thewidewideworld | (no subject)

He glances around and nods.

"It should suit very well. No call for this work to be done standing."

Sinric slips off his soft felt shoes by the door, leaving them neatly before crossing to a bench.

He sits, his feet tucked under him and waits instruction.

Childermass sits on the other bench.

"Tell me, first, how this came to be."

"I have been able to perform small charms for some years. Nothing of great power. Mostly I learned from people here, who come from worlds magic is more common."

"But in my own world, such things are rare in the East, taboo in the West but in the North, is accepted and revered."

"I was traveling north when my path was met by a group of vǫlva, witches of the northmen. My coming was foretold to them, as was that they would teach me their ways."

"I was eager and glad to learn, although I saw early that my own gifts outstripped theirs greatly. But of that I did not speak. They had been scorned in their own lands and driven out so I wished to so only respect."

Childermass listens.

"So it was these witches who awakened the gift of foresight in you? I have rarely heard of it happening so late in life."

Meaning, not in childhood.

He nods. "They intended that the ritual would show me the path of their return to their homelands. A single thread that could be followed. One of their number has the seer's gift, however slightly so. It was what she believed I would see."

"But you saw far more widely than they expected. And perhaps not the thing they hoped for at all."

Sinric's voice catches. "Far, far more. More than I believe they knew was possible." He lowers his eyes. "And more, I fear, than I can bear."

He shakes his head. "No, not that. I saw the lies and half truths they had told me. The acts of cruelty in their wake. They wanted to make a blade of me, to turn on their enemies."

"You bore the first shock", Childermass says briskly, "and have come through with your sanity intact. That is more than others have before you. What will you do, when you return?"

Edited 2016-11-22 14:16 (UTC)

"There were times I feared I had come untethered. But I was right to seek this place and the people I trust most dear. I found myself in their eyes."

He looks down again. "I do not know. I won't return until I have regained the strength of my body. I gained much in learning in the cave, but it has cost me dearly in health."

He nods.

"From what you have said, when you are back to your full strength, they could not do you harm now if they tried. Now, to begin, be sure you are comfortable as you must be still for a time."

"I don't want to harm them. But I won't hurt anyone for them. Nor will I let them enslave me." He answers passionately.

He settles, making himself comfortable and nods.

"No more you should." He settles himself to his own satisfaction as well. "The first step is to make your mind empty of all thoughts, so far as you can."

He nods and centres himself, remembering the breathing rhythms Hannibal taught him.

It isn't easy, just when he feels he is clearing his mind, images and feelings surface.

"Brick by brick", Childermass continues calmly, "make a wall between your own self and the Pattern. Do not hurry, and do not fear if it starts to fail. It can be rebuilt."

Sinric nods, biting his lip as his eyes half close.

He envisions as Childermass instructs, building a wall about himself. Twice it crumbles, the visions of Athelstan and Ragnar's deaths pressing in on him.

Childermass doesn't move, even as he watches Sinric's expression.

"Remember, what you see may yet be changed. As clear as it may seem."

"No." He answers a little forcefully. "I saw alternative threads, saw the other paths. But I know which are and which will not be. I learnt young that history cannot be changed. I have seen the wounds in the tapestry where men have tried."

"The alternative threads belong to other worlds, perhaps", he allows. "But there is the question of when the future becomes history, set in stone."

Sinric doesn't answer but dips his eyes in a small nod. He disagrees and must do so. If he doubts that, it will put in doubt the he couldn't save Constantine. And that would tears him apart at the seams.

He closes his eyes and begins again, trying to build the wall stronger.

"Good", Childermass encourages. "Do not expect it to be done in a day, or to stand forever if it is."

"How do you build it again, when it falls, when I weaken?" He asks with a smudge of self pity.

"You pick yourself up", he says bluntly, not indulging that self-pity, "and you start again. Brick by brick."

He lowers his eyes in submission at the rebuke and tries again.

His walls are not as strong as they need to be and he sighs with frustration.

"You expect too much. You've not been trying for an hour yet." There's no impatience in Childermass' voice. He's started this and he'll see it through. "You are not in immediate danger, so do not rush."