Tyka - the Purges

There is a degree of uniformity among the Dasaroi. The Tamrani tend to be empaths - House Tarak breeds keepers of memory and, recently, telepaths - most Narsani are mediums. This isn't a hard-and-fast rule; it's just the way things have developed over time. The Tamrani expect to be empaths; therefore, that's how their gifts manifest. The Dasaroi can do anything; they just have to break the block that keeps them in their little niche.

Well. Almost anything.

Among the Dasaroi, there are three gifts that were only given once.

And one of these is mine - time. I have been everywhere, everywhen. I've done all of the cliched things... dined with kings, fought in wars... I have been a boon companion to the legends of the human world, but myself remained unseen, unknown, unremembered.

We three are immortal. We were here when the story began, and we will be here when it ends. And I have struggled all my life to be dispassionate, to not care about these people, the Dasaroi, my tribemates.

I have always failed.

They always die. There is nothing that I can do to stop that. As recently as two centuries ago, they still died of old age, the Kithrayna living to choose the next vessel, the next matriarch or patriarch of their house. They lived long enough to choose and train, and the new Kithrayna would receive the spirit and wisdom of all Kithrayna of their House, accumulated over millenia. They were mature; they were ready to accept and govern. These days, however, the Kithrayna are murdered more often than not. Shayara is in the hands of children - and I cannot help them.

I see what's coming - and I cannot help them, cannot change it. I know how they will live and how they will die. I remember beautiful Isobel, beloved Lishaya, wasting away of tuberculosis. I remember the city decimated by the black plague. And I could do nothing.

Of all of these times, this is the worst. I have been everywhere and everywhen, and I know that there are two events - one day, one night - that will be the most devastating of my life.

This one - tonight - begins in the stronghold of House Bartomn... but in my presence, it begins with a young man's cry of anguish.

Daniel Halloran screams, feeling his family's death. Feeling his brother's spirit enter him, conferring upon him the weight of centuries. I watch his childhood end - and know that the Purges have begun.

It happens in slow motion, almost. Daniel cries out, and people turn towards him. He's deathly pale, and all he can manage is, "Michael - my parents -" as he lurches out of his seat, bolts out the door. The other coffeehouse patrons are concerned and confused. I know that the murder, the assassination of Daniel's family, will have registered on the radar of the city's more powerful telepaths - fortunately, only one of them is in the room tonight. The Telenias looks up abruptly, trying to parse what just happened.

I know what happens next, so I try not to look at Fenris. This is one of the worst nights of my life - but it's so much worse for then. I can't help it, though. This whole night is a trainwreck.

It feels dirty, almost, this voyeurism - watching it smash into Fenris. And as it hits, time resumes its normal pace. His roar dwarfs Daniel's, his rage flares so hot as to be visible to the naked eye, and he's out the door...

It's the Telenias who says it, his voice quiet and urgent in the stunned silence: "Alanna's moved. The Hallorans are dead. The... the Donnellys... they're under attack. Jessamyn is - Fenris is going -" He stops, obviously distraught. Breathes deep. "Alanna's set loose the Hounds, and she's killing them. The Hounds are on the street. They're killing everyone." His voice steadies, and I know he's drawing this half from himself as second-in-command of the Kirayth, the Pack, the city's de facto police force, half from Fenris. I watch him disappear into his role. I know that he has a Bartomni girlfriend; I know that he cannot allow himself to think of her, or he'll shatter like glass. He gestures to the other Kirayth in the coffeehouse, assigns them their places, summons the Kirayth who're in the field - scatters them evenly throughout the city, giving them two missions. Bring refugees to the safety of my coffeehouse, or to the Library. And kill Hounds.

Outside, Fenris is running, feeling his beloved Jessamyn fight - and fall. All his life, he will blame himself - had he only run fast enough, he'll say, he could have saved her. He should have been with her. He should have fought by her side. Years later, he'll tell me this, when it's been etched in him bone-deep. I hold on to that, to the future, in an effort to keep from feeling what's happening tonight...

It does no good. The mental screams of the dying batter my shields, force their way in. Jessa falls, and I feel it, and I feel Fenris's agony. I feel Jessa's daughter's terror as the Hounds turn on her. I feel the Telenias's girlfriend - I feel what they do to her before they kill her, and he feels it as well, the shock falling over him as he struggles to keep himself from running.

I'm everywhere everywhen, and I feel it - the lights of the carnival district dazzling my eyes as a young man is torn down in midstride, a darkened street in Ziroth territory as a woman begs for her son's life, on her knees. Jessa's daughter feels it all and the Telenias feels it all and I can't take any more, I slide down the wall behind the cash register, my hand clamped over my mouth so the others can't hear my wracking sobs, and I call out inside, Sister, please, shield me - brother, let me go, let me go away from this -

I can't. I'm the witness. No escape. I can't do this, can't bear to feel this, and the others that're safe in the coffeehouse can be helped, but I can't, because nobody knows...

Jessa and Marcus, Thomas and Elizabeth. Laurie ni'Tamra. James Kelly. They fall, they die, and I feel them go, and I cannot hold them here...

I can't do this. I can't do this. But I have no choice. And it ravages me... I don't want to be immortal, I want to be allowed to die, I can't endure this, I can't feel this and then have to live afterward - I can't interfere, I can't help, and there's so much of it that I could only make the tiniest difference if I could help. Too much. I can't do this, I'm so close to breaking, and I'm shuddering with tears and revulsion, curled unnoticed on the floor...

I try to shut myself down, but I can't. I don't know how long I've been here trying to mentally plug my ears, but I begin to register the Telenias's voice.

"Tyka."

No.

"Tyka. Snap out of it."

You don't know...

"Lia!"

I blink, unaccustomed to hearing my real name. The one I go by this century, anyway. I didn't know the Telenias knew it. I look up at him. "I'm... okay. What?"

He sighs, exasperated, pushing his long sandy hair back from his face. "First aid. We're going to have some wounded coming in here. What've you got?"

Given purpose, a role of my own, I pull myself up. "I'm fully stocked. More than fully stocked. I'll set up a triage station on the stage."

He nods, pauses. "Tyka. I know this is hell. Just... we have to do what we can from here."

"I know." And I know what will happen to the Telenias ten years hence - wracked with survivor's guilt for waiting here while his companions fought, he will throw himself recklessly into battle. He won't die quickly. He'll wish he had.

I don't want to know this.

It's all slipping around in my head tonight, as my mind refuses to cope with this actually finally happening. I organize my waitstaff, get them putting together the puzzle-piece tables, distribute first aid kits around the coffeehouse. The patrons are stunned, disbelieving. A few of them are hysterically insisting that they be allowed to leave, to go home, but the Kirayth keep them here, Joseph moving among them to reassure them as the Telenias organizes the attack. His gift is that of unusually strong and deep telepathy - he's capable of acting as a radio system for the entire Kirayth, and that's predominantly what he's doing. His face is haggard from the strain, but this is work that only he can do, and he does it relentlessly. I run through histories in my head as someone else might run through multiplication tables. Calm. Distraction. The Tallarts are the wild cards of the Dasaroi; in each generation, two of them change their name from Tallart to Telenias. Always two - a master and an apprentice. My brother would roll his eyes at me for that - he's amused by my pop-culture addiction. Pop culture, that's it. Don't think about the dead and the dying. Examine the cultural influence of Tupperware and the Twinkie in postwar America.

"Telenias!"

The entire room startles at that - Fenris's voice on a walkie-talkie, not in the mind of the Telenias. It's a shock to hear a voice in all of this quiet. The Telenias's eyes widen, and he thumbs his walkie-talkie on. "Yes?"

Fury radiates from Fenris, even miles away, and I see why he didn't dare risk linking to the Telenias's mind as he growls, "Capri is missing. Jessa and Marcus are dead, goddamn it, they’re dead and cold and there is a fucking stuffed animal here with fucking blood on it and I want to know where the fuck my daughter is!"

Oh, Fenris. Oh no.

He seems to realize his mistake as soon as he sends it, amending quickly to: "My goddaughter. Her parents are dead and I do not see her body here. They are slaughtering Tamrani and Bartomn and she is Tamrani, and I feel her, but she’s too faint to locate and you had better fucking well find her!"

"We'll find her."

"NOW."

"Now." And I feel the energy pushing out from the Telenias. If it was visible, it would be spiderwebs, threads reaching from him to all of the Kirayth, thinner threads from the Kirayth to their loved ones. Like capillaries, almost, and I realize I'm fuguing again and shake myself out of it as the Telenias radios back, "She's with Daniel Halloran, headed to the Library. They're almost there, and they have Kirayth escort, Kenneth's got - oh shit -" and he gasps, sounding gutpunched, and I know before he says it, "We lost Kenneth. Kenneth's down."

"Capri-"

The Telenias can hardly breathe. "Safe, she's safe in the Library. Got confirmation from John. They're taking them down to the basement, heavy shielding."

Fenris's relief is obvious. "Perimeter around the Carnival District and around Bartomn. We may have lost L'Arath, send in a team to find out. Push 'em back, get the wounded out. Victor says that the targets seem to be exclusively Tamrani and Bartomn. Round those up, get them to safety. Pass that around. I'm going to go kill some fucking Hounds now."

The Telenias relays his commands, then sits for the first time in half an hour. He looks so young. I forget how young they all are. I bring him coffee, the heat of the mug bringing sensation back to my hands, dissipating the shock-induced cold. "Was Kenneth..."

He looks up at me, tired. "Kenneth was a good friend. Yes." He sips. "And Kenneth died. And he's not going to be the only one, and I'm going to feel every one of them, and I just need to stand fast and do. my. job. And... and hope that some of us will live."

I want to tell him; I want to tell him so many things. I want to tell him that this siege will break with the dawn, that he'll live to tutor little Capri through high school. I don't want to tell him that he'll never marry, or that Kenneth's little brother will die beside him. I want to tell him his future, but I can't trust my words, so I just tell him to let me know if he needs anything.

And then the door bursts open - two young Kirayth carrying a girl I already know is beyond saving, slivers of bone peeking out between shreds of dress and muscle. And I do my job as the Telenias rises to do his.

It is the longest night of my life.