Brunnhold Library
Seeking a tether,
A spirit must oust another,
A life for a life
As one cannot serve two.
A shattering, a rending
Two becomes one
And harmony is restored."
Ksjta Tzacks,
Excerpt from Harmony
The diplomat was in a serious state of befuddlement. Her thoughts were trying to pull her in separate directions simultaneously, as she attempted to open her mind to strange possibilities but also did her utmost to close those doors again. It was uncomfortable push and pull, the tug-of-war not likely to come to a simple resolution as the Hoxian wallowed in self-doubt, scepticism and fear. What lunacy was she pursuing? Was this boy going to scoff at her for possibly believing that a living person could actually be dead inside? In truth, the Hexxos acolyte was probably one of the few people in Anaxas who wouldn't have such a response. Perhaps he was the only one.
It didn't feel like insanity though. Drezda didn't feel insane. Not exactly.
As a Perceptive, you had to have a good understanding of people and how they worked but you also had to be capable of picking up on things, even when they were based on gut feelings alone. The young woman had been known to trust her gut, not that she liked to admit it. It was more comfortable for her to think of what she did as a science, something that could be measured empirically. It allowed her a greater sense of superiority; if the writing was on the wall where anyone could read it, wasn't she cleverer for actually paying attention? Believing that others were lazy and unfocused made her feel better. But in this instance, the sort of empirical evidence she was used to hadn't been adding up and her gut had practically been screaming at her about Anatole.
Why had it taken her so long to listen? Why had she waited before entertaining strange notions? Odd though the idea was, the notion that the Incumbent's change was wrapped up in the paranormal had felt more reasonable than any mundane and logical reason she'd tried to pin on it.
And then Ezre stated the name as confidently as if he'd reached into her head and plucked it out. The diplomat couldn't help but gasp, the certainty of his declaration shocking her so utterly that the rhakor splintered down the middle, mouth twitching open as horror and fear flitted across her feature. Hastily, it was reapplied, a difficult swallow that made her throat move almost painfully the only sign of her feelings. That and her eyes. Windows to the soul, she couldn't quell the fires within, the delicate flitting of her pupils as she tried to find something solid to latch onto with her gaze as the world teetered precariously beneath her.
"You know him," she managed, tone curiously flat as if the talk of death had leeched all life from her voice. She hadn't betrayed Anatole's confidence. She could have been talking about anyone - professional acquaintances weren't just Incumbents and the like after all - and so it wasn't as if she'd fed the name to Ezre; the boy knew.
It was certainly shocking but it was also something of a relief to hear him say the name, the weight of the secret eased from her shoulders as she found that the burden was somewhat shared. The fact that he knew the man also suggested that he knew much about him so there were plenty of secrets here, secrets that could flow between them; the diplomat might finally have some light shed on the situation.
Her rigid posture relaxed, shoulders drooping a little as the tension left them. Drezda watched him expectantly, dark eyes moving quickly, furtively to check on their surroundings but it didn't appear that anyone was listening; there was no one close enough from what she could tell. But it would be difficult for anyone to eavesdrop given how quietly they were speaking, the necessary proximity sure to bring a field within a range that would allow them to spot it. Unless a passive... No, no scrap would be listening. But then she had considered asking them to spy in Brunnhold for her before so who was to say that someone else hadn't thought the same?
The diplomat kept her eye out for passives until the young man began speaking in Deftung and all fear of potential eavesdroppers departed. The young woman leaned close, head cocked as she strained to catch every word, synapses firing wildly as she tried to process and translate his words. Her understanding of Deftung was better than what she could speak but listening to it was tricky when it came from a speaker who was familiar with the tongue. It was all too easy for a fluent speaker to talk fluidly, syllables running together eagerly so that one word blended into another and common words were dropped altogether; native speakers didn't tend to use the formal, textbook version of a language.
She had heard her mother speak rapidly in Deftung but it was usually for religious purposes and thus, it was rigid and structured but it had always been so fast that Drezda hadn't been able to keep up with it. Sometimes, she'd found the woman speaking to herself in it, especially when she was composing and it was nigh on incomprehensible. Ezre was easier to understand, possibly making a conscious effort to choose words she'd have a better chance of understanding and his pace might be slower than usual because he was carefully considering what he was saying. Even so, she didn't understand entirely but she got the gist.
Anatole was a raen or rather the thing inside him was a raen. And ghosts didn't destroy, which suggested that raen... did. In which case, the soul inside Anatole wasn't the man she'd known. Presumably the real Anatole was dead and the thing walking around in his skin was someone entirely different.
Bash give her strength! The person she knew as Anatole could honestly be anyone. Anything. There were so many peculiarities around the man - if he was actually a he - that he might not be a galdor at all. The lower races weren't exactly a different species so their souls... A twitch went through her, the beginnings of a shudder quickly suppressed.
"I understand. He is not in there anymore. The body is... a host? The old soul has... gone," she responded haltingly in Deftung. It had been too long since she'd spoken the old tongue. "Has the soul continued or is it... destroy... destroyed and become a ghost?"
The diplomat swallowed, considering the implications of her statement and wondering why she was even seeking answers. The real Anatole Vauquelin was gone, what did it matter what had happened to him? For all intents and purposes he was dead... and good riddance! She was more concerned with who the Incumbent was now although she didn't think that Ezre would share those details if he knew them. She didn't think that he should either; it wasn't his place.
Her gaze had become distant as she peered at the table but at his admittance, dark eyes fastened on his face. The child of a raen.
"The child- So they can- The body is really theirs then? A raen does not stop normal function then. Clearly," she commented in Deftung, indicating Ezre with a wave of her hand. But she wondered if he was right about her mother or if the woman had been trying to tell her things in more subtle ways. If it was forbidden knowledge then she couldn't tell her directly but indirectly... Ksjta had always claimed that her poetry had the potential to be educational.
"Threads must return to the fold, lost connections woven in anew," the Hoxian quoted in a whisper, recalling pretty little lines from a poem that her mother had translated, the Estuan words familiar because they'd been recited so often in her presence that they'd been engraved in her mind. They sounded less wishy washy and mystical now though. Maybe she'd have to look through the book of poetry that she had at home, the one that-
"Tick it!" she hissed out, mouth twisting apologetically when she realised she'd said it aloud.
"Apologies, Vks-vumash," she whispered in Deftung, bowing her head subtly as spots of colour entered her cheeks.
The book of poetry that she had at home wasn't there anymore because she'd given it to Vauquelin, whoever he really was. The man who hadn't appreciated poetry until recently. The signs had been there, hadn't they? And he'd been touched by whatever he'd read, stunned even and so perhaps he'd seen meaning in something that she hadn't. Maybe Ksjta's poetry was full of meaning for someone who had died.
"He knows, doesn't he? The... the raen. He knows what he is, doesn't he?" the woman remarked tightly, the tension back in her shoulders again. He'd fucking known and he'd sent her on this pointless search for information... why? For his own amusement? To distract her? Circle have mercy, she'd almost considered him a friend and yet she didn't even know who he was. He was all she had left, what she thought she'd had left now that Khy had gone back to Bastia.
Her hands slid out of sight under the table, clasped tightly together as emotion surged through her and she had to suppress the sudden horrifying urge to burst into tears. She shook her head, trying to shove down her feelings, to make her field rigid to stop the pulsing distress from thrumming all around the Hexxos acolyte.
The boy was friends with Ana- the raen, whoever he was and she had thought the same but... she guessed that Ezre had known who the man was from the start; there had been honesty there where it hadn't existed for her.
"I... won't harm your friend but... I don't know that I can protect him," Drezda admitted, eyes shut, head bowed while her hands white-knuckled under the table. "Any knowledge you give me, if you choose to trust me with it, I will not use it against him. You have my solemn vow, Vks-vumash," she added gravely in Deftung.