by Tolleson » Fri Jan 19, 2018 11:53 am
Does it really matter?
What would it change?
…And does that mean you really want to know?
They were simple questions. And surely, she had asked them, albeit quietly, to herself long ago and again since, more than a few times. Considering the amount of time that had passed from the day of Rhaena’s death to this moment, mere inquiry had devolved into something closer to obsession. The rational questions seemed beyond mattering; still, she listened and she tried to hear his words afresh.
But at his mention of letting sleeping dogs lie, her eyes flicked to Kacela, the half formed tears cleared, and the pull of some struggling smile at the corner of her mouth rose into a grin. “You sound rather like Glenn.” It was more poking fun than to say they were anything alike; not that she could much tell - with time and distance between them, any more they were both strangers. It was a sentiment the former Governor had held before and it made some sense now. As circumstances stood, no one, singular individual had blood on their hands, the town had more-or-less recovered from the madness of the Red and Gold Summer. Rest was much needed if not deserved. Leaving the past alone offered a chance to move forward, to live some semblance of a normal life. But at its core the suggestion postulated that through this oversight, in ignorance, peace could be attained, even sustained, and was therefore more important than truth.
Of all the lessons she had learned, from Glenn’s rule, Rhaena’s tutelage, from the sheer struggle to survive in Myrken, the most important by far was that peace was fleeting regardless. The truth mattered. It could very well change nothing. And as to whether or not she truly wanted to know, that was the only question that festered with uncertainty, in part because of the question that followed.
"Why do you want to know so badly?"
Her eyes drifted away again, towards the fireplace in silent contemplation. After a few quiet moments, her red hair curling slightly as it started to dry, she offered a soft, half-hearted reply, “guilt?”
As an answer it was obvious. Simple. She was not a soldier accustomed to violent death, nor an executioner numb to the sight of such things. As far as she was concerned, she hadn't the right to say who deserved to live or die and certainly had never killed someone intentionally or, as far as she was aware, otherwise.
But even as she spoke the word it seemed limp. Wrong. Trying again, though her eyes seemed locked, reading the flames, she ventured more confidently, “Fear."
She nodded resolutely, as if finding this answer better articulated or somehow more truthful and returned to facing her hosts. "I feel pieces of her, her memory, her face is… as clear and solid in my mind as you, sitting before me now.”
Rhaena had been a good teacher, even though her and her student's capabilities differed. She had been effective with lessons in controlling surges of emotion, focusing on words to create cohesive thoughts, and not overwhelm those with whom she communicated. But the lessons were incomplete, as evidenced by all that had transpired in their conversation so far. And though the town may not have appreciated Kals, the mere fact that he could recognize this in her, made him invaluable.
With good intentions but a lack of training it was fathomable that her own ambition could one day lead her down a similar path. And more importantly, if there was any lingering vestige of Rhaena still within her, did it pose a threat? Her head held a labyrinth of memories and thoughts she’d seemed to have absorbed from the minds that she had touched. Genny had done well to tuck such pieces into the hedges and dead-ends, suppressing or imprisoning what her mind knew to be foreign. And though it had only ever been memories and past moments, deep down there was the fear that something survived. And if anyone knew how to place pieces of a mind into another vessel it had been Rhaena.
“Oh, believe me, I do have better things to do. The renovations of the meeting house, to build the school, to see Daryl grow… to find love.” It was an abrupt and perhaps overly honest admission, the truth of it broke in her voice and burned in her cheeks. Hot tears rose again though she blinked them away, trying to project some calm, collected demeanor that she’d lost well before their encounter in the forest.
“I want to forget. To live.” She took a deep breath, looking Kals squarely in the eyes; asking for his help in the statements. “But I need to know how I am best killed… if ever I become as she was, in the end.”
Maybe he thought her mad. Or that madness was a forgone conclusion and he was only banking on her losing interest and leaving as soon as the storm stopped. But she persisted and now she waited, the heart of her obsession laid bare in a revelation that had been as difficult to admit as it was to speak aloud.