Mikkall sat with his hands folded, fingers interlocked. The old bench he sat on was cold, hard metal, rusted through in spots but he took no note of it, though he'd been there for hours. His elbows rested on his knees and his mouth pressed hard against his clasped hands. Tears that dried on his cheeks left tracks in the dirt on his face. The rage that the tears followed was gone. In its wake was a quiet, deadly uncertainty gone from him for
months. The last time was when Myrrin and Ricohh divorced, and before that, the time they went to Kermaddikk to rescue Macy and Riane. Ric refused to go with them and it broke Mik's heart that his twin should leave him to fight their enemies alone.
The old chapel around him was worse than run down. It was filled to overflowing with useless junk, dilapidated boxes, old rags of blankets and signs of habitation. It reeked of huumunn and animal waste. Once it was a place of worship to the old gods. A fanatic's small haven before the war ... just a few buildings down from the hospital. It wasn't recognizable as a chapel from the outside anymore. Just a building, abandoned. Inside, the faint
markings of the trappings of ceremony were barely discernible. On one bloodstained plaster wall where the wainscoting was missing -- presumably torn away for firewood years ago -- was scrawled a faded message: "hail the Unspoken."
Mik saw it all when he came in, but didn't see it now. His eyes were closed. There alone, he didn't care if anyone found him or not -- that wasn't what was on his mind or heart. He was there to pray. He didn't know who he was there to pray to. Though the Gods always seemed so real to him and he'd always trusted them, lately it seemed to him as if they'd fallen further away than ever; silent, dead.
Raped. His Bliss raped brutally. Did the Gods even care? Mik did. "Severe internal trauma," Asche told him when he left Bliss in her care. There were cuts and bruises on her wrists and ankles. A dislocated left shoulder... a fracture of her left arm... The rapist drugged her, and there were tracks on her arms. How long did he have her? The full four days? How many times... ?
When he and Ric and Riley found her in the rubbish she was conscious only briefly. She couldn't tell him who hurt her; although, Shad Gray's testimony to Riley was that it was Garth Lowinn who'd been with her last. When the Medics came, they'd carefully extricated her after securing a neck brace around her throat and positioning her on a backboard just in case. Her mouth crusted with blood, freshly bloody from trying to speak and bruised ...
Then as now Mik felt as if his heart was squeezed tight. He tried to suck in air but it stuck in his throat and he made a wheezed, strangled sound. He pressed his hands harder to his mouth and leaned forward further, sobbing silently. His eyes hurt as tears flooded them again. "By the Gods I'll kill the man --! Venexx, help me!" But Venexx gave him no comfort and the other Gods, still, were silent.
He remembered the histories read to him as a child in the Complex in which the Gods spoke to the faithful. He remembered Commander Malley, his own father, telling him how the Gods guided him. Mik never heard them but faithfully, he adopted the practice of prayer in the manner of the 'Nykks ... it never hurt, right? But maybe it did. Maybe it was a lie... Maybe there were no gods and if there were, maybe they didn't care about huumunns at all. The
'Nykks said they did -- that the faithful came in all kinds. Mik didn't know if he believed it.
He stood and walked to the broken out window in the wall above the scribbled message. It wasn't until then that he really read it, contemplated it ... The Unspoken. Who's that? Another God? It was written in Demmish ... by the hand of a huumunn. 'Nykk's never wrote that way--they wrote with a certain telltale quaver because of their clawed hands, even when writing in huumunn languages. A huumunn God. What a thought.
Mik took a breath. It never hurt to try -- faithless as he felt. Perhaps a huumunn God would hear him where none of the others would. So he prayed. He called upon the Unspoken God and demanded, "If you exist, prove it!" He yelled and went down to his knees. "I have nothing left -- there's nothing I can promise you, not service, not love!" His voice fell to a ragged whisper. "Nothing to give ... but my fear. If you're real ... heal her.
Don't let her die." Mikkaill was not a murderer, but in this, because of this, he would take the life of anyone who stood between him and the man who'd hurt Bliss.
Deep down, perhaps he feared that -- the revenge inside -- as much as he feared losing her. His breath caught again in an unexpected gasp and shuddered through him. If she died ... "oh God, if she dies... " I'll kill. I'll kill and kill until I'm killed. I won't stop, won't be able to stop, until I find him and if I can't kill him, I'll make him kill me. Let me find him. So I can stop him. If she dies, Unspoken, I'll kill him. I'll
kill him.
It had nothing to do with the Legion. Though his men said he was the Legion, he couldn't think about leading it, not in this moment. His mind was not on the capture of Nic Algantt, or the siege of the New Rydynn. It wasn't Boyle or Neverr that held him, momentarily helpless in fear and grief. It was simple vengeance that swirled to consume him and Mik ached for it's fulfillment. Before that stained and broken plaster wall, on his knees
he poured his heart out to an invisible God who's name was unspoken, unknown in his time.
"Please ... " he murmured to the stale chapel air. "Help me ..."
---
Once she'd regained consciousness, Mik stayed with Bliss. She was in and out and each time she woke she spent a little time in lucidity before the fear took her over. When that happened, she withdrew from him, afraid of even his touch. He didn't leave her those first few days she was awake. He stayed out of the way of the doctors, but he was with her whenever they were out of the room. Holding her
when she was with him, sitting not too far away when she was in the midst of her fear.
Rumors reached him of a greater escalation of Church forces outside the city. He was still the Legion leader and ought to check on his men from time to time; but he didn't. While he was with Bliss, it was as if all else had gone away. Until he knew she would live, he didn't leave her. Finally, when Bliss was sleeping and he was assured she would be alive when he got back, he left a female Freemen with her and checked in with Ricohh. That mental
communication was concise, almost cold. Ric didn't say where he was and Mik didn't ask. Technical information was exchanged in a flash of thought; nothing personal.
He went for a walk about the city intending at first to meet with his brother and deal with Boyle's next move. Instead, his steps took him to the entrance he always used to go underground. He stood there until one of the guards made as if to walk across the alley to him. He held up his hand to ward the man off. He turned and walked away. That was when the bombing began. Boyle was attacking the city. Mik found himself pinned down for half an
hour with nothing but mental communication with Ric to let the Legion know their Commander was, in fact, alive. When the lull came, Mik couldn't bring himself to go back into the sewer where the men were. Ric had them in hand, he convinced himself. He was doing well; as Mik always knew he could. This time, Ric took over willingly, without being ordered to by the PTBs or by Mik himself. They didn't need him.
Mik hated to leave Bliss alone in this. It looked like the shells were falling close to the hospital and his heart urged him to go back. She must be terrified. He could feel the tension lingering in the city air. He saw smoking buildings, heard the tramp of the booted feet of Nuke troops. They were offering terms, he was sure of it. So while he heard any patrols, they'd be safe from shelling. Still, he found his steps taking him back to the
Chapel where he'd prayed for Bliss and when he stood in the doorway, he realized he was there because he felt he owed a thank you to the Unspoken. Bliss was alive. He knew that because Ric had gone to the hospital.
He disregarded the mess around him -- it hadn't changed -- and he went to the wall where the words were scrawled just like before. From his pocket, he pulled a felt-tip pen. He knelt down, bowed his head a moment and tried to clear his thoughts. "I still don't know what you are -- but she's alive," he whispered. He reached out to the wall, pen in hand and wrote, "The Unspoken Listens" just under the "hail the Unspoken" that was already there. He
slipped the pen back into his pocket and softly, words began to flow from his heart to somewhere beyond the wall, beyond the scrawl upon it, to the heart of the Unspoken, whomever, wherever it was ...
The words came out all right at first. "I don't know you, but maybe you did it. Maybe you saved her. Maybe its all chance. If you did, thank you. Help Bliss. Please? She loved him once. Trusted him. He hurt her ... he hurt her so bad ... She said she doesn't understand why he could say he loved her and hurt her ... help her, Unspoken, please ... please... " Then, tears threatened again and something caught in his throat. It seemed to happen a
lot these days that emotion clouded his mind where only logic was before and words failed him completely. So his mind, cut off from his brother for something this personal, this intense, rolled on with the words that voice couldn't form.
I've never wanted to kill. But this man, Garth Lowinn -- He blames me for taking Bliss from him and I think he hurt her because he blames me. If you kept her alive, bring him to me ... So he can never hurt her again! His heart raced, his head hurt and he felt the fire in his belly turn from grief for Bliss' pain to rage. Rage at Garth's betrayal. Rage at the Nukes, rage at himself that Bliss was hurt because of him; because he loved her.
No, Not just because he hurt Bliss, but because he hurt me. I hate him.
"God, how I hate him," he managed to say through clenched teeth, rising to his feet.
I trusted him! He led the Special Ops. They haven't been the same since he left us. I believed in him -- in his ability to get men to do for him what few other men could ever do. He betrayed the Legion and I want him dead. I want him dead. I want to kill him. If you want to stop me, let the bombs take me first!
Mik didn't hear the footsteps crunch through old broken glass in the doorway. He was expecting the return of fire from the guns outside the city to obliterate the small chapel and take him with it. With his heart pounding his rage hard in his ears, he didn't hear the soft call of his name as he stood near the stain of blood that marred the wall ...
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