September 14, 2005 - The Still Point
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
- T.S. Elliot
Connie was back in St. Louis again, back in the place she had run so hard and so long from. The broken pottery was cleaned up from last night, the kitchen bleached and spotless, the towels washed free of blood. But there were still traces there, she could feel it. So much pain, in one little house, a place were so much had happened to her.
Verdandi’s words last night broke her, called back the part of her that she tried so hard to forget that she was, forget that weakness in her that lets her feelings of fear and helplessness take control. It all started when she lets herself dream in the middle of her tea party, let herself slip into Verdandi’s words and put together the pieces of things that most others can not see. She wanted to help Verdandi, never expecting the backlash when the other learned that Connie could know such things, understand the darkness.
It all came back in the face of her rage, the fear, the hopelessness. The fact the she caused the death of someone she loved in a moment of anger that washed over everything else. And Verdandi there, blaming her for what she did.
Connie’s hands trace over the bandage that covered the arm where she had cut herself once before Verdandi stopped it. She needed the pain, needed the sharp realness of her own blood to focus herself back to being what she can be. With that, she pulled back to being the woman again, being the person who could make the hard choices.
Verdandi was gone now, leaving behind only questions. She had acknowledged her responsibility for Henry’s death, buried him beside her parents. That was the least amount of dignity she could grant him, that rest and forgiveness for all the pain she never let herself feel while he was near her. But now she wanted to know the answer to some of the questions. Connie wanted to know why she was given the two edged gift that she caries, her avatar both strong and dangerous. And what better time than now, the day before the moon brings her a week of peace
Nimue was napping upstairs, lost in the place where she didn’t know herself. In the basement, in what was once Dominic’s workroom and the place of all her teaching, Connie prepared to seek the answers within herself, prepared to confront the Ice Queen and learn what she needed to from her. She didn’t know the rituals or magic that would be used to call her otherself into a meeting of the minds, just instinct and guess work. The lines laid out in wax upon the floor with mathematical precision, the symbols and equations written around each candle. She let herself move in a trace, making whatever changes to the floor seemed necessary.
Her hands at last reached for the knife, the smooth bronze blade weighting in her hands. It felt like a promise, like home as she gave herself over completely to what she was meant to be. Connie didn’t feel it at first as she began. She simply saw the drops start to fall, dark crimson lines flowing and being marked out in counterpoint to the wax. The pain came then, burning like fire into her veins, far more than the lines alone would cause. She pressed her hands against the floor as the blood flowed, as the world around her became gray, as she heard both the hiss of the winter wind and the beating of wings against her mind.
Blackness.
It was the cold against her cheek that woke her, the smooth ice under one cheek mirrored by the hand cupping the other. She forced her eyes open, to return the gaze glaring down upon her from the figure kneeling beside her body. Storm clouds flashed in the blue eyes, the lips tight set in anger. The same markings in blood were here too, upon the plain of ice, the creature before her kneeling in the other clear spot among the markings. When it spoke, all the anger of winter was in her words.
“What have you done, Constance.”
Connie dragged herself to a sitting position, keeping her eyes on the other figure. “What you always told me to do. To make my will determine my fate.”
The figure shook it’s head once. “There are things that you are not met to know. I am the one you deal with, mortal child, and it is NOT your place to question me nor to force me to your will.”
“But it is my place to know. I will not be led by you anymore without knowing for what reasons you lead me. I will know you before I submit to you any longer.” With that the girl stretched out one bleeding hand, grasping the wrist of the ice cold figure in a death tight grip. “Now. Show. Me.”
Her world spun once more...
She adjusted her skirts once more, muttering under her breath about how bloody useless these things were on assignment. The man beside her laughed at the expression on her face before leaning across the carriage seats to steal a quick kiss.
“Laugh if you want Edmond, you do not have to wear these dreadful things out in public to be presented as acceptable to the masses. The only decent thing about this fashion is I do believe I can fit a small armory inside these hoops, plus it has enough metal that one could fashion a sword from it in little time.”
“Vivian, you do not need a sword on this assignment, the pistols provided by the Craftmans should proved quite capable of dealing with our little nest of traitors. Besides, if you walk in there as you normally do, carrying that archaic weaponry it might be giving away the game that we do not plan on speaking”
“I pray we do not have to speak with them overlong. Those who would betray the Order of Reason should be dealt with swiftly, lest the plans be upset.” The young woman favored her companion with a teasing smile and the light touch of a hand. “In any matter, I though you enjoyed watching as I worked. Even more so when you and I work together.”
He returns the smile with one of her own. “Of course I do darling. But this is all business tonight. The traitors are here and shall be caught. The teams are arraigned, I simply need an acquaintance to make good my pretence to these gentlemen.” Outside the hoof beats die away and the carriage stops swaying. Without a word he swung himself down and offered a hand for her to alight.
On his arm she entered the small, middle class house in the heart of Devon, following as the butler led them to the parlor. She put on her “working” face and smiles charmingly at everyone as Edmond seated her, took her cup of tea with grace, and settled in to the social niceties that already proceeded real business.
Her vision rippled for a moment, her stomach lurching as she felt the entire room shift ever so slightly in space. Rising to her feet, she looked at Edmond; his unruffled face with that same wicked little smile she loves throwing her into a confusion she did not show. Her hand sketched an enochion ruin hidden by her skirts, and the entire room cam alive, the handful of mages within glowing a sullen red to her sight. Eyes widening the barest fraction of an inch, she reached her mind out to her darling Edmond, trying to warn him that the was a trap. The slow chuckle that produced shut down her links.
Edmond traced a line down her cheek. “You see Beloved, there are many paths to the same goal. I want you at my side as we fulfill them.” He smiled again. “I could not lie to you about there being traitors here, and my darling Vivian, you will be one of them soon enough. Your razor touch is needed here.”
She let a seductive smile creep unto her lips as she took a step closer to him and the door. “Edmond, darling, are you sure we can not speak on this more privately. You already know my feelings for you.” As she moved one had to his waist, she left the ring she had carefully palmed fall to the floor. It erupted in a tower of flames, the light and magic within fettering everyone near by with a powerful burst of mind magic.
With a curse to her dress she ran for the door, refusing to stop short even as she stepped from the parlor into walls of stone. Moving quickly away from the room, she tried to steady herself, tried to thread her way through the stone passages. It seemed like hours as she stealthy worked her way though the corridors, avoiding some of the guards, others dying gasping as she removed the air from their lungs.
She fond herself at last in a large stone chamber, stupid the door in the opposite wall with some attention to detail when a footfall behind her whirled her around. Edmond was there, smoothing out the singed places on his frock coat. “Vivian, darling, are you sure you will not consider trying this peacefully. After all, we have so much to offer you.”
“I would rather die, Edmond, then live as a traitor to the cause of the Precepts.”
At this, he just raised a hand. “Very well.” The blast caught her in mid dodge, throwing her back through the door that suddenly was no longer there. She landed on something soft in a dark room, calling a light to her hand so that she would see around her.
The room was alive. It writhed under her feet, dripping slowly in rivers of blood down the wall. Small noise scattered at the edges of her conscious. She stepped forward cautiously, looking for danger. Then something she had only seen in dreams manifested before her… her genius, the figure of light and vengeance, the force that drove her to build things greater. She took another step forward, her hand reaching out to it. It reached back, suddenly looking for a moment as if it were in great pain, the light cooling.
Vivian’s eyes when wide as she muttered the most un-ladylike of curses. Mentally blessing the craftsman who made her take this weapon, she raised the pistol to the back of her temple. There was only pain for a moment, the shot was clean.
Blackness.
She awoke, on the floor of the basement, dizzy from the loss of blood. With practiced hands she bandages her arms, tying tightly so the blood would stanch. The vision was strong in her, something she didn’t understand yet, but would soon. Of death and redemption, of love and betrayal.
Connie looked at the mess on the floor, then at the stack of towels that she had just finished cleaning a bleaching. With a sigh, she started to scrub the floor again, cursing the fact that it would be the second time in two days she had to take care of a mess like that.
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
- T.S. Elliot
Connie was back in St. Louis again, back in the place she had run so hard and so long from. The broken pottery was cleaned up from last night, the kitchen bleached and spotless, the towels washed free of blood. But there were still traces there, she could feel it. So much pain, in one little house, a place were so much had happened to her.
Verdandi’s words last night broke her, called back the part of her that she tried so hard to forget that she was, forget that weakness in her that lets her feelings of fear and helplessness take control. It all started when she lets herself dream in the middle of her tea party, let herself slip into Verdandi’s words and put together the pieces of things that most others can not see. She wanted to help Verdandi, never expecting the backlash when the other learned that Connie could know such things, understand the darkness.
It all came back in the face of her rage, the fear, the hopelessness. The fact the she caused the death of someone she loved in a moment of anger that washed over everything else. And Verdandi there, blaming her for what she did.
Connie’s hands trace over the bandage that covered the arm where she had cut herself once before Verdandi stopped it. She needed the pain, needed the sharp realness of her own blood to focus herself back to being what she can be. With that, she pulled back to being the woman again, being the person who could make the hard choices.
Verdandi was gone now, leaving behind only questions. She had acknowledged her responsibility for Henry’s death, buried him beside her parents. That was the least amount of dignity she could grant him, that rest and forgiveness for all the pain she never let herself feel while he was near her. But now she wanted to know the answer to some of the questions. Connie wanted to know why she was given the two edged gift that she caries, her avatar both strong and dangerous. And what better time than now, the day before the moon brings her a week of peace
Nimue was napping upstairs, lost in the place where she didn’t know herself. In the basement, in what was once Dominic’s workroom and the place of all her teaching, Connie prepared to seek the answers within herself, prepared to confront the Ice Queen and learn what she needed to from her. She didn’t know the rituals or magic that would be used to call her otherself into a meeting of the minds, just instinct and guess work. The lines laid out in wax upon the floor with mathematical precision, the symbols and equations written around each candle. She let herself move in a trace, making whatever changes to the floor seemed necessary.
Her hands at last reached for the knife, the smooth bronze blade weighting in her hands. It felt like a promise, like home as she gave herself over completely to what she was meant to be. Connie didn’t feel it at first as she began. She simply saw the drops start to fall, dark crimson lines flowing and being marked out in counterpoint to the wax. The pain came then, burning like fire into her veins, far more than the lines alone would cause. She pressed her hands against the floor as the blood flowed, as the world around her became gray, as she heard both the hiss of the winter wind and the beating of wings against her mind.
Blackness.
It was the cold against her cheek that woke her, the smooth ice under one cheek mirrored by the hand cupping the other. She forced her eyes open, to return the gaze glaring down upon her from the figure kneeling beside her body. Storm clouds flashed in the blue eyes, the lips tight set in anger. The same markings in blood were here too, upon the plain of ice, the creature before her kneeling in the other clear spot among the markings. When it spoke, all the anger of winter was in her words.
“What have you done, Constance.”
Connie dragged herself to a sitting position, keeping her eyes on the other figure. “What you always told me to do. To make my will determine my fate.”
The figure shook it’s head once. “There are things that you are not met to know. I am the one you deal with, mortal child, and it is NOT your place to question me nor to force me to your will.”
“But it is my place to know. I will not be led by you anymore without knowing for what reasons you lead me. I will know you before I submit to you any longer.” With that the girl stretched out one bleeding hand, grasping the wrist of the ice cold figure in a death tight grip. “Now. Show. Me.”
Her world spun once more...
She adjusted her skirts once more, muttering under her breath about how bloody useless these things were on assignment. The man beside her laughed at the expression on her face before leaning across the carriage seats to steal a quick kiss.
“Laugh if you want Edmond, you do not have to wear these dreadful things out in public to be presented as acceptable to the masses. The only decent thing about this fashion is I do believe I can fit a small armory inside these hoops, plus it has enough metal that one could fashion a sword from it in little time.”
“Vivian, you do not need a sword on this assignment, the pistols provided by the Craftmans should proved quite capable of dealing with our little nest of traitors. Besides, if you walk in there as you normally do, carrying that archaic weaponry it might be giving away the game that we do not plan on speaking”
“I pray we do not have to speak with them overlong. Those who would betray the Order of Reason should be dealt with swiftly, lest the plans be upset.” The young woman favored her companion with a teasing smile and the light touch of a hand. “In any matter, I though you enjoyed watching as I worked. Even more so when you and I work together.”
He returns the smile with one of her own. “Of course I do darling. But this is all business tonight. The traitors are here and shall be caught. The teams are arraigned, I simply need an acquaintance to make good my pretence to these gentlemen.” Outside the hoof beats die away and the carriage stops swaying. Without a word he swung himself down and offered a hand for her to alight.
On his arm she entered the small, middle class house in the heart of Devon, following as the butler led them to the parlor. She put on her “working” face and smiles charmingly at everyone as Edmond seated her, took her cup of tea with grace, and settled in to the social niceties that already proceeded real business.
Her vision rippled for a moment, her stomach lurching as she felt the entire room shift ever so slightly in space. Rising to her feet, she looked at Edmond; his unruffled face with that same wicked little smile she loves throwing her into a confusion she did not show. Her hand sketched an enochion ruin hidden by her skirts, and the entire room cam alive, the handful of mages within glowing a sullen red to her sight. Eyes widening the barest fraction of an inch, she reached her mind out to her darling Edmond, trying to warn him that the was a trap. The slow chuckle that produced shut down her links.
Edmond traced a line down her cheek. “You see Beloved, there are many paths to the same goal. I want you at my side as we fulfill them.” He smiled again. “I could not lie to you about there being traitors here, and my darling Vivian, you will be one of them soon enough. Your razor touch is needed here.”
She let a seductive smile creep unto her lips as she took a step closer to him and the door. “Edmond, darling, are you sure we can not speak on this more privately. You already know my feelings for you.” As she moved one had to his waist, she left the ring she had carefully palmed fall to the floor. It erupted in a tower of flames, the light and magic within fettering everyone near by with a powerful burst of mind magic.
With a curse to her dress she ran for the door, refusing to stop short even as she stepped from the parlor into walls of stone. Moving quickly away from the room, she tried to steady herself, tried to thread her way through the stone passages. It seemed like hours as she stealthy worked her way though the corridors, avoiding some of the guards, others dying gasping as she removed the air from their lungs.
She fond herself at last in a large stone chamber, stupid the door in the opposite wall with some attention to detail when a footfall behind her whirled her around. Edmond was there, smoothing out the singed places on his frock coat. “Vivian, darling, are you sure you will not consider trying this peacefully. After all, we have so much to offer you.”
“I would rather die, Edmond, then live as a traitor to the cause of the Precepts.”
At this, he just raised a hand. “Very well.” The blast caught her in mid dodge, throwing her back through the door that suddenly was no longer there. She landed on something soft in a dark room, calling a light to her hand so that she would see around her.
The room was alive. It writhed under her feet, dripping slowly in rivers of blood down the wall. Small noise scattered at the edges of her conscious. She stepped forward cautiously, looking for danger. Then something she had only seen in dreams manifested before her… her genius, the figure of light and vengeance, the force that drove her to build things greater. She took another step forward, her hand reaching out to it. It reached back, suddenly looking for a moment as if it were in great pain, the light cooling.
Vivian’s eyes when wide as she muttered the most un-ladylike of curses. Mentally blessing the craftsman who made her take this weapon, she raised the pistol to the back of her temple. There was only pain for a moment, the shot was clean.
Blackness.
She awoke, on the floor of the basement, dizzy from the loss of blood. With practiced hands she bandages her arms, tying tightly so the blood would stanch. The vision was strong in her, something she didn’t understand yet, but would soon. Of death and redemption, of love and betrayal.
Connie looked at the mess on the floor, then at the stack of towels that she had just finished cleaning a bleaching. With a sigh, she started to scrub the floor again, cursing the fact that it would be the second time in two days she had to take care of a mess like that.