Karma – Never To Keep
by Shadowy Star
April 2014
Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story and all plotlines in it. Characters, places, locations and organizations not appearing or being mentioned in the books are also mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use without permission.
Summary: 'In those endless moments it takes to recite the three lines of blessing he realizes what the other man was, is, and always will be to him.' Karma
A/N: Second installment in the Karma series. Again, sad.
He had always wanted to be a Priest. Ever since his fourth birthday, when asked what his chosen profession was going to be, Gerald had always stubbornly answered: a Priest.
It wasn't a popular choice – the Church's influence had waned significantly over the last few centuries. Its revival after the Last Crusade and the Taming of the fae had been short-lived as technology evolved beyond no longer existing limits, and no one needed to rely on faith to keep walls standing and engines running. Nevertheless, his decision never wavered all the way through the high school, and when he was finally able to join the ranks of initiates, he'd known himself to be where he wanted – and in some strange way – perhaps even needed to be. He was never able to explain why. The feeling went far beyond the usual stereotype of 'it just feels right', though feel right it did.
Only much later did he understand. He was searching for something –no, someone– and had instinctively chosen a profession where he'd meet lots of people. And every time, every new person he met somehow wasn't the one he was looking for.
And wasn't it ironic –finest, most bitter irony in fact– that he finally understood why he'd wanted to be a Priest now when it didn't matter anymore?
He'd never loved anyone in his life, not the way it matters. He'd even been married two times, and it really should've been an eye-opener when neither Elissa's death nor the divorce from Michael hadn't hurt that much, each bringing a profound sense of relief instead. He'd had a few lovers before, in between and after, thinking that maybe his problem was marriage itself, and still nothing had changed. No matter how hard he'd tried, no matter how hard each of his lovers had tried... In the depths of his heart or maybe his soul, far beneath any layer of conscious thought, he always felt something … missing. He was sixty-one, and he had never been truly in love.
And now, it was too late.
Now, he was blessing another young couple, their happiness permeating the air around them like a sweet fragrance, and yet there was something in the beautiful sky blue eyes of one groom, something deeply familiar, and he simply couldn't stop, couldn't avert his own eyes even if his life depended on it. Because this soul he knew, knew from a place deep inside where old, old guilt lived and older yet pain.
Something violently sparkled to life then, a crackling of energy, a recognition beyond the physical form, a powerful sense of connection, those worn frayed edges inside meeting and fitting the shape of this man's soul. The other's eyes widened in shock, in remembrance. The instant sense of welcome made Gerald's head spin. He felt accepted as never before in his life, felt he could drown in those deep pools of blue that now flicked to the man's husband-to-be and closed briefly as if in pain. Then, steely resolve entered the man's eyes, and Gerald felt his heart constrict with silent pride and equally silent pain. He struggled to keep the pain that way even as it clawed and slashed at his heart, biting the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste on his tongue blotted out everything else.
He drew a shaky breath, and raised his head and his eyes, and continued, and never before did he mean the words more sincerely, and never before seemed those three simple lines to hold more meaning. How could he not wish Damien all joy and happiness in the world, even if it wasn't with him? Damien deserved to be happy, and to love and be loved wholeheartedly, and not to be torn inside. That burden was for Gerald alone to carry, and he was used to it. He smiled, just a little, and laid all his love into the words that were binding his loved one to someone else. This he could give, this was the one single thing he was allowed to give. Finishing the ceremony, he gave the newly-weds another smile, this one more honest than it was fake. His heart broke some more when he saw those sky blue jewels mist over with tears, and he turned away, hiding his own – tears he had no right to cry and couldn't allow to fall.
He stood there until the merry party had left, carefully not thinking at all. Only then he allowed himself the luxury of crying, silent tears and silent sobs, and pain rose again, sharp and piercing, and refusing to recede, and he told it to wait.
Soon.
He was almost done.
His hands remained steady and his sight clear as he wrote his resignation, leaving detailed instructions for his aides. A faint echo of fondness entered his broken heart at the thought of those two idiots running his church. They'd manage. For the last letter, he reached into the far end of his drawer where he kept his best quality paper. He chose carefully, nodding approvingly at the almost velvety, startlingly white richness against his fingertips. He picked his finest quill, found different ink – deep midnight blue, rare pigments in a solution that wouldn't allow the words to fade in the years to come. His other deserved only the best, and he wasn't in a hurry yet. His hand shook on the second word of the eternal confession and on the third, and he stopped, drawing a few short breaths. Now he would be pleading forgiveness for the words just written and it wouldn't do to have them illegible. He sealed the envelope with his best wax and his hand remained steady when he wrote his other's name in this life upon it, forming each character carefully, with precision. So little to give...
Pain was coming back, demanding attention, eating away at his resolve. He told it to wait again, then looked around, making sure the candles were no longer burning and his supplies in utmost order. There was nothing for him left, and he sighed in quiet relief.
Now, it was alright. Now, he could allow the pain to return. It tore at his heart, leaving it in ragged pieces as he closed and bolted the door, and fed upon broken dreams and shards of a shattered life as he walked. It was alright. With each step he took he felt lighter and the pain in his heart grew sharper and deeper.
It was alright.
He was ready. He'd always been ready.
The cliff's end was close, and for a moment, he felt more alive than ever before in his life – the wind against his cheek like Damien's caress would be, the sunlight bright and warm like Damien's smile, the water below the color of his other's eyes.
The pain vanished.
With a smile, he fell into the sky.
FIN