Chương 82: Chapter 83: Afflictions

"What?" Miriam stepped back, bumping into the bubble of mist.

"Eoin, what are you talking about?" He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"I have a confession. For the last seventy or eighty years I have been an agent of King Cianán. His reach beyond the Inner Rings is formidable, but he can't be everywhere at once. It was at his command that I built the Long Si ships. At his command I broke the Southern Wall - the event that likely tempted Shorinu into its invasion of Innushi. It was at his command that I killed the Duke of Gottern - the crime for which I was imprisoned.

Not a one of them would I have done on my own, and still he left me twisting in the wind, jailed for his orders." He sat down on the edge of a bed frame that poked inside the bubble.

"And now, he commands me to do this." The old disgust that she had, for one moment on the deck of the Líadan, thought there might be a path to overcome came rushing back.

"Gods, Eoin. Just when I think you can't be more revolting. Why would you agree to work for such a monster?" He looked up, confused.

"Agree? You think I agreed to this? The choice - the only choice there ever is with Cianán - was serve or die." Miriam thought of Maitiú, bloated and changed beyond all reckoning - the same man Cianán had compressed into a Drop that was still wrapped snugly in her bag. It had seemed Maitiú had faced the same choice, and taken the same deal.

"Dying would have been a more honorable choice." Eoin snorted.

"Of course it would! But it may surprise you, Miriam, that not everyone is as comfortable with death as you are. I am nearly two thousand years old - I know, I don't look it. So many years of training, of study, research, creation! Success, failures, highs, lows… and I should just throw all that away for the honorable choice? The things I know that not another soul in this entire world knows! Just… gone? Because I was too stupid when a veritable god put his foot on my back and told me to bend a knee?"

Miriam only glared at him.

"What?" Eoin stood up suddenly, his face red.

"I see you judging me. Miriam, the honored matriarch. Noble always of course! Well, as far as I know there is no other world for me to fall into when I leave this one. As far as I've ever seen it might just be nothing. Or even worse. You'll tell me then, in your long life as a human, you never made a choice for your own survival? You always fell on your sword when a sacrifice was required? Always the hero?" Miriam stewed for a moment. Her fury at him was real, and renewed, but in a way he wasn't wrong.

She could think of several times in her life she had made that exact choice. To this day she had never learned if Eve and Daryl had survived her abandoning her post when the Secret Police called her to serve in Marybel. There might have been another path there, where she survived refusing the attack and made it back to Marybel. But she hadn't seen it at the time. Unless she did what she had done and tied her fortunes to House Hallonel, the only path she had seen was death.

"I can't deny that it was so," she said slowly.

"But it doesn't mean I can forgive you this mission you're on. Róise would - she'd forgive Cianán himself if it helped her liberate Shirren. But to stand there and proclaim that once you've checked a few things off your list you're coming for me? Why would I ever let you near me again?"

"Because you can't afford not to." Eoin stood, approaching her in the tiny bubble.

"I don't know how much time you have in the Second Ring. Maybe more than the First? Maybe less. You did amazing things in Cianán's Walk from what I understand - but this Cian fellow was your saving grace. Without his training you would be dead, and nowhere near the Second Ring. Now, we stand here in Teilgcheárta - who will teach you what you need to know while you hunt for some mysterious thing a Sacred Tree told you to get? There is, unfortunately, only me." Miriam scowled.

"After which you will kill me." He nodded.

"After which I will kill you. But you can hope that… maybe I won't? Maybe I'll die on the way to Shirren. Maybe we'll find some loophole in the King's orders. Maybe somehow you'll kill me on that fateful day instead. But allow me to be clear on this. I will not sacrifice my life for yours. Still, working with me is the only chance you've got to make it to the Third Ring." Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Miriam sighed, looking at the floor.

In a way, this choice was no different than his. Accept the help of a scoundrel and a murderer whose knife was aimed for her own back? Someone who had made despicable choices and done even worse things? Or die, faded into nothing in the Second Ring.

"I will let you know my decision tomorrow. Only one more question," she said, suddenly weary.

"Why did you tell me at all? Your job would have been a lot easier if you hadn't." Eoin furrowed his brow.

"I don't know. It's pretty out of character for me. I'm an accomplished liar - a master of illusion and shadow, on top of my other gifts. Maybe…" his eyebrows shot up, as if he hadn't considered this before.

"Maybe it's because against all odds, against every instinct I've had in the last two thousand years… I think I kind of want you to win." ✧✧✧ After Eoin and Róise left to find their way back to the Séarlait dormitories, Sol lay awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. For once, the voices living in his head were agreeing. Eoin Daithi must die! Never did I think I would get a second chance! Solas's voice was shaking with glee. I wouldn't mind taking that smug ass down a few pegs myself, Ultán admitted.

It was his fault I'm in this mess. Threw me right into the maw of this gods-forsaken sea dragon.

"Shut up!" Sol whispered.

"I will not be killing anyone. You're not even real. You're just… ghosts!" Lot of nerve, the boat-turned-boy telling us who's real and who's not, Ultán said. And besides, ghosts are not so powerless as you think, Solas cackled. Suddenly Sol's hand began to jerk in violent spasms before settling down. Ehh, Solas wanted to make a rude gesture! The voice of the Wisp cackled. But it's a start!

"What the hell did you do?" Sol nearly shouted, before looking around frantically to make sure he hadn't woken anyone up. There's not a lot of my Reel in you, Solas admitted. But there is enough. You're a hunk of wood with delusions. I'm the greatest Mind master the First Ring has ever seen! Eh, that's like saying you're the fastest boat in the bathtub, Ultán scoffed, but even he sounded intrigued. I might have to try that myself.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" Sol begged.

"You had your time! Let me have mine!" Ultán's voice grew heavy. Had my time? Had my time? You devoured me, you monster! My time was cut short and you had the gods-damned knife in your teeth! Besides, Solas said. The great King asked us to play a game. You don't get to win unless you play! And Solas intends very much to win! ✧✧✧ The next morning Sol waited patiently in front of the door of the Regent-Elect. According to the work bells, his shift should have already begun, but the door still remained shut.

Suddenly he thought that perhaps he was supposed to go in, not wait for an invitation. What if he were standing out here like a fool with Ferris inside wondering where his assistant had gone. Sol made up his mind and tried to pull at the heavy door nearly twice his height. It swung open soundless and smooth on delightfully balanced hinges. Sol rushed inside, terrified of being late. He wasn't concerned with punishment, but he hated the thought of letting someone down. Especially someone like Ferris! Huh…

was he intimidated by authority figures? What an interesting thing to learn about yourself! Much more interesting than the other things he'd been learning. As Sol entered Ferris's office he stopped short, now certain he had not been intended to just waltz in. Ferris stood before his desk, a tin bucket sitting atop it. His left arm was angled over its threshold, and in his right hand was a brush sporting jagged, metal bristles. Steel, Sol guessed. Slowly but doggedly, he ran the brush over his left arm.

The arm itself was a ruin. His race always had something of rock about them, but this arm looked more like actual stone than any natural Crockern Sol had seen. It was also criss-crossed with rough furrows, scars in rough material. Where the brush ran over it, dust and loose pebbles tumbled into the bucket.

"Next time, please wait outside the door," Ferris said calmly.

"I'm so sorry!" Sol averted his eyes.

"I was worried I was late."

"I am not ashamed of my afflictions," Ferris said with a sigh.

"I hide it only to keep the others from remembering things best left forgotten. Or at least put out of mind."

"Can I ask… what is it?" Sol turned back to look.

"It was a small cost for averting a worse disaster," Ferris said abruptly.

"That's all you need to know. Give me five more minutes and return, then we will review the access requests from the Séarlait contingent." Sol bowed and left back out the great door. He'd seen the patterns of the brush strokes on Ferris's gravelly skin - much deeper and more of them closer to the hand, fewer going up the arm. It was getting worse. He thought perhaps he and Ferris had common ground after all. Both of their afflictions were trying their best to kill them.