A/N: Chap 23 review responses are in my forums. A note on this chapter-the original power testing sequence was 3 chapters long. All from the tester's POV. The OC Wakefield had two entire chapters from her POV alone. I realized it removed Taylor's POV too much, and for too long, and also became redundant. Not to mention that the power testing scene in this and Quintessence were written side by side. I decided the power testing did not advance the story, just what happens at the end. So I condensed all three chapters, switched the POV to Taylor, and added the sequence at the beginning to establish her spiritual aspects.
The result was a bit of a clunky chapter, but it got me where I needed to be.
Thanks for reading.
Chapter Twenty-Four: All Works In Their Season
The birch trees were nothing but stumps.
Taylor came down into a front yard of mud and weeds and dead trees. Someone had cut them, maybe to burn the wood, leaving nothing but stumps in their place. The white picket fence that they painted every few years was gone completely—probably also for firewood.
Next door, she saw the Holshausen's pear tree looked ill; half the limbs were dead, the others turning prematurely. Across the street, the Schusters looked like they had a new car; a little economy car that looked like it would barely fit the 280 pound Mr. Schuster.
She looked all around the neighborhood. More than half of the houses were empty; two looked derelict. It was as if her parents were all that kept the neighborhood together, and when Dad left, so did the soul of the block. Taylor dragged her eyes back to her house.
As Taylor stood and stared at her home, she felt a surge of righteous anger at what she saw. The front of her house was covered in graffiti. Words and symbols from the Archer Bridge Merchants and a few smaller gangs stained the faded white paint her father used to apply every five or six years. The last time they painted was when she was eleven-she remembered the overalls mother bought for them and how she was covered in paint when they were done.
It was such a fun day. Now?
She walked past piles of trash and used needles mixed generously with the weeds and mud until she reached the front porch. One of the steps groaned dangerously under her weight. The front door and windows were boarded shut with nails and plywood.
She pulled the plywood it off easily, opened the door, and stepped into a pig sty. Trash and filth filled the floor-food wrappers, pizza boxes and other items she couldn't identify were piled up in the kitchen. The place smelled like a latrine.
The wooden sofa dad built by hand and that mother upholstered herself was chopped into kindling for the firepit that she could see through the open back door. Someone smashed their old vacuum tube television.
Pulling her wings tightly to her back, she moved into the kitchen. Cabinet doors were torn off; the appliances were destroyed or missing entirely. There was no refrigerator at all. She stopped and fought back a surge of tears.
The inner wall of the kitchen was where mother and dad always put their pictures. The cracked tiles of the kitchen floor were littered with glass and wood from broken frames. Squatting down, Taylor pulled one picture out from the trash. It was torn a little, but still brought a bittersweet smile to her face.
Dad loved cameras. He hated to be in the picture, but he loved cameras.
The picture was of her and her mother in the garden at the cabin. Taylor couldn't have been more than four or five-a little bundle of joints and skin with a mop of unkempt black hair. She was squatting in the rich loam of the garden with mother kneeling behind her, guiding her in planting an olive seedling. Dad angled the camera just perfectly to capture mom's face; the contented smile there.
Another picture caught her eye, this time of Taylor and her mother skiing near the cabin. Another showed one of their backyard gatherings. Taylor smiled to see Emma and her, mugging for the camera while the Barnes and the Waters families sat around an open pit fire over which a side of beef was roasting.
The frames were damaged, and some of the pictures were torn, but Taylor realized she could save most of them. She gathered all she could from the pile of broken plaster, glass and frames and carried them to the cracked, filthy kitchen counter and started piling them up. There were other pictures around the house, and boxes more in the basement, but those were the ones that mother hung, and Dad never changed them.
Nor did he ever add any to them. Dad threw his camera away after mom died.
She looked back down at the photos, where she and Emma were hugging each other and making silly faces. Behind them, Kurt Waters was telling a tall tale. Dad sat back in his wooden Adirondack-style chair, a mug of dark beer in his hand, and a tolerant smile on his face. It was a good day.
She took another look around the house before her eyes settled back on the picture, and her stray thought became a certainty. She stepped out onto the trash-laden back porch, into the open, and lifted into the air with a flap of her wings. Soon enough she could see the two rusted old gantry cranes in the only working pier left in the city. The rail lines leading to the docks still occasionally ran, but most of Lord's Port was rendered inaccessible by a massive container ship that had been sunk in protest after the local iron industry went under and the dockworkers suddenly had only half the work.
Only Pier 9 and 10 could still handle cargo, and they were constrained by size to inter-state, smaller cargo ships. Trans-oceanic travel was too expensive due to insurance to be sustainable for anything other than massive cargo ships.
They did have a load, though. It was a three-hundred-foot feeder ship called the Steamer's Dream under US flag. It didn't have any cranes on it, so the DWA crane operator had something to do. They were half-way through unloading the shipping containers on the pier for future pick-up.
All work came to a stop when she floated down in their midst. She recognized a lot of the old, weather-beaten faces. Gerry Rice stood talking with Don Franklin and his son Damien. The three men fell silent and stared like the rest.
There were a lot of new people since she left, but every one of them, even Damien, had a stamp on their soul that she'd never noticed before. Every man there was a military veteran.
"Taylor? Taylor, baby? Is that you?"
She turned and saw Lacy Waters come bursting like a tidal wave out of the main DWA headquarters building. Lacy stood six feet tall and weighed well over two hundred pounds. Though she had a large, Rubenesque figure, she bulked far, far more muscle than fat and was known to hold her own whenever the Merchants got too overconfident. She wore her honey-blonde hair in a thick braid down to the belt of her cargo pants.
She rushed right up to Taylor and crushed her in a powerful hug. "Baby girl! What the fuck? Wings?"
That was Lacy in a nutshell.
Taylor hugged the much larger woman back. "I'm magic."
With the ice broken, a few of her father's older works came over. Work continued; when a ship was at port to be unloaded, the work didn't stop until the job was done. But the DWA also made sure there were ten times more men working on a job than the job actually needed. Work didn't stop, even if most of the men wandered over.
"Taylor, baby!"
A towering, mustachioed giant barreled through the crowd, wrapped her in massive arms, and lifted her off her feet. "Look at you! Look at her, Lacy! Our girl has fuckin' wings!"
Kurt Waters looked like an extra from an old 80s Conan movie. He stood 6'4" and wore a mustache down past his chin. He served in the Army for three years as a kid and had been in the Bay since then.
He placed her down and held her out at arm's length. "Holy shit, girl, what's with all the ink?"
"I'll tell you later, you lout," Lacy declared. "So, baby, whatch'ya need? What can the DWA do for you?"
"Merchants trashed the house," Taylor said. "I signed some contract to be an associate cape with the Protectorate, and they're going to let me go, but the house is trashed. I was wondering if I could hire the DWA to help fix it up again."
"You're damned right we can help you!" Kurt declared. "Let's go check out the house. I'll get an idea how much we're looking at."
"And when you're done, you come on over to our house," Lacy declared. "I'll get a fishbake in the oven. Don't you worry, Taylor. We're with you."
The difference between the Waters and the Barnes was never more apparent to Taylor. Alan and Zoe Barnes were highly educated professionals. Lacy and Kurt were blue-collar workers with grease and dirt under their fingernails.
One betrayed her trust; the other welcomed her with open arms and hearts.
~~Theogony~~
~~Theogony~~
The potential of the next day woke her. Taylor climbed quietly out of the old, musty sleeper sofa that Kurt and Lacy offered her the previous night after examining her house. She folded the sheets and blankets and then pulled the frame back and replaced the sofa cushions before she stepped into the small square of grass that served as their back yard. Most of it was taken up by a small trampoline—Taylor remembered playing on it whenever she visited.
The Waters children were all too old or two young be close friends growing up. Their youngest was eight, but their oldest had children of her own now. Even so, she'd never been made to feel anything but welcome here, even by their children.
The sky was still dark, but she felt the sun coming like an old friend. She moved to the middle of the yard and simply stood. When the first spirits of light came, they did so as vanguards battling the darkness. She could feel traces of her godmother in the spirits, but also a multitude of other gods from every culture going back to the very first life. The sun was life itself. She lifted her arms so she could feel the spirits on her skin, and smiled as their contact with her empowered them to fight back the dark faster.
"Welcome, Brother," she whispered, unconsciously falling into the First Tongue.
The horizon bloomed as the sun emerged, and the spirits of its light charged across the land, banishing the darkness back to the night. She closed her eyes and bathed in the brilliance of the sun's touch. Despite the cold air, the light warmed not just her skin, but her mind and soul. It felt so beautiful tears welled in her eyes. For an eternity of seconds, she hung in the air to welcome the sun, and all was right in the world.
When at last the distant orb cleared the horizon, Taylor let herself sink back down to the ground. She felt clean and refreshed, with a blaze of joy in her heart as if Sunny had just given her a hug.
Perhaps she did.
She turned to go back inside when she saw Kurt and Lacy sitting on the porch. He wore pajama bottoms but was bare chested and as hairy as a bear. She wore an old T-shirt and pajama bottoms that matched his. Behind them stood their two oldest kids—Tracey, holding her twin daughters, and their son Curtis.
Lacy was crying. Tears were just pouring down her face as she sat with her husband's arm over her shoulder.
Concerned, Taylor stepped toward her friends, extending her wings to kneel down. "Lacy, are you okay?"
"You're glowing," Lacy said in a thick voice.
"Am I?" Taylor moved a wing around and saw a golden luminescence there—a lingering blessing of the sun. "It was a beautiful sunrise."
Lacy lifted a hand to touch her cheek. "My little Danny was stillborn," she whispered. "I was too old, docs said. He came stillborn, but your momma blessed him. She blessed him, and he breathed. When he was two, and we realized he'd had brain damage from too long without air as a babe, she made a potion and healed him. She blessed our family. Now you have too."
Only then, as she stared at these open, loving souls did Taylor understand the feeling that came over her in a wave as brilliant and beautiful as the sun. She looked from Lacy to Kurt and their two oldest children, and in each of their souls she saw the imprint of wings. Of herself.
They are yours, Little Sister, Mimir said to her from the Between. Just as warriors through the ages worshipped your father, and women through the ages worshipped your mother, these people have taken you as their god.
The beauty of it robbed her of speech. There were no words in any human language to describe the joy she felt at that moment under the adoring gaze of her first followers. Instead, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on Lacy's forehead, just like Lacy herself used to do to Taylor when she was young.
Lacy sobbed, overcome herself. And in that moment, Taylor knew what to say.
"I am Telos," she said to them. "I bless this house and all who dwell within. I bless you with joy in your hearts and hope for better days. In the name of my mother and my father, I bless you and your family, Lacy and Kurt Waters. Thank you for sharing your home with me."
She stood and smiled down at the family. Two of their other children, Tim and Daniella, had come out and were staring wide-eyed with gaping jaws. Taylor grinned at them before she stepped out into the middle of the yard. "I have to go pretend to be a mortal cape for a little longer," she told them. "But I'll be back. This city is my home, and you are my people. Let the DWA know. You are all my people."
With a flap of her wings, Taylor shot into the air and flew south toward New York, and power testing.
~~Theogony~~
~~Theogony~~
Rather than race like she did against Alexandria, Taylor flew at a leisurely pace. The sun had already slipped behind a the layer of clouds, but she could feel exactly where it was, just as she could feel the moon and the planets themselves. She could feel the cold, moisture-laden air swirling around her as the spirits within danced in celebration of her passing.
Back in Brockton Bay, Alexandria showed her pictures of where she was supposed to go. A place called Brookhaven National Laboratories. The aerial pictures provided far more useful information than a map from the perspective of a flyer. She crossed over the north end of Long Island and saw the campus below.
With a flap of her wings, she slowed until she hung over the campus, looking down. Overhead, she could see contrails of jets ferrying people up and down the coast, but in her little pocket there was only her, the air, and her doubt.
"I'm not sure about this," Taylor admitted aloud.
Aye, Little Sister, Mimir said from the Between. 'Tis a strange concept. How does one quantify the divine? The only purpose I can think of for such an idea is for them to find a means to combat you, should they wish it.
"So, you think I should short-sell myself?"
Even from the Between, she heard his snort of contempt. The opposite. Awe them, Little Sister. You are a god among gods, a spiritual god housed within an invulnerable physical shell. You got what you asked for because of your power. Now is your chance to let them know they never had any other option with you. Do not walk into that building as a penitent with your hat in your hand. Enter as a goddess.
"Theatrically?"
I can assure you, Little Sister, your mum was not above a little theatre now and then. The best fights are those you never have to fight.
Taylor looked east where the sun rested just above the cloud line. "Light my way, brother," she whispered.
The clouds swirled to form a passage that allowed a beam of brilliant, golden morning light to shine through. She descended to the campus in a halo of sunlight cast through an otherwise gloomy day.
She didn't have to guess which building to go to—the Parahuman Sciences Center was the tallest building on the campus—a ten story steel and glass octagon with a helipad and a host of satellite and communication dishes on the room.
Two large PRT transport vans were parked in a circular drive with a grassy center that surrounded a fountain of the original four founders of the Protectorate, Alexandria, Eidolon, Legend and Hero.
Two PRT agents stepped outside to see what was happening and had to shield their eyes as she drifted down on waves of sunlight. She landed barefoot before them, dressed in second hand jeans from one of Lacy's daughters, and an opened back sweater.
"Good morning," she said. "Alexandria asked that I come for power testing."
The agents weren't in their infamous full gear—they wore caps and flack vests with exposed faces rather than the Star Wars-esque black riot gear they wore when deploying. One agent appeared speechless, while the other was pushing an earpiece. It was that agent that recovered first.
"Thank you for coming, Telos," the agent said. "Your resource agent arrived last night and is on her way now. If you'll come with me?"
The interior of the building looked gorgeous. Travertine tile floors set in a vast circular pattern led the eye to an open atrium that dominated the middle of the building. Large angled buttresses leaned out over a little arboretum with a series of waterfalls and gardens that sat under a tube of reflected daylight.
On one side of this setting was what looked like an open restaurant, with a few bistro-style tables and a buffet. She could smell eggs and bacon and warm maple syrup. She saw Rachel Minton walking quickly from the area, while behind her a group of young capes and their minders watched curiously.
"Ta…Telos!" Minton called. "I'm so glad you're okay…" She hesitated as she approached. "Are you okay? You're glowing."
"I had a good morning with family friends," Taylor said. "So, is that bacon I smell? Alexandria said to come hungry."
Minton forced a smile. The woman thrummed with nervous energy, and that core of fear that Taylor sensed in her soul the first time they met had blossomed into a storm that bordered on terror. To her credit, the woman worked aggressively to control it, but she had a visceral, primal reaction to Taylor that went beyond just a fear of capes. Some part of Rachel Minton knew Taylor was divine, and that part of her was terrified by the truth of it.
Despite that, Minton smiled and said, "Right this way."
Taylor followed, looking at the others even as they looked back. There were only a handful of young capes there—one large, athletic boy wearing a Notre Dame hoody with a sculpted rock mask, a slim girl in blue and white body suit with a skirt similar to what Brockton Bay's Vista wore, but a face mask that left her chin and lips in the clear; a young teen in an overcoat and fedora that did little to hide his obesity; and a Latino boy in a fierce dragon-like costume of bright reds, yellows and greens.
The final person there wore a tattered T-shirt with a dinosaur figure holding a chicken nugget. He looked to be thirteen or fourteen as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. Unlike the others, his was a simple domino mask, black and undecorated.
Each one sat at their own table with two adults—a resource agent like Rachel, and from the lab coats, a researcher.
The buffet was what Taylor might have expected at a hotel. The food was adequate, if not great. But there was a lot of it, and she was very hungry. She piled her plate with eggs and bacon, a waffle with butter and real, warm maple syrup, and sat down at the sole empty table with a cup of tea sweetened with honey.
Rachel sat down beside her.
"You're not eating?"
"I ate earlier," the woman said. She looked past Taylor and bit back a sigh of relief. "And look! Telos, this is Dr. Diane Wakefield, she'll be your testing analyst while you're here."
Taylor turned and saw an attractive woman in her mid-forties with short black hair, a prominent nose and heavy brows that, rather than look ugly, made her look striking and faintly exotic. She approached with a confident smile that did not extend past her face, but offered her hand regardless.
Taylor stood and accepted the handshake. If nothing else, the woman was making an effort. "Dr. Wakefield. I assume you've already eaten as well?"
"Actually, I wanted to wait for you. Let me grab a bagel!"
The woman did just that, with a packet of cream cheese and a little cup of berries. She sat down opposite Taylor and beamed as she started spreading the cream cheese. "We didn't get the notice that you were going to join us until late last night. I'm glad you chose to. I'm here to help you realize the full range of your powers, and maybe give you some ideas on how to use them. That is ultimately what the testing process is. For instance, did you know you were glowing?"
"It's been mentioned."
"Do you know why?"
"When I greeted the sun this morning, he blessed me with his light. It'll probably be like this until tonight."
Rachel looked pained. Wakefield, though, nodded. "And the moon?"
"I'll probably glow silver if I greet her."
A stooped, elderly man walked to a podium at the head of the area. He tapped the microphone before speaking.
"Please continue to eat," he said. "I just wanted to quickly introduce myself once more, since we have a late arrival. As I said last night, my name is Dr. Emil Sterns and I'm the director of the Brookhaven Center for Parahuman Research. As some of you know, the Protectorate has partnered with the National Labs to do more formal parahuman power testing for those who might benefit most from it. We're here to help you realize what abilities you have, and maybe even provide a few hints on how to use those powers. First, can anyone here tell me the basic power classifications used by the PRT?"
The girl in the blue-and white costume raised her hand so eagerly she bounced. "Oh, oh, I can! I can!"
"Yes, Zephyr."
At Sterns' nod, the girl broke into a rhyme.
"Mover, Shaker, Brute and Breaker.
Master, Tinker, Blaster, Thinker.
Striker, Changer, Trump and Stranger!"
"Excellent, Zephyr," Sterns said. Zephyr beamed as if she'd just won a spelling bee.
"The list of power classifications was originally a means to assist the PRT in responding to parahuman threats," Sterns continued. "Every power is unique, and every parahuman learns to wield their power in unexpected and exciting ways. Hopefully, by the time you leave in four days, you'll know everything there is about your power, but maybe even a few ideas of how best to use it."
Taylor continued to eat as he spoke. So, too, did Dr. Wakefield. As she did so, Taylor's eyes drifted back to the boy eating cereal. Even from here, she could see a terrible power coiled around his small, nearly empty soul. The purity was not one of goodness, but of absence.
"Who is that?" she asked.
"That's Ignis," Dr. Wakefield said. She sounded sad. "He's severely autistic. We believe he triggered with a fire-based tinker power during the housefire that killed his parents. He's a Ward of the State."
Taylor nodded before she continued eating.
~~Theogony~~
~~Theogony~~
The first day of testing moved fast and efficiently. They had Taylor transcribe messages recorded in various languages and compared her comprehension against the same messages spoken aloud. To Taylor's absolutely shock, her comprehension of the language was dependent on a person speaking it. She could not learn Russian from a recording, but when Dr. Wakefield spoke to her in it, she learned it instantly. The written aspect came slower, but within thirty minutes she could still write in the Cyrillic alphabet, as well as Wakefield's own Yiddish, Japanese and Spanish.
Taylor enchanted apples to heal an eight-year-old with a glioblastoma, and a forty-year old with cerebral palsy.
"Why an apple?" Dr. Wakefield asked.
"Symbolism is important in magic. An enchanted banana just wouldn't work right. It'd probably turn you into a chimpanzee."
They tested her vision, her reflexes and her ground speed. They had her stand under an industrial press for almost thirty minutes—Taylor felt the weight, but at no point did it feel over whelming.
They didn't even bother with her flight test, nor did they ask her to demonstrate any weather-related powers. All in all, it was an interesting experience. The key to her language comprehension alone fascinated her. It made sense, though. She spoke the language of the soul she was communicating with, and recordings had none.
She had only the most passing contact with the other testers, all of whom were Wards. The large jock with the rock mask stared at her a lot, but it was more leering than angry or distrustful. She chose not to dwell on the fact that boys stared at her now.
The final test that day was stranger testing. Taylor cast illusions using spells learned from her Brisingamen to hide behind illusory walls or obstacles. Midway through the test, though, Wakefield thought of something else Taylor had never considered.
"Do you think you could go into this pocket dimension where you hide your belongings?"
"I'm not sure." She'd never thought of it, but from the stories Mimir had told her about where the power came from, it seemed like she should have been able to. The dwarves did. At the same time, she felt a sense of foreboding at the thought. "I mean, I should be able to. I'm just not sure I want to."
"Taylor, feelings of doubt in Parahumans are normal. And sometimes, they're important," the older woman said soberly. "Our study has found that in most parahumans, there are built in limitations in powers designed to protect the wielder. Dr. William Manton researched these limitations and called it the Manton Effect. If your power is telling you not to do it, then you shouldn't. Is it your power telling you not to enter your pocket dimension?"
"No," Taylor admitted. "I don't think so. It's just…I don't know. It's like that feeling you get when you're on the highest diving board looking down for the first time."
"It's your decision, Taylor," Wakefield said. "We're here to help you discover all you can about yourself and your abilities. That includes both those things you can do, and those you can't. Whatever you decide, we'll work around."
Deep breath. Her parents didn't raise a coward. "Okay, I'll give it a try."
"Good. Whenever you're ready."
Taylor walked back out into the testing field behind the tower where they'd moved for her Stranger testing. When she walked far enough out into the field she closed her eyes and simply felt the fall sun on her skin. She could feel the promise of rain in the air—a storm front was only a few hours away. But for now, the day was a perfect 60 degrees.
"What's there to be scared of?" she asked herself.
With that, she willed herself between.
~~Theogony~~
~~Theogony~~
Her bare feet slips on something slick and wet. She stumbles backward and tries to breathe, but she can't. The air burns around her, eating away her clothes. Her tattoos gleam with blue fire that draws heavily on her power to repel the flaming air.
She looks down at what she slipped on. Only the lack of breath keeps her from screaming in horror. She's sprawled across bodies, blood-soaked and mutilated beyond description. Desperately she scrambles to her feet, but slips again on more bodies. She falls forward, coming face to face with a three-faced head mangled almost beyond comprehension.
Eledumare was I. I am Olofin-Orun, Lord of Heaven! Olodumare, almighty and supreme. I am he who sees the inside and the outside of man. I can do all things. I am fallen!
Taylor scrambles back over more bodies until she comes to nearly solid wall of wet, sticky flesh. She spins around, horrified.
Vahagn was I, the dragon reaper! I am fallen!
One hundred and one names, had I! Yazad, Worthy of Worship! Harvesp-tawan, All-Powerful….
Khaldi was I…
Ganasha was I…
A thousand ghostly names ring in her ears as the wall of flesh rises over her like tsunami, falling forward to crush her.
She wants to scream; she needs to scream so badly it hurts. There is no air. Dead, bloody corpses of all shapes, both human and bestial, fall on her as the names of dead gods ring in her ears. Hateful golden fire laps around her body, eating away at her mundane, mortal coverings until only her Brisengamen, her tattoos and Sunny's necklaces remained.
She looks down as one of the teeth on one of the charm necklaces catches fire. She tries to stop it with her hands, but she cannot.
Crawling like a baby over the bloody corpses of earth's mythology, she pushes past two bodies (Ataguchu was I…Ekeko was I…) on top of her until she breaks free into the burning air of the Between. That's when she sees it.
The burning sky is alive. It is vast. It moves.
Changsega, fallen am I.
Mahuika, fallen am I.
It is serpentine in movement, but not a serpent. It dwarfs Jormungand and the world beyond. It is the red, burning sky above, its movements like the orbit of galaxies. It fills the spaces between Yggdrasil's branches because it is too massive for the physical world. It isn't a creature of spirit, nor of flesh, but a composite of the two like no god that had ever existed on Earth.
PROPOSAL.
GESTATION.
PARASITE.
MIGRATION.
Not words, not thoughts. Concepts and memories spanning eons compressed and distilled into crushed nodes of reality that burst like bombs in her head. Tendrils reach out from the sky, slipping like Yggdrasil's branches into various realms and realities.
The Destroyer. Not a single entity, but a colony; a gestalt being made up of infinite shards of power brought together to form a whole beyond themselves. A devourer, moving from world to world and spreading itself among the peoples and gods of each world before drawing from them their best traits and destroying all that remains.
DANGER.
CONFIDENT.
Loss. Despair. Emptiness. Taylor realizes there were two such creatures; she can feel its loss as it scintillates through the Between. It is lost; drifting. Slow to process sensations the collective is unprepared for. How can gods die? How can eternity end?
How can Destroyers be destroyed?
Dad's charm necklace falls from Taylor's neck, reduced to char in the fiery air of the Between. A shark's tooth on her second neck lace begins to blacken.
"Freya, Queen of Asgard, was I. I am fallen. Run, Little Owl! Flee this place! Seek out Brigid! Seek my sister. Flee!"
Taylor spins toward the beloved voice, torn apart by desire and dread. And there Mother is, just like the other bodies. Her beauty is torn apart and bloodied, one eye staring sightless into the burning sky. And yet her voice rings clear and loud in Taylor's ears.
"Not your time, not yet! Flee, Little Owl! Seek out Brigid and flee this place!"
Taylor flees.