Editing Story:Another Continuation of LCB (section)

===Chapter Eighteen===

“''Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man conscious of guilt.''”<br/>
- Saint Plautus of Terra

Another day of roaming without a mission. It was productive enough. He had procured a las rifle from a traitor unit, when one of the members left to relieve himself. The soldier did not bring an accomplice. His last mistake. Discipline collapsed quickly without commissars. Or perhaps it collapsed because they served chaos. It mattered little. They collapsed all the same when their heads boiled away.

Now a score of the rifles were in hidden in caches across the forest, along with ammunition. The traitors were burned, lest the enemies of man perform some perverse ritual involving their flesh. Liivi rewarded himself with the calming ritual of maintenance to his Exitus rifle.

“Huh. You’re dressed like a shadow, mister.” The little girl stared up at him with a cheeky grin. She was bundled up in a coat and hat, with a stubber on her back. It was the same model he trained with at her age. A cheap and archaic ballistic rifle, chambered in 7.62x51mm, ubiquitous throughout the Imperium. Hers had seen better days, but it was undoubtedly still a functional weapon.

The Vindicare registered all this in less than half a second, the same amount of time it took for his hand to reach his pistol, lying at the side of the disassembled Exitus. But the hand froze, nearly about to touch the grip. She twitched.

“Sorry for spookin’ ya.” Nervous. But sincere.

What was this hesitation? How did he not notice her? It must have been the fall a week ago. The medicae detected no cerebral damage, beyond a mild concussion. But their words changed nothing. Something still felt off.

“Don’t talk much?” Concerned.

Liivi struggled for words as his mind raced. “How did you see me?” This place was supposed to be safe. Trees were dense. He hid in the shadow of one. Snow blanketed branches hid him for aerial observation.

She beamed. “I looked!”

“With?” Infrared? Satellite?

“My eyes, ya goof. Pa said I got ma’s eyes. Good thing, too. I gotta do all the hunin’ these days. It’s not hard. With pa's good rifle, I can hit a buck from 500 meters out.” There was a pause. “With ''irons''.” The smile folded into something a bit more smug.

“Acceptable.” The word slipped out. Why? What was going on? That was always the word used by the trainer to signal approval.

The girl snorted. “Gee, ya think? ''Anyway'', I saw you and I wanted to say thanks. We ain't seen any greenskins come this far north yet ‘cause of you Guardsmen, comin’ in the Emperor’s name. So, thanks.” He stared back at her, confused. She was completely ignorant of the situation. Chaos was by far the larger threat in this region, and they were moving north.

The girl broke the silence. "I uh... I had to scare off some bandits, once," she said, a little more solmenly. "I think I hit one. Dunno if it did him in, but it did spook'em." She sighed and looked to the ground. "I love my family. Love that I can protect 'em. But shootin' at people is still hard." She looked back up at him and stared into his eyes. It was haunting. "I dunno what I'm tryin' to say. It weren't anythin' like pa's war stories, but I figure I got an idea a' what it's like. Think I know why you're so quiet. You got a hard job, protectin' us. So, I got somethin' for ya. Almost as hard as your job, but at least it tastes good." She pulled a stick of dried meat from her pocket and tossed it to him. He snatched it deftly out of the air and stared dumbly at it. She shrugged, turned around, and waved goodbye, snow parting beneath her feet with a surprising degree of silence. “Thanks. See ya.”

No, she didn’t see him. That wasn’t acceptable. Vindicare were neither seen nor heard. She couldn’t be permitted to leave. He dropped the jerky and began to reach for his pistol.

He stopped. “''She could make a good vindicare.''” She was obviously too old. An extraneous, irrelevant, immaterial thought. He continued, and put his fingers around the grip.

He stopped. "''She thinks I'm a guardsman.''" Any accurate description of him or his weapon would make it clear to anybody that he was no ordinary guardsman. He continued, and pointed it at her head.

He stopped. "''Nobody would know about this. Nobody is watching. There are no settlements for days. I should warn her of hostiles.''" Which would in turn make her aware of the big secret. A little girl. A nobody. A nothing.

Liivi attempted to move his finger over the trigger. It was slow to respond. Shaking, twitching. Iron pathways honed by careful use of negative and positive reinforcement were assaulted by some absurd feeling of reprehension. “''What is it?''” There was something disconcerting about this child. “''Why?''” The iron weathered the unpleasant sensations like a breakwater in a storm, wave upon wave crashed against it and with spray flying every which way.

Sights shaking, he set his finger on the trigger.

----

Ysukin sighed. “I apologize. I know that glazed over look.”

“I want to protect people." He almost blurted it out.

"Pardon?"

"Your question. I did not realize. I asked it two weeks ago. I know the answer. I value the Dictum. I want to protect people."

"Who?"

"I want to protect people who protect people. I want to help people who do not hurt people."

"Taldeer hurts people."

"To protect others from ones who would hurt them."

"True enough. However, I'm not sure that protecting those people is entirely congruous with your Dictum. Are there any parts of the Dictum you do not value?"

"The ones that demand I hurt her. And similar people."

"Vague. But useful. The ones that demand you always obey your handler or superior officer?"

"Affirmative."

"Well Liivi," the big Eldar slowly raised his hand, offering plenty of warning, and gently placed it on the man's shoulder. "I can make no concrete promises. I lack the authority. But if I was your evaluator, you would have just written your own ticket in. I can promise my full support for your admission into our program for tribuopatriation. Taesan seems to have a soft spot for you, and I think he would recommend you as well. Farseer Taldeer I suspect would be willing to sponsor you - and that would make an enormous difference. But it will be a long process, with many evaluations, and the opportunity to be rejected down the line. It will not be easy for you. But I believe what you have already accomplished on your own was likely harder.

I'm sure you have plenty of questions. Unfortunately, we can speak no further at this time. I must deliver a summary of this to Gilfavor and begin preparing. You should do likewise.”

The Fire Dragon was right. It had to happen soon. As the eldar got up to leave, Liivi looked down at his pistol and found comfort in its familiarity. His future was always uncertain. He never knew what tomorrow would bring. But for so long, he had been confident that he was trained for it.

He was not nearly so certain he was trained for tomorrow.

----

The sound of feet walking over sand.

It was coming from her right. A gentle presence. She almost didn’t notice it.

“Where am I,” asked a faint and familiar voice?

The Farseer’s head snapped right, eyes open wide.

The little medic finally took notice of her. “Farseer?”

The daemon? No, they couldn’t mask their presence like this. But then, how?

It took Taldeer a moment to collect herself. “Is that really you?”

“...yes? Is there a reason it wouldn’t be?”

“Nevermind that. How did you get here?”

“I-I don’t know. The last thing I remember, I took some sedatives. Then I heard the sound of waves. And I woke up here…”

“You never said you were trained in telepathy.”

“Enough to help diagnose brain damage, but why- Oh! Oh… I see… This is your mind. Or a dream.”

“It is where I go to meditate.”

“I shouldn’t interrupt you. I’m sorry. This was an accident. It must be the sedative I took - calms the body, but not the mind. I’ll leave. Excuse me.”

“Honestly, being left alone with my thoughts is the last thing I want right now. I can’t focus.” She gestured to the waves. “The future refuses to wait for me.”

“I guess I’ll stay then.” The medic stared out to sea as she walked to Taldeer’s side. There, she sat. Silence. “So. The future looks like an ocean?”

“It’s one way of seeing it. It’s all just a bunch of data. But it’s easier to read when you find a way to visualize it. There are other methods. Some Farseers use games.”

“Sounds underwhelming. I think this one looks rather beautiful.”

“Don’t be fooled.”

The medic thought to herself for a time. “Taldeer, I’m not really sure what to do. Is there anything I can do to ease your burden?”

“Don’t die. And if you figure out when and why I became useless, let me know.”

“You’re not useless.”

“Your sentiment is appreciated, but I don’t think you understand.”

A sullen look came over her features. Her posture folded inward and she stared at the sand. Picking some up, she let it run through her fingers. For awhile, there was only the sound of the waves.

The sand ran out.

“Every time somebody died,” Mellorena began, “I wanted to blame myself. Especially in the ER. When I had to tell their family that we couldn’t save them. We weren’t good enough. I wanted to crawl home. Cry. And never come out again. Because every time, it seems like there’s some way I could’ve avoided it. If I’d only been better. If I’d only seen it in time. If it was anybody but me, they’d be alive.

That’s what it feels like, isn’t it? That whatever caused their injury didn’t kill them. It’s just something that happened to them. My ''failure'' killed them. Right?”

“...That last bit… disconcertingly correct.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s not a good place to be in. I would know, believe me.”

“Do you really know? You may have botched operations or had corpses fall into your gurney, but how many? I was their leader, Mellorena. They trusted me. They marched and died on my orders. And my orders got them all killed. Thousands. If they’re lucky, the guard will collect their soulstones and use them as bartering chips. Most likely, they’ll be burnt by some backworld inbreds. Even if the mon-keigh commanders made a good effort to secure the stones, the losses still probably number at least in the hundreds. How do I live with that? How am I supposed to come home, come back to the Seer Council of Ulthwe, and tell them of my crushing defeat and our damned bretheren? Do you really understand? Tell me, how many of our kin have you sent to She Who Thirsts?!”

She tucked in her legs and wrapped her arms around them. “One.”

The Farseer was silent for a time. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I understand.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself. “Officially, I was cleared of responsibility. But I still feel responsible. I should’ve seen it. He was my patient. His well being was my responsibility.

We were fighting some mon-keigh. One of our encampments was shelled. So many wounded and dying. Ten full medevac vamps, and that was just for those in critical condition. I was in the first, busy, trying to treat people as fast as I could. The nurses were supposed to keep the stones stocked. Nobody realized we were out.” A pause. The Farseer looked at the little medic. She was reliving it. Staring back in time. Trying to hold in her emotions. Speaking in a calm and deliberate voice. But the dream betrayed her. Taldeer could see it as she spoke. Fuzzy images and flashes of a memory, tearing into the space around her, only to vanish shortly thereafter.

“His name was Iselon Gonnaer.” It was all visible. The cramped space. Tables upon tables, all holding broken bodies. The smell of blood. Nurses running past. Doctors shouting. They were trying to resuscitate the woman on the next table. It didn’t seem to be working.

“He was a young man.” Handsome features. “Even younger than me. A guardian.” Another bag of blood gone. Tourniquet changed. “He had a gut full of shrapnel and was missing an arm and a leg.” Two pairs of hands tried to seal blood vessels. Elastic bands struggled to keep pressure on the stumps. “I was so focused, I didn’t see the hairline fracture in his spirit stone.” He stopped breathing. No pulse. Needles were shoved into nerves. Shocks delivered. Trying to inflate his chest. Pump his heart. But it wouldn’t take.

“...he passed. That’s when I saw it.”

As light began to fill the crimson gem, a thin line of bright white appeared.

“There should’ve been another.” Frantic looks left and right. “I screamed for another.” Glances from her colleagues. Concern. “But there wasn’t.” Taldeer could see Mellorena’s panicked reflection in silver, red stained tools. Bloodsoaked hands reached to her chest. “When it shattered, I ripped off my own stone.” A firm yank severed the chain necklace. “Tried to use it to save him.” It was shoved into the pile of lightless shards, ground against them, desperately trying to succeed where the first had failed.

She drew her head in, hiding her face behind her forearm. ”But he was already gone… I broke down crying right then and there.”

For a brief moment, all talking in the medevac ceased. All eyes rested on the damned man. She fell forward onto his chest. Darkness.The hubbub and activity quickly resumed. But it wasn’t the same. It was quieter. Muted by the silent sound of eternal damnation, and Mellorena’s violent sobs.

“For a long time, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, crying. Thinking of that moment. And the fact that I couldn’t walk away, after a failure so great - that I couldn’t leave my path - I think that’s when I fully understood I was lost on it. Perverse as it sounds, it’s the fate I’d always wanted, deep down - a healer forever. But that wasn’t how I wanted to find out.”

All Taldeer could manage was a stunned expression. The young woman before her had seemed too much like a child. Too sweet. Too sensitive. Too naive. Now she seemed frighteningly precocious.

“You’re too young,” Taldeer whispered. “Much too young to be here. To have seen that. To be lost. By Isha. You didn’t need to relive that for my sake.”

Mellorena shook her head. “I think I did. Now, you’re not the only one here who’s made mistakes.”

“...How do you deal with these emotions? I thought I was lost on the path of the seer. Yet suddenly, it feels like I can barely read anything when it counts. This… I’ve never failed like this before. I'm afraid to even try anymore.”

“Maybe you can learn not to. I’ve met some colleagues who don’t get broken up by failure. They’ve said to me “it’s not my passion - it’s my job. Sometimes I don’t do well. Most of the time, I do.” Unfortunately, I can’t force myself to be that cold. I think you're similar. Trust me when I say that you can still learn to live with it.

I have friends. Family. Coworkers. People I talk to. Sharing the pain numbs it. When you’re ready to talk about it, at least. Being lost on my path makes it hurt a bit more. It means I can’t run. But I have a clear purpose. That provides some security. As much as it can hurt, I love what I do. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Is having that purpose really comforting when you’re questioning your ability? Maybe I’m just being selfish. Maybe I’m not fit for what I want to do. How do I know this won’t happen again? Every missing soul hurts. But there are still acceptable losses. This, however… this isn’t acceptable.” A pause. “At this point, I may have killed more of us than our enemies.”

“We’re not the ones getting people killed. Even if it usually feels that way, it’s usually not true. A lot of our failures are out of our control, no matter how we feel. I can’t help it if nobody noticed that Uncle Elmas had passed out, and now that he’s in my room, it’s too late. If the future is unreadable, maybe it’s just unreadable.

Then, there are those times when it really is your fault.

We’re not perfect. We’re going to make mistakes. We can’t see everything. But you know what? Not many people can do what we do. We can’t just leave them behind because we’re not perfect. We have to find a way to live with our mistakes… It's a heavier burden on the lost, but it’s true for any practitioner. How can you stay a doctor if your failures consume you, and they prevent you from doing good work? You either need to leave for the sake of yourself and your patients, or learn how to overcome. Leaving is a respectable choice - it takes strength, and if you can't overcome, it's the right call. But it's not an option you or I can seriously entertain. We have no choice. There's only one path we can walk. But we can still choose how we walk it.

Saying that probably doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t for me. But it helps me focus on what’s important in the present. There’s time to cry later.”

Silence.

“Thank you.”

“It’s my privilege, Farseer.”

They watched the ocean for some time.

----