Allie's War Episodes 1-4(170)

Terian grumbles at him as he works.
“...You could have let him live long enough to give me a turn,” he says. “What, did he remind you of someone?”
Revik shrugs. “The maggot wanted to die.”
Terian glances up, chuckles. “So this was a humanitarian gesture, then?” He turns his concentration back to the ear. “I hate to tell you, my friend...but most humans who meet you grow to feel that way in time.”
Terian straightens an instant later, a triumphant look on his face. He shows Revik the mutilated ear. Already the blood coagulates, barely a trickle from the stopped heart.
Revik’s voice holds a thread of disgust.
“Why do you keep those?”
“Are you kidding? The press eats this shit up. ‘Vietnam’s own Jack the Ripper’...or hadn’t you heard?” Reaching into a coat pocket, Terian pulls out a playing card, the Jack of Spades. Flipping it over in his fingers, he sticks it in the dead man’s mouth.
“That’s you?” Revik shakes his head. “Jesus, Terry.”
At the grin on Terian’s face, Revik snorts a half-laugh.
“We need to get you a pet.”
“Yeah, speaking of that.” Terian cocks an eyebrow at him. “Remember that jaguar you picked up for me in Brazil?”
Revik grunts another laugh. “I don’t want to know.”
“Anyway,” Terian says, as he raises the ear to the light. “It’s not only me...Galaith wants me to plant this stuff.”
“Why?” Revik says.
I hear only curiosity in his voice. His eyes rest empty, flat...I barely recognize him. Yet, oddly, he carries a kind of easy male confidence that makes him look almost handsome, despite his angular features.
I tell myself I knew what he was.
He’d been a Nazi before this.
But even working for the Germans, feeling lived in his eyes, something with which I could relate, even sympathize. I’d been told by the rest of them––Maygar, Vash, Chandre, even the seers training me back in India––that what Revik had done under the Rooks was exponentially worse than anything he did as a Nazi. Even so, it unnerves me beyond what my mind can articulate, seeing him this way.
It also occurs to me that I cannot unsee it.
Terian shrugs as he answers him.
“Why?” he says. “How should I know why? Why does Galaith want us to do anything? Recruitment? Fear? Shits and giggles?” Wrapping the ear in a clean, white handkerchief, Terian shoves the whole thing in a pocket and claps Revik on the shoulder. “Let's get a drink. I need a fuck before we do the next bunch, and I know you do...”
The dark, blood-smelling room fades.
I find myself back in Revik’s London study once it has.
Galaith sits before me on the worn leather couch, drumming his fingers on a creased arm. The picture of my parents still sits on the marble mantlepiece. One of my sketches stands next to it, a charcoal I did of Revik while he was still following me in San Francisco. More of my drawings spill out of an open drawer in the nearby desk, spread out on the floor in a fan position.
I see more images of Revik, of my brother, of the Pyramid.
I recognize all of them.
I was kind, Galaith says. You must know I could have shown you far worse.
Yeah, I say dryly. ...Very kind. If you’d shown me anything too over the top, I could have dismissed it as pure insanity. Instead you show me a rational version, knowing I’ll never forget it.
Galaith chuckles in genuine pleasure, slapping the end of the couch.
Very good, Alyson! Perhaps you have some intelligence in this life, after all.
My light clenches, knowing this is a jab, too.
He knows I am aware of the gap between me and the other seers...and especially between me and Revik. I know how slow I seem to all of them, how stupid because I can do so little with my light. I remember playing chess with Revik in Seattle, him showing me how to drive, how to shoot, how to talk to machines...how to see anything at all with my light.
As I think about him, his presence grows stronger.
I also feel what Galaith’s show and tell has done to my light’s ability to find his.
Reluctance hovers there, doubt. I focus back on Galaith, find him watching me carefully. I fold my arms tighter around my light body.
I thought Terian was the one who liked these stupid games, I say angrily.
Galaith makes a dismissive gesture with one hand.
These are not games, Liego, he says. And you are wrong...I do not judge you for your newness. Nor do I confuse this for lack of intelligence. Nor does your mate.
I don’t argue with him, but I don’t believe him, either.
So where is Terian? I say. Out torturing more people in your name?
Galaith’s countenance darkened, meaning the tenor of the shifting planes of his face. He looks at me, and I feel the warning in his light.