The Verse:
Grief is a strange algebra
which both multiplies and subtracts when shared.
The Vision:
Callum is carrying the head of General Panic, which has become oracular.
There is a black snake entwined around his throat.
Commentary by Archbishop Co’oal Venesti:
A black snake has long been recognized as symbolic of the presence of a devil or demon, known for lies and deceit. However, it holds also the contrary symbolism of wisdom, healing and rebirth. This particular vision is sacred to the Church of the Holy Martyred Ross, officially recognized as an order of the Archonist Church in 3611.
Commentary by Elma, High Prophetess of Skarsia:
How dull.
Commentary by Archbishop Seth:
After an enormous amount of encouragement, I have persuaded Prince Callum to write a fuller commentary than I could ever hope to write on this painful subject. The faithful should take note. Callum is one of the most disregarded emanations, and yet he is a model for perfect fidelity, both for the human faithful, and for Cu’enashti n’aashet n’aaverti.
Also, Elma is a bitch.
Commentary by Prince Callum O’Shea:
Mistress called for me. She’d had a nightmare of blue amrita. That’s rare. Amrita seeks to please.
She called for me because the vision was of me. “You want to say something,” she said. “You want to speak about Ross.”
I stared at the floor. I wondered if she already knew what I had to say. If she did, it was cruel of her to make me say it.
“I’m a prophet, not a mind-reader,” she said, as if she’d read my mind.
“It’s the holovid,” I murmured.
Mistress knew what I was talking about. Twenty minutes of rape, torture and vivisection, released by General Panic to provoke a war. She’d succeeded. It was a war she’d lost.
“Do you want me to suppress it?” Mistress asked. “It’s a little late now. Half the galaxy has seen it.”
“Half the galaxy,” I said, “but not you.”
“What?” She grabbed me by the chin. “Look at me when you’re talking, Callum.”
“What hurts Ross,” I whispered, “is that everyone has witnessed his humiliation except you. Because he hasn’t been able to share that with you, it’s eroding his sense of n’aashet n’aaverti.”
Mistress got up quickly and walked over to the window. “Do you think I can do that?” she asked. “I can’t. Even I’m not that strong.” Her hand hovered over the stopper of a crystalline decanter. “To drink or not to drink, that is the question,” she said. “Will it make this better or worse?”
I didn’t think she wanted an answer. She turned to face me. Our eyes met; I lowered mine. “I’m serious,” she said. “I have to be careful whenever I deal with Ross.”
I had to force myself. I had to force the word. It wasn’t a word I could easily say to her. “No,” I said. “Being careful hurts him.”
“I wish it were as easy for me as it is for you,” she said, throwing herself down on the couch. “Then you could just kick me around a little for payback.”
The thought horrified me. I crouched, burying my head between my knees.
“I only mean that I’m responsible. I’m responsible for what happened to Ross. But no amount of punishment will change it. It would only be a stupid game to make me feel better.”
“Is that what I am to you?” I asked. “A stupid game?” I shocked myself. I hadn’t planned to say anything. It wasn’t me asking. It was I and I asking.
If Mistress answered the wrong thing, I could die.
If Mistress answered the wrong thing, I didn’t care whether I died.
I didn’t know the right answer.
“Get on the couch,” she snapped. “We’ll watch it together.”
It took only a few seconds to find the holovid on the media stream. It had 20,784,542 hits.
“The galaxy is full of sick fucks,” she said. “Who would want to watch this?” She looked at me. Her eyes were moist. “Do you want to watch this?”
“I’ve lived it,” I said. “I’ve lived it a thousand times, trying to make it better for him.”
“It doesn’t work, does it?”
“No.”
But watching it from outside is different. Ross is beautiful. General Panic is pulling the petals from a flower. In the end – is it any surprise – Tara was stronger than I was. She watched unblinkingly, her jaw hard, immovable, jutting like a breeze block.
I stood it as long as I could before running to the bathroom to vomit.
Tara stood in the doorway. “I guess you didn’t enjoy that,” she said. “I’m a little surprised. I wondered if it would turn you on.”
I couldn’t help myself. I began to cry. I couldn’t stop. Ross never cried. He just didn’t say anything for two years. Why should I speak up for myself? “He couldn’t ask you. He thought it would sound ungrateful, and he knew it would upset you to watch it.”
She knelt next to me on the hard tile floor. It made me uncomfortable. I grabbed a bath rug and tried to wedge it under her knees. “When will Ross learn? When will you learn? I don’t value you any less than the others. You’re all a part of Ash.” She drew me to her, stroking my hair. “It was wrong of me not to have watched that as soon as I knew it existed. I was thinking that I couldn’t bear to see what happened to Ross, but it happened to Ash, too. I have to understand what happens to Ash.”
“I don’t mind being less than the others,” I said, when I had finally composed myself. “I like to serve.”
“Being submissive and being worthless aren’t the same. You know that. You’re just that part of Ash that wants to worship me. What is it Tarlach called it? Tara-therapy? You’re just the living personification of Tara-therapy.”
It’s like an explosion, a nova, and when it passes, I’m surprised to find my heart still intact and beating in my chest. I don’t have to suffer anymore. We don’t have to suffer anymore. I’m not afraid anymore. I don’t have to worry about being safe.
I can just worship her, and we’ll all be happy.
Commentary by Her Eminence Tara del D’myn, Matriarch of Skarsia:
So who wants to be the one to tell him that he’s the God?