Cry Havoc
⑦
The silence has never been maddening before now, before Abraham interfered. Now I can feel my sanity fraying to oblivion, and nothing I can do can stop it from unraveling.
As the hours tick on, lucidity slips through my fingers.
I count three times that Abraham visits me before I realize I've been listening to a figment of my imagination.
By the fates, what is wrong with me?
Stars, I can't possibly deserve this. I imprisoned Cassiopeia for only two years. Surely she can't believe this to be equivalent punishment?
What if Cassiopeia never told Genesis or Paramour where she'd imprisoned me, and she's forgotten sometime in the past thousand years?
What if she’s dead?
That fear at least focuses my mind, gives me an anchor to reality to grasp when the hallucinations come for me.
When Abraham returns, I know that it is in fact him because my vocal cords relax, like steel wire uncoiling. “Thank you.”
I wonder briefly when I got into the habit of thanking mortals for the simplest, most absurd things.
“Is there a way to become immortal?”
“That's quite a departure from your usual line of questioning.”
“I know. Just, is there a way to keep someone from dying?”
I glare at him, or at least where the sense of life energy glows strongest. “Need you any further proof than I before you?” Bitterly, I snap, “By all rights I should be dead, immortal or no.”
“I don't care about you! My sister is dying and—” he bites back on tears “—and I need to save her.”
Suddenly I can see him in a different light. It’s curious. “There are many ways,” I tell him. “Not many that are pleasant, I'm afraid, and fewer still that wouldn't drive your sister mad.”
“There's got to be something!”
I've seen this single-minded mentality time and time again, and it leads only to ruin. I despise him for his wanton cruelty towards me, but I need his company as much as I do air. For this reason I don't want to admit that there is a way to save his sister from whatever ails her; it comes at the price of his life.
I can't afford to pay that.
Instead, I'll pay a different toll. “Mortals are meant to die. It is their station in life.”
“You selfish demon. You must know something. Anything!”
“I know many things, mortal, but I cannot offset the balance of the fates. That is not my task.”
“I'll even free you if you save her!”
That should not be so tempting an offer. “I refuse.”
He splutters unintelligibly for a minute as he digests my words. “You can't do that!”
“I have free will, when given it.”
“Damn you. I order you to tell me every conceivable manner that my sister may survive her illness without any consequences to her.”
Nausea builds as I struggle against the command, and when my mouth opens without my consent I try my damnedest to lie. The truth enchantment buys me extra time, but then the seizure starts.
It always starts small, with near imperceptible twitches that gradually increase until my entire body is convulsing erratically.
Even my iron will is not enough. After the worst of the seizure passes, I betray myself. “Blood of a goddess, blessing of the creator, and the lover's kiss. These as libation to rebirth, then even the dead may again walk the earth.”
“What does that mean? Tell me!”
Panting roughly, I rasp, “I cannot! You must solve the riddle yourself.”
“You deserve every bit of this torture and more,” declares Abraham before he leaves.
As the hours tick on, lucidity slips through my fingers.
I count three times that Abraham visits me before I realize I've been listening to a figment of my imagination.
By the fates, what is wrong with me?
Stars, I can't possibly deserve this. I imprisoned Cassiopeia for only two years. Surely she can't believe this to be equivalent punishment?
What if Cassiopeia never told Genesis or Paramour where she'd imprisoned me, and she's forgotten sometime in the past thousand years?
What if she’s dead?
That fear at least focuses my mind, gives me an anchor to reality to grasp when the hallucinations come for me.
When Abraham returns, I know that it is in fact him because my vocal cords relax, like steel wire uncoiling. “Thank you.”
I wonder briefly when I got into the habit of thanking mortals for the simplest, most absurd things.
“Is there a way to become immortal?”
“That's quite a departure from your usual line of questioning.”
“I know. Just, is there a way to keep someone from dying?”
I glare at him, or at least where the sense of life energy glows strongest. “Need you any further proof than I before you?” Bitterly, I snap, “By all rights I should be dead, immortal or no.”
“I don't care about you! My sister is dying and—” he bites back on tears “—and I need to save her.”
Suddenly I can see him in a different light. It’s curious. “There are many ways,” I tell him. “Not many that are pleasant, I'm afraid, and fewer still that wouldn't drive your sister mad.”
“There's got to be something!”
I've seen this single-minded mentality time and time again, and it leads only to ruin. I despise him for his wanton cruelty towards me, but I need his company as much as I do air. For this reason I don't want to admit that there is a way to save his sister from whatever ails her; it comes at the price of his life.
I can't afford to pay that.
Instead, I'll pay a different toll. “Mortals are meant to die. It is their station in life.”
“You selfish demon. You must know something. Anything!”
“I know many things, mortal, but I cannot offset the balance of the fates. That is not my task.”
“I'll even free you if you save her!”
That should not be so tempting an offer. “I refuse.”
He splutters unintelligibly for a minute as he digests my words. “You can't do that!”
“I have free will, when given it.”
“Damn you. I order you to tell me every conceivable manner that my sister may survive her illness without any consequences to her.”
Nausea builds as I struggle against the command, and when my mouth opens without my consent I try my damnedest to lie. The truth enchantment buys me extra time, but then the seizure starts.
It always starts small, with near imperceptible twitches that gradually increase until my entire body is convulsing erratically.
Even my iron will is not enough. After the worst of the seizure passes, I betray myself. “Blood of a goddess, blessing of the creator, and the lover's kiss. These as libation to rebirth, then even the dead may again walk the earth.”
“What does that mean? Tell me!”
Panting roughly, I rasp, “I cannot! You must solve the riddle yourself.”
“You deserve every bit of this torture and more,” declares Abraham before he leaves.