“Fine, you made your point. What about fear or rage?”
There’s the boggy ground. “Fear, to the best of my knowledge, summons shadows. Illusions. Rage, on the other hand, is hot and becomes fire. Whips of fire, walls of flame.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
“Wow,” she taps her pencil. “What else can she do?”
“Let’s see.” I think, trying to figure out what else I can say without going too far. “Love becomes a shield, from what I can remember.”
“What about hope? Or indifference? Or, I don’t know… trauma?”
Fuck. This is where I didn’t want to end up.
“To the best of my knowledge, she’s never tapped into hope or indifference. It would stand to reason that indifference wouldn’t manifest much,” I muse. “…what do you think tapping into trauma would create?”
We’re both quiet for a long moment. This might be it. I focus on controlling my breathing, waiting while she thinks.Pleaselet this be it.
“I think…” she begins, frowning. “I think it would be devastating. Trauma isn’t an emotion though, is it?”
“Likely not by definition, no. But it does describe a huge stew of emotions. What do you think tapping into something like that would do?”
“I don’t know. I imagine it would be… devastating. Mixing power with that sort of pain? The results could be catastrophic.”
My breath catches in my throat as I meet her eyes. They’re silver in the light.
Oh, fuck.
“Has that ever happened, Flint?”
I wince and avert my eyes away from her. “Only once.” I whisper.
She’s silent and, despite my fear, I risk looking at. her again. She’s staring into space. I wait, studying her face. The silver is still in her eyes, making them appear to glow.
“Cas?” I say, softly.
She seems to start, shaking her head and coming back to the current moment. Slowly, her eyes return to normal. “No problem. I understand there are still some things you don’t want to talk about.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “What about the bad guys?” She finishes her own coffee. “Who were your bad guys, Flint?”
Here we go…
“How about I tell you a story?” I offer.
She grins and sets her coffee aside. I take my place next to her on the couch, she snuggles in next to me. “Yes, please!”
Okay, Flint. Don’t fuck this up.
“I’ve toldyou that in Goira, the land is, and has been, ruled by a matriarchy. Years ago, a disgruntled faction known as the Hollow Order came into being. There’s some speculation of where and how. It wasn’t a foreign enemy, to the best of my knowledge. Rather, they were a cancer, spreading fromwithinGoira. Their infiltration was subtle, almost parasitic. As much as I’ve read and studied, no one has a definitive answer on where they came from.”
“From what I have been able to gather over the years, it began as a sort of whisper network. Missionaries would appear, posed as healers, wandering holy men, or philosophers, whispering dangerous rhetoric.“Don’t you ever grow weary of bowing to the weight of women?” "Worth is owed, not earned.” “Magick has made females unnatural.”They clung to and sang praises to a patriarchal past that, as far as any historian was able to find, was completely fabricated. They were convincedtheywere the rightfulrulers over everything — women, Goira. Powers and legacy. Their “text” talks of ancient “fallen masculinity” and “obedient” feminine archetypes, spreading the idea that these ideals were lost to corruption.”
“They believe that sexual and social attention are abirthright, not something built through connection, vulnerability or equality. In a world where women hold power — both political and magickal — theseassholeswere working to spread an ideology that magick iscorrupting.Never mind that males have magick too. Power held by women isstolen, artificial, manipulative,andagainst the magickal order.”
“Over time, they gained more of a foothold and became more present in everyday life. In Goira, all belief systems are respected, if not celebrated outright. I think it was that religious freedom that allowed them to gain as much of a following as they did. Posters of rhetoric began going up everywhere. “Power without obedience is corruption.” “She was made to be ruled. When she forgets, we must remind her.”
“After a while, there were reports of these faction members conducting secret rites to “purify” women of their power. Whatever happened during these ceremonies, the women woke to find themselves cut off from the power that should have been theirs by right. Often, the victims of this were those women who went on to marry a member of the Order, appearing content to remain in the home, doing nothing more than tending to her spouse and raising children. Many of these females, we would later learn, carried an Obedience Brand. They were touted to betheideal for females — appropriate, uncorrupted. Powerless.”
“The Queen, in her wisdom, felt that a parley wasappropriate, despite her suspicions. She invited the Hollow Order in, believing that they could be reasoned with and that the magick of Goira could reform even the most rigid of hearts. It was during this meeting that the zealots staged a coup. They murdered innocents, burned sacred shrines. They kidnapped young females, just awakening into their powers.”
“The Queen was killed, leaving only the Princess to rule. She had been… out that day. In normal times, she would now be Queen, but the Princess refused that mantle. She did, however, take on the responsibilities.”
“The abducted females were later returned, emptied. Their emotions had been drained or bound by the Hollow’s rituals, leaving them emotionless, lifeless husks. The Princess was enraged. What the Order had done was not only a crime against the females, but the freedom and essence of Goira.”
