Beyond the Barricade

[kathminchin.livejournal.com]

Did you see them
Going off to fight?

Katrina has been gone for hours. The house isn’t quiet; no house with a 7 month-old child is quiet, but I keep listening for her footfall. Her keys in the lock. It’s worse almost than it used to be with Kazimir; Kaz I knew could fight, could hold his own.

Kitty’s only 16 dammit. Gaia, why do you make them fight so young?

I give up any pretence of work and go and make chocolate cake. I then sit in the kitchen as it bakes, the rich smell filling the room. I have a cup of tea in front of me, getting colder as I fight to shake the feeling that I’m never going to see my niece again.

Children of the barricade
Who didn't last the night?

The cake is cooling on the rack. Frog is asleep, blissful ignorance across his face.

I resist the urge to send Kitty a text message. Instead I walk into the back garden and kneel by the pond, watching the koi rise to the surface as I toss food pellets to them.

I look up at the unmistakeable call of a Falcon. Tears start to cascade down my face. There’s a dead carp in the pond; its brilliant colours dulled by death. I sigh and wipe the tears from my face, and go to find the net.

Did you see them
Lying where they died?
Someone used to cradle them
And kiss them when they cried.

William Hepburn is standing on my doorstep with a solemn expression. I have the sudden urge to hand him a comb; his black hair is in unruly curls and in dire need of a cut. He has the piercing blue eyes of his father and his mother’s nose. There’s a fleeting resemblance to Jamie and I resist the temptation to ask him what team he supports.

"Mrs Nikitinivich. My name is William Hepburn, also known as Winter's Curse. I am an Athro Ahroun of the Silver Fangs. I serve at the Sept of the Oaken Grove in Ulster. I think maybe you have not heard of me before..."

He half smiles in an attempt to look reassuring, and then the smile fades and his face is very serious.

"I am sorry. Very very sorry. I have some bad news..."

I don’t point out that as a Drake, of course I’ve bloody heard of him. In fact I’ve danced with his cousin several times, when they were trying to work out which would be the best match. Instead I politely invite him into my house and offer him a seat. He refuses it, and the offer of tea. I nearly snap at him, you’re a Silver Fang boy, don’t you know how this is done?

I am of course far politer than that. I draw myself up to my full height, which is admittedly not very tall, and do my very best impression of my grandmother. I don’t however use her favourite phrase of “listen to me young man.”

"Mr Hepburn, it is a long way from Ulster and you are my guest. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not ensure that my hospitality was as one would expect from a Drake.

Please take a seat. I will put the kettle on."

I stride out of the room, and look back over my shoulder.

"Unless you would prefer to talk in the kitchen?"

He doesn’t follow, which I’m actually rather relieved by. Instead he gravely accepts the offer, and sits down. Must have been the use of the word “duties.”

Did you see them lying side by side?

I put on the kettle and assemble a plate of cup cakes. I make English Breakfast tea and find the milk jug’s for some reason been put with the saucepans. By the time I’ve got the tray to my satisfaction; i.e. one which would make Grandma Drake say it was “adequate” my tears have dried, and I can hear Frog waking up.

I take the tray into the lounge, and find he hasn’t moved. I leave him to help himself to milk and sugar, and go and bring Kayd from where he’s attempting to head dive out of the cot and put him in the playpen.

I’m not surprised that he hasn’t added any milk, or moved to eat the cake on the plate. I of course, don’t mention it. Instead I sip my own and look at him.

"Very well Mr Hepburn. Please, you have a tale to tell me?"

Who will wake them?
No one ever will.

The tale is what I expected. A glorious battle, that had to be fought. Death of the enemy, sacrifices of the Nation. Every single story of the death of the Garou seems to run the same course; only the details differ. She wasn’t the only death, Chey died as well as members of the Sept. The normal platitudes of “she was brave” and “she fought well” and “without her we would have lost.” The Sept she helped save would always remember her.

No one ever told them
That a summer day can kill.

“There is one more thing. When her pack first arrived, Skadi-rhya did not want them to fight. She ... she had doubts about them. I asked that Katrina be allowed to fight. For that too, I am truly sorry."

I don’t scream "sorry doesn’t bring my niece back" at him. I don’t burst into floods of tears. I look at him, and feel that he’s psyched himself up for a sobbing wreck, and my calmness is unnerving him.

I am mean enough to be smug at that.

I ask where Michael is, and am informed that he’s probably still alive, but has issues to settle with the Fianna. Fergal of Ulster is after all Sept Alpha. I serenely nod and ask him if he needs a bed for the night.

They were schoolboys
Never held a gun...
Fighting for a new world
That would rise up like the sun.

He declines the implicit offer, saying he’s going to Uffington to return home. I point out Orion’s my brother and that he can guide him to Kitty’s parents. He nods, and says that the reason he came here first was because I was the only name he knew.

I resist the urge to lecture him about not knowing the bloodlines, and let him out the door. I watch him walk down the street, the burden of his tale weighing on his shoulders.

Where's that new world now the fighting's done?

I call Orion, tell him to expect Will Hepburn and let him know the news Will carries. Orion is immediately practical, making arrangements for people to be with Kitty’s parents. Vassily will be alright, but her mother’s going to be less sanguine.

Orion doesn’t bother to ask me if I’m ok, instead he asks after his nephew. After the news of gurgles, laughs and attempts to walk, I tell him to make sure Will has something to eat at some point and he laughingly says “yes mum” to me. I promise to come to Oxford as soon as I know Michael’s coming back.

I eat a cake whilst absently unloading Kitty’s clothes from the tumble dryer and place them, neatly folded on her bed, disturbing the cat that’s sleeping on there. It yawns at me and curls up again, whiskers affronted at being disturbed. I grin, in no doubt that as soon as I’m out of the bedroom it will move to on top of the nice warm clothes I just put next to it.

Nothing changes.
Nothing ever will.
Every year another brat, another mouth to fill.

I come downstairs to find Kayd has learnt how to half climb the playpen bars, but not how to land on his feet. I shush his tears and then feed and change him, putting my wriggling son into a coat and bobble hat. I lock the house after me and we set off down the street together, him gurgling at the rain drops.

There is a beam of sunshine and a rainbow. I smile at the sight, revelling in the brief moment of warmth. I murmur a brief message to Kazimir and Kitty, telling them that I’m ok.

Same old story. What's the use of tears?
What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears?

I don’t bother going to the caern, instead I head for Kew. The arts and crafts group is sheltering from the driving rain; but it’s still busy. I scan the crowds but can’t see Petra’s hat anywhere. So I park Kayd’s pushchair in a corner, lift him out and hand him over to one of the girls who is busy with bright crayons and pieces of card. I turn round and spot a figure trying to pot plants, her face frowning with concentration.


Turning, turning, turning, turning, turning
Through the years.

I walk up to her and sit by her.

“Hi, you must be Xylona. I’m Lucy Drake.”

Turning, turning, turning through the years
Minutes into hours and the hours into years.
Nothing changes. Nothing ever can

“I’m Lucy Drake, kin to the Silver Fangs. I have buried my husband, and am about to bury my niece. The Garou can tell bold tales of how glorious it is to die for Gaia; but they still have yet to learn the lessons our kind learnt many moons ago. That it is far harder to be the ones left behind; to be the ones who carry on despite the death and the loss.

It is far, far harder to live. And right now you and I need to live, because I have a son to look after, and you are going to have a child, and need to learn to look after them.

So how can I help you? And then I’ll tell you how you can help me; and we’ll see if we can come to a mutually acceptable arrangement?”

Round about the roundabout and back where you began.
Round and round and back where you began!

Comments

[adze.livejournal.com]

Another conversation I don't really want to have, but I need to.

What e-mail can I get you on?

[kathminchin.livejournal.com]

I hope that's an ic don't want to have!

binty.mrow@googlemail.com

[adze.livejournal.com]

Yeah, it's an IC one.

Will be in touch when I can - still not online at home, and limited access at work

Twice-Dead on kin

[twicedead.livejournal.com]

"That's what kinfolk do. You outlive everyone. You hold the future within you. You are meant to live and work. We are meant to fight and die. Both are incredibly hard, but that is how our Mother chose it to be."

Re: Twice-Dead on kin

[kathminchin.livejournal.com]

Lcuy may have been based a little bit about how Twicedead seemed to see things, yes ...

Re: Twice-Dead on kin

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

I remember that line! He said that to Lara, just before WS went and killed himself. VERY good line.