Mae-Ying Allen ~ 3-19-2029 5:38 PM GMT
The sky is darkening by the time Niva tells her they're done. Mae-Ying wavers a little bit as she stands up, and Niva has to offer her a hand.
"Come,” Niva says. “We will go eat."
Mae-Ying brushes herself off. "Sounds good."
Niva walks beside Mae-Ying on the way to the dining hall, gazing out into the night toward the distant line of trees.
"So how long have you been here?" Mae-Ying asks.
"Eighteen years,” Niva says. “Since I was six."
"Oh. Wow. You, uh... you're a lot more mature than the twenty-four year olds I know,” Mae-Ying says. "Not that I'm much older than you. Sorry, that's patronizing."
Niva furrows her forehead. "I am not sure what it means, to be more mature? My body is like others my age, right?"
"Uh... you carry yourself like a respectable adult,” Mae-Ying says.
“Shouldn’t I?”
“In America, the twenties are seen as a kind of extended adolescence,” Mae-Ying says. "Wherein most people continue to act like children."
"It was taught in my father's house that all adults are to be respected." Niva gets a small, secretive smile. "I have since learned that this was a false teaching."
“I’d have to agree with you there.”
“But you are only twenty-nine,” Niva says. “Didn’t you have a very important position? You are not a child or considered to be one, are you?"
“Well, no, not usually, but I’ve had to fight for that. And when I was younger I lied about my age a lot.”
"To speak falsehoods in the course of righteousness is no sin.” Niva pauses for a moment, then says, in a confidential tone, "It is difficult for me to see who is considered respectable, amongst others. The opinions of others make little sense to me at times."
"That's because they're often a kind of mass delusion," Mae-Ying says cheerfully. "My job is--well, I guess was--to figure out how those delusions come about and how to control them."
"You would have been prized by the Light Keepers,” Niva says. “I am glad the angel told me of you first."
As Niva enters the dining hall, everyone quiets down. Inside are about thirty other people, men and women, of varying ages. Marshal Reed sits at the head of the table, pretending to be unaware of the sudden disruption in conversation as he reads from a smartpad.
Niva makes her way to a seat across from a preteen boy with long blond hair. That is, Mae-Ying thinks they’re a boy, but his oversized sweater makes it hard to tell for sure. Mae-Ying’s not worried about it; if he--she?--they don’t gender themselves at some point, she’ll just avoid pronouns when speaking. She sits down next to Niva.
"Hello, Miss Avraham," they say in a soft, high voice.
"Hello, Emry."
They look at Mae-Ying. "Hello, ma'am. You're the new Investigator, is that right?"
Mae-Ying nods and extends a hand over the table. "My name's Mae-Ying Allen. You can call me Mae-Ying, or just Mae if you want."
"I'm Emry Dawkins.” They shake Mae-Ying’s hand. “Pleased to meet you."
There’s a huge gap between Emry and the rest of the diners--four empty seats--and yet Mae-Ying is certain people are listening in to their conversation. "So, Emry, what, uh, class? Caste. What caste are you?"
"Oh, I'm not a Lawyer,” Emry says. “I'm, um, actually latent."
"Lawyer is a crude word, Emry,” Niva says. “I have told you this."
"Sorry, Miss Avraham."
Niva nods. A butler approaches her, somewhat nervously.
"Water and buttered pasta," she says.
The butler nods and looks at Mae-Ying. "And for you, madame?"
"I, uh... spaghetti and meatballs?"
The butler nods. "Very good, madame."
"I have the potential to become an initiate,” Emry says as the butler walks away. “My resistance to Logos is low enough, but they're keeping me here so I don't become blessed of Battles or the Wild or something..."
"Blessed of Battles?” Mae-Ying asks. “What's that?"
"Those who are around significant violence when they first channel the light sometimes reach for it through the mirror of carnage,” Niva says. “They will be surrounded by destruction for the rest of their lives."
“Most people call them Warlords,” Emry elaborates.
"So there's a danger of that happening if people are left to their own devices?" Mae-Ying asks.
"If you're not a Lawyer, it's kind of...whatever gets to you first, really," Emry says.
"Save for those who have the willpower to withstand all temptation,” Niva says. “Young Emry is such a person."
“Why doesn’t it work that way for Lawyers?” Mae-Ying asks.
"The souls who can become blessed of Law are marked by the Word when they are created,” Niva says. “We are the eternal sentinels."
“Okay… but Emry could turn out to be some other kind of, uh, initiate?"
Niva nods.
"What other kinds are there, in any case?" Mae-Ying asks.
"We know only of five kinds,” Niva says. “It is said in the most ancient texts there was another, once, but knowledge of them has been lost.”
The butler returns and places Niva’s pasta and water on the table in front of her.
“First, there are those who are blessed of Battles, as Emry has said, and those who are blessed by the Wild,” Niva says. “They are touched by primal chaos and life.”
Emry says, “And there are Technomancers, like Mister Curry--”
“Vulgar words, Emry,” Niva says. “They are blessed of the God Machine. In any case, if a mind is such that it can channel the light, and it can resist all temptations, it may develop until it can channel the light at close to its original purity. These initiates are called prophets, or sorcerers by the vulgar.”
Emry frowns a little. “What about the netheri--”
"They are not Initiates!" Niva snaps.
There is an awkward silence. Emry turns red and looks down at the table.
"What are they?" Mae-Ying asks.
Niva looks at the bread in her hands for a moment, then sets it down. "There is a terrible force in the world, the opposite of the Light--"
"Pathos!” she says. “Benny told me about it!”
Niva nods. She stares at her plate, as though talking about this makes her uncomfortable.
"Okay,” Mae-Ying says. “I get at least the basic idea. Let's talk about something else."
“Why?” Niva says.
Mae-Ying shrugs. “You seem uncomfortable.”
Niva glances at Reed. "It is difficult to talk about. It is heresy, and yet it exists."
Mae-Ying nods slowly, unsure what to say.
"I will finish quickly,” Niva says. “I told you how, when the Authority created reality, it made lenses, for each way in which the Light could be refined, and from there you have the five types of Initiates. But the first lenses the Authority made were flawed, and could not withstand the light, so they shattered, and wounded reality. Something seeped up from the wound. It was… misery..."
“That’s Pathos,” Emry whispers to Mae-Ying.
"This 'Pathos'" --Niva mangles the pronunciation, perhaps intentionally-- "it is tempting. It wells up in places, bleeds into the world. It can give Initiates new powers and can even empower those who could not be initiated, if their mind is… wrong enough."
Niva lapses into silence. Emry pokes at the salad in front of them, and Niva chews her pasta. Mae-Ying presses her lips together and looks away. The entire conversation disturbs her, even if she still has questions. Niva seems so sure of this narrative, but she can’t possibly know everything she says, how reality began and how Logos appeared. Could she?
Another butler comes to the table with Mae-Ying’s spaghetti. She eats in silence, contemplating other topics. Will Synesis kill Lydia and Fred? What will she wear tomorrow? Can she still buy clothes with her credit card if she’s dead? Will she have to sleep on that cot again? More than anything, she worries about her parents, especially her mother. Hopefully Benny will follow up on the phone call.
Neither Niva nor Emry say anything more for a good twenty minutes. A black haired white guy in a black turtleneck and black trousers comes in, approaches Reed and hands him a slip of paper. Reed stares at it for a few moments, then pushes his chair back and stands up.
“Dawkins,” Reed says. “Take Miss Allen to the motor pool and have someone drive her to Cockburn House when she's finished eating."
Niva says, “I was not finished--"
"She's had enough, I think, and I've no time to argue with you."
Reed turns and leaves. The room immediately bursts into whispers. Niva stares hatefully at the table.
"So I guess we'll pick up our lesson tomorrow?" Mae-Ying says.
"Yes. Tomorrow. I will come for you in the morning."
"What time?"
"No later than six AM," Niva says.
"Okay. I'll be ready."
#
Emry follows Mae-Ying out of the dining room.
"Um. The motor pool is off this way,” Emry says, pointing toward a path off down a hill. “They built it really far away so that the Hall can’t affect it, but they have computers in the new wing so I don’t know why it had to be this far away..."
"This anti-technology field or whatever will break the cars?" Mae-Ying asks.
"It's from the Hall of Watchers, or maybe the doors,” Emry says. “The ones at the far end? No one's been through them in… well, ever, I don't think, but supposedly they lead to heaven."
“Heaven?”
“That’s what they say, anyway.” Emry starts trudging down the path.
"So you live here?" Mae-Ying asks.
"Yeah. It's safer for people like me who haven't been blessed."
"Do you like it?"
Emry's hands push into the pockets of their jeans. "Not really. I miss my family."
“It must be tough,” Mae-Ying says. “Do they know about all this?”
"They're dead."
“Oh, geez, I’m sorry!”
"It's okay,” Emry says. “You didn't know."
“What happened?”
"Some men came looking for me, about two years ago. We were living in London; I was actually born in Arizona but we moved, so--” Emry inhales and continues, “I guess they knew about… you know, me. They came to my house, but I was visiting a friend. When my mom wouldn't tell them where I was, they, uh… I guess they tortured her. That's what the Knights who came for me told me."
Mae-Ying covers her mouth.
"They think my dad came home in the middle of it,” Emry continues. “He just got shot. It's not allowed, attacking people like that, but some of the factions do it anyway, if they think they can recruit someone."
"And since then you've been here?"
Emry nods.
"Do they know who did it? What faction?”
"No."
"Are you ever allowed to see anyone from before? Your friends or anything?”
Emry shakes their head. “Whoever tipped off the people who came after me was probably a close friend or relative, so..."
“God, that’s awful!”
"Sorry I'm such a downer..."
“No! Look, first of all, I asked. Second, I respect you for being honest."
Emry smiles a little. “Thanks. It does suck, though. Most of the other Knights just kind of ignore me."
"I'm sure that has nothing to do with you," Mae-Ying says. "They're probably stressed, or they put you in a different category than themselves because you're young."
"I don't think that's the only reason they put me in another category,” Emry says. “Not all of them, anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"I just… I don't fit in with people who are really traditional," Emry says.
“Neither do I,” Mae-Ying says.
Emry grins. "You're cool. I wish more of the Knights were young like you."
“What about Niva?”
“I’m not sure Miss Avraham knows what ‘traditional’ even means..."
“Maybe not.” Mae-Ying looks down at the path. “I know what it’s like. I mean, having everyone ignore you. I went to college when I was sixteen and no one wanted to talk to me."
“Sixteen?” Emry’s eyes widen.
Mae-Ying nods. "I tried lying about my age, but it wasn't believable at all. Apparently a two-year difference was enough to make me some kind of freak. An overachiever or whatever. After a while, I decided fuck all of ‘em, and I just focused on my work.”
Emry nods thoughtfully.
“And that wasn't always fun, but you know what? I don't regret not wasting my time on people that can't see past petty shit like that." Mae-Ying shrugs. "Although, I can think of a bunch of people who are probably really glad I'm dead, so maybe don't take my advice one hundred percent.”
The path dead-ends in front of an enormous brick garage. A few men are lounging around outside of it, smoking.
“Well, it was, um, really nice to meet you,” Emry says.
“Yeah! We should hang out again soon."
Emry blushes a little. "I'd like that, thanks."
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