Allie's War Episodes 1-4(169)

The cross disappears as I notice it.
What do you want? I say again. ...Haldren?
I feel his smile at my childish attempt to even the playing field. My pretense of knowing as much as he does is meaningless...I have no cards here. Inside his world, my mind is laid bare. He knows I don’t really remember.
I don’t believe the seers’ view of me. He knows that, too.
Ah, he says. But I do remember, Liego. I remember it all so well...
His voice pulls at me, the coax of mutual dialogue, but that familiarity just irritates me.
When I fold my arms, I am distracted.
My hands are now gloved in cream-colored satin at the end of bare upper arms. I wear an emerald ball gown with thin straps, similar to what Revik’s wife wore at a party in Berlin, only dyed green to match my eyes. A wedding ring adorns one gloved finger. It affects me to see it, which I’m sure is his intention...or maybe a Rook’s attempt at humor.
I look over only to see myself in a wall-length mirror. My hair is piled on top of my head in elaborate curls, studded with diamond pins and peacock feathers. The reflection shows a cavernous room behind me. High, carved ceilings arc over pillars that stretch off into the distance, diminishing into darkness.#p#分页标题#e#
Only the swastikas are absent.
Cute, I tell him. Did you bring me here to critique my wardrobe?
Galaith laughs. Strangely, it sounds genuine.
I have missed you, Liego, he says fondly.
I look down the cavernous hall. Paved now in black volcanic glass, the corridor is draped in thick curtains of purple and green vines. Water drips down from a cracking ceiling above a rectangular reflecting pool. Ancient, cypress-like trees grow through one of the walls. I see a bird alight on a massive root. It sings a song that stirs something in my memory. At the nudge of Galaith’s mind, I look up. A high, blue sky is visible through the crumbling stone.
He wants me to remember. But I don’t remember, not really.
I frown. What do you want? I say again.
He shrugs with a manicured hand, seer-fashion. I want to relieve you of the burden of your so-called destiny. He smiles. I am trying to stop a war, Liego. A war you seem as determined as ever to bring.
My feeling of unreality worsens. You think I want war?
Galaith’s eyes remain serious through the shifting mosaic of his face.
I think you will bring it anyway, he says. I realize it likely would not be intentional, old friend. Believe me, I do. Probably more than anyone, I understand this. I know it tears you up, each and every time. I know you dread coming here.
His eyes flicker between the moving panes of his face.
I can help you, Liego. Do not doubt that I can. You can live life outside that singular role. You could be married...really married. Without having to worry that your mate or children will be tortured or killed simply because of who you are...
My light seizes around a vision of Revik, one I realize Galaith is providing me, but one that is so recent I flinch at how real it appears. I see his neck, the clothes hanging on his long frame, the slight limp in his walk as he crosses the study floor.
The image morphs.
I see my mother’s graying, staring eye, lost in a face covered in blood. I see the scar bisecting Cass’s beautiful face...Jon’s bandaged hand.
My silk-clad arms fold tighter, cutting off air I don’t even need in this place.
There is a moment where I hear only the distant trickling of water on volcanic stone.
Galaith refrains from smiling out of politeness.
Do not worry about your mate, he says. He will not judge you for taking this road. He has seen too many wars to welcome another.
...and I am in a dim room.
A single hanging lamp sways above dirt floors. The room lives underground, smelling of mold and blood. White-washed walls like pale skin bleed dark rivulets of mud leaking from badly patched cracks. It is hot, and insects flicker over sweated flesh near a metal table.
The dead body of a young Asian man slumps in a chair.
I don’t see him at first, but I am not surprised when he is there. Revik’s arms lay folded across a broader, more muscular chest. His black hair hangs longer, and he wears a Rolling Stones T-shirt and jeans with motorcycle boots.
Terian, the same Terian I know from Golden Gate Park, is there too, hunched over the body of the dead Asian boy, trying to saw off one of his ears. Cursing, he tosses aside the knife, which is rusted where not covered in blood.
“Damn it, Revi’...hand me that razor, will you?”
The taller seer takes his weight off the wall.
Picking up a sling blade from a nearby table, he flips it open and hands it to Terian wordlessly. Revik doesn’t move away but continues to watch Terian work, tugging a hand-rolled hiri out of his pocket and lighting it after a few tries with a silver lighter. Exhaling sweet-smelling smoke, his expression doesn’t change as Terian saws determinedly through skin and cartilage to remove the dead man’s ear.