Black Dog(100)

A grieving black dog ought to be left alone – but the Master of Dimilioc was too important to be left alone, because sometimes great grief and loss led a black dog into a terrible dark from which he never emerged. Somebody needed to make sure that didn’t happen to Grayson. Natividad knew perfectly well that, of them all, she would least put herself at risk by going through that door.

Even so, it was hard to touch the doorknob. To turn it. Harder to swing the door open. Harder still to step through.

Natividad shut the door gently behind herself and leaned against it, her hands resting on the doorknob for a kind of covert reassurance – the smooth brass under her fingers a tactile reminder that she could run out again if she needed to. She knew she wouldn’t retreat, but even so she didn’t want to let go of the knob.

And yet, once she was in the room with the Dimilioc Master, she found to her own surprise that she was glad she had come. Grayson sat in his customary chair. He faced the window, but he was not looking out at the buses parked on the rutted snow or past them at the bleak winter forest. His elbows rested on the arms of his chair. His head was bowed. His forehead rested on his steepled hands. His eyes were closed. He did not seem to be aware of Natividad at all. He looked so alone... was so alone. She felt suddenly ashamed that she had not thought of coming here herself, that she had been ready to leave him so alone in the lowering dark of the evening.

Crossing the room quietly, Natividad sat down on the floor beside Grayson’s chair. She didn’t touch him or speak, didn’t trace a pentagram on the window or the floor or even in the air. She didn’t even look at him, though she was more intensely aware of him, of his physical presence, than she had ever been. His power might be leashed and hidden, but it was as obvious to her as the heat of a banked fire. She ought to be afraid of him, but now she found she wasn’t. She grieved for him, for his solitude, for the wife he had lost last year, for the crippling of Dimilioc in the war and for the brother and friend he had lost today. She sat beside him, her arms wrapped around her knees, and waited.

After a while, Grayson said without looking up, “James was right. There is nothing left of Dimilioc. The thing we now call by that name is something else. If it survives at all, it will be nothing Dimilioc ever was.”

Natividad let a respectful silence stretch out for a minute or so. Then, still not looking at Grayson, she said, “Te ayudaría si pudiera. I would help you if I could. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know it’s presumptuous to say so because Zachariah was your friend and Harrison was your brother and who am I to say I miss them? But I do. I only knew them for such a short time, but I liked them both.” She paused.

Grayson did not respond visibly. He didn’t look at her. But hadn’t there been a very slight catch in his breathing? She thought he was listening. She was less sure she was saying anything right. But how could she stop now? She said, “Black dogs aren’t usually kind, but Zachariah was kind to me. I liked him. His shadow was so strong, but he controlled it so well you could hardly tell. He loved you, and he loved Dimilioc. Anybody could see how hard he worked to support Dimilioc and you. He gave up his chance to be Master because of you, and self-sacrifice is so hard for black dogs.”

No black dog would show weakness to another, or to an ordinary human, but Natividad was neither. Grayson made a wordless sound and pressed his hands hard across his eyes.

Carefully not looking at him, Natividad said gently, “And I admired Harrison. He was your brother. He was your older brother, and that’s special. He always supported you and helped you. He didn’t like what you were doing, bringing black dogs into Dimilioc, but he never said so in public, did he? But he argued with you in private, because he was never afraid of you. He loved you, and even when he thought you were wrong, he supported you because really he trusted you to be right. And trust is another thing that’s hard for black dogs, isn’t it?”

Grayson didn’t move or make a sound.

“James was wrong,” Natividad said. “Zachariah and Harrison, and Benedict, too – they fought for Dimilioc. They died so that Dimilioc would live. And it does. Grief and loss are part of life, but you are the heart of Dimilioc. Both Zachariah and Harrison would have agreed with that, wouldn’t they? As long as you live, Dimilioc’s future will be tied to its past, because its past is in you.”

Grayson said harshly, “I am the Master of dust and ashes. How many indispensable wolves can Dimilioc lose and yet claim to have won this war?”

Natividad met his eyes. She felt old and sad and yet somehow strong. She felt, for the first time, that she was the Master’s equal. They shared grief and mourning, but it was she who believed there would be, eventually, a spring to follow this bitter winter. She said gently, “Grayson, no one but you is indispensable. Dimilioc will live unless you yourself decide to let it die. You won’t do that. You’ll think of something. No one will have died in vain.”