(no subject)
It's the first time in a week Rose has had to face the world of White Plains fully conscious; not a gradual sinking back into her own reality, as she had gradually anchored herself in Mid-world (if she had one foot in both worlds, then one of them was in quicksand), but a brutal headfirst dive. At first it's hard.
This world moves fast. Her laptop screen gives her a headache, and it seems like her phone explodes into noise every few seconds. Driving is a short string of heart attacks. At first she can't shake the feeling of alienness in the technology, in the language, in the skylines looming overhead. It's hard to forget how much of life is made up of the banal and trivial. Her walk-in closet, usually a safe and happy place, is downright overwhelming--as Alice daughter of Susannah, she was excited to get a new shirt after two months of steadily wearing the same one, and even then it was only because it got torn when Mordred--
She tries not to think about Mordred. The disorientation makes it easier. And as she slips further into the world wear she was born, the people and the place and the goals of this life take the place of the ones that existed, after all, only in a dream. She's behind in everything--in school, in her training, socially--and it absorbs her quickly enough.
Yet it would be wrong to say she forgets about Mordred. It's just--she doesn't know what to say to him. Doesn't know what to do. When she thinks of what she saw in his mind, she's horrified; her horror is mingled with sadness, even pity, but that doesn't make it easier to face. Just the opposite. And yet she knows she has to.
When enough time has passed--when she feels secure in her own world, again--she goes to sleep with that specific intent in place; that act of will.
***
And yet it's different. She feels flimsy, barely there; she watches Mordred's narrow back a long moment before he raises his head.
"Oh. It's you."
"It's me."
Silence hangs for a moment before he goes on.
"They fought. In Calexico, because we didn't come back."
"Shit."
"Yeah." He's still not looking at her. "Some of them died. The mayor, and Skinner, and some others on both sides. More humans than taheen, I think."
"Were you able to make peace?" She's stalling, she knows, and the truth is she doesn't care--but she asks anyway.
He nods. "They didn't dare to face me."
No. They wouldn't. Not right then. "The taheen wanted the body back. Of the one they hung. And then the Manni closed the portal behind them."
"Well... that's good." She looks around; suspects that time has shifted forward without her. The hills that held Calexico are a blue shadow on the horizon; Mordred's beard is back, scanty but there. His hair is disheveled and matted.
"Where's the cart? And Virgil?"
"Broke an axle," he says shortly. "I turned him loose."
"Maybe he'll make it back to Calexico."
"Maybe." Mordred sounds disinterested. "The Manni leader told me something strange. David son of Wallace."
"What?"
"He said the people in Calexico are dead."
She's stunned. She's not sure why. "Like you?"
"Yar. But they don't remember."
"You remember."
"Yes," he says heavily. "I remember." Silence again, and then: "They were caught between, the Manni said, by the way they died. In the void. The Manni brought them here. It's a fresh world... needs people... young enough to give them a new life."
"Like you," she says again; he doesn't move. "Did you even think about staying in Calexico?"
His reaction tells her that he did; he's angry. (She figured he would either be angry or confused.) "Of course not. I'm bound for the Tower."
"You could have a life there," she says quietly. "A family, maybe. If they need a new leader--"
"I have a life," he says bitterly.
She steels herself. "Not much of one."
"That's not my fault."
He starts to move away from her, and she follows him. "Mordred, we have to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about. You don't love me. Fine."
"I do love you, Mordred! You're my brother! And that's how I--it's wrong, Mordred."
He turns on her, his pale eyes blazing. "I love you."
"But not..." Her voice cracks. "Not the right way. What you want can't happen."
"I want you."
"I know, Mordred. What I'm saying is... you can't have me. Not the way you want. For... so many reasons."
She can see the hurt in his face, and the anger and frustration, but worst of all is the confusion; his life has been so small, the circle of his love so limited, that everything is confused for him. "Go back to Calexico," she says. "Please. It will be good for you."
"Will it--will you come back? If I do?"
She hesitates. "Maybe. We can try?"
"Will it be..." He's about to cry, and God, she doesn't want to see that. "Will it be like before? Not... it doesn't have to be what I want but can it be like before?"
She wants to lie to him. She owes him better, she thinks. "I don't--I don't know. I don't know if it can ever be the same. But it will be better for you."
He turns again; he doesn't want her to see him cry either. "I choose the Tower."
"Mordred--"
"I choose--" he says in a leaden, furious voice, "--the TOWER--"
There's something like a thunderclap, and she finds herself--not awake but on a street corner in Manhattan; staring up at the black glass tower of the Tet Corporation. Back in the same old dream.
She's wearing a long red dress with a slit up the side. It's a fine spring day. She sinks to her knees and weeps, and the people walk around her; but then again, it's New York.
(But when she wakes up, her pillow is dry, and her life--her real life--is waiting for her. Dreams fade, and this time she lets it.)
This world moves fast. Her laptop screen gives her a headache, and it seems like her phone explodes into noise every few seconds. Driving is a short string of heart attacks. At first she can't shake the feeling of alienness in the technology, in the language, in the skylines looming overhead. It's hard to forget how much of life is made up of the banal and trivial. Her walk-in closet, usually a safe and happy place, is downright overwhelming--as Alice daughter of Susannah, she was excited to get a new shirt after two months of steadily wearing the same one, and even then it was only because it got torn when Mordred--
She tries not to think about Mordred. The disorientation makes it easier. And as she slips further into the world wear she was born, the people and the place and the goals of this life take the place of the ones that existed, after all, only in a dream. She's behind in everything--in school, in her training, socially--and it absorbs her quickly enough.
Yet it would be wrong to say she forgets about Mordred. It's just--she doesn't know what to say to him. Doesn't know what to do. When she thinks of what she saw in his mind, she's horrified; her horror is mingled with sadness, even pity, but that doesn't make it easier to face. Just the opposite. And yet she knows she has to.
When enough time has passed--when she feels secure in her own world, again--she goes to sleep with that specific intent in place; that act of will.
***
And yet it's different. She feels flimsy, barely there; she watches Mordred's narrow back a long moment before he raises his head.
"Oh. It's you."
"It's me."
Silence hangs for a moment before he goes on.
"They fought. In Calexico, because we didn't come back."
"Shit."
"Yeah." He's still not looking at her. "Some of them died. The mayor, and Skinner, and some others on both sides. More humans than taheen, I think."
"Were you able to make peace?" She's stalling, she knows, and the truth is she doesn't care--but she asks anyway.
He nods. "They didn't dare to face me."
No. They wouldn't. Not right then. "The taheen wanted the body back. Of the one they hung. And then the Manni closed the portal behind them."
"Well... that's good." She looks around; suspects that time has shifted forward without her. The hills that held Calexico are a blue shadow on the horizon; Mordred's beard is back, scanty but there. His hair is disheveled and matted.
"Where's the cart? And Virgil?"
"Broke an axle," he says shortly. "I turned him loose."
"Maybe he'll make it back to Calexico."
"Maybe." Mordred sounds disinterested. "The Manni leader told me something strange. David son of Wallace."
"What?"
"He said the people in Calexico are dead."
She's stunned. She's not sure why. "Like you?"
"Yar. But they don't remember."
"You remember."
"Yes," he says heavily. "I remember." Silence again, and then: "They were caught between, the Manni said, by the way they died. In the void. The Manni brought them here. It's a fresh world... needs people... young enough to give them a new life."
"Like you," she says again; he doesn't move. "Did you even think about staying in Calexico?"
His reaction tells her that he did; he's angry. (She figured he would either be angry or confused.) "Of course not. I'm bound for the Tower."
"You could have a life there," she says quietly. "A family, maybe. If they need a new leader--"
"I have a life," he says bitterly.
She steels herself. "Not much of one."
"That's not my fault."
He starts to move away from her, and she follows him. "Mordred, we have to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about. You don't love me. Fine."
"I do love you, Mordred! You're my brother! And that's how I--it's wrong, Mordred."
He turns on her, his pale eyes blazing. "I love you."
"But not..." Her voice cracks. "Not the right way. What you want can't happen."
"I want you."
"I know, Mordred. What I'm saying is... you can't have me. Not the way you want. For... so many reasons."
She can see the hurt in his face, and the anger and frustration, but worst of all is the confusion; his life has been so small, the circle of his love so limited, that everything is confused for him. "Go back to Calexico," she says. "Please. It will be good for you."
"Will it--will you come back? If I do?"
She hesitates. "Maybe. We can try?"
"Will it be..." He's about to cry, and God, she doesn't want to see that. "Will it be like before? Not... it doesn't have to be what I want but can it be like before?"
She wants to lie to him. She owes him better, she thinks. "I don't--I don't know. I don't know if it can ever be the same. But it will be better for you."
He turns again; he doesn't want her to see him cry either. "I choose the Tower."
"Mordred--"
"I choose--" he says in a leaden, furious voice, "--the TOWER--"
There's something like a thunderclap, and she finds herself--not awake but on a street corner in Manhattan; staring up at the black glass tower of the Tet Corporation. Back in the same old dream.
She's wearing a long red dress with a slit up the side. It's a fine spring day. She sinks to her knees and weeps, and the people walk around her; but then again, it's New York.
(But when she wakes up, her pillow is dry, and her life--her real life--is waiting for her. Dreams fade, and this time she lets it.)