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Fourth Point of Order
Avery could have kicked herself. A few times, in fact.
Missing the whole deal with the bringer of titillating dreams, it meant she wasn’t quite on the same page with the others. They’d sorted out the Law stuff, and she felt a bit useless here. The whole idea with her leaving was that she’d be out there, helping, but also paying attention, contributing. This was her not catching something that should’ve been obvious, with consequences.
And then the whole Path deal. She wasn’t sure if the Paths were kind of kicking her ass lately because she was off her game or because she’d slipped up and let Sheridan see her on camera and there was backlash from Sheridan and Rowan being made Aware, but it really sucked.
Doing the high-five-into-hand-hold with Verona, not treating this seriously. It had been Avery reaching out, doing something that, if she thought about it for five seconds, was something only Julette and her would get, and that was Verona, not Julette.
Either way, not paying attention enough because she was off her game, or not paying attention with protecting her family and more consequences and pain in the ass stuff as a result.
Snowdrop came up to her, and Avery leaned onto the incoming head-bonk, as Snowdrop banged forehead into Avery’s shoulder, before hugging Avery from the side.
Good familiar, Avery thought. She didn’t want to compare Snowdrop to a dog, but like… that was the kind of emotional backup she figured dogs were best at.
She made herself pay more careful attention.
“Next point of order?” the regional spirit asked.
Lucy stepped forward. So did one of the Alabaster’s people, a boy at least four years younger than Avery or Lucy. Maybe five or six years younger. He had long-ish hair, and very serious eyes.
“Really?” Lucy asked.
The boy looked back over his shoulder at the Alabaster, then looked at Lucy and nodded.
“For our fourth point of order, she’s calcified,” Lucy said.
“Explain,” the regional spirit said.
“I have to get into some side stuff to explain just what we believe has gone wrong. With your permission?”
The spirit nodded.
“The Alabaster as a role and the Alabaster as a throne have certain things in their area of responsibility. We’ve brought up a few duties about care and upkeep, but they also stand in for incarnations, when there isn’t a dominant one to manage things in the area. So if there’s a wrinkle in the cycle of the natural order, the Alabaster may step in. If there’s a wrinkle in the process of death and dying, some Other mucking with things on a big scale, and there’s no Death, no grim reaper, sorting it all out, then higher powers like her are tasked with managing that. That’s tied into what they get as far as power goes.”
They’d had a whole talk about the Alabaster and parallels.
“Incarnations of major, inviolable concepts run into an issue where they calcify. They get so set in their ways and routines, they start missing wrinkles and issues. They become mechanical, they stop handling things they should handle. They slow down. They work less. So… that’s when they reach out, they find a vessel, absorb a person. That person gets a lot of freedom to interpret their duties, maybe fix a problem in their old life. A soldier becomes the new War, gets to spend a good chunk of the power they’re given to save their hometown as part of the deal for assuming a huge responsibility, maybe gets to emphasize certain duties over others, then settles into the role for a good few decades, maybe a century or two, before they start calcifying too.”
Avery didn’t want to look over her shoulder at Guilherme, who had their backs here, but she couldn’t help but think about him becoming a member of the Winter court.
“The reason I brought that up is that it’s happening here,” Lucy said. “She’s been Alabaster for a ridiculously long time – since before Canada was colonized?”
“Yes,” the child Lucy was arguing with said. “Since before anyone came.”
“As a standalone creature, that’s one thing, that’s fine, but as a force with this much input over people, our practice, Others? When she can apparently take the power she’s meant to use to stabilize, and instead use it to help the Carmine de-stabilize? Take what’s meant to heal-”
The regional spirit looked away as she drank her coffee.
Bored? Avery thought.
“-and ruin? That’s huge. It’s playing into all of the other issues. She has various things in her scope of things she covers, and I can- I would break down how each is calcified, but I want to respect your time.”
Respecting the spirit’s time wasn’t part of the plan. They’d hoped to nail the Alabaster on a lack of mercy, healing, shelter, and other things.
“Pick one,” the regional spirit said. “We will move on to others if I can’t come to a clear verdict here.”
Lucy paused, eyebrows drawing together. “The Alabaster is meant to have sacrifice as a big part of what she covers in her duties, in a very different way than the Carmine does. But in her calcification, in how careful she’s being about not being drained, in being all about sacrifice when, as far as we’ve been able to run down, it looks like it’s been decades or centuries since she really truly spent anything worth spending. How can you arbitrate sacrifice when you don’t sacrifice anything? Except, I guess, the people who came to her for help? They’re on the chopping block, apparently.”
Lucy indicated the little boy in front of her.
“A shake-up is needed, if only to have better eyes on really important things,” Lucy finished.
“Response?”
“I’m not sure I understood all that, but I think it’s weird to say she’s- what’s the word?”
“Calcified. Stuck, hardened,” the regional spirit replied.
“Stuck. When you’re also saying she’s doing something new, by working with the Carmine Exile.”
Lucy replied, “Her being stuck is why she’s working with the Carmine Exile, and are you admitting-”
“Let him finish.”
Lucy sighed.
“On the point of sacrifice?” the regional spirit asked.
“Uhh. I think her existence is a sacrifice. She does what she does and it’s all she really does. She looks after us. She saved us. She helps others.”
Lucy looked a little frustrated.
“And the calcification?” the regional spirit asked.
“Getting stuck?” the kid asked. “I don’t see why it matters. Isn’t it better to have someone who knows how to do the job?”
Lucy raised a hand.
“Let me look into this first. I’ll get back to you, either to move to the next point or hear your argument.”
Lucy nodded, retreating to where Verona and Avery stood, while the Alabaster gave the spirit access to the necessary elements.
“You seem bothered,” Avery said.
“I don’t like that a lot of the evidence is happening with the Alabaster showing it. How do we know how that evidence is being edited? What clips are being shown? Is it a full picture? A biased one?”
“Lucy the movie buff,” Verona murmured.
“Feels kind of ridiculous I can make an argument, and she sends out this cute little kid in a toga to be all herp derp, I don’t understand, I’m so adorable, but the ancient arbiter of justice is really trying, you guys, basically.”
“Guilherme?” Avery asked.
“Avery Kelly,” he replied. He’d barely budged since settling into a sitting position.
“Are we doing okay?” Avery asked.
“As someone I’ve given gifts and lessons to, I’d hope you’d be able to say whether or not you’re doing alright without my input.”
“Technically, I haven’t really been around for lessons,” Avery said.
“But you’ve been around, and I would hope you take away lessons from any interaction.”
“Does that mean if Cherrypop showed up, you’d count her as a student too?” Verona asked.
“Guys, just roll with it,” Lucy said.
“I would question Cherrypop’s ability to learn a given lesson,” Guilherme said. “No, I taught things to each of you, and each of you were taught things relevant to this conversation. I hope you’d be able to take from those lessons to better understand this situation.”
“If I say we’re doing badly, and I’m wrong, then that’s going to gainsay me,” Avery said.
“If you say you’re doing well and you’re right, then you succeed, and garner an advantage.”
“Does that mean we’re doing well?” Verona asked.
Guilherme shifted position, looking like he was going to sigh, but it was a prelude to a sigh without the actual sigh itself. Like Verona’s statement wasn’t even worth the emotional reaction.
“Is she being manipulative? Sending the kid out?” Lucy asked.
Guilherme gave her a look, like ‘what did I just say?’
“She is.”
“Yes,” Guilherme confirmed. “Now that you know that, what do you also know?”
“I don’t know how she prepped them that well,” Lucy replied.
“Answer my question,” Guilherme said.
“A manipulation is a weakness.”
“That doesn’t sound like something a Fae would say,” Verona remarked.
“Turn it around. If you can’t identify it as a manipulation, you can’t identify it as a weakness.”
“So really, it’s bad manipulations are weaknesses?”
“Or feints, or distractions,” Lucy said. “Which may be the ideal time for a goblin fart bomb.”
“You’re better than that,” Guilherme told her.
“Oh I know,” Lucy replied. “I’ve got some Dog of War stuff too, and shamanism, some magic items.”
Guilherme did that not-a-sigh sigh thing again.
The Alabaster was still giving the regional spirit all of the info.
“Feels cheap, that she uses a cute kid to undercut my argument, still.”
“Any way to get back at her for that?” Avery asked. “Turn the manipulation into a weakness?”
“That is the question to be asking,” Guilherme said.
Felt good, getting that backup, when she was feeling a bit punk.
“Yeah. I think so. I don’t want to say in case the Alabaster’s listening.”
Avery looked. The Alabaster didn’t turn her head or glance at them, where it felt like Charles might, in a similar situation. But he’d been human half a year ago. Avery wasn’t sure the Alabaster had ever been human.
“Big question for me is how are these people that well informed?” Verona asked. “Feels like they’re mouthpieces. Did she figure out what we’re going to say?”
“You give away a great deal,” Guilherme said. “And she is old and has spent much of her existence watching people.”
Avery looked at the Alabaster, and, fuzzing her eyes a bit, it sure felt like she could imagine the Wolf standing there instead. Old. With uncanny knowledge about Avery, about her friends, her life.
She wasn’t sure why the Wolf was haunting her like this, so recently. It was like… being at home or near home, she felt grounded, real life and things she knew just in arm’s reach. But on the Paths, things were exciting, interesting, and full of potential, chances to grow, chances to meet people, chances to gain power.
This felt like the worst of both worlds. Being kind of mired, but not close to home either. Very little was familiar.
The light shining into the regional spirit’s eyes faded. People shifted position, looking. Lucy stepped away from their group, approaching the middle of the clearing.
“Your arguments, Lucy?” the spirit asked.
Does that mean what you saw wasn’t decisive? Avery wondered.
It was too easy to read too much into every little detail.
“About the sacrifice point. I don’t buy it. She’s not doing anything that others aren’t doing. Hell, Alpeana, the nightmare who resides in Kennet when she’s not working? She has just as much responsibility, if not more, she gets less for it. When I talk about the Alabaster and sacrifice, I’m talking about something core to Alabasters, not things that are common to all judges. It’d be like if the Sable shirked all his responsibilities about death, or passages.”
“Can you name an instance where her duties were shirked?”
“I can name three. I could get more if you gave me time.”
“Name one.”
“Ave?” Lucy asked.
Avery cleared her throat, standing a little taller. “The sacrificial goat. Not only was it turned against people by a Judge meant to act as a background, backup role unless specifically called on by his duties, he had the initiative to create things like it because she was giving him power, and then its use was permitted by the Alabaster, who had duties to handle that sort of thing, that could get out of control or have collateral damage.”
“This isn’t just a metaphorical firefighter giving gas to the arsonist. This is the firefighter giving gas to the arsonist and then not doing her fucking job at handling the fire,” Lucy said.
“Response?” the spirit asked.
The kid looked up, frowned, then said, “Was there a fire? With this goat?”
Avery gave the reply, saying, “A council of practitioners is playing a not-fun game of hot potato with the goat, trying not to let it be accidentally sacrificed. The burden was placed on Thunder Bay.”
“So there’s been no fire for her to put out?” the boy asked.
Lucy was the one to reply, and she sounded a bit angry as she said, “There’s more to being a firefighter than putting out the fires. Something something prevention worth more than a cure. It’s irresponsible to put the entirety of the work on a council prone to infighting, where one greedy person deciding to use the goat could cause catastrophic damage.”
Lucy was probably annoyed at having to debate with a kid.
“But there’s no fire, it’s handled?”
“There’s no fire, I’d hesitate to call it handled.”
“How long has it been there, without any issues?”
“Too long,” Lucy replied. She turned to look at the Alabaster and the regional spirit. “She hasn’t handled it. What she’s doing, letting Charles do what he wants, playing it safe, saving up power, not spending anything, not sacrificing, not doing anything more than the bare minimum, that’s what she’s calcified into. And disasters are happening. The region is suffering.”
“One of the very first things we learned about practice,” Avery muttered.
“What’s that?” the regional spirit asked.
Avery looked up. She drew in a deep breath. “It’s one of the first things we learned about practice. When our diagram for the awakening ritual was being drawn, it was explained to us. That there has to be balance. If you have…”
She swung her bag around to get inside it, pulling out the first notebook she got her hands on. She called for Snowdrop with a feeling sent across the familiar bond, and Snowdrop trotted over, interested.
Avery put the book on top of Snowdrop’s head. Snowdrop signaled amusement.
Balancing it there, Avery pressed down on one corner, tilting it. “There has to be more balance than this. And there’s not.”
“But,” the little boy said. “We’re all still here, aren’t we? There’s no fire.”
“Let’s move on,” the regional spirit said. “Next point.”
Avery frowned, composed herself, and stepped forward.
An old woman stepped out of the crowd. With very long hair partially tied back, and a dress made with linen fabric knotted at the shoulders, she looked a bit like a hippie.
“Avery,” Lucy said.
“What?” Avery asked, turning around, looking.
“Swap with Verona?”
Avery glanced at Verona, who made a face, lips turned down at the edges, tongue sticking out a bit, clearly not happy to be doing this out of turn.
Avery reversed direction, walking back. Verona stepped forward.
The old woman hesitated, looking back, and a teenage boy with a flower crown stepped out of the crowd, looking equally disconcerted, like he wasn’t sure.
And there it is, Avery thought. Like Guilherme had suggested.
This wasn’t random. The little boy had been sent out at that specific time for specific reasons.
Avery gripped the strap of her bag in one hand, finger on the blurry city magic pin. It wasn’t any use here, but she liked reminding herself she had it, that she’d worked with city magic more than either of the others. Even Verona, who’d liked using it for shortcuts before Lis had taken over Kennet and sort of blocked that use.
She looked at the regional spirit, who gave very little away, but who was watching.
She’s the judge, the jury. She’s watching, and now she knows, she has reason to wonder. What’s the manipulation? Why these people, at this time?
And Avery was left to wonder too.
The Alabaster didn’t look especially worried, even with this unprecedented -Avery was pretty sure it was unprecedented- challenge against her.
What’s your game? Avery thought.
“Aha, here you are.”
“Was I hard to find?”
“There’s a restaurant with a similar name-”
“Further down the block. Of course. I’m sorry. I should have realized and told you it was the bar, here- tavern, actually, I’ve been told, it’s important to be clear.”
“I see.”
“Let me pay for your drink. Nothing romantic intended, mind you- I have a fiancé.”
“Of course. And I am married. Still, it’s appreciated. Thank you, Ms. Behaim.”
“I don’t think we’ve had the occasion to talk much outside of the council, have we?”
“Not since you began.”
“It feels so strange to be using names.”
“Speaking of strange, I’ve noticed we don’t have neighbors at the nearby tables- Ah. That’s some good diagram work.”
“With an exclusion for our bartender, so let’s keep an eye out for him. Shall we get to it? I’m going to order a bite while I’m getting a beer, my fiancé was working late. I didn’t eat yet.”
“Just the drink for me. Shall we wave our man down? There we are. Hello. A gin St. Clements.”
“Hill street ale, and one number four cheeseburger, add Canadian bacon. Sweet potato fries for the side.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Behaim. Ma’am.”
“They know you here, it seems.”
“Being too well known at a place like this. Damning, isn’t it?”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t say it’s, ehem, damning, if it’s the right sort of place. At least it’s not first names.”
“I should watch my language, shouldn’t I? Hm. Sorry.”
“Mmm.”
“So, shall we get to it?”
“How far have you come, digging into the situation, Ms. Behaim?”
“Musser is out, he can’t get the foothold he once did. He’s a broken man. There is very little standing in that Carmine’s way. Mass exodus of practitioners, even Others are moving out or, if violent enough and willing to bow to the Lords and the Judges they’ve put on top, they’re settling in. It’s next to impossible to pass through without first agreeing to accept the Carmine rule. I’ve even got one report from a practitioner on a flight from Ottawa to Edmonton that they ran into plane trouble while flying over.”
“Of the practice or Other variety?”
“Other. They had to practice to change the pilot’s mind and keep him from diverting to a landing in the Carmine territory.”
“We should let the practitioners of Ottawa know.”
“I already asked Mr. Hardeep to message anyone who’d notified us about travel plans, to let them know, so they can adjust.”
“Keeping the poor man busy. He’ll earn his spot on the council, I’m sure. Shit. Territory practitioners cannot enter or cross, is it? That paints a grim and inconvenient picture.”
“If it’s not one already, it’s becoming one. But, while we’re talking about inconvenience, I was just checking before you came. I thought you’d be amused… slide that candle closer for me?”
“Hm? Sure.”
“This wire is sister to one in a clock I store my reserve of power in. Lighting this, it, here… there. See? With the flame?”
“Something’s pulling on your power, still.”
“My little contribution toward the summoning we helped with. Not much, but enough I can keep tabs on it. Our little acorn brained spirit is carrying on, doing what he does, even after half a day. It’s petty, but it puts a smile on my face. Yours too, it seems.”
“It feels more like what I thought practice would be when I was little.”
“I don’t think I ever had any such illusions, sadly. I’ve got notes on various key players, my private investigators are keeping tabs on some. Private investigators who are good at getting past the sorts of anti-detection measures practitioners use.”
“Like your little diagram there, with the salt on the counter.”
“Like that, yes.”
“Witch Hunters?”
“Through old family contacts.”
“Good investigators to have, if they can handle themselves if things go bad.”
“They’ll be placed to act if need be. Either way, here’s your copy of the documents. I’ve got the rest for the rest of the council tomorrow.”
“Still warm from the print shop. Down the street? Passed it while looking for you.”
“One and the same. If you want to read it over now, I can try to answer questions. Just forgive me if I’m eating my burger while you’re asking. Oh, here it comes now. I think I’m predictable, they might’ve started it as soon as they saw me come in.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Your augurs. Are they Belanger? From the magic school?”
“Enclave. A business. They find and hire good augurs from elsewhere. I thought it was better to get an outside look in.”
“And here I am, asking contacts in the thick of it. Good. Different approaches.”
“You’ve referenced augurs in the past. Where are yours?”
“Chronomancy, working with time, augury, looking to the future. We’ve interacted with all sorts, comparing notes. Behaims do some work with the Belangers, but nothing intimate. I think my uncle, family head, was upset they refused to have our children attend their magic school, me included- I was a child once.”
“Were you now?”
“Heh. So, either way, he worked with others when possible.”
“Hmm. Yes.”
“They refused us. For much the same reason I think you were wary about a Behaim on your council.”
“Yet you’ve proven yourself. We watched you more closely than we do most, and we watch everyone very closely, as you know.”
“Mm, mmm.”
“This is good work, with research.”
“You’ve done your own.”
“I have.”
“Mmm.”
“Mmm.”
“You’re reluctant to say. What is it you don’t want to tell me, even as I nudge and hint about your sources?”
“I was talking to the augur enclave as I walked into the restaurant, I hoped to have them on the phone for when I talked to you, to share. Now I’m…”
“It’s bad?”
“It’s… comprehensive. I’ve been mulling it over, trying to figure out what can be done about it.”
“Share what you know? Let’s talk it out.”
“In Guelph, there is a new church. The building is red, to residents it’s as if it was always there. The Church of Bloody Glory in Onward Willow. Directly tied and rooted in an undercity in Guelph. A spatial knotting.”
“The Carmine’s pet blood goddess. We were wondering earlier this week what she was doing. This, then.”
“Twelve similar Churches of the Bloody Glory in Toronto. One in Peterborough. Three in London, Ontario.”
“How many total?”
“We don’t know. There are signs of knottings and churches manifesting in every population center over five hundred people. In the cities, either three or seven. Twelve in Toronto.”
“With associating knottings?”
“Undercities, specifically. Different types. The churches are crossover points. Denizens of the undercity will go to church for services, a scattered few will filter out into the city or town above. But there’s a larger group, more cohesive, that leaves later. The augurs think- unverified, we can’t get a good look or listen in, yet, after services, people stay and get orders. They’re organizing.”
“And the Carmine now has an army.”
“The worst sort. No rank and file to mow down. Any house, any road, any patch of wilderness, it could have irregular forces each with their own tactics, resources, and independent command structures.”
“Are the knots stable?”
“You do know your stuff, Ms. Behaim. No. And they’re fresh. Both the knotted people and the locations, they haven’t hardened into metaphorical Gordian knots.”
“Do they connect to one another?”
“Who knows? The augurs don’t. I was thinking…”
“The witch hunters.”
“Many could pass for a denizen. Can you get them into the Churches of Bloody Glory?”
“And from there, into the undercities, to investigate? I’ll ask my witch hunter contacts. They’re backed by the divine?”
“Maricica, naked and glorious and forever soaked in blood. Cells could have people with some divine power.”
“And-or something Abyssal, am I right? Abyssal power, contacts pulled up from the Abyss? She’s still rooted down there?”
“Yes.”
“I hate to ask, but…”
“No. Your hometown is safe and secure, Ms. Behaim. So far.”
“Where do we even begin? With the Lords serving the Carmine, it was one thing, already next to impenetrable. But now this? Mockery, inversion, and bastardization of the Judge role, of Lords, and now the Innocent population?”
“He wants to turn a mirror on us. The question isn’t where we begin, but where he stops. He already expanded once.”
“The augurs think it was pre-emptive. To catch our three guests from this afternoon as they made a move. Had the attack succeeded with us, they could’ve arrived in Ottawa only to find themselves firmly in his clutches.”
“Does that mean he’s not interested in expansion for expansion’s sake?”
“The augurs don’t think so. At least not in the clearly foreseeable future, not expansion for expansion’s sake. I was thinking- don’t take what I tell you and present it to the council. I’ve got to make a good showing after having nothing to present today.”
“Of course. I’m not conniving like that.”
“We might need better contenders for the next Carmine contest. Something better than an acorn-brained spirit. Cut off the heads of this dragon before the knots stabilize and become permanent fixtures to our west, before the denizens of the undercities become people in their own right, before he changes his mind and decides to expand, or take more regions for strategic reason.”
“He’ll have plans, for the contest. He’d be stupid not to.”
“I need better to bring to the council. Eyes will roll if my suggestions begin and end with ‘kill the Carmine or the goddess.'”
“You have information. Good information.”
“I need more.”
“I do have one suggestion. It’s not especially elegant.”
“I don’t care about elegance.”
“They have really good cheesecake here. If you’re looking for a next move, I suggest moving that direction.”
That drew a long sigh. “After gin?”
“Sir? Hi. My acquaintance here needs a decadent dessert. What would you suggest to go with gin?”
“Chocolate.”
“Double chocolate brownie?”
“That would be my suggestion, Ms. Behaim.”
“Double chocolate brownie.”
“And our… crisis?”
“A problem to face tomorrow. We can talk tonight.”
Fifth Point of Order
First point of order: Subverting this very process.
Second point of order: Her power was used to hurt the children in her domain.
Third point of order: Failed to reach out to those in direst need.
Fourth point of order: She’s calcified enough she’s now neglecting iconic Alabaster duties & concepts.
Avery watched Verona walk up.
“Fifth point of order. The handling of the forsworn,” Verona said.
“The forsworn are not under our jurisdiction once forsworn,” the Alabaster said.
“By the Law of the seal, you’re right,” Verona said. “Technically, if you want to be hands-off with the forsworn, that’s your right. But the moment Charles started bringing them in and weaponizing them, it became a totally different dynamic. Again, there are expectations on you, you have a whole quadrant of stuff in your portfolio, including mercy, healing, restoration. Protection of the weak against predation.”
“Is it predation or empowerment?” the teenage boy asked. He had shorter hair than some of the people in the Alabaster’s domain, wavy and black, and had only a little laurel of white petals tucked in over one ear. The cloth he wore was tied at one shoulder, leaving half his chest exposed.
“If I grab some dude off the streets and say hey, you work in my bookstore now, that’s sketchy as fuck. But taking these guys and having them become soldiers of his? Ones who fight, do shitty things on behalf of the Carmine’s goals, and get hurt.”
“They could leave at any time. Didn’t the one leave the night Edith James died?”
“It’s not that easy to leave. You presumably came from a bad situation, you found the Alabaster, you could leave at any time-”
“I did,” the boy replied. “I left the Alabaster, I came back.”
“And you’re still so into it you’re willing to die if she dies?”
“Yes. Because I believe in what she does.”
“I think that’s not a counter-argument, that’s, like, really illustrating the whole issue of screwed up power dynamics. That’s sad, that’s screwed up. You’re clearly young, you’re really good looking, healthy, apparently…”
“Is he hot?” Avery whispered to Lucy.
“Ho yeah,” Lucy whispered back.
Avery tilted her head. “He’s got a weird jawline.”
“It’s a good weird.”
Avery sighed. “Snow?”
“Nah, not that hot. But it’s a good thing he doesn’t click his tongue or have thirteen nipples.”
“Yeah.”
“So nobody with wealth or power to pull someone out of a bad situation should?” the boy retorted.
“I mean, the fact there’s that much disparity in the first place… I think the default employer-employee relationship is a bit screwed up, like, holy crap do I not want that ever, and this is worse. Taking someone from being Forsworn? That’s way more obligation and power imbalance. Especially if there’s an implication that the rescue could be reversed.”
“Was that ever implied?”
“Isn’t it? If he has the power to inflict it and take it away, what’s to say he won’t forswear them again if they upset him or go against him?”
“I think we’re getting sidetracked,” the regional spirit said.
Lucy spoke up, “The point is that the moment the forsworn were on the table for consideration, the Alabaster should have stepped in to act as a counterbalance to the Carmine’s aggression, and to ensure they had an escape route.”
“We have precedent,” Verona said. “In three other cases we’ve been able to find, bad forswearings were reversed by a higher power, and in those instances, other powers got involved to balance things out, double check, and manage it. Reversing a forswearing is a big deal. It’s probably even a good thing… if it’s not being followed up by recruitment into some death squad.”
“You’re exaggerating,” the boy said.
“Horrification squad, maybe. With some casual murder as frosting on the horror cake,” Verona said.
“Your precedent?” the regional spirit asked.
“Case one, manipulation of facts leading to forswearing. Manipulation was proven, people went to the local Lord, all well and good, and a Judge- Azure in that case, closest to the one responsible, stepped in, made sure it all was kosher, especially because the Lord was acquaintances with the person who did the forswearing.”
“Where?” the Alabaster asked.
“Down in the States,” Avery said. “Connecticut. Roughly ten years ago.”
Sebastian Harless the contract guy had helped dig for this info.
“Case two,” Verona went on. “Eritrea, Africa, a very long time ago. But it’s cited in Law texts. After being forsworn for a broken oath, a resin harvester sat for seven days and seven nights, considering the situation, picked himself up, and then went after the person who forswore him. He challenged him, and in a fight marked by arguments for and against the forswearing, he won out. A Judge-like figure basically blessed his victory and undid things on an official level, securing his travel out from the other guy’s estate.”
Harless had been really happy about that one, for some reason. Like, digging that far back and finding something.
“And the third?”
“Out west. About a century ago. Turns out practitioners have a lot of ties to shitty history, and to Europe, and when the second world war was in full swing, there were a lot of practitioners who sided with the Axis instead of the Allies. There was a general expectation that practitioners not get involved directly in the war, the same stuff that keeps us from running world governments and economies blocks war too, so that played into it. But there was more than enough fighting to do in back circles back home.”
The regional spirit motioned for Verona to speed things up some.
“…Guy got tricked and forsworn, went to their Judge in Gray, whatever that is. Our hero had a badass record with heaps of good karma, the pro-Nazi guy who did the forswearing really, really didn’t, so the Judge in Gray said they were willing to give the guy a shot. Assigned him a really hard quest. Didn’t work. It was hard as balls and he lost, so…”
“This is one of your better examples?” the teenage boy asked.
“He had a real shot,” Verona replied. “They gave him that. No cheat, no tricks. And, making this a better example, while the Judge in Gray handled stuff, it was another Judge that oversaw things, -”
“An Alabaster,” Lucy announced.
“Bitch,” Verona muttered, turning her head. “Stealing my dramatic line?”
“Sorry.”
Verona turned to face the regional spirit and the Alabaster. “Alabaster. Specifically because the process was about mercy and forgiveness.”
“Response? Counter-argument?”
The boy turned back, looking at the Alabaster. “I don’t know enough about this.”
She stepped forward, running fingers through his hair as she passed. “I don’t know much about what happens beyond my region. Neighboring areas that have less oversight become clearer to me, but I wasn’t in position to see any of these events.”
“We have written record,” Verona said.
“Which can be manipulated, distorted by retelling, or outright lies.”
“One of the resources we used was a Law practice text. A really standard, established, more-than-half-of-western-Law-practitioners-use-this one text. Are you saying that this guy put something wrong in his text?”
“I’m saying I cannot know for certain. Nor, I suspect, can you.”
“Again, I really want to make sure we’re clear. This guy, a Law practitioner, a practitioner of the one practice where truth and justice are the biggest deal, out of all the practice categories and fields, you think he fudged things, got wrong?”
“I’m saying we cannot know.”
“This is getting circular,” the regional spirit said. “Move on.”
“It’s a thing,” Verona said.
“If it were truly establishment, I would be obligated to do it as it’s established, as I am beholden to Law. It’s not, so I am not.”
“There’s a lot of fudgey middle ground in the middle there,” Verona pointed out. “Stuff that’s healthy and good to do for you and for everyone else, that’s part of your role, that isn’t one hundred percent locked in. But you’re taking this stuff that other judges have accepted as part of the job and letting the opposite happen.”
“Show me the parts with the Forsworn,” the regional spirit said. “Their involvement with the Carmine. Any interactions with you.”
“Were there any interactions with you, Alabaster?” Lucy asked, voice pitched to be heard.
“Yes.”
“Fill us in?”
“I will fill the spirit in as part of this. She can assess it and use it for her verdict.”
“I want to see too. Because this is valid. Or give us the loose details. It could matter.”
“It doesn’t, as far as your argument is concerned. Two of them petitioned me. One on purpose, one by accident, after a day of wandering the woods. Neither, as Verona Hayward admitted earlier, was obligatory. There is no reason for me to answer or help the forsworn.”
“While they’re forsworn, anyway,” Verona said.
“What you imply is up for debate, and isn’t the condemnation of me you want it to be.”
The Alabaster began showing the spirit the scenes.
Lucy shook her head slightly.
“Sorry. I feel like I could’ve zeroed in on the argument there. I got caught up in arguing with the guy,” Verona told them, as she rejoined the group. She looked back. “So they aren’t one hundred percent filled in.”
Lucy shrugged. “She knows us well enough, for reasons Guilherme explained. The Carmine’s not the only one that’s been watching us, I guess.”
Verona frowned. “So what, like, they have a lot of time to kill, so while they’re braiding flowers into their hair, they talk about all the major stuff? Flowers, la dee dah, here’s how we’re justified in standing back while kids get turned into horrors, would you like more hair flowers, handsome?”
“The thing about crummy people,” Lucy said, “is a lot of them spend a lot of time obsessing over their shittiness. Deep down, they know what they’re doing is wrong, but the energies that they’d spend on feeling guilty and changing stuff up becomes energy they spend on justifications and planning around avoiding consequences.”
Avery thought of Jeanine. A bully, but not in the classic kids movie or after school special way. Manipulative, holding nothing back, self-deluding, and just fucking ruining so many people’s high school years. Alleging Avery was prostituting herself, almost outing Nora, almost blowing up the team like she had the gay-straight-alliance club.
“Becomes a trap,” Verona said. “A cycle. Once you start doing that, it becomes this whole thing where stopping and breaking from that habit of justifying, cheating, and bullshitting, it’s just too hard, so you sink further in. Calcified shittiness.”
“And fighting it is a full time job we don’t have time for,” Avery said. “Freaking Jeanine at my school, figure she’s thinking about the situation with me and the team and whatever ten hours a day. Charles? Twenty four hours a day? He doesn’t sleep. And then there’s us.”
“Doing okay?” Lucy asked. She put a hand on Avery’s shoulder and rubbed it.
Snowdrop, in human form, bonked her head into Avery’s arm again.
Avery sighed. It was warm enough in the clearing that her breath didn’t fog up.
Snowdrop opened her mouth and put Avery’s arm in between her teeth, play-biting. Avery pulled her arm free, put an arm around Snowdrop, and rubbed Snow’s hair from the side.
“Getting worn out fast by this, I think,” Avery murmured.
“Being away?” Lucy asked.
“The crummy people. Being away while having to watch our back. And now I’ve got to give my argument, knowing it’s not our best one- we were going to put the less good ones, number three and four, toward the middle?”
“Yeah.”
“But with the shuffle, we replaced argument number three with the accusation she wasn’t playing fair ball with the pre-auditing argument, and then you swapped Verona’s and mine?”
Lucy nodded.
Avery looked across the clearing at the old lady who looked a bit like a hippie. Something about her- Avery had the heebie jeebies.
“You’re on your own with this one,” Snowdrop told her. “I think you’ve thoroughly proven you’re just awful at so much of this, you’re really a disappointing person nobody loves, but you gotta do this, you know? It’s gotta be you, as much as the rest of us really don’t want it to be.”
“Thanks Snow.”
“Do you want us to take over?” Lucy asked.
“Lucy can take over. I don’t like the public debate, public speaking stuff,” Verona said.
Avery shook her head. “We’re stronger when we work together, right?”
“That means sometimes we back each other up when we’re down,” Lucy told her.
“It’s okay. I want to do this. It’s important, isn’t it? Balancing out our roles? Each of us to our strengths?”
Lucy nodded.
Avery looked skyward, up at the stars that were starting to come through the blue of the sky as the sun set. The gentle light that streamed down from above was now in sunset hues. Later, she guessed, it would be moonlight.
The light cut out. The regional spirit lowered her chin, closing her eyes momentarily, before opening them again.
She reminded Avery of her mom.
“Next point of order?”
It was time. Into the metaphorical arena.
“…the sixty-first, I am he who is fearless, literally made that way, and who will not balk in fighting or reciting my titles, whatever threats are made, for my titles, to remind you once again, were given to me by Verona Hayward, witch and guardian of Kennet, nascent sorceress, dabbler in halflight and shadow, she who shattered the moon, founder of Kennet found, enforcer of Kennet below, speaker for the voiceless, by Avery Kelly, second Witch of Kennet, Finder and Path Runner, Promenade Solver, partner to the opossum spirit Snowdrop, by Lucy Ellingson…”
The squirrel dragged sharp claws meant for tree climbing down her cheeks, one caught on an eyelid, dragging it down. The small shield she had rested against the tree slipped and fell over.
“…duelist, and bearer of fang, smoke, and steel. The sixty-second of which, I must tell you, is that I am he who will pause to ask my audience to recite, all together, my last five titles, the fifty-sixth, the fifty-seventh, the fifty-eighth, the fifty-ninth, the sixtieth, and the sixty-first, so I may be sure you’re listening, and do finish with a huzzah, if you please.”
The squirrel, nails still digging into fur, one eyelid still pulled down, not quite drawing blood but coming close, turned her head to look up at the Carmine.
“Promptly, please, brave knight,” Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles said, smiling. He only had teeth in his mouth for the sound effect in the thirty-eighth and thirty-ninth title, and for the seventeenth, when he demonstrated his winning smile, so his current smile was just an upturned hole in his little spirit face. “Brave knight? Should I restart?”
The squirrel knight made a groaning sound.
“Brave knight?”
“I did tell you to listen carefully, especially titles fifty-six through sixty-one,” the Carmine told the Squirrel, sitting with an elbow on his knee, hand on his cheek. His breath fogged in the cold. “Also to mind the loop he’ll throw in around title eighty, where he goes back in the count.”
“Brave knight?” Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles asked, stumping around. “Very well, I shall begin anew. May I have your full attention?”
“Sir,” the squirrel said, composing herself. She picked up her shield and dusted the snow off it, fixed her little squirrel dress with the armor hanging loose over it, and her little helmet. She approached the Carmine.
“Brave knight? May I-” Percival asked.
“Shut up!” the squirrel retorted.
“I must insist I be allowed-”
“Shut up! Glamour and nuts! I-” she turned to the Carmine, little black eyes widening. “That was unbecoming of me, Carmine Judge. I’m sorry.”
“That’s alright.”
She bent down into a kneeling bow, planting sword into the ground. “I am but a humble knight, come this far south because foul enemies plague Bayberry. I thought I might fight in this contest, to win the ability to drive them away.”
“You stand no real chance of winning.”
“Brave knight! May I have your attention?” Percival asked, in the background. “I’ve already finished with the other gentleman, who went off into the woods-”
To be away from you.
She ignored him, talking to the Carmine instead. “I think I knew that, sir. Perhaps, if the universe is a just place, it will find a way to mean something.”
“The universe is not just,” the Carmine replied. “You and your kind bear that truth forward as much as any do.”
“Very well, that is unfortunately true,” the squirrel knight replied, still bowing low. “I still have to try. I’m sorry this contest puts us at odds.”
“Brave knight!”
The squirrel’s paw tightened around the grip of her sword, point embedded in the crust of the snow.
“May I ask a different kindness of you? My brain is the size of a walnut, which I think is the finest size for a brain to be, not too large and not too small.”
The Carmine nodded.
“Yet it is not large enough to hold what he demands I hold. All those words.”
“Can you read off a paper?” the Carmine asked.
“I cannot read, sir. I am a squirrel,” she replied, bewildered at the idea.
“Ah. Hmm.”
“I, Ridget Fallbranch, high knight of the Russet Squirrels of Bayberry, guardian of the crossing between High Spring and Northern Canada… I do suppose you are sick of titles.”
“Yes.”
She straightened, a twinkle in her eye, a hint of a smile on a mouth not suited to smiling, and held the sword fast against her little breastplate. “Place grant me the grace of being allowed to execute that foul spirit now.”
“That is a grace I cannot grant, as much as I may want to. He initiated the contest, and he is in his rights to ask for certain terms. Three days and three nights will pass, allowing time for contestants to gather, and then we will begin. At his request, he will introduce himself in full to each contestant.”
“So you’ve said. May I depart, refusing this contest?”
“No. You’ve sealed yourself to it by your arrival.”
She looked down, then up. “Will you help me learn what I must learn, so I can answer his introduction, and allow me to fight him in the first round so I may be the one to cleave him in two?”
“I can try. You do not need to learn all of it. A huzzah-”
“Huzzah!” came the cry from the background.
“-will distract him and confuse his programming.”
“Programming, Judge?”
“It will allow you to trick him, where you might otherwise stumble.”
“I see. My gracious thanks.”
“Another approaches.”
“Oh no. Each that comes, they will be one more set of introductions!”
“That’s true.”
She scrambled, using her years of knightly training for a trace more speed. Her ears twitched, catching the sound of footsteps in snow.
She climbed a tree, bounding from branch to branch. She reached the threshold, the bounds of this contest, and she threw herself outward, catching another branch, despite the weight of her armor.
She climbed up to stand straight, and put her paws out, as if to bar the way of the human that came through the trees.
“Cease! Nothing good waits for you here! This is not a grand contest, but a torture!”
The human ignored her, walking past, into the clearing.
“New Sir!” Percival perked up. “Welcome! I am Percival Awarnach of the ninety-nine titles, the first of which is that I was…”
The human looked back, and looked around. He fixed his eyes on the Carmine and Sable. “This is the right spot?”
“It is.”
“Sir, may I have your attention!?”
“He’s the only challenger?”
“The squirrel was another. There’s also another man, a cursed Innocent, off in the woods, he found a place to lie down and wait.”
“What happened to… the rest?”
“Everyone strong who’d accept a contest like this fought and died at Summer’s end. Percival over there called this contest, as part of that, he’s requested three days and three nights to wait for more contestants, and that he be allowed to introduce himself in full. We cannot deny him that, as he draws power from it.”
The man looked at Percival, skeptical, then smirked.
“It’s a terrible thing,” Ridget told him.
“It doesn’t matter if you do it now or wait,” the Carmine said.
The man sat down, and Percival walked over.
“Over the first six years of my life, I trained to be a knight,” Ridget told the Carmine. “Over seven more years, I worked as a knight, guarding the crossing against foulest enemies, leading forays against those same enemy camps and settlements. I fought hard, married, had two litters of kits. I recieved two commendations, one for leading a breach of the gates, and one after a successful year-long campaign. See?”
She showed off her two medals, pinned to her cape.
“Small, but I see.”
She looked past the Carmine to the Sable. “I trained two generations of soldiers, three squires, two of whom became very good knights. I’m old. I thought I would fight for change, to change the tides of the war, before my body slows too much. I hoped for a noble end, even if my chances of success were slim.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Inanity and then oblivion?” she asked. She watched Percival prattle on. The practitioner he talked to seemed to be realizing what he was in for. “Three days and three nights of inanity?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said, his voice a growl.
“Sable Judge? Will you take me when I die?”
“No. Oblivion will. It is a cost of this contest, that no trace be left.”
“Inanity for three days and three nights, then oblivion?”
“A flash of steel just before oblivion,” the Carmine said.
“That counts for little, I worry,” Ridget told him.
“It does.”
“What is the best way to pass these days and nights?” she asked.
“You would do well to memorize the lines you need to memorize, if only so we can move swiftly through the introductory segment of this contest.”
“May I first sing a song? If my life is to be a tragedy, I’d like the chance to have a song to fit. An anthem of the original knights of the Russets of Highhome, I’ve known it to be sung with a sadder tone to it.”
“I will not stop you.”
She lifted weapon and shield aside, finding a snow-dusted rock to stand on, and she began to sing. A war song and anthem of Highhome, promising the extermination of the black and gray squirrel kingdoms. The blacks, who were brutish and savage, and the grays, who were savage and brutish. The song promised bloodless executions, for the russets -the red-furred- were the noblest of squirrels, and blood was reserved for battlefields. They would use hot steel to sear their enemies, so they might be sterilized and muted, as befit the beasts they were, for black and gray, king and peasant, male and-
“Perhaps,” the Carmine said. “Without the words.”
She switched to wordless singing, occasionally banging the flat of her sword against shield for punctuation.
She finished.
“Lord Judge?”
“What is it?”
“Three times, I met champions of enemy forces. Three times, we had an exchange of blows. Three times, I slew my foe. If Percival is allowed his introductions…”
“Hello,” Percival said, in the background, smiling a toothless smile.
“…I’d ask to be allowed mine. A flash of steel, as you describe.”
The Carmine glanced at the Sable.
The Sable nodded.
“I think we can fudge that,” the Carmine said. “That would expedite things. But we must still wait for the contenders who’ve decided to come. It won’t be three days and three nights, but it won’t be immediate either.”
She bowed, kneeling. “Thank you, Judge.”
Sixth Point of Order
First point of order: Subverting this very process.
Second point of order: Her power was used to hurt the children in her domain.
Third point of order: Failed to reach out to those in direst need.
Fourth point of order: She’s calcified enough she’s now neglecting iconic Alabaster duties & concepts.
Fifth point of order: noninvolvement with the Forsworn, even after they were brought into the Judges’ custody.
“…so, through action and inaction both, by standing by like she did and breaching Kennet, she failed to fulfill yet another of her functions as Alabaster, protecting sanctuaries and warded spaces.”
“Do you know what the word projection means?” the old woman asked.
Avery’s heart thumped in her chest. Snowdrop stood close to her, body pressed against Avery’s side. It sucked that she really needed it.
“Once upon a time, I was a therapist. But I took too many of my patient’s demons on as my own. I still remember what I need to remember. The accusations you’re laying against the Alabaster, you might as well be blaming yourselves.”
Avery shook her head.
“You accuse her of gaming this system, but you set up this entire process as a skewed game, intended to remove her.”
“She has the chance to say she won’t work with Charles,” Avery replied.
“You have the chance to say you will work with him. That answers most of your problems.”
“And creates so many more new ones,” Avery replied.
She hated she was reminded of the Wolf so much here. This woman was the opposite of Avery’s Wolf in every way except she was old and confrontational.
“In your second point, power used to hurt children? You contrived an excuse to attack practitioners of your town in the midst of truce.”
“They attacked our allies. They did make the first move.”
“You made the first move by interfering. You should have let things be and been let be. Third point? You yourselves have failed the Others you promised to be stewards of. You, Avery Kelly, left Kennet.”
Avery swallowed hard. “Physically? Yes, temporarily, but in other ways? In heart?”
“Careful what you say, child,” the old woman told her. “The Alabaster oversees love. She knows your heart isn’t entirely in Kennet. You’ve been tempted to stay with another.”
“Woo dang, Avery!” Verona whooped.
“No interruptions,” the regional spirit said.
Not like that, Ronnie, Avery thought.
“Fourth point?” the old woman asked.
“Don’t you dare say we calcified,” Lucy said.
“No, but you’ve gone down your own paths, too caught up in them to see what you’re missing. You want the Alabaster to be wholly dedicated to her job but you get so excited about magic school you let the town be attacked, weakened. You focus on family, and friends, on hobbies-”
“It’s different,” Avery said, knowing that sounded weak. “We’re human. She’s a greater power. We’ve seen and been Carmine, we’ve tasted that power, the scope of responsibility. We’ve had a sense of what someone truly dedicated will do- we’ve heard about it with Ted Havens. And we’ve seen what a broken, lonely Judge does or fails to do. Something’s wrong with the Alabaster.”
“Something, Avery Kelly,” the old woman said, “is wrong with the three of you, then.”
“Bull,” Verona muttered.
“Fifth point. You would call the Forsworn monsters, but you yourselves align with those monsters. You focused so hard on fighting your enemies that you’ve neglected to stop evils within.”
“This again?” Lucy asked.
“Is it ‘again’? Was this a chapter that was ever closed? One leader demoted, temporarily, before you gave him duties of another sort? You’ve felt Rook was a traitor, but you sit on that, hoping more than knowing that there’s more to it. You ally with the likes of Florin Pesch and Odis Saulsbury. Your opossum familiar is fond of Cherrypop, who would murder if she could.”
“You’ve got her exactly right,” Snowdrop replied, dead serious.
The Alabaster was too calm. Not panicking, not worried…
“Sixth point? You took on custodianship of Kennet as guardians. You swore in your awakening you’d protect the town.”
“We’ve given a lot of ourselves, gotten hurt, fought.”
“But was the town sufficiently protected? Were people endangered? Were lives lost?”
“A lot of that happened because of Charles, you know? Him and his co-conspirators murdered those three teens. He drew negative attention to Kennet and spurred Musser’s attack.”
“With Alabaster power,” Lucy added.
“But were they protected, were lives lost? Is Kennet safe right now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. When you view scenes to support these arguments, please look at their failures as much as you look at any of the Alabaster’s.”
“Look for successes, and effort too,” Avery said. “And look for what we talked about. The Legendres, much as I’m not a fan of what they do with exterminations of Others, they sealed away things like the Beorgmann-”
“And let it free in desperation when attacked by you.”
“But they sealed it. The only reason she was there was because it wears out. It takes very little for something like the Alabaster to control that damage. We need more.”
The Alabaster was too calm and they were reaching the last of their arguments. This wasn’t the strongest argument but it did count for something.
What did the Alabaster have up her sleeve?
What could she have up her sleeve?
Avery hated standing still. She itched to move, to go.
Avery kissed the top of Snowdrop’s head, mussing up her hair afterward. The Alabaster was preparing to show the regional spirit what she needed to see.
Was that it? Were Lucy’s instincts right?
Snowdrop was warm against her side. Arrivals and destinations. And finding moments to be still with people you’re fond of.
Arrivals and destinations. Beginnings and endings.
“We want to see,” Avery called out.
“See what?” the regional spirit asked.
“What you’re showing her. What segments. The bias, if any.”
“You think I wouldn’t notice something like bias right under my nose?” the regional spirit asked.
“I think… the Alabaster is very, very old. She’s watched people for a long time, and people-”
She thought of her Grumble, sitting in front of a television, angry men stoking anger and indignation and talking shit about trans people and gay kids and immigrants. Her grandfather, who’d given her stiff, rough hugs, so often, just absorbing it all, taking it in uncritically.
“-people buy into that too easily. Even good people. I want to see.”
“You have the benefit of delivering the opening argument, deciding the challenge-”
“And you get to hear and see as we do it. We want to hear and see as you do your part,” Lucy said.
The old woman had moved to the Alabaster’s side.
“Come, then.”
Avery hesitated.
“We want to see it all,” Lucy said.
The Alabaster put out a hand. Fingers twitched, beckoning.
Avery steeled herself, then approached. The old woman smiling.
She was back in the Wolf’s den, guck on her eyes, half-blinding her, alone. A smiling, confident old woman vascillating between verbal abuse and a sickly kind of charm, trying to throw her off. Using her knowledge of Avery.
She could taste sick in her throat, chest locked up so tight it was like it squeezed her stomach and forced acid and throw-up taste the wrong way up.
Miss had come. Had distracted her.
Hadn’t been able to shield her completely. Sudden movements of even her Grumble’s hand spooked her. She’d been shaky, sleepless, and Guilherme-
Guilherme was here.
-Guilherme had given her the mindfulness trick, to reward herself with golden checkmarks for her successes, for conquering fears.
Every step she took now, willingly toward two very old, hostile women, it felt like it was taking her back.
Snowdrop was beside her. Guilherme behind her.
Lucy and Verona caught up. Her best friends were with her.
The Alabaster looked down on her with those eyes that were ageless and deep and dark. The woman’s hand went out, and the light speared down. Blinding her not with dark guck and spittle, but moonlight, now.
Ridget the squirrel knight twitched violently as she crawled across snow. Metal raked across the texture of the crust on the snow, like a metal tool dragged down a section of road, start, stop, start, stop, timed with her finding the strength to pull herself forward.
She bit into Percival’s acorn, long since scattered from the little spirit’s being, tearing it partially open, before she died. Her little sword turned against Percival had started this event. Her bite into the acorn marked the beginning of the end of it.
Just Charles now, and the red-haired goblin, nine feet tall and rangy, with blood-soaked tangles of hair hanging to the ground, where they piled up.
“Ah’m not here to beat you,” the goblin told Charles.
“Gerhild. The Redcap Queen,” Charles replied.
“She wanted you to know she’ll help you. You help her get what she wants, she’ll help secure what you want.”
“There are easier ways to get a message to me.”
“The way she thinks? The bloody way is the best way.”
Charles nodded.
He began changing his domain. The Carmine clearing. Trees moved away, and he forged his arena. His second, really.
Kennet, or a version of it, broken and bloody, surrounded them.
A gap separated them.
“I don’t need her,” Charles said. “Our contest here will be about summons. Creating something Other, pitting them against one another.”
“She can give you so much. Power.”
“I have power.”
“Intimidation of your enemies.”
“I have that in spades.”
“Weapons.”
“I can make living weapons.”
“An army.”
“I have an army.”
“Your summons? Those are-”
“No. Others.”
The goblin snorted.
“If you’re not capable of creating something to fight my something, you’re in your rights to ask for the tools to do so.”
“Nah,” the goblin replied, before smiling a wide, literally ear to ear smile. There were teeth inside the ears. “If you change your mind? If you need it? Take a piece of me and burn it to call her. Insurance.”
Charles nodded.
The goblin reached up, and dug two-inch claw tips into his own throat. His smile stretched to something macabre, he maintained eye contact, and he pulled at his own throat as bloody ribbons of flesh stretched out to their limit and snapped.
Until he’d torn the front end of his own throat out, his knees went weak, and he perished, dying just before he hit the ground, so the impact could start to unmake the arena.
A bit of power saved for another conflict in the future.
Charles walked forward. He collected his insurance from the goblin corpse’s hand.
His arena came to pieces, dissipating. He could have maintained it, but he didn’t.
The Sable collected the bodies, leaving only Charles’ trophy as the last remaining sign of it all.
The red sky became something black, and he left Kennet behind to be in part of the woods at the border of Eastern Ontario where the contest had begun. The bodies were gone before there was any chance even a stray bird could see anything.
Maricica was there, taller than treetops, looming over the scene. Her people were in the woods, enough of them that some could stand shoulder to shoulder.
The idea had been that if someone removed him, she would remove them promptly, and carry on where he’d left off. At least until someone could figure out what was needed to destroy an Abyssal schemer with the powers of a Goddess and Carmine both.
“You made it through.”
“Hardly a contest. Have you woken up?”
“I’ve woken many of them up. Everything’s moving along nicely.”
“What was the ploy? What did they attack or retake?”
Maricica, naked and glorious and forever drenched in blood, smiled.
Seventh Point of Order
First point of order: Subverting this very process.
Second point of order: Her power was used to hurt the children in her domain.
Third point of order: Failed to reach out to those in direst need.
Fourth point of order: She’s calcified enough she’s now neglecting iconic Alabaster duties & concepts.
Fifth point of order: noninvolvement with the Forsworn, even after they were brought into the Judges’ custody.
Sixth point of order: A dereliction of duty in protection of what needed protection, to uphold sanctuaries, or maintaining wards.
“I’ve seen enough,” the regional spirit’s voice echoed through the storm of flashbacks, images, and scenes. “Have you shown me what I need to see, for this first point?”
“Yes,” Avery said. “I think so.”
The scenes fled, melting away.
They’d worked backwards. Revisiting scenes. Making small amendments.
The Alabaster’s demeanor had changed with that.
It had felt like she wasn’t arguing back, but… the argument had always been in the presentation of the facts. In ways too hard to easily put words to, even seconds after leaving it behind. Dwelling here, moving there. Focusing on certain words.
All factual, as Law required, but even math could mislead, presented a certain way.
Fuck, had Avery just quoted Mr. Sitton from last year?
It felt a bit like they’d won. They just needed to get this across the finish line, now.
“When we present our final point of order, are you going to put forward another representative, like an old woman for me, when I have a minor phobia?” Avery asked. “Hot boy for Verona?”
“The parent,” Verona said. “The scarred lady. They were meant to push subtle buttons, right?”
Guilherme was still there, watching over things. He probably would be a bit annoyed they were cutting right past the subtlety, instead of using it.
“What buttons are you going to push this time?” Avery asked.
“None. I’ll stand for myself.”
“Seventh point of order. The Carmine Contest.”
“The contents of the contest are private.”
“To keep contestants from learning tricks and things. We can swear never to attempt to be Carmine, and not to divulge, outside of those present,” Lucy said. “But I want to see how this played out. It doesn’t feel right.”
The Alabaster turned away. “Make your argumen-”
Lucy reached out, grabbing. She missed, but Avery was already moving, stepping out in front, to block the Alabaster, Snowdrop a step behind, arms spread. Verona backed up, to get a fuller view of what was going on, hand in her pocket.
This time, Avery blocking, Lucy succeeded in grabbing the woman’s wrist. She moved the Alabaster’s hand to the position where it had been when she’d last delivered the visions of the scenes. “This is a full audit. Show us.”
“Do,” the regional spirit said.
“As I saw it, then.”
The Alabaster Doe endured an existence of paradoxes. Few things drove that home as much as her role here at the arena. An architect of mercy paying witness to a fierce battle of strength…
“I don’t think you’re enduring an existence of paradoxes. I think you’re just doing a really shitty job at what an Alabaster’s meant to do,” Lucy said.
John fought the giant Faerie Wolf thing. The Ondvarg.
“Make your argument as we watch.”
“The Judges propped John up as the presumptive candidate. They made a promise to him, that they’d free his bound comrades, the Dog Tags,” Lucy said. “In exchange, he’d be the challenger for the contest. First and last to fight.”
“There was no guarantee he’d survive.”
“Use your Sight,” Verona whispered, eyes glowing, as they stood back and watched the scene.
Avery did.
The Ondvarg created his cast of supporting characters, forged out of glamour, or called from somewhere. He grew the antlers of a deer and grew a tree from the antlers, and the tree grew out and through the Arena. Breaching it.
False deer, illusion, pack hunters.
Avery saw it.
The ephing bird. The ephemeral bird. She saw the connection.
She reached out, drawing a line in the air with a finger, pointing for the benefit of the others.
Verona pushed a card into Avery’s hand. The gate of horn. Verona and Lucy had complementary cards. Verona handed one to the spirit.
Avery moved, tracking it. A pinch of glamour- they were in a vision, it hardly mattered, but it let her paint within this replayed scene. Tracing the line better.
A line of intent, between Ondvarg and bird. Another line, of understanding. Ondvarg and Alabaster. The line flowered.
“Connected by nature,” the Alabaster murmured.
A line from Alabaster to bird. Simpler. The line extended past the bird, as if the Alabaster knew in full what the bird would do.
Avery used the fake glamour to make a fake transformation, pushing out. Not so different from an Alcazar, just more flexible.
She turned them all into birds so their view of the scene could track the bird as it flew through the hole in the building. She made sure to trace the line of foresight and knowledge from the Alabaster while they followed the bird.
The pause, bird waiting in the trees by the arena, as smoke poured out of the hole in the exterior. There was fighting and conflict, negotiation, and the approach.
They could not stop Charles from entering.
But they had the ring.
Until the bird stole it.
Lucy seized the connection between bird and Albaster with her talons, pulling. Wrenching the scene.
It connected. She knew.
“You let Charles win. You didn’t just give him the mandate when he came with the furs. You helped,” Lucy said, voice thick with feelings. “You all asked John to compete and then you fucked him.”
Lucy’s face screwed up, fists clenched.
“That ain’t right.”
“Gotta say,” Verona said. “You don’t set up good deals with champions, heroes, or whatever to clean up messes, like other Alabasters do. You screwed over the closest thing we’ve seen to someone doing that, John.”
“I gave him the opportunity to succeed, if he could find it to take it.”
“You took away opportunity,” Lucy told her.
“You don’t support sanctuaries or protected territories, or help in any clear way with the wards around key spaces,” Avery said.
“I protect my own, a place of last resort for those who can reach it, and I stand ready to expand and empower it if all else is lost.”
“You don’t help the forsworn, even when they’re clearly in your jurisdiction,” Verona said.
“I let them help themselves, and find their own strength.”
“You’ve neglected key duties, basic stuff with wrinkles, just like a calcified Incarnation does,” Avery said. “You’ve gone stiff, you’ve forgotten your roots.”
“I am the roots of this region. I remain stable and sure to be in contrast to the other Judges who change. I survive, because we need to know that something can.”
“You’ve failed kids who were horrored, you’ve failed a man embracing a poison pot for who knows how much longer, the Beorgmann’s prisoner kids? How many others?”
“I’m where I am if they can reach me. But I will not chase victory against the Beorgmann, try to reason with a madman clutching an empty pot, or save a girl from her own recklessness. To do so would be fruitless, encourage them to embrace their mistakes, or both. Better I conserve power so I can help others who need it over the long term, than seek smaller victories in the now.”
“You let Charles take your power and use it to gainsay kids and get them sent back to abusive households and dangerous situations,” Avery said. “If you’re not going to protect kids, at the very least, what the heck are you going to protect?
“Her suicidal fan club,” Verona added.
“He was going to take the power regardless. Better I stay, watch, wait, and bide my time, fix what most needs fixing when the damage is done.”
“You’re fucking with us this entire way, manipulating the situation-”
“Surviving.”
“Alabaster,” Lucy said. She had moisture in her eyes and anger on her face. “What the fuck is it you even do, while you’re spending all this time occupying this important position?”
The Alabaster showed them.
Centuries, total, in glimpses and moments. Initially, she acted. Initially, she removed dangers. But as time went on, she spread herself thinner, conserved more.
Instead of saving someone, she gave them a small burst of energy, to try again. If they had the strength. Instead of securing a ward, she created a reminder- a glimpse of light in shadow, that resembled a threat, so the Warden might pick up the pace, visit that warding site earlier.
And if that thing got loose… not her fault.
Conservation, efficiency, hoarding power, letting others solve small problems, waiting until there was a big one. Acting.
A clear event which needed intervention, that turned out to provide something? That, she paid for.
“If I did not do this, there is a good chance I would have failed long ago, bankrupt of karmic power in a time of need.”
“By not spending you let problems grow until they’re almost insurmountable. The Beorgmann’s a big one,” Verona said.
“On the rare occasion. But most times, others handle it. Most times, the problems remain surmoutnable.”
“And Charles?” Avery asked.
“I expect to get back what I put into him. It is the only guaranteed way past this turning point in the region’s history.”
“Unless someone notices you’re reaping the karma while not keeping up what needs keeping up,” Verona remarked.
“I get us through.”
“You didn’t get John Stiles through.”
Lucy moved her hand.
The Alabaster obliged.
Taking them back to the Arena.
Through the scenes. Through dialogue. It wasn’t fast-forwarded, but they got the gist of it all in moments.
Lucy nodded.
“You guys said it’d count. That he took you up on the offer. That he fought first. That he proved himself, every step of the way. Then you just let the whole Charles deal unfold over a century, let Charles walk through the doors with the furs on? A forsworn guy?”
“You failed too. In parallels. The same way I failed,” the Alabaster said. “You failed him too.”
“Fuck you,” Lucy spat the words back, no hesitation.
“We’re trying,” Avery said. “We’re pushing our limits. We’re growing. We’re helping others grow, I think. I don’t think anything about you or what you’re doing has pushed limits, grown, or helped others grow in a long time.”
Lucy walked around the scene, around John.
“Have you reached a verdict? All the intelligent Others and people and practitioners of the region?” Verona asked.
“We have,” the regional spirit replied.
“Will it be a nasty surprise?”
“No. Not for you three, not for your familiar.”
The Alabaster took that in, leaning back slightly, eyes widening.
“I wonder if that’s the most you’ve felt alive, in the last however the fuck long,” Lucy said.
“I felt alive when the Carmine Exile emerged from the building. It was interesting. Interesting doesn’t often reach into my sort of domain. Not after this long.”
“Swear to change, to amend everything we’ve pointed out, to try. To be the balancing force you need to be,” Avery offered.
The Alabaster let the vision fall to pieces. Lucy moved. Pulling out her compact.
Drawing in the air with glamour.
Seizing the image of John from the middle of the contest, his Dog Tags around him. Wearing his coat, red, like hers.
She reached for his gun, and the glamour in her hand expanded out to capture the image and give it some form.
John posed, aiming the gun, moving as Lucy did.
“That’s an illusion,” the Albaster said. “Glamour.”
Lucy reached for her neck, hooked a thumb around her chain necklace, and pulled out the various dog tags and the rings at the end. She slid her fingers through the weapon ring and Yalda’s ring both.
Turned what she was holding into a real weapon.
“There you go,” the Alabaster replied. To the spirit, she said, “You’ll be required to take the seat. It doesn’t suit the collective of the people of the region. It’ll destroy you.”
“They made me so I could. The parts of me that can lead, parent, manage, I can push them up and forward.”
“I see.” The Alabaster’s eyes changed as she said it. So she could see.
She looked around at her people, standing at the edge of trees and clearing, or sitting on branches.
“I need permission,” Lucy said.
“You don’t have to be the one to do this,” Avery said. “Not again. Not after Alexander.”
“I want to.”
“Okay. Permission granted.”
Verona walked up, standing behind her friend, hand at Lucy’s shoulder. Like she could brace Lucy from behind while Lucy shot.
“You’ll mess up my stance.”
“I trust you to hit what you’re shooting,” Verona said. “Go for it.”
Lucy looked over at the spirit.
“I take all onus and responsibility onto myself,” the spirit replied, words measured, “as I give permission.”
“No onus. She’s supposed to curse people who kill her like Yalda did,” Lucy said. “But she did this to herself, slowly, over centuries, and then capped it off with what I call point of order number seven: yanking the chain of a certain Dog of War to support someone like Charles Abrams.”
The chain at Lucy’s neck jangled. One hand held the gun, the other was poised right in front of her, fingers at odd angles, to have the rings through them.
Lucy pulled the trigger.
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