Post by Charlotte on Jun 16, 2006 15:08:21 GMT -5
It was dark, here, and cool. Quiet, calm. Subdued.
Sadhric was alone, and not alone. Ele was with him.
This wasn't the tall, adult, cule-bodied Ele, though. This Ele was a little human girl to whom he had never spoken, whom he had not known. She had been chosen purely because of her name, as far as he could tell.
He thought maybe that her face in particular stayed with him more than the faces of the others because she had been a child, and children believe things wholly, sometimes, that adults might doubt. And children, too, hang on issues of blame and fault, latching on to them as if they are the only means by which to navigate the world.
And this Ele, true to her age, had believed Ashton when he'd told her that what was happening around her, and what was happening to her, was Sadhric's fault. He remembered the moment she heard it first, remembered her eyes when she'd looked at him, and remembered with perfect detail her every expression, every sound, every twitch, as she watched the High Protector tear people apart all around her, and finally destroy her as well.
He tended to ignore her when he dreamed about her--or tried to--but he was watching her this time, and she seemed to be aware of it as she listened to the sounds that her shoes made, clicking on the polished floors of the empty central chamber of the Altar.
With her back to him, she said, "You might have done more." And he knew what she meant.
"I tried to save her," he replied without defensiveness or anger.
"Only when it was easy to try."
"Nothing was easy," he said quietly.
"You should have tried harder," said the little girl.
Thoughtfully, Sadhric cocked his head to one side. "Jonas would love you."
She laughed, and it wasn't the laugh of a little girl at all, though she didn't morph in appearance. "He's a beast of a boy. Watch yourself with him."
The Mechanic was looking around, now, vaguely diverted by the idea that he should probably be more observant, since he was standing here in this pristine hall, and no one was coming to kill him. Part of him knew that he was dreaming, but, as is sometimes the way of dreams, the rest of him refused to take the chance that it might not be real, and somehow that made a warped kind of sense even though it clashed with his knowledge that Mekhetu was already dead, and so was Ashton. "Why do you care?" he asked as he crossed toward the central dais.
"Things should be put right," she said, just as distracted from her answer as he had been from the question.
He stopped, half-turned to stare at her back. "They killed Phobos for you," he told her.
"No," came her echoing voice as she slipped away through the towering doorway, "you're the only one left who remembers me."
He couldn't see her anymore. But when he swung around afterwards to continue his investigation, he thought he caught a glimpse of Ashton Moonrider out of the corner of his eye.
Sadhric was alone, and not alone. Ele was with him.
This wasn't the tall, adult, cule-bodied Ele, though. This Ele was a little human girl to whom he had never spoken, whom he had not known. She had been chosen purely because of her name, as far as he could tell.
He thought maybe that her face in particular stayed with him more than the faces of the others because she had been a child, and children believe things wholly, sometimes, that adults might doubt. And children, too, hang on issues of blame and fault, latching on to them as if they are the only means by which to navigate the world.
And this Ele, true to her age, had believed Ashton when he'd told her that what was happening around her, and what was happening to her, was Sadhric's fault. He remembered the moment she heard it first, remembered her eyes when she'd looked at him, and remembered with perfect detail her every expression, every sound, every twitch, as she watched the High Protector tear people apart all around her, and finally destroy her as well.
He tended to ignore her when he dreamed about her--or tried to--but he was watching her this time, and she seemed to be aware of it as she listened to the sounds that her shoes made, clicking on the polished floors of the empty central chamber of the Altar.
With her back to him, she said, "You might have done more." And he knew what she meant.
"I tried to save her," he replied without defensiveness or anger.
"Only when it was easy to try."
"Nothing was easy," he said quietly.
"You should have tried harder," said the little girl.
Thoughtfully, Sadhric cocked his head to one side. "Jonas would love you."
She laughed, and it wasn't the laugh of a little girl at all, though she didn't morph in appearance. "He's a beast of a boy. Watch yourself with him."
The Mechanic was looking around, now, vaguely diverted by the idea that he should probably be more observant, since he was standing here in this pristine hall, and no one was coming to kill him. Part of him knew that he was dreaming, but, as is sometimes the way of dreams, the rest of him refused to take the chance that it might not be real, and somehow that made a warped kind of sense even though it clashed with his knowledge that Mekhetu was already dead, and so was Ashton. "Why do you care?" he asked as he crossed toward the central dais.
"Things should be put right," she said, just as distracted from her answer as he had been from the question.
He stopped, half-turned to stare at her back. "They killed Phobos for you," he told her.
"No," came her echoing voice as she slipped away through the towering doorway, "you're the only one left who remembers me."
He couldn't see her anymore. But when he swung around afterwards to continue his investigation, he thought he caught a glimpse of Ashton Moonrider out of the corner of his eye.