Arc 2 – Chapter 6.5 – Damian Helps / Beira Makes a Terrible Mistake

Chapter 6.5

Damian Helps / Beira Makes a Terrible Mistake

            A Completely Non-Canon Interlude

            There are moments in life when a person is presented with a problem and, after careful consideration, arrives at what seems like an obvious solution.

            This is one of those moments, though in retrospect, that should have been my first warning.

            “Damian,” I call as I sit cross-legged on my bed and stare at the opposite wall.

            Nothing but silence answers me.

            “Damian,” I call again.

            Still nothing, not even his usual sarcastic snark ringing in my head.

            I narrow my eyes.

            “Damian,” I call yet again, this time with more force, then add, “Damian, Damian, Damian, Damian, Damian.”

            The room remains silent and stubbornly devoid of gods.

            I flop backward onto my pillows.

            “This is ridiculous,” I say out loud.

            For months, I have been trying to get a useful answer out of him, not even a particularly complicated answer.  I don't need to know the secrets of the universe, or to explain the meaning of life.  I don't even need him to tell me what has kept him so busy lately, though that would be nice.  I just need him to solve one tiny problem.  A problem that, according to Damian himself, is technically not his fault.

            “I never told them that.”

            I glare at the ceiling.

            “Yes, well, maybe you should!” I shout suddenly.

            I sit back up.

            “People are getting into fistfights over this!” I shout to no one, since I don’t think he is even listening.  “Someone even called me a false prophet!”

            Only silence rings in response.

            “Someone else decided the fact that I denied being your Herald was proof that I am your Herald!” I shout in frustration, throwing my hands into the air.  “How the fuck does that even work?”

            “That does seem somewhat unreasonable,” a voice suddenly answers.

            I scream and leap off my bed, then turn around quickly.

            Damian is sitting at the foot of my bed.

            “You!” I point an accusatory finger at him.

            He smiles at me as if he hasn’t spent months ignoring me.

            “Hello, Beira,” he says casually.

            “Don't you ‘hello, Beira’ me!”

            His smile doesn't move.

            “I have been calling you for the last ten minutes!” I tell him.

            “Eleven minutes and 43 seconds to be precise,” he corrects.

            We both stare at each other for a moment, then I take a slow breath.

            This is fine.  I finally got his attention and that is what matters.

            “Okay,” I say, settling myself back on my bed, leaning against my pillows. “I need your help.”

            Damian raises one eyebrow, that should have been my second warning.

            “With what?” he asks.

            “The Herald thing,” I say, exasperated.

            “Oh.” Recognition immediately crosses his face.

            “Yeah. Oh.”

            “I thought we discussed that,” he replies calmly.

            “We did.  Your contribution to the discussion was, ‘I never told them that,’” I tell him.

            “I didn't, so what’s the problem?” Damian says, tilting his head.

            I close my eyes.

            Patience, Beira.  He is a god.  An ancient, incomprehensibly powerful divine being and if you strangle him, it probably won't work.  Sure, he murdered me first, so I am reasonably certain I would have the moral high ground in attempting it, but that is beside the point.

            I open my eyes.

            “Damian,” I say calmly.  “People think I'm your Herald.”

            “I know,” he replies nonchalantly.

            “They think I speak for you.”

            “I know,” he says with a nod.

            “And they keep asking me for blessings.”

            “I’m aware.”

            “They almost had a riot outside a seamstress’s shop because one man said I was a false prophet.” I point out.

            That makes his smile fall.

            “A riot?” he asks.

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            I stare at him, resisting the urge to rub my temples.

            “What I need is very simple,” I tell him.

            “Okay…”

            “I need you to tell them I am not your Herald,” I tell him.  

            “And that you don't speak for me,” Damian says after a moment of consideration.

            “Yes!” I say with more than a little enthusiasm. 

            Finally, he gets it!

            “And that they should stop asking you for blessings,” he adds.

            “Yes!”

            “Okay, that seems reasonable,” he says with a nod.

            I blink in surprise, that was almost too easy.

            “That’s it?” I ask cautiously.  “You'll do it?”

            “Of course,” he says nodding enthusiastically.

            I stare at him suspiciously through narrow eyes.

            He smiles again.

            “No tricks?” I ask.

            “No tricks.”

            “No technically correct wording that somehow makes everything worse?” I inquire.

            He actually looks offended.

            “Beira…”

            “You do that,” I point out.

            “Not intentionally.”

            “That does not make me feel better,” I tell him.

            “Would you like me to tell them or not?” he asks, standing up.

            “Yes,” I say too quickly.  “For the love of the gods, yes.”

            “Very well,” he says with a nod and disappears.

            I stare at the empty space where he had been.

            That... that actually went well.

            I climb off my bed.

            Maybe I have been unfair to him.

            Perhaps this entire problem really was as simple as asking him directly.  Not complaining, not ranting, and not pointing out all the ways his completely useless observation failed to help me… just asking.

            I cross the room toward my bookshelves when a brilliant golden light floods through the glass.

            I stop and slowly, very slowly, look toward the window.

            “Oh, no,” I mutter to myself.

            I suddenly have a really bad feeling.

            The light outside intensifies.

            “Oh, no, no, no,” I repeat as I rush across the room and throw open the curtains all the way.

            A second sun hangs above Aberling, except it isn't a sun, it's Damian.  A Damian easily several hundred feet tall, glowing with enough golden light to illuminate the entire city, plateau, and surrounding lands.

            His enormous face looks down upon Aberling.

            I rush out of my room and out the front door of the estate, running toward the street where, to my horror, people have already begun pouring into.  Some are pointing while others drop to their knees.

            “Damian, what the fuck are you doing?” I yell hysterically.

            His voice rolls across Aberling like thunder.

            “PEOPLE OF ABERLING.”

            The windows rattle in all the buildings.

            I close my eyes.

            Of course, of course this is how he decided to do it.

            “LADY BEIRA BRAEMAR HAS ASKED THAT I CLARIFY A MATTER OF SOME IMPORTANCE,” he booms.

            W-what the hell is he doing? 

            My eyes snap open.

            Wait. Wait… no, this… this could still work.  It is excessive and completely ridiculous and will possibly be responsible for permanent hearing loss in several thousand people, but it could work.

            People from all walks of life have emerged from buildings across the estate.  Guards and the City Watch are staring upward and somewhere in the distance, bells begin ringing.

            Damian continues.

            “LADY BEIRA DOES NOT SPEAK FOR ME AND I HAVE NEVER NAMED HER MY HERALD.  FURTHERMORE, SHE HAS ASKED THAT YOU STOP REQUESTING BLESSINGS FROM HER.”

            Inside I am dancing and cheering.

            Holy shit, he's doing it.  He's actually doing it.  Sure, he said I asked him, but people pray all the time, I can just tell anyone that asks that I prayed to him, hahaha!

            Damian's enormous face turns toward the Braemar estate, toward me and he smiles.

            “THERE, I DID IT, BEIRA, JUST LIKE I SAID I WOULD.  I HOPE THAT HELPS.”

            My smile disappears.

            “Wait,” I say in disbelief.  “Wait, you fucking idiot!”

            Damian vanishes and the golden light disappears with him, leaving a brief afterimage in the sky.

            For several seconds, Aberling is completely silent.  Nobody moves.  It’s like someone had hit a giant pause button to pause the world, then a bird chirps from somewhere nearby and the spell breaks as everyone takes in a collective gasp.

            “THE HERALD SUMMONED HIM!” a woman just outside the estate gates screams and my soul leaves my body.

            “No,” I cry.

            Another voice rises from somewhere beyond the estate walls.

            “LADY BEIRA COMMANDS THE LIGHT!”

            “No!” I scream in protest.

            Then more people begin shouting.

            “HE ANSWERED HER CALL!”

            “HE SPOKE AT HER REQUEST!”

            “THE DIVINE HEEDS THE HERALD!”

            “No, no, no!” I fall to my knees in anguish as I scream.  “THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT HE SAID!”

            Nobody can hear me over all the other screams, how could they?

            The man near the estate gates drops to his knees as if his sole purpose is to prove me wrong.

            “SUCH HUMILITY!” the man yells.

            “FUCK YOU!” I scream in response.

            “My Lady!” comes a voice from behind me and I spin around.  “Language.”

            Mary stands a few feet away, looking at me with extreme disapproval.

            “NOT NOW, MARY!” I say with extreme force.

            Footsteps approach from the house and Mother appears a moment later.  She doesn't run, Duchess Ilsa Braemar does not run.  She simply walks very, very quickly in a manner that suggests running has been deemed beneath her station.

            “What happened?” she asks calmly.

            “Damian helped,” I say giving her a look.

            Mother stops and for the first time in my life, I watch my mother visibly reconsider the meaning of a sentence.

            “He... helped,” she states.

            “If you could call it that.” I reply dryly.

            Outside, another cheer erupts.

            “THE DIVINE SPEAKS FOR THE HERALD!”

            Mother closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

            I point frantically toward the sky where his giant form had stood.

            “I didn't tell them to say that!” I protest.

            “I assumed not.”

            “I told Damian to tell them I wasn't his Herald!” I explain.

            “And?” Mother says opening her eyes.

            “He did!” I say gesturing wildly.

            We stare at each other.

            Mary walks closer to the estate gates and looks around.

            “My Lady,” she calls.

            “What?”

            “I believe they have begun making signs.”

            Both me and my mother look at her at the same time and ask the same question, “What?”

            I look to the street and see that she is right.

            Someone already has a large wooden sign.

            THE LIGHT WALKS AMONG US

            Another appears farther down the street.

            DAMIAN'S CHOSEN

            “That one isn't even new!” I shout.

            Mother stands beside me and watches in bewilderment as a third sign rises.

            THE HERALD SPEAKS FOR THE DIVINE

            “Yes!” I say, pointing.  “That, that is the problem!”

            Then the sign disappears as someone pulls it down and starts painting over it.

            “See? They understood,” I say, smiling in relief.

            Mother and Mary say nothing, they just wait.

            Then the sign rises again.

            THE DIVINE SPEAKS FOR THE HERALD

            I stare, mouth agape.  Mary clears her throat and Mother pinches the bridge of her nose.

            “I want to die,” I mutter.

            “That would appear unlikely to solve the problem, My Lady,” Mary points out. “Particularly given your history.”

            I slowly turn my head toward her, but Mary remains perfectly expressionless.

            “Was that a joke?” I ask.

            “No, My Lady,” she says.  “I am simply stating a fact.”

            “That was a joke,” I tell her.

            “I would never,” she protests.

            A familiar laugh comes from just outside the gate.

            Angus enters the estate grounds.  He looks at me, then Mother, and then Mary, before looking at the signs going up all over the streets.  His shoulders begin to shake.

            “Don't,” I warn him.

            He covers his mouth.

            “Angus.” I level the flattest look I can at him.  Considering I’m related to Mari, I know how to level a flat gaze and make it hurt.

            “I haven't said anything,” he protests.

            “You're laughing,” I point out.

            “I am not.”

            “You absolutely are,” I admonish him.  “Don’t lie to me, Angus.”

            He turns away.

            “See, your shoulders are shaking!” I point out.

            “Maybe I’m having some difficulty breathing,” he says.

            “GOOD! When you pass out, I’ll make sure to prevent anyone from helping you.”

            Outside the estate gates, someone starts chanting.

            “BEI-RA! BEI-RA! BEI-RA!”

            I turn and walk back into the house followed by Mother, Mary, and Angus.

            “I'm never leaving my bedroom again,” I announce as I reach the stairs leading up to the second floor. 

            Mother gives me a look of doubt but continues to follow and soon I am back in the safety of my room.

            “I mean it,” I tell her.

            “No, you don't,” She replies with a small smile.

            “I can have food brought to my room.”

            “You have classes tomorrow,” she replies.

            “I'll have the instructors brought here,” I say.

            Mother's eyebrow rises.

            “Fine. I'll stop learning,” I declare.

            “Beira,” she warns.

            “I know, I know.”

            Angus has finally regained enough control of himself to breathe.

            “This isn't funny,” I tell him.

            “No,” he agrees, but his mouth twitches.

            I narrow my eyes.

            “Don't.”

            “I didn't say anything,” he insists.

            “You're thinking it,” I hiss at him.

            A flash of golden light fills the room and everyone freezes.

            Damian is sitting on my bed again.

            “There you are,” he says.

            “YOU!” I hiss, pointing at him.

            “What did I do?” He asks looking surprised.

            “What did you do?!?” I say with incredulity.  “What didn’t you do!”

            “I told them exactly what you asked me to tell them.”

            “They think I command you!” I point out.

            Damian blinks in confusion.

            “Why?”

            “BECAUSE YOU TOLD THE ENTIRE CITY THAT YOU WERE DOING IT BECAUSE I ASKED!” I scream while flailing my arms about.

            “I was doing it because you asked,” he states as if it would make everything better.

            I make a sound I didn't know a human throat could produce.

            Angus turns away again.

            “Stop laughing!” I demand sharply.

            “I am trying,” he tells me, clearly not trying hard enough.

            “Try harder!”

            “So, they misunderstood me,” Damian says, looking toward the window.

            “Yes!” I hiss.

            “I see,” he says with a look of contemplation.

            “No,” I tell him.  “I don't think you do.”

            “I can fix this,” he says, walking toward the window.

            Every instinct I possess screams at once.

            “No!”

            Damian pauses.

            Mother says, very calmly, “Lord Damian.”

            He looks at her.

            “With the greatest possible respect,” she continues, “perhaps it would be prudent to consider your next words very carefully.”

            “Of course,” Damian agrees with a nod.

            I relax slightly as he disappears, then golden light floods through the window again.

            “NO!” I scream sprinting toward it.

            Damian reappears above Aberling.

            “PEOPLE OF ABERLING,” he booms, “THERE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN A MISUNDERSTANDING.”

            “DAMIAN!” I scream his name in vain and press my forehead against the glass, defeated.

            “PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT LADY BEIRA HOLDS NO AUTHORITY OVER ME.”

            This is going to just make things worse, again.

            “WHILE I CHOSE TO HONOR HER REQUEST, I DID SO OF MY OWN FREE WILL.”

            I hold my breath, hoping he stops there.

            “HER WISHES ARE NOT COMMANDS.”

            Seriously, don’t say another word!

            “ALTHOUGH I DO GENERALLY TRY TO HELP HER WHEN SHE ASKS.”

            My forehead hits the glass repeatedly only to find it is stronger than I expected.

            “Why?” I repeat over and over in agony.

            “THIS SHOULD NOT BE INTERPRETED AS EVIDENCE THAT SHE POSSESSES SPECIAL AUTHORITY OVER THE DIVINE,” he continues, “IT IS MERELY A CONSEQUENCE OF OUR UNIQUE PERSONAL RELATIONSHIP.”

            Someone, please kill me again.

            Behind me, Angus whispers, “Oh, no.”

            “I HOPE THAT CLEARS EVERYTHING UP,” Damian finishes with a smile and vanishes.

            All over the city, there is silence, a long and terrible silence.   Then, after what seems like forever, a voice rings out…

            “THE BELOVED OF DAMIAN!”

            I scream at the window as the city erupts, the sound of hundreds of people filling the air all at once.

            “CHOSEN OF THE LIGHT!”

            “BELOVED OF THE DIVINE!”

            “THE GOD'S COMPANION!”

            “THE MORTAL FRIEND OF DAMIAN!”

            Okay, that one isn't actually terrible.

            Then someone screams, “THE BRIDE OF LIGHT!”

            “WHAT?!” I cry.

            Angus loses the fight and doubles over laughing.

            “IT ISN'T FUNNY!” I inform him at full volume.

            “I am sorry,” he manages.

            “You don't sound sorry!” I tell him.

            “I am trying.”

            “You're failing!” I say, then add, “miserably.”

            Mother has gone completely still, and that is somehow more frightening than if she were shouting.

            “My Lady,” Mary says, staring through the other window.

            “No.”

            “There appears to be another sign,” she points out.

            “I don't want to know.”

            “I believe you should see this one,” she insists.

            Against my better judgment, I look out the window I have been banging my head against in a desperate attempt to render myself unconscious, and toward the street. A new sign rises above the crowd gathered there.

            THE DIVINE SPEAKS FOR THE HERALD, only someone has crossed out THE HERALD and underneath, in fresh paint, HIS BELOVED

            Then, another sign rises.

            BEIRA BRAEMAR, VOICE OF THE LIGHT

            And another.

            SHE WHO COMMANDS NO GODS BECAUSE THE GODS OBEY WILLINGLY

            Mother turns away from the window.

            “I need tea,” she says simply and begins to walk away.

            “Mother!”

            “I need a great deal of tea,” she states.

            “You can't leave me!”

            “I believe this problem now exceeds my authority as Duchess of Braemar,”  she says, shaking her head.

            “You're my mother!”

            She pauses, her back to me.  Her shoulders drop slightly, then she turns back, walks to me, and puts both hands on my shoulders.  For one brief, beautiful moment, I think she is going to reassure me.

            “My daughter,” she says solemnly, “you brought this upon yourself.”

            My mouth falls open.

            She leaves.

            “Traitor!” I cry.

            Mary follows her.

            “Mary!”

            “I shall prepare the tea, Your Grace,” she says, trailing after the duchess.

            The door closes and I stare after them, dumbfounded.

            Angus is still laughing.

            I turn toward him, eyes narrowed.

            “Do you have anything helpful to contribute?” I ask dryly.

            He straightens and looks at me.  His face is red and there are tears in his eyes.

            “I believe your mother is correct,” he states.

            “GET OUT!” I demand, pointing toward the door as golden light flashes behind me.

            I slowly turn.

            Damian is back and he looks genuinely concerned.

            “I don't think that worked,” he says, confusion in his tone.

            For several seconds, I cannot speak, then something inside me becomes very calm.  Dangerously calm.

            “Damian,” I say quietly.

            “Yes?”

            “Do you remember how you murdered me?” I ask.

            Damian considers the question for a moment, then answers, “Yes.”

            “Good,” I say with a smile and take a step towards him.

            He takes one step backward.

            “Beira?” he asks, his face now filled with concern.

            “I have a theological question.”

            Damian takes another step back as I take another forward.

            “What is it?” he asks in a small voice.

            “If I kill a god, is it still deicide if he murdered me first?”

            Damian disappears and I am left staring at the empty space.

            Angus, who has been quiet since telling me he agreed with my mother, makes a strangled noise and I turn toward him.

            “Not.  One.  Word,” I say, with a hiss punctuating each word.

            He presses his lips together.

            Outside, thousands of voices suddenly erupt into cheers.

            “What now?” I ask.

            Angus looks through the window, but I refuse to.

            “Well?” I ask.

            There is a pause for a moment, then he answers.

            “Another sign,” he says.  “Would you like to know what it says?”

            “No,” I tell him.

            “Are you certain?” he asks.

            “Yes.”

            Another cheer shakes the windows and I sigh.

            “Fine, what does it say?” I ask, closing my eyes, resigned to my fate.

            Angus clears his throat.

            When he speaks, his voice is trembling.

            “Damian flees before the wrath of his bride.”

            I open my eyes and Angus runs.

            “GET BACK HERE!” I scream, chasing him into the hallway.

            Behind me, Aberling celebrates the latest undeniable proof of my divine authority and somewhere in the universe, Damian is presumably congratulating himself on helping.