The Light of Amorth, pt 4
My fingers betray my age. I had spent so much of my life admiring the hands of the Elders, and my own do not live up to my expectations. Elder Rathbone had elegant hands. I wonder if he'd felt the same pains, the same stiffness, the same disappointment.
"Father," my son says, "you're being wistful again."
He is absolutely correct. I am.
"Do you wish to go for a walk?"
Do I? I slouch into my chair and stare deeply into the horizon. I know Ms. Falterday is getting closer to me every day. I have not been inconspicuous. I know Mr. Mosely has tracked the elusive robberbrush. I know the Administration has begun its own investigation, and I know the Barbicans and the Order of Locke know exactly what it is I've done.
"I don't," I reply. "Son, it might be for your own good if you decide to begin keeping your distance." I don't look directly at him. Instead, I peer over the top of his head and at the last remaining ampoule.
He shifts uncomfortably.
"Ms Falterday is threat enough, but add her... homunculus Obdigan Mosely, the Administration, and the Order, and we now have a volatile situation, and I can no longer guarantee your safety." I lean back in my chair and place my hands on the armrests. She is out there now, I can feel her.
The fire crackles.
"Father," he says at last, "you are the reason, if I look back far enough, I can see that it was worth hoping."
I inhale sharply, and place my head in my hand. I allow the emotion to take me, and I cry, briefly, before meeting his eyes.
"You have shown me that we are on the precipice of evolution, that the world, in all its iniquity, can once again reach equilibrium." He moves closer to me, reaches out, and lays a hand on my arm. "I will stay with you."
He is no longer the naive apprentice I took under my wing decades ago. He is no longer the disfigured disappointment to his Order. He is my son, and I love him dearly.
"Son, the road will continue to be difficult, if not even moreso."
"I am ready, Father."
***
Georgina stares at her map, noting the small red marks that have appeared seemingly overnight. She traces the paths with her finger. "Pennsylvania, New York, Illinois, Delaware, South Dakota."
"What's that?" Obdigan's feet were on his desk, and he was eating a sandwich of some sort.
"I'm talking to myself," she says. "There's something going on Obdigan."
He snorts and almost chokes on his bite.
"Seriously," she shoots back. "Haven't you noticed something different? We've vapored to random destinations, our communication lines are taking longer and longer, and I, for one, have developed this strange fog."
He laughs. "Sounds like you're drunk."
"Screw you," she mutters. "I think there's something big about to happen."
"Yeah, well, if it does, let me know." Obdigan shoves the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth, stands, and leaves the office.
Georgina focuses back on her map. "What are you?" she asks, and a rush of air sucks her into a vapor.
***
"Hello, Georgina," I say. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
She stands, and she's much more attractive than I remember. She looks like her mother.
"Who the hell are you?" she asks.
Ever the cautious one, but her hand is on her wand. If it's a duel she wants, she may best me. A dull ache races across my fingers
"I do not wish to engage in a duel." I motion to the setee. "Won't you sit?"
-JR Simmang
"Father," my son says, "you're being wistful again."
He is absolutely correct. I am.
"Do you wish to go for a walk?"
Do I? I slouch into my chair and stare deeply into the horizon. I know Ms. Falterday is getting closer to me every day. I have not been inconspicuous. I know Mr. Mosely has tracked the elusive robberbrush. I know the Administration has begun its own investigation, and I know the Barbicans and the Order of Locke know exactly what it is I've done.
"I don't," I reply. "Son, it might be for your own good if you decide to begin keeping your distance." I don't look directly at him. Instead, I peer over the top of his head and at the last remaining ampoule.
He shifts uncomfortably.
"Ms Falterday is threat enough, but add her... homunculus Obdigan Mosely, the Administration, and the Order, and we now have a volatile situation, and I can no longer guarantee your safety." I lean back in my chair and place my hands on the armrests. She is out there now, I can feel her.
The fire crackles.
"Father," he says at last, "you are the reason, if I look back far enough, I can see that it was worth hoping."
I inhale sharply, and place my head in my hand. I allow the emotion to take me, and I cry, briefly, before meeting his eyes.
"You have shown me that we are on the precipice of evolution, that the world, in all its iniquity, can once again reach equilibrium." He moves closer to me, reaches out, and lays a hand on my arm. "I will stay with you."
He is no longer the naive apprentice I took under my wing decades ago. He is no longer the disfigured disappointment to his Order. He is my son, and I love him dearly.
"Son, the road will continue to be difficult, if not even moreso."
"I am ready, Father."
***
Georgina stares at her map, noting the small red marks that have appeared seemingly overnight. She traces the paths with her finger. "Pennsylvania, New York, Illinois, Delaware, South Dakota."
"What's that?" Obdigan's feet were on his desk, and he was eating a sandwich of some sort.
"I'm talking to myself," she says. "There's something going on Obdigan."
He snorts and almost chokes on his bite.
"Seriously," she shoots back. "Haven't you noticed something different? We've vapored to random destinations, our communication lines are taking longer and longer, and I, for one, have developed this strange fog."
He laughs. "Sounds like you're drunk."
"Screw you," she mutters. "I think there's something big about to happen."
"Yeah, well, if it does, let me know." Obdigan shoves the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth, stands, and leaves the office.
Georgina focuses back on her map. "What are you?" she asks, and a rush of air sucks her into a vapor.
***
"Hello, Georgina," I say. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
She stands, and she's much more attractive than I remember. She looks like her mother.
"Who the hell are you?" she asks.
Ever the cautious one, but her hand is on her wand. If it's a duel she wants, she may best me. A dull ache races across my fingers
"I do not wish to engage in a duel." I motion to the setee. "Won't you sit?"
-JR Simmang
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