Editing Story:Another Continuation of LCB (section)

===Chapter Sixteen===

“That route is unsafe. Standard Imperial Procedure dictates barracks be monitored at all times for heretical activity.”

“And those are barracks,” Taesan asked?

“Yes.”

He put his eye back to his scope. “I don’t see anybody standing guard.”

“They would be inside, to watch the men. An officer. They would rotate every 1-2 hours.”

“I see, I see,” he nodded. “I haven’t seen them rotate yet. We’d definitely be cutting it close there.” If the expression of nearby Gilfavor was anything to go by, he clearly remained skeptical.

<nowiki>“<Think critically about what he’s saying, Taesan.>”</nowiki>

<nowiki>The ranger’s gaze didn’t turn from the scope. “<I’ve got a good sense of mon-keigh, sir. For what it’s worth, I believe him. He’s convinced me. But you’re the one calling the shots, sir. You don’t need to convince me of anything. I’ll do what I’m told.>”</nowiki>

<nowiki>“<I don’t like your tone, ranger,>”</nowiki> Gilfavor leered.

“<Well I know you like honesty, my dear Captain. And while I don’t have much respect for rank, I have enough respect for you to tell you what you may not want to hear.>”

“<You’re out of line.>”

Taesan pulled his face away from his rifle and met Gilfavor’s leering gaze. The ranger’s calm continence and relaxed tone belied the intensity of his hardened stare. “<On the contrary,>” he replied. “<You’re the one who’s supposed to be decisive, and the fact is, you still don’t know what to do with our mon-keigh friend here. And we both know you gotta make up your mind soon. No time to second guess him during a firefight. So: what’ll it be, sir?>”

There was a moment of ominous silence as the captain’s face contorted into a frown. “<A reprimand, Ranger. '''If''' we make it off this blasted rock with that mon-keigh at our backs... Continue as you were.>”

The ranger smiled and offered a friendly, respectful nod. “<Thank you, Captain. My pleasure.>”

Gilfavor stomped off and began speaking to Ysukin in hushed tones, each Eldar glancing at the Vindicare.

“He seemed frustrated," Liivi said, staring back at them. "Is there a problem?”

“Nah, don’t worry about the Captain. He’s just learning to trust you, is all. Now, about that other route…”

----

The foxhole, left behind by some guardsmen, had made a convenient medical bay. It was small enough to warm easily, hidden beneath the large boulder that the others were using as cover, and rather solidly dug. However, if there was one thing it certainly lacked, it was space. It could hardly hold both Taldeer and the legless medic. And if the debate out there got any more heated... well, the fates spoke nothing of violence in the near present, and she trusted them as best she could. Her attention turned back to the task at hand. By the dim light of a human lux stick, Taldeer cleaned the stumps of the unconscious medic.

Clearly, the ice had taken the brunt of the melta’s heat. But what made it through had cooked everything beneath her thighs clean off - it looked like her calves had been chopped off with a blade, and the stumps had been left to sit for minutes in a frying pan. The burns on her face were swelling and blistering. Fate was fuzzy as the Farseer tried to trim cooked flesh from the bone and stave off infection. She couldn’t tell if she was making it worse or better.

Taldeer bit her lip.

A cough. Faint. Right into her ear. “''Oh no.''” Again. And again. A stunned and fearful face turned right, just in time to see eyelids flutter open. Loudly, she gasped for air.

“Mellorena?” The medic didn’t respond. She stared at the stone ceiling, panting, sucking down deep breaths of air. Lips moved, but no sound came out. She clutched her throat, wincing, and stared urgently at the Farseer. Thinking quickly, Taldeer seized the medic’s shoulder and focused.

“''Te-.''“ Eyes widened.

Her thought was interrupted as portions of her face, hands, and throat experienced a sudden and persistent sensation not entirely unlike being shoved into a deep fryer. It took every ounce dedication to hold back her surprised scream. Gritting her teeth, she pressed forward.

“''Tell me what you need. Just think it.''”

“''My medkit.''”

Easily done. Taldeer slid it towards Mellorena and moved her frame slightly, allowing more light in for the medic to work. Mellorena reached into the kit quickly and flipped over a few packs. Pulling out a blue gel filled pouch near the bottom, she popped the cap and began rubbing it into her hands and head. There must have been a potent numbing agent, because the pain Taldeer felt began swiftly receding. Not in the throat, though. The medic capped the pouch and set it aside. Pulling out a small vial with a dropper cap, she placed three drops on her tongue, swished it around, and swallowed. Instant numbness and a cool sensation was greeted with a hearty, relieved sigh. 

“''Thanks for bearing that, Farseer. What happened to me?''”

“''Don’t thank me yet.''” She sighed. “''We were hit by a melta. I tried moving both you and Liivi and… I’m afraid I didn’t get you out in time. Your legs...''” It was difficult to even finish the thought.

Mellorena’s eyes widened, taken aback. But she quickly regained her calm demeanor. Gently, she closed the lid of her medkit and set it aside. For the first time, she registered the sight of her missing calves, and the cooked stumps which dangled just below her knees, devoid of feeling. A long sigh passed through her nose as she stared the damage, stone faced and sombre.

“''Damnit.''”

“''I’m sorry. I should have seen it coming.''” The Farseer couldn’t even raise her head to face the medic.

There was a small hand on her shoulder. “''It’s okay. Alright? I got unlucky. I’ve been injured before.''”

She looked at Mellorena with a sense of urgency. “''We’re not <u>supposed</u> to rely on luck, Mellorena. That’s <u>why I’m here</u>.''” Taldeer sighed and turned her gaze to the ground. “''But I’m wondering if I should be. What good am I when my best isn’t good enough?''”

The hand moved to her cheek, gently tilting her head up. The medic stared directly into Taldeer’s pained eyes. “''You can’t go telling yourself stuff like that. You may not be perfect. But Ulthwe needs you. <u>We</u> need you. And if you can’t forgive yourself for making mistakes, things will only get worse.''”

“''I don’t think you understand, Mellorena. Do you really grasp how many people can die when I err? I thought I did. But I was too haughty. An entire army. Fallen to the Great Enemy. I led them to a fate worse than death. And it wasn’t their fault, no. They fought admirably to the last. They did their jobs well.''” A pause. Only the static of ambient thoughts filled the void between minds. “''It was all me.''”

In an unusual change of disposition, the medic lowered her gaze to the floor, expression tipping towards something more melancholy. “''I think I know how you feel, Taldeer. Believe me I do.''” She was quick to rebound, but the sadness didn’t leave her eyes as easily. Her face lifted towards Taldeer once more. “''Neither of us can allow this to consume us. Not ever, but especially not now. Go meditate. I think it would do you some good. I can take care of this from here. Okay? But first, if you could please grab a blanket and a brighter light from Tanlon’s ruck.''”

“''Sure. It’s the least I can do.''”

Taldeer crawled out of the foxhole and emerged between Barroth and Elnys, both keeping watch. She quickly got Mellorena what was needed. After a stretch, she went and pulled her spear from the tree it laid against, closed her eyes, exhaled, and focused.

The sounds began to fade away. The cold started to leave her skin. The dim light beyond her eyelids grew even dimmer. Her mind thought of nothing.

Or rather, not nothing. Something. The ''thought'' of nothing. She couldn’t clear her mind completely.

She opened her eyes. The flight back to reality was jarring. All the sounds almost seemed to collapse in on her. But it was over quickly. The Farseer sighed quietly, leaned back against the tree, and slid down it until she sat in the snow. She slung her arm around her spear, placing her hand over her knee, and wedging the shaft firmly against her shoulder.

“Farseer Taldeer.” It was Tanlon. He sat next to her. There was something almost sympathetic in his stern, formal features. “You seem distraught.”

She did little to acknowledge him. “I suppose I am.”

“Might I offer some counsel?”

“I would be grateful for your insight. Never have I felt more lost. I suppose that I now understand the truth of the term.”

Tanlon shifted in his seat, weighing some thought. “A dear friend of mine was in her darkest hour.

I remember clearly how she was laid out on the gurney. Her right arm was missing a hand, her left leg was missing a foot, and her entire body was covered in holes. I've never seen one person get so much blood and anesthetic…

I looked her broken body up and down, sobbing, and I told her she was going to die if she kept doing this. I quickly reevaluated my statement: I told her that she was going to die because of what she did. And that myself and everyone else would suffer for losing her. I called her a fool, an idiot, and all sorts of other names. And I lamented that she was lost. Because if she had not become lost on her path, she likely would not have taken the foolish risks that got her on that table.

Can you imagine what she said to me?”

“Tell me.”

“The broken woman raised her single hand to my cheek, struggled to crane her head towards me, all while wearing the happiest smile. And she told me, ‘I’m not lost. I did not stray. I’m exactly where I want to be.’

I was awestruck that she could even move.”

“That’s impressive.”

“She died as soon as those words left her lips.”

“...My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“If I may ask, what was the lesson to be learned?”

“She had forgotten that to be lost was not to lose one’s way. It was to lose one’s self.”

“I suppose, being lost on my path, that distinction is easy to forget.”

“Perhaps. However, you would do well not to forget that you have much more freedom to define yourself, Farseer Taldeer, than an Exarch. Your analytical abilities and keen sense of the warp do not subvert traits of personality or feeling unless you will them to. This is liberating. It is also dangerous. The Exarch does not feel guilt. The Exarch does not feel shame. The Exarch tastes failure and it hungers for victory. Its constraints serve it. Your freedoms can serve you. But you must be strong enough to wield them.”

“Have I the strength?”

“You have only the strength that you are willing to give yourself. And you must give it to yourself. You have already become lost on the path of the seer. Walking such a dangerous road, you cannot afford to lose yourself to grief. Lost twice, you may never find your way home. Yours is a path which can only be found by being lost. Its exit is likewise; found most quickly by those who grow lost walking it.

You must harden yourself, Farseer. There is no other way.

That is all.”

He took his leave, giving her space for contemplation. She didn’t find his words particularly helpful. But they weren’t wrong. And at least he cared enough to say them, which was worth something in itself.

Taldeer did her best to follow her elder’s advice. Slowly, she began the process of clearing her mind, discarding every worry and unnecessary thought. Anxiety lowers performance, and she had to be ready for what was to come. She knew that, even as she threw that concern away.

Perhaps it was just a reflex. Her eyes focusing on the two objects in the center of her visual field. As her head dipped lower, she found her gaze focused on the blanket which now covered the entrance, hiding her most recent shame, but moreso, maybe even too much, on Liivi, planning their assault with Taesan.

An errant thought ran through her hazy mind. “''What is this wanting that I cannot discard?''”

When she awoke, she was sitting on the shores of the sea. 

----

Taesan was briefing Gilfavor on what they had determined was the optimal route. 46 minutes until the operation was to proceed. Another glance to his six. “''Primary appears to have slipped into unconsciousness.''”

“She’s fine, mon-keigh.” Somehow, the vindicare had missed Ysukin step away from the captain. Now the Fire Dragon stood next to him.

“I did not-”

“I could read it on your face. The Farseer is meditating right now. If you check her pulse, you will wake her. You don’t even know how to find it.”

This vexed Liivi.

Ysukin’s smile did little to soften his scrutinizing eyes. “You needn’t act surprised, assassin. Humans are not so difficult to read.”

“The Dictum Vindicare states that involuntary facial expression are to be controlled at all times, in order to provide no information to the enemy either under torture or in the field.”

"You are more expressive than you may realize. Though in fairness to you, I am practiced."

"That a xenos can read me so easily indicates that my expressions are far too noticeable. It must be trivial for a human to read me. I must focus on training this."

His smile widened. "They are very well concealed, Liivi. I believe the vast majority of mon-keigh would not notice the subtle shifts in your countenance."

"One is too many. The standards of the Dictum Vindicare are clear."

“Well,” the big Eldar replied, face turned towards Taldeer, “you already let your target live.” He turned to Liivi again. “How much do you truly value that dictum?”

The Vindicare had no response. He stared blankly into space, mind racing, iron hewn pathways straining and buckling against a growing and long suppressed force. 

----

There was the ocean. There was the wind. There was the sand and the salt spray.

And there was a bird.

A Goldcrest, the mon-keigh trader had called it. It was a gift to her father. He called it Crenovine. Littlebird. He was not very creative.

But Crenovine was. Her childhood companion chittered his songs as he flew round her head in her father's garden, improvising and riffing off of his leitmotif. Sometimes the two would sing a duet. Sometimes he would do strange little tricks. But invariably, at the end of his performance, he would land on her shoulder - always her right shoulder - whereupon she would pet and feed him.

His life was so short. He didn't survive her youth. But she never forgot the beating of his wings. They mingled with the rhythm of the surf, providing a beat for the melody of his song.

"What are you doing here, old friend?" She smiled. It had been long since she had thought of him. Perhaps it was a longing for familiar comforts that had given form to some pleasant memories. Or perhaps it was his little bird spirit, returned to give her cheer in her darkest hour. The possibility of the latter was nil, but she held some small hope that it was him. After all, it was hard to tell what was what in this place.

She reached out to touch the little ball of feathers, to give him a hand to land on - and with that, he was gone.

A sigh escaped her lips, and the farseer did her best to put the wistful melancholy out of mind, resuming her meditation.