12-26-2017, 11:30 PM
The door clicked shut and Armande paused. It was just a door. Just a single metal latch in a frame. Six inches separating him from her.
He tried not imagine what was happening behind the door.
Idiot!, he growled and strode away, shutting the door of the room behind him. He was bahaving like a child. He assumed Control. At least enough to focus.
Illarion and Matvei. There was no hope for Matvei. He chafed under Valeriya. Clearly, he always had. Armande"s coming had cemented her authority in one way. But it had created chaos too. And a wise man had said it best. Chaos is a ladder. It presented opportunity in the unpredictability.
He had to die. But only when his treachery was revealed. Illarion was key to that. And despite his own bond to Valeriya, he knew they shared a womb, a life, an experience no one could ever share. She was strong enough and ruthless enough to make the difficult decisions, if necessary.
But it did not mean it wouldn't hurt her. She was as strong as he had known anyone to be. But she, as he was discovering in himself, was still human. The loss would kill something in her.
And if it was in his power to prevent that, to spare her....wouldn't he? It would cost him but some moments of time. And some delay. But the wall was down. Even with Control, the wall had fallen. He no longer felt alone.
Illarion was with Matvei and the few Khylsty who were awake. The look he shot Armande would have earned a blow to the face, in normal times. But the others watched. A reveared and promised Messiah was always resented when he actually deigned to show up. He always upset the balance of power.
Armande had no desire to die a sacrificial death at the hand of a mob. He was not foolish enough to believe himself invincible. Fate did not mean armor to step into the lion's den clothed in meat. And he did not wish such a fate on Valeriya either.
He sat down on the cot opposite Illarion and held the kit consicuously in his hand. Many had felt his ministrations already. "Leave us", he said to Matvei. To the others it was implied. His conversation would not be secret, nor was it intended to be. But Illarion would get his attention. No one would accuse him of beguiling the boy.
They backed away, enough for the semblance of privacy. Armande removed the disinfectant and bottle of water. As he continued with the gauze and nuskin, it occurred to him that the Khylsty had been underground for 130 years. What new diseases and infections and viruses had developed or mutated since the early 1910s? So far, they had been exposed to him only.
The history of the European migration to the Americas had resulted in the death of 90% of the population. Modern estimates showed they had been as densely populated or more than Europe. Colonists marvelled at the empty pristine parklike New World, lush and verdant and teeming with great unnatural clouds and flocks and herds of wildlife...never realizing that the keystone species that kept the balance had been decimated.
The Khylsty were not as susceptible to that kind of decimation. Not even close. And 130 years was nothing on an evolutionary scale. But they were small in number. They could not afford that kind of death. Nor could their morale. He had to save them from this too. He knew what he needed to get. He just needed to figure out from where.
But for now, there was a boy to save. A boy who was losing his world. He sat down next to Illarion. To his credit, he did not move or look fearful. Armande felt pride in him. "You are your sister's brother. Fearless and loyal. She is lucky to have you."
A look of uncertainty and suspicion passed his face. Armande held out the disinfectant. "May I?" At the brief nod, he began to clean the slash. Who knew how many bacteria infected Valeriya's wicked stiletto. The slash was deep but the boy did not flinch at his ministrations. He laughed to himself on the inside. He that would be greatest must be the servant of all. It wasn't washing feet. But it was something.
As he worked, he spoke. "Your sister is passionate. As are all the Khylsty. You were brought below to safeguard that passion. Do you believe her to be the Eye?"
Illarion blinked at the non-sequitor. " Of course!"
he said defensively.
Armande looked down and busied himself with newskin packaging. "And you saw what she carved in the wall, yes?" And he looked Illarion in the eye. The boy's eyes widened, too late he had realized.
A wordless nod was all he got. It was enough for now. Again he smiled to himself. It seemed so easy.
The script had been written 2000 years ago, it seemed. "Who do you think I am?"
He could see the warring on Illarion's face. He knew. What he believed anyway. Armande didn't believe he was literally Rasputin reborn. He didn't even know how that would work. But he did believe he had a purpose, one that was foretold. Valeriya was his. She was necessary to him. Not just necessary, not a tool. She was his destiny, them together. In such a short period of time, his universe had changed and become greater. He was greater, with her
So to these people he could be their leader. They could call him Father Rasputin if they needed. He was what he was, to them. And who was to say that wasn't any less true.
The words seemed forced from his mouth. "You are Father Rasputin."
Armande nodded as he applied the salve, the nuskin, and then the bandage. The scar would be small. With a massive cross branded on his forehead and nose, it would be unnoticable.
"And you are Illarion, brother of the Eye. I claim my place among you." His voice was louder. "I claim my rights as Rasputin. I claim the Eye, not as a servant. Not as a tool. I claim her as my queen, as my consort. She is no longer just Eye of the Khylsty. She is Mother. Not just of the Khylsty. Of mankind."
He took a knife and cut a gash in his palm. Blood poured immediately. "I offer you, Illarion, brother of my Bride and the Mother, I offer you my blood. You do not lose a sister. You gain a brother." He held out the knife and his palm. Illarion was quick, he knew. They all were. He could seize the knife, could try to kill him. At least injure him. Matvei might.
But he thought he understood Illarion. He did not want to lose his closest friend and companion. So reassure him he wasn't. As simple as that. A calculated risk, but one he was confident in. He knew the others, those awake, watched.
Illarion took the knife and completed the ceremony. Their blood mingled. Yes, they would definitely need innoculations after tonight, as well as antibiotics. But he felt confident. They would be safe.
"You are my brother." Again he smiled to himself. The script. He stood and raised his hands, blood flowing down the one, cool as it fanned across his wrist and forearm. "Look! My brothers and sisters. My mothers and fathers!"
Matvei would not stop scheming. And he might find fertile soil still. But for now it was over. He had plans for Illarion.
He walked through the room, nodding at those few people who were awake, mouth friendly and face bright and hopeful. They had a purpose. They knew this. He had told them repeatedly. They had ascended from below.
It was dark in the barracks and many were still tired. The trip had been long and arduous.
They still had a few hours. He needed sleep. And he needed to change. And get clean. He had lived an entire life in these clothes. The scent of smokevfrom the fire still lingered. Valeriya was hopefully done with her own washing. The immediate danger had been dealt with.
He went to the room, knocked softly and then entered.
Edited by Regus, Dec 26 2017, 11:32 PM.
He tried not imagine what was happening behind the door.
Idiot!, he growled and strode away, shutting the door of the room behind him. He was bahaving like a child. He assumed Control. At least enough to focus.
Illarion and Matvei. There was no hope for Matvei. He chafed under Valeriya. Clearly, he always had. Armande"s coming had cemented her authority in one way. But it had created chaos too. And a wise man had said it best. Chaos is a ladder. It presented opportunity in the unpredictability.
He had to die. But only when his treachery was revealed. Illarion was key to that. And despite his own bond to Valeriya, he knew they shared a womb, a life, an experience no one could ever share. She was strong enough and ruthless enough to make the difficult decisions, if necessary.
But it did not mean it wouldn't hurt her. She was as strong as he had known anyone to be. But she, as he was discovering in himself, was still human. The loss would kill something in her.
And if it was in his power to prevent that, to spare her....wouldn't he? It would cost him but some moments of time. And some delay. But the wall was down. Even with Control, the wall had fallen. He no longer felt alone.
Illarion was with Matvei and the few Khylsty who were awake. The look he shot Armande would have earned a blow to the face, in normal times. But the others watched. A reveared and promised Messiah was always resented when he actually deigned to show up. He always upset the balance of power.
Armande had no desire to die a sacrificial death at the hand of a mob. He was not foolish enough to believe himself invincible. Fate did not mean armor to step into the lion's den clothed in meat. And he did not wish such a fate on Valeriya either.
He sat down on the cot opposite Illarion and held the kit consicuously in his hand. Many had felt his ministrations already. "Leave us", he said to Matvei. To the others it was implied. His conversation would not be secret, nor was it intended to be. But Illarion would get his attention. No one would accuse him of beguiling the boy.
They backed away, enough for the semblance of privacy. Armande removed the disinfectant and bottle of water. As he continued with the gauze and nuskin, it occurred to him that the Khylsty had been underground for 130 years. What new diseases and infections and viruses had developed or mutated since the early 1910s? So far, they had been exposed to him only.
The history of the European migration to the Americas had resulted in the death of 90% of the population. Modern estimates showed they had been as densely populated or more than Europe. Colonists marvelled at the empty pristine parklike New World, lush and verdant and teeming with great unnatural clouds and flocks and herds of wildlife...never realizing that the keystone species that kept the balance had been decimated.
The Khylsty were not as susceptible to that kind of decimation. Not even close. And 130 years was nothing on an evolutionary scale. But they were small in number. They could not afford that kind of death. Nor could their morale. He had to save them from this too. He knew what he needed to get. He just needed to figure out from where.
But for now, there was a boy to save. A boy who was losing his world. He sat down next to Illarion. To his credit, he did not move or look fearful. Armande felt pride in him. "You are your sister's brother. Fearless and loyal. She is lucky to have you."
A look of uncertainty and suspicion passed his face. Armande held out the disinfectant. "May I?" At the brief nod, he began to clean the slash. Who knew how many bacteria infected Valeriya's wicked stiletto. The slash was deep but the boy did not flinch at his ministrations. He laughed to himself on the inside. He that would be greatest must be the servant of all. It wasn't washing feet. But it was something.
As he worked, he spoke. "Your sister is passionate. As are all the Khylsty. You were brought below to safeguard that passion. Do you believe her to be the Eye?"
Illarion blinked at the non-sequitor. " Of course!"
he said defensively.
Armande looked down and busied himself with newskin packaging. "And you saw what she carved in the wall, yes?" And he looked Illarion in the eye. The boy's eyes widened, too late he had realized.
A wordless nod was all he got. It was enough for now. Again he smiled to himself. It seemed so easy.
The script had been written 2000 years ago, it seemed. "Who do you think I am?"
He could see the warring on Illarion's face. He knew. What he believed anyway. Armande didn't believe he was literally Rasputin reborn. He didn't even know how that would work. But he did believe he had a purpose, one that was foretold. Valeriya was his. She was necessary to him. Not just necessary, not a tool. She was his destiny, them together. In such a short period of time, his universe had changed and become greater. He was greater, with her
So to these people he could be their leader. They could call him Father Rasputin if they needed. He was what he was, to them. And who was to say that wasn't any less true.
The words seemed forced from his mouth. "You are Father Rasputin."
Armande nodded as he applied the salve, the nuskin, and then the bandage. The scar would be small. With a massive cross branded on his forehead and nose, it would be unnoticable.
"And you are Illarion, brother of the Eye. I claim my place among you." His voice was louder. "I claim my rights as Rasputin. I claim the Eye, not as a servant. Not as a tool. I claim her as my queen, as my consort. She is no longer just Eye of the Khylsty. She is Mother. Not just of the Khylsty. Of mankind."
He took a knife and cut a gash in his palm. Blood poured immediately. "I offer you, Illarion, brother of my Bride and the Mother, I offer you my blood. You do not lose a sister. You gain a brother." He held out the knife and his palm. Illarion was quick, he knew. They all were. He could seize the knife, could try to kill him. At least injure him. Matvei might.
But he thought he understood Illarion. He did not want to lose his closest friend and companion. So reassure him he wasn't. As simple as that. A calculated risk, but one he was confident in. He knew the others, those awake, watched.
Illarion took the knife and completed the ceremony. Their blood mingled. Yes, they would definitely need innoculations after tonight, as well as antibiotics. But he felt confident. They would be safe.
"You are my brother." Again he smiled to himself. The script. He stood and raised his hands, blood flowing down the one, cool as it fanned across his wrist and forearm. "Look! My brothers and sisters. My mothers and fathers!"
Matvei would not stop scheming. And he might find fertile soil still. But for now it was over. He had plans for Illarion.
He walked through the room, nodding at those few people who were awake, mouth friendly and face bright and hopeful. They had a purpose. They knew this. He had told them repeatedly. They had ascended from below.
It was dark in the barracks and many were still tired. The trip had been long and arduous.
They still had a few hours. He needed sleep. And he needed to change. And get clean. He had lived an entire life in these clothes. The scent of smokevfrom the fire still lingered. Valeriya was hopefully done with her own washing. The immediate danger had been dealt with.
He went to the room, knocked softly and then entered.
Edited by Regus, Dec 26 2017, 11:32 PM.