thoughts like a thread of truth "He did not lie, nor did the 'rumors' give false testimony. That monster came to the North."
For once the lion of a man found his mouth dry of words. Glory, he thought with venom. What a lie. He sucked in a breath, aching to roar or run or kill. There was no glory here, or at home, or anywhere. There awaited no prestige, when even a golden-haired knight atop a steed could not give the world the comfort it needed. When no action by him could bring back the lives lost, the hope destroyed. He should go home.
"But we need you here," Agamemnon realized, opening his eyes and releasing his hold on the rope of magic within him.
Hercules looked up.
The mage glanced at Kaileen, but she only smiled a soft, proud smile.
"We need you here with us. We must stay... together."
With something raw in his eyes, the knight held his gaze with Agamemnon's. Hope simmered in the air as he nodded - once - and Kaileen found the strength to pull her thoughts back from the graves - just once.

Agamemnon hadn't used his magic much that morning. He used a tendril of truth to question the validity of the rumors and a burst of flame to cook breakfast, but he refused to do much more. He didn't seek out his sister. He knew how - how to draw up a bucket of magic from his chest and splatter it over his mind's eye until she came into view like a collection of shining droplets. He could find her. And yet fear drove him to hide behind a veil of ignorance, as a voice like rustling silk murmured in his ear, "You know what happened. Give it up. You know where your sister lies now."
The mage shoves his magic deeper into that well and walked away.

Hercules knelt by a stream, shooing away thoughts of his family like swatting flies. It was his responsibility to protect them - to serve his people to the end. From the time of his birth, not an hour passed when training did not precedent his career as a protector, not a decision came without thinking first of following that path. Ever the righteous knight and chivalrous celebrity.
But his were not the only people who needed a protector.
And sacrifice for the sake of praise was mere bargaining.
The golden knight chucked a stone up the stream and yelled.
And yelled, and yelled, and hung his head as his heart trembled.
The stream carried a leaf toward him, bullying it along the mild current.
How nice it was to ride that mindless current, to float, utterly lifeless, on a chariot of superficial shimmers.
Hercules turned his eyes to a rock nestled into the mud.
How difficult it would be to hold one's ground when the current pushed. But how rewarding to know that you are unshakable.

Weight pressed in on her ears. Heavy black diamonds and ghostly chains dangled from her soul. Lady Kaileen heaved up the last of the porridge as ringing pounded through her mind. She wiped vomit from her lips and sat, panting. Her throat burned.
Everyday it got worse, that tightness in her chest, that acid in her stomach. Her thoughts were wet paper in her mind, falling apart at the seams.
No one could help her, she knew, because it was her choice. She had the keys to a clear mind right there - she need only join the monster. Choose again. Reconsider. But she never would, and she relished in every nosebleed and heave of throw-up, knowing that it meant she still held control. The monster could each her alive, but only because she let it.
The others had never learned that the quietest of sacrifices are often the most terrifying