Reconcile

—Harlon Lowe and Roland Arrow367

Reconcile

“So,” Roland began, awkwardness staining his expression, his tone, his body language. “Your Curses have been removed?”

Shiv just nodded. Despite everything, he'd achieved his main goal when it came to the Fairwoods. Sure felt hollow now, though. “And then some. Got a lot more than I bargained for. Like always. I should’ve learned by now. Should’ve learned that it doesn’t matter what I want or what I think. The System’s going to do what it always does.” But it was more than the System; the weariness in him flared. “Maybe the System’s the excuse. It never really bends anyone’s arm. Everything that happens to me is because it dangles some choices in front of people. A few levels. An evolution. An item. Greed and cruelty do the rest. That’s the way it always goes. It’s like people were born to betray themselves.”

A groan left Rose. She staggered across the room and began going through a new set of cabinets lining the walls. “Talk this depressing can't be done sober.”

While she dug through the bottles, Adam shivered in his bed. Shiv’s focus kept drifting back to his ruined friend. Adam's urge to indulge in violence was only countered—and overwhelmed—by his unchecked Awareness that continued pulling his sanity apart. With his bloodlust-drowned mind proving hazardous for any Psychomancer to enter, Adam couldn’t fall asleep, couldn’t have his burdens shifted to a stronger mind, and couldn’t find any reprieve. The layers of suffering destroyed him, and kept on destroying him.

And there was nothing Shiv could do.

“Cooking. Fighting. And then talking. Only things I was really good at. For a while, I thought I could get myself out of any situation with those skills. Between that and my Deathlessness, I was sure I could beat anyone eventually. Inevitably.” Shiv thought back to the Challenger, and a bitter laugh escaped him. “I didn’t even actually fail. Adam wanted this. I—I managed to talk the Challenger into it. I made this happen. I succeeded. And he paid for it. My victory, his blood—”

The butt of a bottle bounced off his head. Shiv turned and found Rose jabbing at him with a huge bottle of champagne. “Can you mope and drink at the same time?”

Her question left him stunned. “I can resurrect a body. I don’t even actually have a mouth right now.”

“Yeah, well, do that.” Rose Van Erren sniffled. Her eyes were puffy and red from sobbing, and her heart was a pit of deep bitterness. But she was a Pathbearer too—even in her reduced state. She knew how this life went. She knew the costs of being alive under the System. “If we’re all going to sit around and whine about shit, then I prefer to do it with, well, actual wine.”

Shiv accepted the large bottle, but didn’t feel like drinking it. Instead, he placed it atop the Red Rider’s hand—mostly as an insult; a little because he found it funny, even now. “War is war is war is… war is a table for holding drinks,” Shiv mockingly echoed its mantra.

Slowly, the right hand of war extended a single finger at him.

“Fuck you too, hand.”

Comedy 22 > 25

Adam quivered, and he whispered for someone to kill him again, adding to the incongruent atmosphere in the room. “And double fuck you, System,” Shiv added.

Comedy 25 > 26

The Red Rider’s Hand began sending him telepathic sucking noises. Because it didn’t just have to be a transplanted hand that embodied war, it also had to encapsulate the worst aspects of Shiv’s personality.

“Double fuck the System indeed,” Roland muttered, more to himself than Shiv. His head hung low, and his mood dropped lower. If Shiv was magically sedated, then Roland was literally broken. His god had fared no better against the Challenger than mere Heroes, and Roland was helpless to protect his son—even when he was there in person.

That feeling of demoralization was something they all shared: Shiv, Uva, Valor, Roland. They were all together, gathered in one room, so many Legends, Unique Heroes, even a god, and it amounted to nothing before the Challenger.

“That Farwalker I talked to might be able to do something,” Shiv said, but he couldn't muster up the strength to have hope in his own words. “He's Mythic-Tier. One of my bodies is going to go with him over to Chorus, wherever that is. Maybe I can find someone who can help us there. I talked to him about Udraal, but he said it's unlikely he’ll be interested in helping us.”

“If this Farwalker can find my son, let me know,” Valor said, his voice low and somber. “Our parting was not on good terms, but there is still something between us. Maybe if I speak to him, implore him for aid, he could be persuaded to help us.”

But Shiv doubted the world would ever be so kind. “The Usurper-Narrator gave me an offer. She said if I brought Adam back into the Fairwoods, she would feed him to the Watchtower and see the crown removed, or at least that's what she planned to do until the Challenger decided to intrude. She didn't do any better than us. He smacked the Farwalker too. Myth. Goddess. All of us were like insects.”

“No. Not entirely.” Roland's eyes burned bright and blue, and they were locked on Shiv. “I saw what happened when he reached into you. The rage took me, but I remember all that Chronomancy spilling out from you. The shape that formed behind you. The tide of slashes that tore into the Challenger. I watched him reach inside of you, and I watched something inside of you cut back and sever his arm.”

“Yeah. That.” Shiv breathed in and shot the Red Rider’s Hand a look. Its middle finger was no longer extended. “That was some weird soul fuckery I don't fully get. From what the Farwalker told me, though, it seems the Challenger stabilized my Harbinger and reached into my personal timeline, and that caused all my possible futures to align until there was one single path. Or something. Since my Chronomancy was hypercharged by the Challenger's Divinity, and he also powered the Vitae inside of me, it caused me to bleed over into him as well. I guess a future version of me—or maybe all the future versions of me—decided to bite back.”

His explanation left the others reeling. Roland looked pensive, bordering on fearful. Valor held to a state of silent contemplation—before his focus was broken by Adam wheezing and sobbing softly. Rose drank, and she picked the bottle up entirely as she dumped a flood of wine down her throat. Her reaction to Adam's pain had been the exact opposite of Valor's. She flinched and tried to build armor around her heart; the ancient lich was used to such wounds. He stared upon the mangled form of his disciple, allowing the sadness to flow in and then out of him. He was like a clean chasm, a channel for emotions to pass through.

Rose was more like a bomb, but instead of something that might break itself, Shiv could see her emotions radiating outward. She wanted a solution. She wanted it now. “Okay, so you have future selves or something. Fuck, I hate Chronomancy. It always does weird nonsensical shit like this. But since we're all desperate, we could use some weird nonsensical shit. Can you call out to your future selves or something? Can you ask them for help? If they're powerful enough to rip up a god, then maybe…”

Shiv just shook his head. “I can't do it, not without the Challenger pouring himself into me and holding my skill together. If Uva wasn't neutering my emotions right now, I'd probably shatter apart in front of you. The guilt I feel would be a terminal condition without her.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Rose snarled. She drew her arm back to throw her beverage against the wall, but then stopped herself at the last second. It was still sloshing, filled with wine. She decided that getting drunker was a bigger priority than venting her anger right now. “Okay, so from what I'm hearing, it's not impossible. We just need to lure that orc fucker back. Have him ram himself inside your skull again, and then you can have your future selves do something.”

“Yeah,” Shiv deadpanned. “I’ll think about how I can call the Challenger out for a quick rematch.”

The rage inside Rose detonated. This time, she did throw the bottle, but Roland intercepted it, catching it before it could ever strike Shiv's head. Even so, Roland, unbalanced by what happened to his son and moving in surprised haste, accidentally let the glass shatter. Wine sprayed between his fingers. A speckle of dark red soaked Shiv's armor, staining the chitin and the foodstuffs that comprised the material. Rose was on her feet again, seething openly at Shiv. Her rage was spilling out, looking for anything to latch onto. It was like a serpent, desperate to inject its venom, desperate to cast the caustic fires inside of her into someone else. Rose Van Erren wanted to go off like a bomb, but she didn't want to destroy herself. In the absence of a proper target, she would choose the next best thing.

“Absolutely fucking useless!” she snarled. “What’s the point of you? What’s the point? This is it, or what? Because it's too hard? Because it can’t be done? Because you’re sad or something? You’re giving up? We’re just going to let him suffer?”

Logically, Shiv understood her anger. From her perspective, life had been an unceasing series of brutal torment. First came her death, and what a savage death at that. Her own child was cut out of her womb by those she cared for, by the machinations of a vile Transcendent. Then she was resurrected, cast back into the world as little more than a feeble Initiate. Even after being reunited with her husband, she was cast outside, forced to contend with eldritch forces. And now her darling son, her only true surviving child, lay drenched in his own blood, stammering nothings of madness and violence.

But in the dull depths of Shiv's emotions, he was weak too. He wanted to snap back at her. Touched by something that was buried, his subconscious took on a shade of anger, and he was so insulated from his own heart that he couldn't even use his Feat to burn the skill as fuel for his Rhetoric or Psychology.

More than anything, Shiv was tranquilized by his own Harbinger, refusing to let him spiral into a whirlwind lest he descend into a fatal psychotic break, and by Uva, who stood as his pillar in this trying time.

“I don't want to let anything happen,” Shiv replied honestly, wearily. “And I'm not done. I haven't given up. I'm just…” His hands were beginning to shake again. It had been some time since he did that—some time since his old weakness took hold.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Rose's anger rumbled inside her, and then it was bottlenecked as she realized what she was doing, as her mind caught up with her heart. “Fuck,” she muttered, sagging back into her seat. Her combusting core calmed. The rage was still there, but it was dulled, like fire transmuted back into napalm. However, a new substance laced its alchemy, the grime of shame. Shiv didn't need the Harbinger to see how she felt. The Lady of Blackedge wore her emotions on her face. A war ensued internally, her embarrassment and grief warring against her frustration and stubbornness. The former won. “I'm sorry,” she said, a single tear rolling down her right cheek. “That wasn’t fucking fair of me at all. You’ve always tried. I can see it. And I wasn’t there when he needed me. I wasn't there his entire life. My boy. My baby boy. My baby boy that I'm so proud of, that I couldn't protect and that I barely know. You've done more for him than I ever did, kid, and this is all I can do. All I’m worth now. Not even a Pathbearer anymore. Just another one of those useless Ladies I used to hate.”

But though she tried to muster a measure of thoughtfulness in her apology to Shiv, she thoughtlessly inflicted another lash upon Roland's already fragile ego.

“I was there,” he said, clenching his jaws, clenching his fists, clenching his heart, and yet he still couldn't stop the outpouring of despair. Rose shot him a hopeless look—and to her deeper shame, part of her did blame him. A part she would never give words to. It was remarkable what insights even a near-crippled Harbinger could grant. “I was there, and it still didn't matter. I was there. The Starhawk was with me. I drew upon all my reserves of power. Even far from the Perch, it should have been enough. I should have been able to save my son, but I couldn't. I couldn't even overcome the… the…” Roland looked at his own hands in disgust. “The rage. It just took me. I was drowned immediately. I thought myself strong. How delusional.”

“Roland, enough. Slapping your own face serves nothing for Adam.” Valor’s chastisement came with its own growl of anger. Returned to more of his former self, he despised self-pity, but he also understood it. As such, his tone took a gentler bent. “I fell too. Unless you have forgotten, almost all of us fell, aside from Adam, who you should be most proud of. This is a wretched reward for goodness, and I've seen it too many times, but he made the sacrifice regardless, in place of any of us. This is what he wanted, and even if your grief is demanding that you deny this, I ask that you face it regardless. You've raised a fine Pathbearer and a finer man. And now, whatever we may feel, we must be wise in trying to help him. We must understand his situation. For anguish alone is no solution.”

Valor's words, though well-intentioned, made Shiv cringe. It wasn't even a conscious response. He just knew, deep in his bones, that this was exactly the wrong thing to say to Roland, because the Town Lord's heart burned far hotter, unleashed far more output than his mind.

It didn't matter what logic you could direct. It didn't matter how intellectually potent you were. If there were simply more emotions than thoughts, if you were simply ruled by impulse rather than intellect, then the imbalance would see you usurped by the baser instincts within.

Shiv had learned this lesson well. He had fallen to his own emotions—hatred, rage, anger—far too many times. He'd seen this in others, starting with Sullain and then the orcs. With the Sage of the Enkindled Heart, he gained an in-depth education that perhaps no classroom could ever teach.

Though Shiv remained an informational fool, he considered himself now a journeyman of the heart. And it seemed Valor, or at least this imperfect version of him, was still lacking a full Psychology skill.

“What would you have me do then?” Roland cried. His shout was filled with ragged emotion. In the throes of defeat, he was Rose's opposite. He turned his feelings in on himself. He besieged his own heart, much like the Vicar besieged Blackedge, and the burdens of failure weighed heavily on the so-called Master. Adam was simply the latest maiming in a long set of agonies. Blackedge was still destroyed; the Republic was still hunting them. And all of that had caused Roland to crumble in on himself, and now the pain within came spilling out.

“What would you have me do?” he sobbed. “What lesson would you have me learn, Valor? That this was all beyond me, that we are merely insects, no matter how much we try in the face of the true monsters, against the true powers of Integration? That this was simply a passing tragedy you've seen one too many times across the eternity you call a life? Is the lesson? Is that the pain I'm supposed to swallow?” He shook his head and tried to stop crying. He tried to pull his tears and emotions back in, but there was just too much coming out. Roland was strong, unimaginably skilled, but he had as much chance of stopping his emotional breakdown as an insect did of holding back an avalanche.

And just as Shiv sighed, Rose did too. She moved out of her seat and immediately took his hand. Roland broke some more, but Shiv saw a part of his heart stabilize. She had done this before. She was his pillar, just like Uva was serving as Shiv's right now. Everyone needed someone in their most devastated moments. It didn't matter how powerful you were. As a person, there was always going to be a time when you were beaten to your knees. And it was a special kind of hell to be broken alone.

A memory came to him, unbidden, a memory that was so intertwined with Roland Arrow that Shiv couldn't shake it free. He remembered being cold. He remembered biting into the flesh of a stinking rat. Too young to be on his own. Too old to be adopted, not that anyone would have. Too scorned to be allowed into society. Yet too protected to be granted a merciful end.

And while the lights and fireworks of some festival or another crashed high in the air, while Starhawk's Perch was painted as a looming, delightful presence, where the Town Lord flared his blazing wings and wished his subjects another joyous year, a lone Omenborn child glared up at the architect of his suffering and spat.

That version of Shiv would have blacked out from sheer blissful pleasure at seeing Roland brought this low, at seeing such pain inflicted upon him. That version of Shiv died when the attack on Blackedge occurred. What followed then was an evolution, not of skill but of personality and character, after so many deaths. No, not death, but life. Shiv had lived through much since his fall into the Abyss, and his life had taught him more about how to conduct himself, how to face the world. Now he felt perhaps a sympathy, but more a dull bitterness at old wounds unaddressed, yet no triumph with the subject of his hate lost to suffering.

the Harbinger whispered.

The Harbinger sighed, sympathizing with Shiv, for he Shiv, merely a higher, more idealized version of the wounded man in the room.

The epiphany caught fire within Shiv, and his mind cleared. Along with his awareness, he sensed a faint presence in the room, the flame of Heroism still burning, still fueling him with the desire to seek what was good and proper. Shiv gave Adam a sorrowful, appreciative look. “Still serving as a compass even when you're in a torture coma, huh, Adam?”

“Shiv? Are you well?” Valor was surprised by his student's words, and he sounded worried. But Shiv just patted the old man on the back and went forward into the embrace of discomfort.

Because if he could face monsters in the flesh without fear, then he could apply the same dauntlessness when it came to demons of the heart.

He took slow and deliberate steps toward Roland, making no sudden movements to startle the man. He was already emotionally imbalanced. It wouldn't take much for Roland to think that Shiv was coming to strike him, simply to vent his own rage.

However, as he walked, the Red Rider's Hand followed behind him, a looming shadow, the shame of his victory that couldn't be wiped away. Even still, it whispered to him. It promised power. That single act of violence he'd performed left it charged with building power.

As Shiv came to a halt, his immense shadow spilled over both Lord and Lady Blackedge. As they looked up, it occurred to Shiv how large he was compared to your average person, and he took a step back to reduce the feeling of intimidation.

Roland’s lip quivered. He waited for Shiv to speak. His own emotions and anxieties were drawn taut like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. When Shiv spoke, it wasn't to excoriate or to explain away the Town Lord's pain. No. When unbalanced emotions flowed, you needed to flow along with it. One could not block a river as a person. Even a dam would be worn down over time. It was best to divert, to rush along with the path of the water, and Shiv had plenty of symmetrical grief to offer.

“Adam and I have been through a lot. A lot. I never thought I could care about people. Not really. I always thought I'd be on my own. And I really couldn't have imagined that I'd ever give a single shit about the Young Lord of Blackedge of all people.” Shiv paused for effect. “He was your son after all, and words aren't strong enough to carry how much hate I had for you.”

Roland's face tensed as he took that blow.

Rose opened her mouth to interrupt, but Shiv cut her off first. “Let me continue. Please. This isn't about my hate. It's got nothing to do with that anymore. I just want you to know that if there was any way it was possible, if I had the power, if I had the choice right now, I would change places with him in less than a heartbeat. I would be the one lying there, and he'd be with you, and I'd be the happiest person in the world.”

Once more, truth proved itself to be a weapon as Roland's emotions softened beneath Shiv's words. He nodded, and he sank, as if Shiv's shadow had a weight to it, bowing him down.

“He means the world to me. Uva means the world to me. And all the hate I think I have for you doesn't amount to a single spark compared to how much I love them. And how much this hurts me. And I know you're the same way. I know that whatever happened during that ritual, whatever was between our families, I know that he means more to you than anything else. And I’m sorry too. You didn’t fail alone, Roland.”

These Words of Truth and Adoration 71 > 73

Harbinger of Tripartite Ruin 303 > 307

A gasp left Roland, charged with far too many emotions to be regarded as a single feeling. He rubbed at his face and sniffled, looking at his son as he processed Shiv’s words. A long quiet followed. Rose rubbed her husband’s hand, touch serving as their comfort and love language.

Roland cleared his throat. “You know what's one of the worst things about you?” he asked.

Shiv felt his chest tighten. He told himself this was about his own virtue, that Roland’s judgment meant nothing. Yet, there was still a lurking rage inside Shiv that wanted him to see things through with Roland right then and there.

“The worst thing is that you sound like him and Vera. You sound like them put together, but you don't talk like him.” Roland let out a laugh that was rich in nostalgia, yet just as imbued with loss. “Your mother, before whatever Udraal did to her, would make some awkward faces at me, slap me over the back of the head, tell me that we're going to kill the bastard who did this, and then find a dark corner to cry on her own. Harlon would have tried to take my mind off things; played a stupid song for me.”

And for a moment, Roland’s expression turned truly sweet, as a memory of finer times came and took hold inside of him. For a moment, he wasn't in the miserable present. He was lost in that eternal, glorious instant in his past. “I just remembered how much he used to make me laugh. I said that was his real gift as a Pathbearer; that he should have been on the Path of the Clown or the Jester.”

But the thing about the past was you couldn't live there, and so Roland was wrenched back to the present, the ever-eternal now, with yesterday drifting further and further behind. “He wasn’t skilled with words, but he always made sure I knew he cared. So. I guess he was always good when it came to me, specifically.”

Shiv understood, despite all the darkness between them. Despite what Harlon and Vera had done to his wife, to his unborn daughter, to his heart, Roland still couldn’t stop loving them either.

“Yeah, I guess the inclination toward rhetoric skipped a generation. Not trying to manipulate you; I just want you to know that I do care about Adam. This isn't my Psychology or Rhetoric skill at work here. Though I am using the skills, to be honest.”

Both Roland and Rose froze, but the former scoffed after a moment. “I know. And I know Veronica too. You don't speak like her either. She bends you. She hammers you with her words until every part of you folds the other way. You, you're a lot more like water.”

A snort escaped from Shiv. He couldn't help it. “I think that's the first time anyone's ever compared me to water in my life.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Trust me, kid, that's not special. Everyone's like water when it comes to Legend-Bitch Veronica Chandler.”

That made Shiv realize he needed to speak with the Councilwoman. Again. Who knew what the hells killing Longinus in the Fairwoods did to his Avatars back in the capital and on Integrated Earth as a whole?

“I'm sorry.” And two words from Roland pulled Shiv back to the present. He stared at Shiv with what ragged dignity and honor he could muster. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry for what I made you go through. I'm sorry that I wasn't a stronger man. That I wasn't a more decent man. That I couldn't face the fact that you were just a child. That you were about as much of a pawn in this as I was.” The shame took hold inside Roland again. A shame so strong it had fueled his self-loathing to new heights. “I lied to myself every time I looked at you, and I did look at you plenty of times. I stood in this room, staring down from the Perch, and in the darkness of the night, after everyone was asleep aside from the sentries, I sank into my misery and hate. I imagined the unthinkable. I didn't even pray to the Starhawk, but I held prayers in my own heart toward the System. I didn't ask for my wife or daughter to be brought back. I was too wounded for that.” Rose held on to Roland tighter—ironically reminding Shiv that it was he who brought her back. “I didn't wish for more power, or to spare anyone else this tragedy, or even to understand why my best friends did this to me and what could have possibly caused them to hurt me this way. I watched you, a child, crying alone, starving, shivering, feeding off garbage and vermin in alleyways. And I wished that you would suffer a little more, just enough for you to realize that you were the sum of sin. That you deserved this. That I could have some measure of retribution, or some justice for what was done to me.”

A weird vindication washed over Shiv. “Huh, so I wasn't being paranoid. You were watching me all the time.”

“I was, and I always hoped that you died when you went down into the ruins. I didn't want to hope it, but at the same time I did.” And Roland crumbled in on himself, unable to muster more words, unable to even guide his own thoughts. There was too much passing through him. He was a nexus of discord. But still he forced it out one more time: “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.” Shiv sighed. He worked his jaw and looked around the room. “Look, as much as Adam would like us to fix whatever's going on between us, I don't think I'm that strong right now either, or at least not smart enough to resolve my own emotions. But I'm also more than my emotions, and so are you. I know why you did it. Even if it hurt me, I know why you did it. And if what happened to you happened to me…” Shiv shook his head. There was a lot there he didn't want to imagine. “I don't know who I might become or do, how bad that experience might disfigure me. Udraal made me to psychologically regenerate from any trauma, but I'm still shaped by experience, and I think there was a world where you might have been right, where you might have saved Blackedge from a monster. It probably wouldn't have taken much for me to learn the wrong lessons.”

Shiv turned and stared at Valor, who was standing a respectful distance away, with gratitude. “But I got lucky, time and time again. More than being Deathless, I got lucky, and I ran into the right people to keep me a man instead of a monster.”

Roland digested his words and let out a sigh. “It's weird for me to say, and strange for me to feel this, but despite everything between us, would you believe me if I told you I was proud of you too?”

“Uh, What? No.” Roland's words caught Shiv completely off guard. “No, I wouldn't believe you. Are you serious?”

Roland nodded without a hint of irony or self-deception. “You're still a son of Blackedge, even if we treated you ill. I'm proud of everyone who's left our town. I'm proud of you, just as I know Georges would have been to see you become this.”

In what should have been an uplifting moment, a thought hit Shiv from the flank. “Fuck. The Challenger cursed the egg too.”

“The egg?” Rose asked, incredulous. “You mean that glowing Outsider ball thing that you guys brought back with you?”

“Yeah, so, a version of Georges who was enslaved by Longinus to serve as his Avatar and got trapped in the Fairwoods with him is still stuck in that egg. If he ever comes out, he's likely going to have to deal with an orcish skill too. Also, I think the Dreamtaker's in there with him, so, uh…” Shiv shrugged, too tired to consider the ramifications. “Bring on the bullshit, I suppose.”

A long bead of silence dragged out. Adam coughed wetly and then asked for a pair of shears so that he could start flaying his own flesh free from his bones. His voice was decidedly manic, sounding closer to an orc's than his own.

Everyone pretended not to hear him.

“And I thought I went on wild adventures when I was younger,” Roland breathed. “Just what were you all up to? And in so short a time?”

Shiv couldn't help but chuckle. “We got into a lot of shit, Roland. A lifetime's worth of shit.” And then an idea struck him. An idea bit down deep into his mind and wouldn't let go. “Hey, you wanna hear about our time together?”

At that, both of Adam's parents perked up. Rose leaned in, and Roland’s mind drifted a bit further from pain.

“Well,” Rose said, “I was here for some of it, but you know what? Fill us in from the start.”

“Alright,” Shiv said. “So, one fine Eclipse Festival, this raven-faced asshole murdered me and beat Adam’s asshole until it was slanted sideways…”

“L-literally?” Roland asked, horrified.

“What? No. I’m just… I’m exaggerating—felling, just listen, alright?”