He watched her join him across the counter, the physical divide an echo of the emotional one that still existed between them, and would likely remain for some time. The wounds he left on his friends would not heal in a day, any more than his own had. And besides, until he wrapped his hands he wouldn't be touching anyone any time soon. He hadn't brought his medical bag today, not expecting to need it, but he rested his hands palm-up on his thighs so they would scab faster.
"I shouldn't have been," he conceded with a faint grimace at the memory of that day, all cold anger and sharp-edged violence. "I didn't know then why I was so angry... but even so, I had no business pushing myself that hard for a title I was in no place to uphold." Guardian? Coward, more like, with far more in common with Ianto than he had ever wanted to admit. Nor was one sick with the blight any fit guardian for a Wood dying of the disease, though perhaps there was a certain bitter irony in it.
He listened as she mentioned the Spire, his throat tightening as he remembered the planning he had done, the people he had intended to bring together for that assault, the conversations and the work to make it happen as the Tulmhainar had suggested. Had Deimos led it after all, making good on that strange, sharp-edged threat that he would do so only if Jigano did not come?
And yet Amalia had gone, no more mage than he.
Jigano felt the anger try to rise again, and he held his jaw shut tensely, afraid to speak for shouting again, lashing out at the baker who had not known. It wasn't her fault, she hadn't known, she had only wanted to help - would have helped him if he'd asked.
He said nothing as she continued, dragging a deep breath through his nose as talk turned to Vi, the great god of Life, and finally the wonder of that statement drew his eyes to her again as she so casually mentioned a name that he doubted any other in the Hollowed Grounds would let fall with such familiarity. He didn't have the energy to smile, but there was a softening in the tension of the corners of his eyes, a dull light of pride that rose past the rage as he looked upon his pious heart-sister, truly Safrin's Shield in deed and spirit.
If only what she had to say had been less painful. He drew in a breath to speak and then held it, biting his lip against the aching threads of 'I told him so' that twisted and writhed in his stomach like so many worms. Had he not confronted Sam over that very thing at the wedding? At the time he had only suspicions, no proof, but if Vi said that it was true... He nodded slowly, exhaling at the plan and trying to put his thoughts in order. "Sam had no idea," he said first, however weak a defense of his friend it was. He blamed the Voice for his current affliction, not the gentle bookmaker. "The Voice took advantage of him, and he's going to be devastated when he learns that he was involved in spreading the blight. For the rest..." He shrugged a little helplessly. Isla was long dead by now, he wasn't particularly close to Lucas, and he and Wessex hadn't yet managed to be civil to each other. But there were others, and especially the newest of the Voice's flock, who he had no desire to see used or harmed by any side in the brewing war. "Rex and Bastien in particular, now that she's newly Ascended..." This news would likely put a damper on the upcoming nuptials, to say the least.
And what had he learned, as the leaves fell and the rage built beneath his ribs, erupting out at inopportune moments and at all the wrong people? "I found a journal in the Atheneum. The Demon and the Prince were both experiments, unique as far as the writer knew. It was a journal written by a family that studied the Voice, so the Prince likely had Ascended roots as well. I learned something about the abilities of the Ascended in it as well... they aren't magical, but rather mechanical in nature. Items that can be removed from one and implanted in another." He met Amalia's eyes, his own haunted with the horror he had already discussed with Remi. "They are often related to stealth and spying... and altering memories." He looked down at his hands and the drying blood there, watching them tremble as he gathered himself.
"The Voice... experimented on things or people, Amalia. She had to, to develop these 'upgrades' to her Ascended. And to learn how to move them between her children. I am afraid... afraid that many of those experiments were not pursued with regard for the people she was tearing apart and rebuilding. Maea once told me about a vision the Voice gave her, of an experiment on an Abandoned that failed to turn them Ascended. Of the pain and horror of it. What if... what if the monsters of Long Night are the souls that the Voice twisted in pursuit of her experiments? Like the Spire Demon, but because they aren't physical they can only come out when there is no light in the sky to drive them back? No sun or moon or stars." He shivered, and not just from his illness as he met her eyes again. "There is no proof," he cautioned, "only a wild guess on my part. And I hope to all the gods that I am wrong."
Because if he wasn't, would it mean that he and Ronin and all the rest would become like the Demon? Like the monsters of Long Night? Filled with mindless rage and violence, their bodies technically alive but their souls unrecognizable even to Mort?
"I shouldn't have been," he conceded with a faint grimace at the memory of that day, all cold anger and sharp-edged violence. "I didn't know then why I was so angry... but even so, I had no business pushing myself that hard for a title I was in no place to uphold." Guardian? Coward, more like, with far more in common with Ianto than he had ever wanted to admit. Nor was one sick with the blight any fit guardian for a Wood dying of the disease, though perhaps there was a certain bitter irony in it.
He listened as she mentioned the Spire, his throat tightening as he remembered the planning he had done, the people he had intended to bring together for that assault, the conversations and the work to make it happen as the Tulmhainar had suggested. Had Deimos led it after all, making good on that strange, sharp-edged threat that he would do so only if Jigano did not come?
And yet Amalia had gone, no more mage than he.
Jigano felt the anger try to rise again, and he held his jaw shut tensely, afraid to speak for shouting again, lashing out at the baker who had not known. It wasn't her fault, she hadn't known, she had only wanted to help - would have helped him if he'd asked.
He said nothing as she continued, dragging a deep breath through his nose as talk turned to Vi, the great god of Life, and finally the wonder of that statement drew his eyes to her again as she so casually mentioned a name that he doubted any other in the Hollowed Grounds would let fall with such familiarity. He didn't have the energy to smile, but there was a softening in the tension of the corners of his eyes, a dull light of pride that rose past the rage as he looked upon his pious heart-sister, truly Safrin's Shield in deed and spirit.
If only what she had to say had been less painful. He drew in a breath to speak and then held it, biting his lip against the aching threads of 'I told him so' that twisted and writhed in his stomach like so many worms. Had he not confronted Sam over that very thing at the wedding? At the time he had only suspicions, no proof, but if Vi said that it was true... He nodded slowly, exhaling at the plan and trying to put his thoughts in order. "Sam had no idea," he said first, however weak a defense of his friend it was. He blamed the Voice for his current affliction, not the gentle bookmaker. "The Voice took advantage of him, and he's going to be devastated when he learns that he was involved in spreading the blight. For the rest..." He shrugged a little helplessly. Isla was long dead by now, he wasn't particularly close to Lucas, and he and Wessex hadn't yet managed to be civil to each other. But there were others, and especially the newest of the Voice's flock, who he had no desire to see used or harmed by any side in the brewing war. "Rex and Bastien in particular, now that she's newly Ascended..." This news would likely put a damper on the upcoming nuptials, to say the least.
And what had he learned, as the leaves fell and the rage built beneath his ribs, erupting out at inopportune moments and at all the wrong people? "I found a journal in the Atheneum. The Demon and the Prince were both experiments, unique as far as the writer knew. It was a journal written by a family that studied the Voice, so the Prince likely had Ascended roots as well. I learned something about the abilities of the Ascended in it as well... they aren't magical, but rather mechanical in nature. Items that can be removed from one and implanted in another." He met Amalia's eyes, his own haunted with the horror he had already discussed with Remi. "They are often related to stealth and spying... and altering memories." He looked down at his hands and the drying blood there, watching them tremble as he gathered himself.
"The Voice... experimented on things or people, Amalia. She had to, to develop these 'upgrades' to her Ascended. And to learn how to move them between her children. I am afraid... afraid that many of those experiments were not pursued with regard for the people she was tearing apart and rebuilding. Maea once told me about a vision the Voice gave her, of an experiment on an Abandoned that failed to turn them Ascended. Of the pain and horror of it. What if... what if the monsters of Long Night are the souls that the Voice twisted in pursuit of her experiments? Like the Spire Demon, but because they aren't physical they can only come out when there is no light in the sky to drive them back? No sun or moon or stars." He shivered, and not just from his illness as he met her eyes again. "There is no proof," he cautioned, "only a wild guess on my part. And I hope to all the gods that I am wrong."
Because if he wasn't, would it mean that he and Ronin and all the rest would become like the Demon? Like the monsters of Long Night? Filled with mindless rage and violence, their bodies technically alive but their souls unrecognizable even to Mort?
