by J. B. Garner
Redmane folded her arms. “Because your way is leaving a trail of corpses and risks your very soul.” She took a deep breath. “Do you think I want to bury you just after finding you? I have never known this kind of love before.”
Felt that shudder again. “Nor I.” I would not acknowledge the accusation though. “You have to trust me. I have held back this thing that I am about to finish off. I have the power; I have everything I need now. Forget your duty. Think about your love and turn your head, just this once.”
Long pause. She was thinking about it obviously. “So all you ask is I look aside, let this one thing go?” She shook her head. “If it was one thing, perhaps, but this isn't one thing. Yes, I have a reputation, something I am certain you have researched by now. What you want isn't bending the rules though.” She tried to lock eyes, something that felt suddenly uncomfortable. “How much blood coats your hands and how much of that would coat my own if I let you be? How many more die on the anniversary day? What happens to the Bard?”
“The only death to come is the bastard and the demon he has wrought.” Fiery anger swelled up at Father and all he had done, all for selfish desire. “The past is the past. Just know that it was all necessary.”
Fire was met with fire. “You keep saying that, yet I don't believe you.” I tried to look offended. “Do not even try, Milady! I may love you, but I do not trust you. I have done my own investigations based on what I have found out and come to my own conclusions.”
I stepped close to her. Wasn't sure if I wanted to slap her or bed her. Both? “You have, have you? Whatever it is you think you know, you do not know the truth. If you have, by some miracle, found your way to the truth, you are as much an accomplice as anything else because you have yet to do more to end this!”
Must have crossed a line or enflamed some nerve as she glared down at me. “Did not the bolt that pierced your flesh send enough of a message as to my dedication to my Duty, Milady?”
Tried to keep my composure, but it was impossible. “How could you?!” My hand flew of its own accord and echoed across Redmane's muzzle. “The Foi clan had ruined countless lives and committed so many crimes, yet you stood in the way, tried to save his miserable hide!”
Redmane wiped at the bit of blood on her lip. “And the Bard; was she simply a patsy, something to throw off the trail?”
Had not cried openly in years but threatened to now. “Why do you care? It is a tool, an automaton! It will serve its purpose and then, like any other golem, it will be recycled into new tools.” Jealousy mixed with anger. “Is that why you're doing this? Being so thick-headed and unfeeling over what you think is love for a hunk of silver-steel? There is nothing in the golem that did not come from me first!”
She nodded and turned to the door. “I do love you. You probably don't believe that, but it's true.”
“Then leave. Stay away and let me do what must be done! The demon will be banished and your murderer will be dealt with.” I tried to settle my voice. “You will have it delivered to you on a silver platter with all the evidence you need to close the case.”
Vela paused at the door and looked back. I will never forget that look, ugly with judgment. “Is that a confession or bribery, Milady?”
Felt rising growl which I pushed down into a screeching hiss. “You will have no such satisfaction, Junior Inspector.” I clenched my fists. “If you have no official business, then I want you out of my manor now!”
“As you wish, Milady.” She stepped out of the front door. “Think about what has transpired. I want to save you, but you must let me do so.”
“It only sounds like you wish me in irons, but you will understand when this is over.” Wanting to sound magnanimous, I failed utterly.
Redmane looked back over her shoulder. Expected anger or indignation in her eyes, but they were sad and resolute. Her gaze lingered a moment and I felt a strange stab of doubt. As she left, wondered if this really had been the right course of action. If that were right, though, over half a decade would have been wasted, along with lives lost. No! I cannot, will not believe that!
From The First Codex of Laws, Inammi holy text:
Folk band together for safety, for security, but to form a lasting society, Folk require Law and Duty. They require these not because we Folk are inherently evil, but because we Folk are inherently focused on the needs of self. This is wise for self-survival, but is an ultimately short-sighted, if unavoidable, instinct. Law and Duty provide a framework with which Folk can rise above their own flawed instinct to ensure not only their own survival, but the survival of the community. In truth, we must all sacrifice some to ensure the existence of the whole.
From the songbook of the Silver Bard, continued from the 8th Hymn of the 6th Movement:
As I perch above the City so bright,
I know that the day soon will arrive.
However will I be free of my plight?
For I know, my spirit she will soon deprive.
Our half-hearts are now full and grown,
Though she would deny a soul I now own.
As I look down o'er the Stone so bright,
Our twinned hearts flutter but not as one.
Soon, I fear, there will be a mortal fight.
Jealousy's choking vines, Love's bright sun,
Our half-hearts are now full and grown,
Though she would wish hers to be alone.
As I spread wing atop the City so bright,
The barbs lodged soul-deep tear and burn
And the chains wind and pull oh so tight.
Yet now I dare, yet now their embrace I spurn.
Our half-hearts are now full and grown,
And now I see, now I know the unknown.
As I try to fly down into the City so bright,
I feel the claw, I feel the bite so deep.
To the street I tumble, down into twilight.
My Love is strong, but still the chains keep.
Our half-heats may be full and grown,
But my life is still the Lady's to own.
As I lay and weep here in the City of night,
For my first time, I scorn my eternal fate,
No more to sing and dance, to spread light.
Instead, my heart reclaimed by her hate.
Our half-hearts may be full and grown,
But the Lady denies, claiming all to own.
From the journal of Inspector Vela Redmane, 19 Octavian 736 PC:
While I had often found solace in Myrien's Gardens over my life, I do not remember a time I was so conflicted under Her canopy. I could recite the Song by heart, but knowledge didn't equate wisdom, and what I knew about Milady, what I knew about the Bard, fought with the passions I felt. Even now, with the blood on Milady's claws all but confirmed, with doubts raised as to the true autonomy of the Bard (though that was of shaky veracity), what I should do contested with what I felt wanted to do.
Even here, in such a holy place, my path seemed no easier. Again, Milady's silences had spoken as much as her words, as well as the slight limp, concealed but not invisible, in her step. Still, as she herself had said, she had acted against the worst of Folk, the vilest of scum. Why care if they died? I had given her the answer, yet even then my spirit was not as stout as my words. I was motivated as much by fear for Milady's soul, that the Ragnard would add her to its feast, then by Duty. Now, though, away from the heat of the moment, I could feel the resolve of Duty, the righteousness of the Law, growing in me. The Mistress of the Garden had little wisdom to grant in that arena, so I let that be.
When it came to the Bard, though, I faced an entirely different quandary. I pulled out and unfurled the song at my belt. 'Half-a-heart', the reference had been made before and Milady had created the Bard. That much was obvious now. My educated guess was that somehow Alysa had animated the Bard not with some base elemental spirit, but with part of her own. They were bound together, so it would seem, and Milady's insinuation seemed obvious. The Bard professed love simpl
y because Milady felt it. As with any golem, the Silver Bard could not truly feel that love, only echo it, imitate it.
Despite that evidence, I wasn't so sure. If they shared half-a-heart, did each woman own their own other-half? In the vast depths of sorcery, I knew only the basics, and this wasn't golemancy any longer, but true necromancy. The magic of life and death is shunned, despite the fact it is capable of as much good as evil, so I have even less knowledge of that than the rest of the schools. If I were to act in confidence upon the roiling tempest in my heart, I first needed to know if, as naive as it might sound to any who might read these words, I was acting in the name of true love and beauty.
Maybe I could have gone to Packie, plumbed his arcane knowledge, but he might have been a bit recalcitrant once he learned the nature of the questions. It was a rare, honest heart that would be truthful about one's perceived romantic rivals. However, there were other experts, especially when it came to matters of the heart, both figurative and spiritual. I picked myself up from where I had sat in repose and searched deeper into the Gardens for Orveel.
I had barely gotten within sight of the Lifeblood when his large, barrel-chested form bore down on me. Before I could even make a greeting, he had crushed me in a warm, mildly suffocating embrace. “Vela, oh my dear, I am so sorry for your losses.”
My grief over the dead had been tamped down, subsumed under Duty, but I felt it welling up again. Here, after all, it was safe to be vulnerable. “Thank you, old friend, thank you.” I buried my head into his shoulder, as I did when I was a young girl, and let myself have the cry I had needed but refused.
As always, Orveel remained the steady rock, letting his warm presence do the work of comfort. After a few moments, as my tears began to dry, he chuckled softly. “Forget one of your first lessons, child? If your heart is heavy, release the pain instead of bottling it up.”
“Duty doesn't always leave room for that.” I pulled back, wiping my cheeks before my fur stained, but still lingering close.
“Nonsense,” Orveel shook his head, “your heart is the source of you, your feelings, your uniqueness, the true beauty instilled in you by Myrien. There is always time to take care of it.” He poked me softly in the center of my chest. “Don't get as tightly-wound as the Nitans and the Inammi.”
“I promise that won't happen.” I put my paw over my heart and bowed my head. “My heart is devoted to the Garden above all.” Looking up to meet Orveel's eyes again, I sighed. “And that heart is why I am here. I need your help, more specifically your knowledge.”
With that, I told him what had transpired since last we had spoken and I left nothing out. He listened, as he always did, with an open ear, nodding and occasionally adding a question or two to clarify the tale.
When I reached the end, face contorted in conflicted emotion, he enveloped my shoulder with a hand. “Love is never an easy thing, especially when its roots are entwined with such dark affairs.”
“Yes, Orveel, and much of it I must untangle myself.” I smiled faintly at my old friend. “Though I am sure you have much advice you could lend, I think I need to figure this out for myself.”
“Then what is it you need from me, dear Vela? Ask and I shall make it so.”
“Do you have any inkling of what the Bard meant by sharing half-hearts with Milady? I need to know the truth of the feelings they both profess to decide what course to take.”
Orveel settled back in his seat, the midday light streaming through the fall leaves above. “I don't know much about what magic Alysa might have used, but what I can divine from your story, my own knowledge, and what I have seen personally of both these women is significant.
“You see, Vela, the heart, in the sense that we are speaking, is the source of emotion, of feeling. Alysa had been such a happy, joyful woman, much like her mother, and the tragedy of the fire had shattered that. Normally, our hearts heal, given the proper support, care, and guidance. Yes, we have our scars, but we can learn to return to some semblance of our normal selves. Alysa found a different path, it would seem.”
“She cut away the hurt through magic?” It seemed insane at first thought, but we live in a world rife with the strange and the unusual.
“It is certainly possible. She could have divided her heart, putting certain emotions and feelings into a separate spiritual vessel, the golem heart of the Silver Bard. It would be as if those emotions didn't exist. You would understand them on an intellectual level, but your heart” - he thumped his chest - “would be cold.”
I shook my head. “Why would anyone do that to themselves?”
“I cannot say. While it is anathema to me, it would be cruel of me to be judgmental of someone who has had to experience the pain Alysa has or to be burned by the flames of corruption yet survive.” Orveel stooped over, scooping up a handful of fallen leaves and petals. “It would be like judging the trees for casting off their leaves. I do not know or understand it, so I cannot judge it.
“What I do know is that the heart is much more resilient that it would seem. You cannot just cut emotion away. Numb it, yes, suppress it, yes, but it will heal. Those emotions will come back.”
I nodded slowly. “So I seem to have, well, aroused some of these in Milady … again, if we are correct.”
“Yes, but understand that these feelings would be crude, immature. Think of how long it took you to understand and master those primal forces inside you. It is what it would be like. Again, the mind may understand, but the heart would be as confused as a newborn's.”
I looked over at Orveel, who was still focused intently on the autumn colors in his hands. “What about the Bard? Golems aren't supposed to have true hearts of any kind to begin with.”
“It is hard to say. Such a gift of spirit would create something special, a unique creature to be sure. Though both hearts would start similar with experiences and emotions shared, they would each grow and shape based on their own individual experiences. Once you cut something away from your heart, you can never be sure how it will change. It is no longer part of you.”
It was what I wanted to hear, but I needed more than comforting things. I needed to be absolutely sure. “Orveel, I trust you. Though we are not absolutely certain this is what has happened, are you certain that the Silver Bard is not an automaton, not a soulless tool, but a living thing, even if she is made of silver-steel?”
“My stock and trade is the heart and soul, sweet one.” Orveel smiled softly. “In my professional estimation, by any measure, your silver lady is one of the most 'alive' things in this City. Now as to your other romantic difficulties -”
I put my hand over the Heartsworn's muzzle. “I'd prefer to handle that myself. Just know that you've given me what I need to do what I have to do.”
Orveel laughed. “Very well, Vela.” His expression grew serious. “Remember, though, if you need me, I am here. More than that, you have many friends in this City, don't forget them either.”
“I won't forget.” I stood as the quarter-bell started to ring out throughout the City. “I won't forget any of this. If you'll excuse me, though, I have Duties to attend to and fellows to see buried.”
Orveel bowed his head respectfully as I made my way out of the Garden. There was much to do and much of it I would have to do without the Watch's aid. After all, there was no evidence that the Chief Inspector could use to link the Hsu with the Ragnard. No, this would have to be done off the record.
From the notes of Lady Alysa Hsu, 20 Octavian 726 PC:
Most of the previous afternoon had been wasted. Alternating spikes of rage, jealousy, and depression had made the proper magical focus impossible to maintain. I ordered a large supply of the reputable calming elixir I owned some of to smooth over mood swings. Standard dose seems effective.
Still sufficient time to finish enchantment of new replacement armor plates and connective spells. I decided to keep the animating force in girdle of the golem armor. Vela's near deactivation of whole system was luck, nothing more. Doub
tful she could procure another bolt with similar enchantments on short notice and more doubtful she would be able to use it effectively.
“Why do you keep me near? What is it you have to fear? Your chains hold me fast; surely their coils will last.” The golem stood in a corner, weak from testing the geasas. Couldn't afford for someone to find it and restrain it. A simple enchantment kept it here in the sanctum so it could recharge. Would be useless tomorrow so weak.
“I was supposed to be you.” No need to answer the questions of a tool, but the geasa of silence meant it could be talked to, confided in. Its programming could understand on some crude level. “Over a decade ago, spreading the songs of Myrien, the purity of Nym, that is all I wanted to do.”
“If once it was your way, could it not be now? Start fresh and new today, I can show you how.” It has my voice, my old voice, free of the damage done by smoke and sulfur, one reason of many I avoided the golem for these past years.
I picked up the helmet of my armor. “What could you show me that I don't already know? I forged this, infused it, with every intention of doing good. It would give me both the corporeal and social protection to be free, free from harm and free from Father. To sing, dance, lift hearts and minds.” I glanced over at the golem. “When I cut away the injury, the weak parts of my heart, I suppose I still had sentiments towards the past, enough to use that part of me to make you.”
“Lady, sister, one and the same, we could stand as one. Sing the songs to demons tame, to see the flames gone and done.” Though weakened, it could still raise a hand to me, a pleading gesture. “Be done with the blood, step away from its flood. We could all grow, with Vela's heart in tow.”
“Do not speak her name, golem!” Tore my eyes away from the thing before the urge to break it took over. “Vela is mine. The naive notion of many roots growing together is just one of many I am glad to be rid of.” Let out a slow breath to regain calm. “Bard, I mean you no ultimate harm, but whatever comes at the end of tomorrow, know that I will have her by my side and my side alone. The only reason you have any desire for her in your programming is because of our link.”