It's an hour since they last spoke. The sun is sinking into a pink sky, now, latticed by leafless trees and spreading a blood-red trail across the lake
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"Giles wasn't two hours dead when we were attacked. We rose up, and killed them all." Grim satisfaction. Dreams, More subdued, "But Des fell -- Desmond Blackburn, he the last other of our ka-tel. He took an arrow to the throat. We made for the nearest shelter -- it was coming on nightfall. Camped on a ridge. It was there we buried him. By then, we'd no time for proper graves, and the ground was a stone-heap anyro'. A cairn was all we could spare him, and that more than some got." Dreams go on, He breathes in, and out, and glances around the circle. Quietly, "We shared khef that night." Out of the dead on their backs, They know what that means, Susannah and Eddie and Susan. O Discordia, they know it well. Ka-shume. The imminent breaking of the tet. Broken and no use any more: "We sang. We were brothers." Dreams of the way and the end go on. There's a hotness behind his eyes.
He swallows. "We knew DeMullet had to be warned. It was more than a day before we could get out, though. We were pinned down."
He's looking at the blanket again. Leaning one shoulder against Cuthbert's.
"Jamie was killed." Low. "A sniper. Instant." This is the dead land He's remembering Jamie DeCurry. Remembering him alive -- laughing, solemn, brown-haired and freckled, and always just a little hesitant around his three friends who were so shaped by a summer he hadn't been part of. Remembering his death. This is cactus land Remembering that sick, awful lurch as something that was whole for nearly twenty years suddenly shattered into fragments. Here the stone images And he knows where this story is going next, he knows, and he doesn't want to have to say it, not in front of Cuthbert. He can't put that on Bert. Are raised, here they receive But this tale is started and promised and it's surgery every bit as brutal as Susannah's, and they can't halt it now. He'll... deal with that part when he comes to it. The supplication of a dead man's hand Somehow. Under the twinkle of a fading star. And so, in a little while, he picks up the thread of it again.
Cuthbert isn't leaning against him any more. He's pulled away, hunched in on himself, silent and pale, and he's not meeting anyone's eyes. Certainly not Alain's.
"I rode for DeMullet. To warn them, and for reinforcements. The others made for Jericho Hill itself." Mama, put my guns in the ground "I found a slaughter. We were too late." His voice is slowing, and increasingly he's talking to the ground and the empty air again, rather than quite look at anyone. "Grissom's hordes ambushed them at Rimrocks. Not a one left alive." I can't shoot them any more "So I rode back." That long black cloud is coming down And here the words stop in his throat, and he hesitates. Feels like I'm knocking on heaven's door He's told this to Susan. He could tell it to Eddie, or to Susannah, but... how the hell can he tell it in front of Cuthbert? How did he even get this far towards it?
Gloss it over, he thinks, and it's unfair and not in the spirit of this palaver, and a cheat after what Susannah bared to them, but in this moment he doesn't care.
He doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want anyone else to hear it.
And he doesn't want--doesn't--
--Doesn't want Alain to have to tell the tale of his own death.
"We shot him."
Barely more than a whisper, but the sound carries in the silence that falls over the small group.
"Roland and I. Heard the rider coming and--and it was dark and we didn't know how close the enemy was and we should have called out, should have held off 'til we could see, should've--something--but--but we just drew without thinking, and--and we shot him."
He doesn't realize he's going to say any of it until it's out. For a moment, he's absolutely still--and then his face twists, just before he brings his hands up to cover it.
There's no thought, no hesitation -- just his hands rising, his arms going around Cuthbert and pulling him into a tight embrace even as Cuthbert hides his face.
"And I didn't call out, nor give sign nor mind-touch," he says, low and fierce. "We were all on edge, and none's to blame but ka."
He's looking only at Cuthbert, at his bent neck and the brown tangle of his hair, and his jaw is set as if daring anyone -- including Cuthbert -- to disagree.
She keeps thinking she must have heard wrong, and she knows she didn't.
Grim silence reigns in the halls of her mind; none of them want to be the first to speak.
Just so here, on the outside.
It's Odetta who breaks the silence first, internal and external, with cold hard good sense. "Of course not, and none of us would ever think otherwise."
And then, in quite a different voice, "We love thee, dear. It's--all right."
"Oh, my dear." It's a soft murmur, as she embraces him from the other side-- one hand resting on Alain's shoulder in quiet support, as well.
(we're not supposed to make mistakes like that)
She'd known already-- Alain had told her, and she'd admitted it to 'Bert, eventually.
"My very dear-- both of thee," Susan adds. Roland as well, but he's not the one facing this now. "Ka like a wind, and vicious cruel-- but naught else."
It's their understanding and their love that undoes him. He goes limp against Alain, harsh, choked sobs tearing out of him.
And gradually, as he cries, something in him eases.
It's not quite accepting it, or forgiving himself. But...he can say it, can talk about it, and even if it doesn't make it better, it doesn't make it worse.
But he leans against Alain and cries for a while, anyway. For both of them, for Jamie and Des and for Roland who went on alone, for Gilead and their whole world.
And then, finally, he looks up, head against Alain's shoulder, and draws in a shaky breath.
Dreams,
More subdued, "But Des fell -- Desmond Blackburn, he the last other of our ka-tel. He took an arrow to the throat. We made for the nearest shelter -- it was coming on nightfall. Camped on a ridge. It was there we buried him. By then, we'd no time for proper graves, and the ground was a stone-heap anyro'. A cairn was all we could spare him, and that more than some got."
Dreams go on,
He breathes in, and out, and glances around the circle. Quietly, "We shared khef that night."
Out of the dead on their backs,
They know what that means, Susannah and Eddie and Susan. O Discordia, they know it well. Ka-shume. The imminent breaking of the tet.
Broken and no use any more:
"We sang. We were brothers."
Dreams of the way and the end go on.
There's a hotness behind his eyes.
He swallows. "We knew DeMullet had to be warned. It was more than a day before we could get out, though. We were pinned down."
He's looking at the blanket again. Leaning one shoulder against Cuthbert's.
"Jamie was killed." Low. "A sniper. Instant."
This is the dead land
He's remembering Jamie DeCurry. Remembering him alive -- laughing, solemn, brown-haired and freckled, and always just a little hesitant around his three friends who were so shaped by a summer he hadn't been part of. Remembering his death.
This is cactus land
Remembering that sick, awful lurch as something that was whole for nearly twenty years suddenly shattered into fragments.
Here the stone images
And he knows where this story is going next, he knows, and he doesn't want to have to say it, not in front of Cuthbert. He can't put that on Bert.
Are raised, here they receive
But this tale is started and promised and it's surgery every bit as brutal as Susannah's, and they can't halt it now. He'll... deal with that part when he comes to it.
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Somehow.
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
And so, in a little while, he picks up the thread of it again.
Cuthbert isn't leaning against him any more. He's pulled away, hunched in on himself, silent and pale, and he's not meeting anyone's eyes. Certainly not Alain's.
"I rode for DeMullet. To warn them, and for reinforcements. The others made for Jericho Hill itself."
Mama, put my guns in the ground
"I found a slaughter. We were too late." His voice is slowing, and increasingly he's talking to the ground and the empty air again, rather than quite look at anyone. "Grissom's hordes ambushed them at Rimrocks. Not a one left alive."
I can't shoot them any more
"So I rode back."
That long black cloud is coming down
And here the words stop in his throat, and he hesitates.
Feels like I'm knocking on heaven's door
He's told this to Susan. He could tell it to Eddie, or to Susannah, but... how the hell can he tell it in front of Cuthbert? How did he even get this far towards it?
Gloss it over, he thinks, and it's unfair and not in the spirit of this palaver, and a cheat after what Susannah bared to them, but in this moment he doesn't care.
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He doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want anyone else to hear it.
And he doesn't want--doesn't--
--Doesn't want Alain to have to tell the tale of his own death.
"We shot him."
Barely more than a whisper, but the sound carries in the silence that falls over the small group.
"Roland and I. Heard the rider coming and--and it was dark and we didn't know how close the enemy was and we should have called out, should have held off 'til we could see, should've--something--but--but we just drew without thinking, and--and we shot him."
He doesn't realize he's going to say any of it until it's out. For a moment, he's absolutely still--and then his face twists, just before he brings his hands up to cover it.
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"And I didn't call out, nor give sign nor mind-touch," he says, low and fierce. "We were all on edge, and none's to blame but ka."
He's looking only at Cuthbert, at his bent neck and the brown tangle of his hair, and his jaw is set as if daring anyone -- including Cuthbert -- to disagree.
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It makes sense out of so many things.
She keeps thinking she must have heard wrong, and she knows she didn't.
Grim silence reigns in the halls of her mind; none of them want to be the first to speak.
Just so here, on the outside.
It's Odetta who breaks the silence first, internal and external, with cold hard good sense. "Of course not, and none of us would ever think otherwise."
And then, in quite a different voice, "We love thee, dear. It's--all right."
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He knew. And maybe he could've gone a long time without seeing that haunted look on Cuthbert's face. Seeing it on Roland's had been enough.
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(we're not supposed to make mistakes like that)
She'd known already-- Alain had told her, and she'd admitted it to 'Bert, eventually.
"My very dear-- both of thee," Susan adds. Roland as well, but he's not the one facing this now. "Ka like a wind, and vicious cruel-- but naught else."
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And gradually, as he cries, something in him eases.
It's not quite accepting it, or forgiving himself. But...he can say it, can talk about it, and even if it doesn't make it better, it doesn't make it worse.
But he leans against Alain and cries for a while, anyway. For both of them, for Jamie and Des and for Roland who went on alone, for Gilead and their whole world.
And then, finally, he looks up, head against Alain's shoulder, and draws in a shaky breath.
"Never told that part before. To anyone."
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It sounds a little stilted; a little formal. She means it to.
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Even when Susannah speaks, and he looks up; he's not crying any more, but he doesn't let go.
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