[Fic] "The Edge of the Knife" -- original, Firsthome
Summary: Svedanya sin Alar and Tallo Nashialle face a disruption to their attempt at a private life after the Three-Day Revolution. (575 words)
Note: It's been ages, so I doubt anyone remembers, but Svedanya and Tallo are two friends (and later lovers) who live about five hundred years before Ekanu Thousandbirds. They are some of the leading figures in the Three Day Revolution that beheads and topples the Estarin Empire, and end up roped into the first post-imperial government of the Free City of Estara. Suffice it to say that after a period of dictatorial rule, and then a term of democratic service, they attempt to retire from politics. This proves... um... tricky. (Also, by this point they've both gotten better at dealing with their particular magical gifts: Tallo calls lightning and Svedanya can feel the most likely future.)
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The Edge of the Knife
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After Svedanya shut the door on their unexpected 'guests,' she turned to look at Tallo across the public room of their small house. He was still sitting in the armchair with the faded green upholstery, his hands folded neatly over his thighs and a pleasantly neutral expression on his face.
"They won't be back for any last words," she said. "Let go."
Tallo stood, still wearing his politician face, and walked out into the central courtyard. He passed the trio of fruit trees, and the fountain, and stopped on the tile mosaic of Melkyha in battle that somehow managed to make the legendary king and his horse look like a hunchback on a blotchy dog.
Tiny threads of lightning crackled through his fingers, nearly blinding despite the midday sun beating down from the cloudless sky.
"They want me to be a king," he said.
"Or dead," Svedanya pointed out. "They haven't thought that far yet, but they will if you refuse. And if not them, someone else."
The lightning threads grew thicker, crawled upward to lick at Tallo's elbows, snapped outward like striking snakes.
"After everything we gave--"
Svedanya answered without waiting for him to complete the thought: "Since when did you expect anything to be fair? You made yourself a symbol, and symbols are slaves to the people who believe in them. I hoped the city wouldn't fall onto this path, but it did and now we only have three options."
Tallo turned to face her, his empty face carved into shifting shadows by writhing, deadly light. "We rule. We die. Or...?"
"My cousins can get us an unrecorded passage downriver tonight and out from Sinnesta on the morning tide," Svedanya said. "It's easy to vanish into port cities, whatever continent we choose. But I'd pick Yanomy. The Free Countries are unlikely to do Estara or any of the pretender warlords any favors, and I've always been curious about your mother's people."
"That sounds suspiciously like a smuggling operation," Tallo said.
"So it does."
"You told me you'd shut that down."
Svedanya shrugged. "They're family. We're Mockers. I lied."
Tallo sighed. "I don't know why I expected anything else."
The lightning shrank and faded, pulled back beneath his skin until the only sign was the eerie, flickering brightness within his eyes. Svedanya felt the city's soul draw tight as its future wavered, balanced on the knife's edge for which she was named. Tallo wouldn't choose death; there was no gain now from martyrdom. She wouldn't have stayed with him if he were that kind of fool. But to rule, or to disappear... Tallo didn't follow the path of least resistance, didn't roll smooth and easy down the broad slope of the most likely future. She was never quite sure which way his steps would fall, until he made and acted on a choice.
She could manage either life, but the plans required were drastically different and there was so little time to set either fuse alight.
Tallo looked around the courtyard with its gnarled trees, ugly mosaic, peeling plaster walls. He sighed. "I'll miss this house."
Svedanya held her breath.
"How long will it take us to pack?"
The knife dropped, slicing would-be from might-have-been. Estara and thrones and wars faded away like mist and dew, while new lands across the Sea of Shadows grew depth and color. "Not long at all," Svedanya said, and laced her fingers through her lover's burn-streaked hands to pull him close for a kiss.
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Inspired by the 11/23/14
15_minute_ficlets word #213: mutual
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Whee, more original fiction!
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
Note: It's been ages, so I doubt anyone remembers, but Svedanya and Tallo are two friends (and later lovers) who live about five hundred years before Ekanu Thousandbirds. They are some of the leading figures in the Three Day Revolution that beheads and topples the Estarin Empire, and end up roped into the first post-imperial government of the Free City of Estara. Suffice it to say that after a period of dictatorial rule, and then a term of democratic service, they attempt to retire from politics. This proves... um... tricky. (Also, by this point they've both gotten better at dealing with their particular magical gifts: Tallo calls lightning and Svedanya can feel the most likely future.)
---------------------------------------------
The Edge of the Knife
---------------------------------------------
After Svedanya shut the door on their unexpected 'guests,' she turned to look at Tallo across the public room of their small house. He was still sitting in the armchair with the faded green upholstery, his hands folded neatly over his thighs and a pleasantly neutral expression on his face.
"They won't be back for any last words," she said. "Let go."
Tallo stood, still wearing his politician face, and walked out into the central courtyard. He passed the trio of fruit trees, and the fountain, and stopped on the tile mosaic of Melkyha in battle that somehow managed to make the legendary king and his horse look like a hunchback on a blotchy dog.
Tiny threads of lightning crackled through his fingers, nearly blinding despite the midday sun beating down from the cloudless sky.
"They want me to be a king," he said.
"Or dead," Svedanya pointed out. "They haven't thought that far yet, but they will if you refuse. And if not them, someone else."
The lightning threads grew thicker, crawled upward to lick at Tallo's elbows, snapped outward like striking snakes.
"After everything we gave--"
Svedanya answered without waiting for him to complete the thought: "Since when did you expect anything to be fair? You made yourself a symbol, and symbols are slaves to the people who believe in them. I hoped the city wouldn't fall onto this path, but it did and now we only have three options."
Tallo turned to face her, his empty face carved into shifting shadows by writhing, deadly light. "We rule. We die. Or...?"
"My cousins can get us an unrecorded passage downriver tonight and out from Sinnesta on the morning tide," Svedanya said. "It's easy to vanish into port cities, whatever continent we choose. But I'd pick Yanomy. The Free Countries are unlikely to do Estara or any of the pretender warlords any favors, and I've always been curious about your mother's people."
"That sounds suspiciously like a smuggling operation," Tallo said.
"So it does."
"You told me you'd shut that down."
Svedanya shrugged. "They're family. We're Mockers. I lied."
Tallo sighed. "I don't know why I expected anything else."
The lightning shrank and faded, pulled back beneath his skin until the only sign was the eerie, flickering brightness within his eyes. Svedanya felt the city's soul draw tight as its future wavered, balanced on the knife's edge for which she was named. Tallo wouldn't choose death; there was no gain now from martyrdom. She wouldn't have stayed with him if he were that kind of fool. But to rule, or to disappear... Tallo didn't follow the path of least resistance, didn't roll smooth and easy down the broad slope of the most likely future. She was never quite sure which way his steps would fall, until he made and acted on a choice.
She could manage either life, but the plans required were drastically different and there was so little time to set either fuse alight.
Tallo looked around the courtyard with its gnarled trees, ugly mosaic, peeling plaster walls. He sighed. "I'll miss this house."
Svedanya held her breath.
"How long will it take us to pack?"
The knife dropped, slicing would-be from might-have-been. Estara and thrones and wars faded away like mist and dew, while new lands across the Sea of Shadows grew depth and color. "Not long at all," Svedanya said, and laced her fingers through her lover's burn-streaked hands to pull him close for a kiss.
---------------------------------------------
Inspired by the 11/23/14
15_minute_ficlets word #213: mutual
---------------------------------------------
Whee, more original fiction!
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)