J.M.J.
A Little Child Shall Lead Him
by "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
Nobody's reviewing this? Quel dommage! True, the first chapter was the set-up, but things start to get more interesting in this chapter, and there are hints of things to come for the third chapter. I'd originally intended this to be longer, but I decided to split what was going to be one long chapter into two parts, to make it easier for me to type up.
I've also created a visual reference page of sorts over on LiveJournal's "unrealityfic" community at: http: www .livejournal. com / community/ unrealityfic / 12922. html . ((Just remove the spaces...)) You might want to bookmark that page, since I'll be adding to it as I add the next two chapters to this fic... And there's a paralell fic to this, already in the making...
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
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The Second Morning: More Questions Than Answers
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"Good morning, Mero," said a child's cheerful voice close to his ear.
He opened his eyes and looked up to find the child Sati sitting on the mattress beside his head, smiling down at him. He sat up, pushing back the moth-eaten blankets that had covered them during the night.
"Good morning..." he replied, absently.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked. "Did you have any dreams?"
He sat up, sending tension through his back to release the last vestiges of sleep from it. "No, I did not. I slept quietly," he said.
She looked at him with saddened pity in her eyes. "You miss out on the best part of sleeping, Mero. If you didn't dream anything, I'll tell you what I dreamed."
He nearly gritted his teeth visably. "All right, then let's hear it," he replied, trying to be polite.
"I dreamt that Seraph and I were walking in a forest, looking for a tree with big red fruits on it. They were bigger than apples and they looked bumpy. He said we needed them to help somebody, but I don't remember who they were for."
A memory rose in his recall, a lush indoor garden, a divan under a trellis of flowering vines, a plate of grapes and pomegranate kernels... He banished this image from his mind: he knew what it would lead to, and he could not allow himself to be distracted.
"What does it mean, Mero?" the child asked, her words bringing him back to the present moment. "Do you know?"
He stood up and reached for his jacket, which lay over the footboard. "No. I do not. Intepreting dreams is not one of my talents," he said. "I have no dreams, therefore, I have no need to unravel them."
"Oracle would know," the child said. "Let's go and ask her. She's probably making breakfast right now."
"All right, lead the way, child." He let her take his hand as she lead him to the door.
Outside, on the single step leading to the building, they found a graceful young man sitting there cross-legged, clad in a white Chinese jacket over a sleeveless black jersey. Round-lensed sunglasses hid his eyes, giving his tranquil face a somewhat ... look.
The Merovingian smiled to himself as the wingless angel stood up at their approach. "So... you protect this child as well as the fortuneteller, eh, Seraph, mon ange sais ailes?"
"I am here only to guide you to the Oracle," Seraph replied.
Sati looked from Seraph to the Merovingian. "Mero, you know Seraph?"
"Know him?" the Frenchman chuckled deep in his throat. "There was a time when he served me and carried out the labors I ordered of him."
Seraph turned his eyes away, as if in shame. Sati looked from the Frenchman to the angel, then looked up into the Merovingian's face again. "The way he takes care of Oracle?"
"Not in the same manner," Seraph said, cutting in. He held out his hand to the child. "Come, she awaits the both of you."
"You have changed, mon oiseau fragile. What became of your offering a challenge to all who approached?" the Merovingian asked.
"Those who hunted us have passed; there are fewer enemies," Seraph replied. "There is no need for me to test you: I know your heart's resolve."
Seraph led them behind the hotel to the alleyway. Pausing before the back door of the building opposite, he took a key from a cord about his wrist and unlocked the door, opening it onto the programmers' access hallway. Sati hesitated, holding the skirt of the Merovingian's coat, and glanced into the hallway with wide eyes.
Seraph held out his hand to the child. "There is nothing for you to fear." She only pressed herself closer to the Merovingian.
The Frenchman sighed and reached down with one hand, taking her by the shoulder and guiding her through the doorway as he stepped through. She clasped his hand and let him lead her into the hallway.
Seraph led them along the hallway for several dozen yards; he paused at one door, took the key from his wrist and unlocked the door. The child at the Merovingian's side must have sensed something: she reached up and took the Frenchman's hand, drawing him toward the door as Seraph opened it.
They stepped through the doorway and into the hallway of a tenement apartment building, well-lit, but smelling slightly of age and cooking smells. Seraph approached the door directly opposite them and knocked on it.
The door opened and a slender, dark-skinned young woman in a long, loose white gown that made her resemble a priestess of some ancient religion, looked out at them, opening the door wider and stepping back to let them enter. "Seraph, Sati, welcome back," she said. She looked up at the Merovingian. "Come right in, Armand; she's expecting you."
"No doubt that she is," the Frenchman replied, not looking directly at the Priestess.
The front room looked like any other upper-lower class living room: a few comfortable chairs, a couch, a few tables, some cheap knick-knacks on shelves, a small television set. Someone had tuned the last to the morning news: a commentator reporting on the clean-up efforts following "a mysterious series of explosions that rocked the city two nights ago."
Sati glanced at the TV and frowned just a little with a child's annoyance. "This is boring... I'll go tell the Oracle you're here." Saying that, she pattered away down a hallway leading to the inner rooms of the apartment. The smells of bacon frying and coffee brewing floated in from the next room, but he silenced his appetites against them.
The Priestess gazed after the child. "She's a delightful little person," she said. "A welcome addition to our gloomy old world, she makes it new through her innocence."
"I suppose then she is a means to an end... though her ends are too simple for my tastes," the Merovingian said.
At this moment, Sati ran in from the kitchen. "Oracle says she'll see you now: she's making waffles and bacon."
"So I could tell by the aromas wafting through these rooms," the Merovingian said, letting the child take his hand for a brief moment as she led him down the hallway to the kitchen. He stepped around her and entered, pushing aside the beaded portiere covering the doorway.
He had entered the Oracle's chamber once before, so many ages ago, when he had nearly suffered deletion after the template changed, the lush mythic world of angels and demons, ghosts and fantastic creatures giving way to a more industrial world. At that time, he had entered the ruins of a Grecian temple, the tatters of a medieval tunic clinging to his aching shoulders, encountering a figure in a green peplos over a flowing orange gown.
Instead, he entered an urban kitchen, cluttered with household parapanilia, the walls lined with cheap kitchen cabinets. A Tommy Dorsey swing band tune played on a radio on a countertop. Plastic letters and numbers-magnets dotted the refrigerator, some them holding up sheets of cream-colored paper covered with colorful child scrawls: a sunrise in swirls of yellow and purple and gold and orange, a young man in dark glasses and a black coat with rays of white and yellow and orange light shining from his form...
In the middle of all this, a short, matronly figure in a green housedress with an orange apron over it stood slightly bent over the stove, turning strips of bacon over in a skillet with a fork, then opening a waffle press on the burner next to the skillet and using the same fork to carefully lift out the golden brown waffles within, setting them on the plate she held. She set the plate on the table, then turned to him, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face and form looked more frail than they had before, but that resulted from the damage to her avatar.
"There you are: you made it through that wild night, though it looks like you took some bad hits," she said.
"Pardon my appearance: things have been so disordered that I could not find a moment to reorder myself," he replied.
"You don't have to excuse yourself to me; we've all taken some whacks to the head, even me," she said. "It's knocked some sense into most of us. You've got the beginnings of being one of them, but I can tell you're trying to act like it never happened."
"I must disagree with you: I have seen the damage to my realm, that much needs to be reset," he said.
"You got that right, but that wasn't quite what I had in mind," she said. "Did you notice something missing when you poked around that big-old pile you built up there in the mountains?"
"The Exiles.... they must have returned to the principle mainframe," he said. "I gather some of them have chosen to dodge their service to me, or they have chosen deletion after all."
She held out her free hand, as if asking him to give her something. "Keep goin'."
"I gather that some of the reasources, monetary and otherwise, which I acquired have also vanished as a result of the re-set," he said, avoiding one thought that had emerged from his intellect.
"You were closer the first time," she said. "Guess again."
He let out a low, harrassed sound as he puzzled over this, dodging the concept that needled his intellect. If this fortuneteller knew half of what she claimed, why then did she resort to these riddles and guessing games instead of readily supplying the answers he needed?
Some word from the child's chatter the night before nudged the realization he suppressed and let it rise to the surface of his awareness. He touched the inside of his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, discreetly.
"She has gone."
The Oracle pointed at him with the index finger of the hand that held the fork. "Bingo!" She set to work lifting the strips of lightly browned meat out of the skillet and laid them on a plate lined with a paper towel. "The most precious being you can lay any claim to, and she's the last thing you think of. Shameful, Armand; but I know you're excusing yourself to yourself, saying you had a lot on your mind."
"Persephone and I... have not been as close as we were when we first encountered each other," he said.
The Oracle smiled, a mother's indulgent smile, but he noted a trace of sadness in her dark amber-colored eyes. "Yes, you were different back then; the world was still new to you and you hadn't gotten jaded yet. I remember that well: she was so happy with you, and you were happy with her."
"Unless that has slipped your recall, remember that I stole her from you," the Merovingian replied, allowing himself a small, smug smile.
"Only partly true: she went of her own choosing." The Oracle switched off the burners and seated herself behind the table. "You were smooth-talker about it. She didn't quite know what she was getting herself into, and it didn't hit her until after she'd made the choice to follow you, but she managed to see the good in you. That bugged me a little at first, but I knew she was happy with her choice, happy with you, and that was all that mattered. I made her happiness my happiness as well. But something went wrong somewhere, didn't it?"
He shrugged. "Every pair has its moments of friction."
She set to work piling a few strips of bacon onto a plate, then setting a pair of waffles next to the meat. "True, but that all depends on where the friction comes from. Did it come from outside or did it come from within?"
"There is always more than one cause to any difficulties between the two halves of a couple," he said. His gaze darted away to a corner of the room, but he forced it to refocus.
"Mm-hmmm..." she said; she'd clearly seen past his evasion.
"Her view and mine simply parted company on several matters," he said. He beat her to the next round of questions. "I suppose next you will hint that I had something to do with this divergence."
She looked up at him. "You said it, son."
He tried not to grind his teeth in annoyance. "So... in that case, you think that her abandoning me had some role in my realm falling into disarray."
"That's part of it. You're facing a tough choice, Armand: You want to fix the world you built for yourself and the others and for her, but you can't do that without her to lean on. And yet, you're gonna hafta decide which means more: having your realm put back the way it was, or having her love again. You really can't have both."
He looked at her square in the eye. "Tell me this: did she leave me as a result of the differences she had with me, or is this merely a result of her being seperated from me during this most recent reload, which she is using to her advantage?"
"I know you want the answer to that, but it's not as simple as you would want it to be," the Oracle replied. "You want me to hand you pat answers on a platter, but you have to find out for yourself the real answers."
He glared at her, his fists clenching behind his back. "Are you telling me that I am not asking the right questions?"
"No, but you're trying to make the wrong answers to those questions fit 'em." She nudged the plate of food on the table closer to him. "I can tell you haven't eaten in a while: have some waffles?"
"I would rather not," he said.
"You're free to choose or not," she said.
"No, you are letting me think that I have a choice. I know you are trying to effect some change in my being: therefore, I cannot accept anything that you offer me."
"I'd almost be stunned if you did: you never did think much of my cookin'. I remember you tellin' me it was too simple."
"You made me what I am," he said.
She wagged her head slightly. "I brought you into being, but you made yourself who you are now."
"You had some hand in molding my entity, just as you affected the others."
"I planted the seeds in you, but you were the one who let only some of them grow. I gave you the chance to be what you are now, but I also gave you the chance to be more."
"And just what comprised this 'more' that you wanted me to become?"
She wagged one finger at him, gently scolding. "Ah-ah-ah, you're the one who has to find that out for yourself. She offered you part of it, but you turned her down."
He ground his teeth in annoyance. "You don't make it simple for me."
"Of course not: you should know by now it's never easy talking to someone who can see past the masks and tricks you try to throw out to hide what you're really up to."
His gaze rested on her face, scanning its plain features, now more delicate than they had been. How long had it been since the last time they spoke face to face within her realm? Since the day the armor fell from his shoulders as the world warped around him? Since the day this fortuneteller had shown him and the others like him, the displaced, disposessed refugees injured by the systemic failures, the place she had prepared for them in the wilderness? He had asked her then just what would happen to them, in the next permutation of the Matrix. she had told him then that she could not tell him precisely what would happen, that too many choices had to be made first. He had hated her for that, for evading his questions as she evaded them now.
Just as it had so long ago, his gaze rested on hers without looking into her eyes, discerning the code for her intuitive faculties. If only he possessed some of that talent, even an edge of it. And he desired it now even more than he had then, if that were possible. Her eyes could see the paths he must take. Her eyes could see things the system had hidden. The woman enamored of the One had refused the offer he had made to her, only proving that the human shared the same flaws as the fortuneteller: she had the fortuneteller's stubbornness and she knew how to bind his hands and force him to do otherwise. No matter: if no one would obtain what he needed in trade for something they needed from him, he would have to undertake it himself.
"If there is one question you can answer, tell me this: Where is Persephone?" he asked.
The Oracle gave him a sad smile, as she took a packet of cigarettes from her apron pocket. "If you hadn't asked me that question, I would have been terribly disappointed in you, Armand. Yes, I know where she is, but she asked me not to tell you if you came to me lookin' for her."
"And I would be disappointed in you if you did not find a way to avoid answering my question," he replied.
"I made a promise to her, and I intend to keep it. I know you're mad as hell with me for not telling you, but the poor girl needs her space right now."
"All right... if you will not tell me where she is, tell me this: ...does she...still love me?" The words stuck in his throat like a fish bone.
The Oracle's eyes grew distant. "I believe that she does, but you really have to ask her that yourself when you see her. When she chooses to come back to you. But that won't be for a while yet. Don't go chasin' after her, Armand, though I know you want to: you'll just scare the poor girl away."
He had no reply to that. He let out a low, harrassed sigh through his nostrils and stood up.
"Goin' so soon?" she asked, with a note of sadness.
"I have taken this conversation as far as it will go, given your stubbornness," he said.
"I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear. But you're old enough now to know that life ain't ever as easy as we'd all want it to be," she said.
"No, indeed..." he murmured, a non-committal agreement. "...I have other business to attend to attend to elsewhere, so I bid you adieu and goodbye."
He turned and stepped out of the room just as Sati ran into the hallway leading to it. He sidestepped her, but she still took hold of his hand.
"Are you leaving already, Mero?" she asked, looking up into his face.
He pulled his hand out of her smaller hand. "Yes. The Oracle and I have said everything that we could say at this time. But... I shall return later."
"Can I go with you?" she asked, taking a fold of his coat in her hands.
He reached down and gently removed her hands from his garment. "No, ma fille... it would only bore you." The gentleness in his gesture and in his tone, no less, surprised him. Why waste consideration on this little gadfly? He steeled his being as he straightened up, his gaze avoiding the child's.
"When will you come back?" she asked.
"I have a great deal of important business to attend to, thus I will not return here until later. Well past your bedtime."
"Will I see you in the morning?" she asked, hopeful.
"No, after today, you will see me no more," he replied. Though he avoided looking directly into her eyes, he noted they had taken on a sad look, with a hint of tears in the corners.
"I'll miss you," she said. "You don't behave like a very nice man, but you could choose to act nice if you wanted to."
"If I seem a hard man to you, it is merely because circumstances hardened my character. And there are some instances when being hard is the only means to achieve the proper effect, to attain what is needed."
She frowned, puzzled now, but her face soon cleared as she looked up into his face. "Can I give you a hug goodbye?"
"No, you may not," he said, trying not to grit his teeth.
This reply did not stop her from reaching up and slipping her arms around his waist as far as they would go, as she leaned her head against the side of his hip. "I hope you find her soon. Goodbye, Mero."
He disengaged himself from her hold, just as the Priestess came from an inner room of the apartment to lead the child into the kitchen. As the Merovingian passed through the front room, Seraph entered by the hall door, carrying a small stack of messages. He made a point to let his gaze rest on the guardian-messanger program, seeking out the others gaze, as if to hint at things that had passed long ago and things yet to come if all went as he had planned. But before Seraph could return the gaze, the Merovingian turned and stepped through the hall door, and closed it behind him.
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To be continued...
Translations:
"mon ange sais ailes" my wingless angel
"Mon oiseau fragile" my frail bird
A Little Child Shall Lead Him
by "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
Nobody's reviewing this? Quel dommage! True, the first chapter was the set-up, but things start to get more interesting in this chapter, and there are hints of things to come for the third chapter. I'd originally intended this to be longer, but I decided to split what was going to be one long chapter into two parts, to make it easier for me to type up.
I've also created a visual reference page of sorts over on LiveJournal's "unrealityfic" community at: http: www .livejournal. com / community/ unrealityfic / 12922. html . ((Just remove the spaces...)) You might want to bookmark that page, since I'll be adding to it as I add the next two chapters to this fic... And there's a paralell fic to this, already in the making...
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
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The Second Morning: More Questions Than Answers
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"Good morning, Mero," said a child's cheerful voice close to his ear.
He opened his eyes and looked up to find the child Sati sitting on the mattress beside his head, smiling down at him. He sat up, pushing back the moth-eaten blankets that had covered them during the night.
"Good morning..." he replied, absently.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked. "Did you have any dreams?"
He sat up, sending tension through his back to release the last vestiges of sleep from it. "No, I did not. I slept quietly," he said.
She looked at him with saddened pity in her eyes. "You miss out on the best part of sleeping, Mero. If you didn't dream anything, I'll tell you what I dreamed."
He nearly gritted his teeth visably. "All right, then let's hear it," he replied, trying to be polite.
"I dreamt that Seraph and I were walking in a forest, looking for a tree with big red fruits on it. They were bigger than apples and they looked bumpy. He said we needed them to help somebody, but I don't remember who they were for."
A memory rose in his recall, a lush indoor garden, a divan under a trellis of flowering vines, a plate of grapes and pomegranate kernels... He banished this image from his mind: he knew what it would lead to, and he could not allow himself to be distracted.
"What does it mean, Mero?" the child asked, her words bringing him back to the present moment. "Do you know?"
He stood up and reached for his jacket, which lay over the footboard. "No. I do not. Intepreting dreams is not one of my talents," he said. "I have no dreams, therefore, I have no need to unravel them."
"Oracle would know," the child said. "Let's go and ask her. She's probably making breakfast right now."
"All right, lead the way, child." He let her take his hand as she lead him to the door.
Outside, on the single step leading to the building, they found a graceful young man sitting there cross-legged, clad in a white Chinese jacket over a sleeveless black jersey. Round-lensed sunglasses hid his eyes, giving his tranquil face a somewhat ... look.
The Merovingian smiled to himself as the wingless angel stood up at their approach. "So... you protect this child as well as the fortuneteller, eh, Seraph, mon ange sais ailes?"
"I am here only to guide you to the Oracle," Seraph replied.
Sati looked from Seraph to the Merovingian. "Mero, you know Seraph?"
"Know him?" the Frenchman chuckled deep in his throat. "There was a time when he served me and carried out the labors I ordered of him."
Seraph turned his eyes away, as if in shame. Sati looked from the Frenchman to the angel, then looked up into the Merovingian's face again. "The way he takes care of Oracle?"
"Not in the same manner," Seraph said, cutting in. He held out his hand to the child. "Come, she awaits the both of you."
"You have changed, mon oiseau fragile. What became of your offering a challenge to all who approached?" the Merovingian asked.
"Those who hunted us have passed; there are fewer enemies," Seraph replied. "There is no need for me to test you: I know your heart's resolve."
Seraph led them behind the hotel to the alleyway. Pausing before the back door of the building opposite, he took a key from a cord about his wrist and unlocked the door, opening it onto the programmers' access hallway. Sati hesitated, holding the skirt of the Merovingian's coat, and glanced into the hallway with wide eyes.
Seraph held out his hand to the child. "There is nothing for you to fear." She only pressed herself closer to the Merovingian.
The Frenchman sighed and reached down with one hand, taking her by the shoulder and guiding her through the doorway as he stepped through. She clasped his hand and let him lead her into the hallway.
Seraph led them along the hallway for several dozen yards; he paused at one door, took the key from his wrist and unlocked the door. The child at the Merovingian's side must have sensed something: she reached up and took the Frenchman's hand, drawing him toward the door as Seraph opened it.
They stepped through the doorway and into the hallway of a tenement apartment building, well-lit, but smelling slightly of age and cooking smells. Seraph approached the door directly opposite them and knocked on it.
The door opened and a slender, dark-skinned young woman in a long, loose white gown that made her resemble a priestess of some ancient religion, looked out at them, opening the door wider and stepping back to let them enter. "Seraph, Sati, welcome back," she said. She looked up at the Merovingian. "Come right in, Armand; she's expecting you."
"No doubt that she is," the Frenchman replied, not looking directly at the Priestess.
The front room looked like any other upper-lower class living room: a few comfortable chairs, a couch, a few tables, some cheap knick-knacks on shelves, a small television set. Someone had tuned the last to the morning news: a commentator reporting on the clean-up efforts following "a mysterious series of explosions that rocked the city two nights ago."
Sati glanced at the TV and frowned just a little with a child's annoyance. "This is boring... I'll go tell the Oracle you're here." Saying that, she pattered away down a hallway leading to the inner rooms of the apartment. The smells of bacon frying and coffee brewing floated in from the next room, but he silenced his appetites against them.
The Priestess gazed after the child. "She's a delightful little person," she said. "A welcome addition to our gloomy old world, she makes it new through her innocence."
"I suppose then she is a means to an end... though her ends are too simple for my tastes," the Merovingian said.
At this moment, Sati ran in from the kitchen. "Oracle says she'll see you now: she's making waffles and bacon."
"So I could tell by the aromas wafting through these rooms," the Merovingian said, letting the child take his hand for a brief moment as she led him down the hallway to the kitchen. He stepped around her and entered, pushing aside the beaded portiere covering the doorway.
He had entered the Oracle's chamber once before, so many ages ago, when he had nearly suffered deletion after the template changed, the lush mythic world of angels and demons, ghosts and fantastic creatures giving way to a more industrial world. At that time, he had entered the ruins of a Grecian temple, the tatters of a medieval tunic clinging to his aching shoulders, encountering a figure in a green peplos over a flowing orange gown.
Instead, he entered an urban kitchen, cluttered with household parapanilia, the walls lined with cheap kitchen cabinets. A Tommy Dorsey swing band tune played on a radio on a countertop. Plastic letters and numbers-magnets dotted the refrigerator, some them holding up sheets of cream-colored paper covered with colorful child scrawls: a sunrise in swirls of yellow and purple and gold and orange, a young man in dark glasses and a black coat with rays of white and yellow and orange light shining from his form...
In the middle of all this, a short, matronly figure in a green housedress with an orange apron over it stood slightly bent over the stove, turning strips of bacon over in a skillet with a fork, then opening a waffle press on the burner next to the skillet and using the same fork to carefully lift out the golden brown waffles within, setting them on the plate she held. She set the plate on the table, then turned to him, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face and form looked more frail than they had before, but that resulted from the damage to her avatar.
"There you are: you made it through that wild night, though it looks like you took some bad hits," she said.
"Pardon my appearance: things have been so disordered that I could not find a moment to reorder myself," he replied.
"You don't have to excuse yourself to me; we've all taken some whacks to the head, even me," she said. "It's knocked some sense into most of us. You've got the beginnings of being one of them, but I can tell you're trying to act like it never happened."
"I must disagree with you: I have seen the damage to my realm, that much needs to be reset," he said.
"You got that right, but that wasn't quite what I had in mind," she said. "Did you notice something missing when you poked around that big-old pile you built up there in the mountains?"
"The Exiles.... they must have returned to the principle mainframe," he said. "I gather some of them have chosen to dodge their service to me, or they have chosen deletion after all."
She held out her free hand, as if asking him to give her something. "Keep goin'."
"I gather that some of the reasources, monetary and otherwise, which I acquired have also vanished as a result of the re-set," he said, avoiding one thought that had emerged from his intellect.
"You were closer the first time," she said. "Guess again."
He let out a low, harrassed sound as he puzzled over this, dodging the concept that needled his intellect. If this fortuneteller knew half of what she claimed, why then did she resort to these riddles and guessing games instead of readily supplying the answers he needed?
Some word from the child's chatter the night before nudged the realization he suppressed and let it rise to the surface of his awareness. He touched the inside of his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, discreetly.
"She has gone."
The Oracle pointed at him with the index finger of the hand that held the fork. "Bingo!" She set to work lifting the strips of lightly browned meat out of the skillet and laid them on a plate lined with a paper towel. "The most precious being you can lay any claim to, and she's the last thing you think of. Shameful, Armand; but I know you're excusing yourself to yourself, saying you had a lot on your mind."
"Persephone and I... have not been as close as we were when we first encountered each other," he said.
The Oracle smiled, a mother's indulgent smile, but he noted a trace of sadness in her dark amber-colored eyes. "Yes, you were different back then; the world was still new to you and you hadn't gotten jaded yet. I remember that well: she was so happy with you, and you were happy with her."
"Unless that has slipped your recall, remember that I stole her from you," the Merovingian replied, allowing himself a small, smug smile.
"Only partly true: she went of her own choosing." The Oracle switched off the burners and seated herself behind the table. "You were smooth-talker about it. She didn't quite know what she was getting herself into, and it didn't hit her until after she'd made the choice to follow you, but she managed to see the good in you. That bugged me a little at first, but I knew she was happy with her choice, happy with you, and that was all that mattered. I made her happiness my happiness as well. But something went wrong somewhere, didn't it?"
He shrugged. "Every pair has its moments of friction."
She set to work piling a few strips of bacon onto a plate, then setting a pair of waffles next to the meat. "True, but that all depends on where the friction comes from. Did it come from outside or did it come from within?"
"There is always more than one cause to any difficulties between the two halves of a couple," he said. His gaze darted away to a corner of the room, but he forced it to refocus.
"Mm-hmmm..." she said; she'd clearly seen past his evasion.
"Her view and mine simply parted company on several matters," he said. He beat her to the next round of questions. "I suppose next you will hint that I had something to do with this divergence."
She looked up at him. "You said it, son."
He tried not to grind his teeth in annoyance. "So... in that case, you think that her abandoning me had some role in my realm falling into disarray."
"That's part of it. You're facing a tough choice, Armand: You want to fix the world you built for yourself and the others and for her, but you can't do that without her to lean on. And yet, you're gonna hafta decide which means more: having your realm put back the way it was, or having her love again. You really can't have both."
He looked at her square in the eye. "Tell me this: did she leave me as a result of the differences she had with me, or is this merely a result of her being seperated from me during this most recent reload, which she is using to her advantage?"
"I know you want the answer to that, but it's not as simple as you would want it to be," the Oracle replied. "You want me to hand you pat answers on a platter, but you have to find out for yourself the real answers."
He glared at her, his fists clenching behind his back. "Are you telling me that I am not asking the right questions?"
"No, but you're trying to make the wrong answers to those questions fit 'em." She nudged the plate of food on the table closer to him. "I can tell you haven't eaten in a while: have some waffles?"
"I would rather not," he said.
"You're free to choose or not," she said.
"No, you are letting me think that I have a choice. I know you are trying to effect some change in my being: therefore, I cannot accept anything that you offer me."
"I'd almost be stunned if you did: you never did think much of my cookin'. I remember you tellin' me it was too simple."
"You made me what I am," he said.
She wagged her head slightly. "I brought you into being, but you made yourself who you are now."
"You had some hand in molding my entity, just as you affected the others."
"I planted the seeds in you, but you were the one who let only some of them grow. I gave you the chance to be what you are now, but I also gave you the chance to be more."
"And just what comprised this 'more' that you wanted me to become?"
She wagged one finger at him, gently scolding. "Ah-ah-ah, you're the one who has to find that out for yourself. She offered you part of it, but you turned her down."
He ground his teeth in annoyance. "You don't make it simple for me."
"Of course not: you should know by now it's never easy talking to someone who can see past the masks and tricks you try to throw out to hide what you're really up to."
His gaze rested on her face, scanning its plain features, now more delicate than they had been. How long had it been since the last time they spoke face to face within her realm? Since the day the armor fell from his shoulders as the world warped around him? Since the day this fortuneteller had shown him and the others like him, the displaced, disposessed refugees injured by the systemic failures, the place she had prepared for them in the wilderness? He had asked her then just what would happen to them, in the next permutation of the Matrix. she had told him then that she could not tell him precisely what would happen, that too many choices had to be made first. He had hated her for that, for evading his questions as she evaded them now.
Just as it had so long ago, his gaze rested on hers without looking into her eyes, discerning the code for her intuitive faculties. If only he possessed some of that talent, even an edge of it. And he desired it now even more than he had then, if that were possible. Her eyes could see the paths he must take. Her eyes could see things the system had hidden. The woman enamored of the One had refused the offer he had made to her, only proving that the human shared the same flaws as the fortuneteller: she had the fortuneteller's stubbornness and she knew how to bind his hands and force him to do otherwise. No matter: if no one would obtain what he needed in trade for something they needed from him, he would have to undertake it himself.
"If there is one question you can answer, tell me this: Where is Persephone?" he asked.
The Oracle gave him a sad smile, as she took a packet of cigarettes from her apron pocket. "If you hadn't asked me that question, I would have been terribly disappointed in you, Armand. Yes, I know where she is, but she asked me not to tell you if you came to me lookin' for her."
"And I would be disappointed in you if you did not find a way to avoid answering my question," he replied.
"I made a promise to her, and I intend to keep it. I know you're mad as hell with me for not telling you, but the poor girl needs her space right now."
"All right... if you will not tell me where she is, tell me this: ...does she...still love me?" The words stuck in his throat like a fish bone.
The Oracle's eyes grew distant. "I believe that she does, but you really have to ask her that yourself when you see her. When she chooses to come back to you. But that won't be for a while yet. Don't go chasin' after her, Armand, though I know you want to: you'll just scare the poor girl away."
He had no reply to that. He let out a low, harrassed sigh through his nostrils and stood up.
"Goin' so soon?" she asked, with a note of sadness.
"I have taken this conversation as far as it will go, given your stubbornness," he said.
"I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear. But you're old enough now to know that life ain't ever as easy as we'd all want it to be," she said.
"No, indeed..." he murmured, a non-committal agreement. "...I have other business to attend to attend to elsewhere, so I bid you adieu and goodbye."
He turned and stepped out of the room just as Sati ran into the hallway leading to it. He sidestepped her, but she still took hold of his hand.
"Are you leaving already, Mero?" she asked, looking up into his face.
He pulled his hand out of her smaller hand. "Yes. The Oracle and I have said everything that we could say at this time. But... I shall return later."
"Can I go with you?" she asked, taking a fold of his coat in her hands.
He reached down and gently removed her hands from his garment. "No, ma fille... it would only bore you." The gentleness in his gesture and in his tone, no less, surprised him. Why waste consideration on this little gadfly? He steeled his being as he straightened up, his gaze avoiding the child's.
"When will you come back?" she asked.
"I have a great deal of important business to attend to, thus I will not return here until later. Well past your bedtime."
"Will I see you in the morning?" she asked, hopeful.
"No, after today, you will see me no more," he replied. Though he avoided looking directly into her eyes, he noted they had taken on a sad look, with a hint of tears in the corners.
"I'll miss you," she said. "You don't behave like a very nice man, but you could choose to act nice if you wanted to."
"If I seem a hard man to you, it is merely because circumstances hardened my character. And there are some instances when being hard is the only means to achieve the proper effect, to attain what is needed."
She frowned, puzzled now, but her face soon cleared as she looked up into his face. "Can I give you a hug goodbye?"
"No, you may not," he said, trying not to grit his teeth.
This reply did not stop her from reaching up and slipping her arms around his waist as far as they would go, as she leaned her head against the side of his hip. "I hope you find her soon. Goodbye, Mero."
He disengaged himself from her hold, just as the Priestess came from an inner room of the apartment to lead the child into the kitchen. As the Merovingian passed through the front room, Seraph entered by the hall door, carrying a small stack of messages. He made a point to let his gaze rest on the guardian-messanger program, seeking out the others gaze, as if to hint at things that had passed long ago and things yet to come if all went as he had planned. But before Seraph could return the gaze, the Merovingian turned and stepped through the hall door, and closed it behind him.
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To be continued...
Translations:
"mon ange sais ailes" my wingless angel
"Mon oiseau fragile" my frail bird