We're going back to Mid-World. Somehow, that feels right, like there's a part of me that really does belong there. Maybe there is. I can't help feeling like all these stacked up worlds are reflections of something truer. That doesn't mean that the reflections aren't real--I'm real, so are Carrie and that other James--but it's all connected. Perhaps that's why Ashleigh kept connecting me to the Eden who fell--because she and I are connected somehow.
It's a creepy thought.
I think the Rose is one of the true things--no, I know that it is. You just have to be near it to know that. I don't envy James--I hope that someday he can walk right up to the Rose and feel that sense of rightness. He's changed so much in the short time I've known him. Hell, we all have. But his is the longest path to walk, because he fell the furthest. I'm so glad he has Penny to give him a hand. And Carrie? Perhaps. There's something there, I feel it, but we'll see which way ka blows us.
I think we're better prepared for Mid-World this time. I hope we are. No, I won't let myself slide back into that cycle of doubt. It's too easy to get caught up in worrying about failing, so easy to look right past the things that need seeing.
I can't believe how close I was to giving up. I'm glad I talked to Carrie. I'm still worried, but I feel much clearer. Lighter. And I can see the path ahead of us. I just have to press on.
Press on for one more victory in the name of the White. Press on for the Tower, and the Rose.
For myself.
For everyone.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
You Don't Know How It Feels
Eden was restless, and she didn't know what to do about it. They'd been back in New York for only a day, but it seemed like a lifetime. After the constant pace of Mid-World, just relaxing seemed like a waste of time and energy. In her own world, she never had the time to relax. There was always something to do--extra shifts at the hospital, volunteering at clinics in the slums , or helping in the homeless shelters.
Too many of the men on the streets were men she might have served with in the war. Missing limbs, haunted eyes, and empty faces blurred, so that they all might have been one man. One man she could never really help, one man who was always hungry, always cold, always dirty.
Was that why she'd failed Fuzz? Eden had thought he was safe in the hospital, safe where he had medicine and food and shelter. He hadn't been, of course, and the doctors all told her that no one had known; they'd have put him on suicide watch, taken away the shoelaces he used to hang himself and upped the calming medicines they fed him with each meal.
But she'd told herself then the same thing she told herself now: I should have known. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, the only family I had left. I should have seen. I should have known!
These thoughts carried her to what would have been her old neighborhood. Eden could see that it was the same place, but passage between worlds and whens had made a stranger of the place she'd once called home. There was still a store on the corner, but it sold coffee instead of groceries. The apartment building she'd lived in had been replaced--if it had ever existed in this world.
Eden was entertaining thoughts of going to the Beth Moses Cemetery, to scan the gravestones for one Corporal Edward O'Reilly, when her phone rang. Penny, bless her, with an invitation to lunch. It was what Eden needed--a break from morose thoughts and time with her ka-tet.
But the restlessness did not abate as she picked at her lasagna. She listened to her tet's chatter, as Alistair fed Arthur meatballs on the sly. James had bribed the host to allow the "dog" to enter the restaurant, since the snow outside prevented patio seating. Penny chatted about her morning, mentioned missing lessons again. Eden frowned, but it wasn't her place to say anything. James was Penny's guardian. Who was she to interfere?
Eden spoke to Alice later that afternoon. For most of her adult life, Eden had been a nurse. While those skills had not disappeared, her legal ability to practice them had. She was no one in this world. Without the Tet Corporation, she wouldn't have a job, wouldn't have an apartment. She'd be one of the faceless multitudes who slipped through the cracks of society. Alice assured her that a legal identity was being created for her. It did little to reassure Eden, but she'd wait and see who the Tet Corporation had decided she would be in this world.
In the meantime, there was a place she could go to help, a homeless shelter that wouldn't ask any questions if she said she came from Tet. Washing blankets and helping in the kitchen helped her feel more a part of this world, but she couldn't help but feel like there was something else she was supposed to be doing. Did the others find it so hard to relax, to take a few days to recharge their batteries? It was almost a blessing when Carrie called her. Going to the training session was something Eden looked forward to. She was intrigued by the PK Carrie was manifesting, and she wanted to see what Carrie could do with it.
At the end of the session, Bryce dropped a hell of a bombshell revelation in their laps, but they couldn't really do much about it. Eden was disturbed by the thought of another James somewhere out there still working for the Crimson King, but she wasn't surprised. Hadn't there been another version of her? Wasn't there another version of Carrie, immortalized in a book? How many reflections, how many shadows? For all Eden knew, she was just a reflection too, a shadow of the woman who'd slipped into todash darkness.
Eden had made plans to go to the homeless shelter with Carrie, but she forgot about that completely when Carrie saw that they had only a few days to deal with the Guardian at the ruin of the Dixie Pig. She asked James to call the rest of the group. He was good at that, gathering them up and organizing them. Better than she was. He surprised her by linking the phone calls together, so that they all spoke together. It reminded her of the party line her childhood telephone had been attached to, and how her Aunt Carolyn would eavesdrop on the neighbors.
They met in one of the many conference rooms. There wasn't much to plan--they'd go the Dixie Pig, blow the horn, and fight the Guardian. Any more planning than that was useless, but Eden just wanted to make sure. She'd never forgive herself if she forgot something and it got someone hurt. Or killed.
Carrie asked her what was wrong, but Eden didn't want to talk about it. There was enough to worry about. Eden was glad when James asked Carrie to lay off--but the younger woman didn't look as if she'd let it be for long. Then it struck Eden--Carrie knew about Fuzz. Carrie'd said it many times--she'd watched their whole lives. She'd seen how Eden had let her friend kill himself.
Did Carrie think that Eden was unfit to be dinh? Who was to say that the girl wouldn't be right? The revelation that Christmas was only days away made Eden feel even worse. The decorations were everywhere, but Eden hadn't seen. The vicious cycle of her thoughts turned again, and the doubt the thinny had sown in her grew stronger.
Too many of the men on the streets were men she might have served with in the war. Missing limbs, haunted eyes, and empty faces blurred, so that they all might have been one man. One man she could never really help, one man who was always hungry, always cold, always dirty.
Was that why she'd failed Fuzz? Eden had thought he was safe in the hospital, safe where he had medicine and food and shelter. He hadn't been, of course, and the doctors all told her that no one had known; they'd have put him on suicide watch, taken away the shoelaces he used to hang himself and upped the calming medicines they fed him with each meal.
But she'd told herself then the same thing she told herself now: I should have known. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, the only family I had left. I should have seen. I should have known!
These thoughts carried her to what would have been her old neighborhood. Eden could see that it was the same place, but passage between worlds and whens had made a stranger of the place she'd once called home. There was still a store on the corner, but it sold coffee instead of groceries. The apartment building she'd lived in had been replaced--if it had ever existed in this world.
Eden was entertaining thoughts of going to the Beth Moses Cemetery, to scan the gravestones for one Corporal Edward O'Reilly, when her phone rang. Penny, bless her, with an invitation to lunch. It was what Eden needed--a break from morose thoughts and time with her ka-tet.
But the restlessness did not abate as she picked at her lasagna. She listened to her tet's chatter, as Alistair fed Arthur meatballs on the sly. James had bribed the host to allow the "dog" to enter the restaurant, since the snow outside prevented patio seating. Penny chatted about her morning, mentioned missing lessons again. Eden frowned, but it wasn't her place to say anything. James was Penny's guardian. Who was she to interfere?
Eden spoke to Alice later that afternoon. For most of her adult life, Eden had been a nurse. While those skills had not disappeared, her legal ability to practice them had. She was no one in this world. Without the Tet Corporation, she wouldn't have a job, wouldn't have an apartment. She'd be one of the faceless multitudes who slipped through the cracks of society. Alice assured her that a legal identity was being created for her. It did little to reassure Eden, but she'd wait and see who the Tet Corporation had decided she would be in this world.
In the meantime, there was a place she could go to help, a homeless shelter that wouldn't ask any questions if she said she came from Tet. Washing blankets and helping in the kitchen helped her feel more a part of this world, but she couldn't help but feel like there was something else she was supposed to be doing. Did the others find it so hard to relax, to take a few days to recharge their batteries? It was almost a blessing when Carrie called her. Going to the training session was something Eden looked forward to. She was intrigued by the PK Carrie was manifesting, and she wanted to see what Carrie could do with it.
At the end of the session, Bryce dropped a hell of a bombshell revelation in their laps, but they couldn't really do much about it. Eden was disturbed by the thought of another James somewhere out there still working for the Crimson King, but she wasn't surprised. Hadn't there been another version of her? Wasn't there another version of Carrie, immortalized in a book? How many reflections, how many shadows? For all Eden knew, she was just a reflection too, a shadow of the woman who'd slipped into todash darkness.
Eden had made plans to go to the homeless shelter with Carrie, but she forgot about that completely when Carrie saw that they had only a few days to deal with the Guardian at the ruin of the Dixie Pig. She asked James to call the rest of the group. He was good at that, gathering them up and organizing them. Better than she was. He surprised her by linking the phone calls together, so that they all spoke together. It reminded her of the party line her childhood telephone had been attached to, and how her Aunt Carolyn would eavesdrop on the neighbors.
They met in one of the many conference rooms. There wasn't much to plan--they'd go the Dixie Pig, blow the horn, and fight the Guardian. Any more planning than that was useless, but Eden just wanted to make sure. She'd never forgive herself if she forgot something and it got someone hurt. Or killed.
Carrie asked her what was wrong, but Eden didn't want to talk about it. There was enough to worry about. Eden was glad when James asked Carrie to lay off--but the younger woman didn't look as if she'd let it be for long. Then it struck Eden--Carrie knew about Fuzz. Carrie'd said it many times--she'd watched their whole lives. She'd seen how Eden had let her friend kill himself.
Did Carrie think that Eden was unfit to be dinh? Who was to say that the girl wouldn't be right? The revelation that Christmas was only days away made Eden feel even worse. The decorations were everywhere, but Eden hadn't seen. The vicious cycle of her thoughts turned again, and the doubt the thinny had sown in her grew stronger.
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