A/N: Trigger warning for some gore and violence.
11.
Mrs. Morris had been right after all about the Tibetan lotus.
The weathered calf-bound volume placed in front of Prue served as a final confirmation.
"Go on, you can touch it," Miranda invited her with an almost genuine smile.
Prue ran her fingers gingerly over the yellowed pages, making sure not to damage them. The historian in her couldn't help it.
The Bardo Thodol, known in the West as the Tibetan Book of the Dead.
Prue opened the book. Inside, there were strips of cloth glued to the pages. The engravings on the cloth looked older than anything she'd ever seen. They looked like fragments from the original manuscript.
"These are copies, surely, but they're so well done, it's almost like forgery," she said, poring over them in awe.
Miranda cocked her head. "You really are an odd duck. But I am glad you enjoy my collection."
Prue sat back in the chair. "I – I'm not. It just confirms that the League of Shadows is based in Tibet, that's all."
Miranda steepled her hands together. "We are based everywhere, Prudence. We are Shadows, after all. Soon, you will become one too."
Prue clenched her jaw. "N-no. I told you, you got it wrong. I'm only a delivery girl, not a soldier."
"Deliverer, messenger…these are just empty words," Miranda replied, signaling to the man behind her. "I want to give you a real title."
Prue shook her head emphatically. "Thank you, but I don't want it."
"It's not about wanting. You do not choose the League. It chooses you."
Prue glanced in Mrs. Morris' direction. The old woman was just as baffled and terrified. Prue nodded at her. If there was one thing she was going to do here today was to get her back home safe.
"I'm…honored," she said, tongue heavy in her mouth, "but I don't have the set of skills required for such a…position. I don't know how to fight, I don't know all that many foreign languages, I mean I know some Italian and Spanish but that's mostly because of the neighborhoods where I deliver food and –"
Miranda held her hand up. "You are modest and self-effacing, just like a Shadow."
Prue made an impatient noise in her throat. "I'm not, I'd make a lousy…whatever you are."
"I don't think you understand. This is not something you can refuse," Miranda said and the man stationed behind her came forward with a quill and a bottle of ink.
Prue felt beads of sweat run down her back.
"Where's Bane?" she suddenly asked. "I want to talk to him."
Miranda raised her eyebrows. "You can do this without him."
"No. He got me in this mess. He should be here. I need to talk to him. This is a mistake."
Miranda turned the pages of the book all the way to the end. There were five pages covered in spidery ink.
Names. Only first names. A swarming locust of names, which after being written, were crossed over.
Prue stared. "What are these?"
"The name of the dead, of course. It is only fitting for the Bardo Thodol. You must write your name here and cross it out. Just like the rest."
Prue swallowed hard. "And then I die?"
"In a sense," Miranda nodded. "You'll be dead to the world of light. You will become a Shadow."
"I like the light," Prue spoke as two men started pulling the thick curtains over the windows and the parlor was slowly suffused in darkness.
"You will also like the dark. They are twins, after all," Miranda replied, placing a warm hand over hers.
Prue flinched. "I am not signing anything. You can forge my signature, if you like."
Miranda shrugged, as if she were dealing with an impetuous child. ""If you insist on being a stubborn mule, you will be disposed with. Everyone joins eventually…or they disappear."
"That's not much of a choice."
"I told you, Prue. The League chooses you. One day you will understand both your significance and insignificance."
Prue laughed bitterly, feeling bite in her throat. "Please spare me the Zen philosophy. It feels to me like you're the one making the choice for the League."
"If that makes more sense to you," Miranda shrugged again, "but in time, you will see –"
"Is this how you recruited the rest of your men? Coercion?" Prue interrupted her, thinking about Barsad and the rest of his mates. Had they been subjected to this too?
"Everyone has to belong somewhere, Prue."
And you don't, not yet, seemed to be the implication.
The room was now almost completely in shadows. Prue felt a familiar throbbing in her forehead. She finally caught on the spool of a memory that she had blocked out for the past few days.
Something she had reckoned with in Miranda's hothouse, before she had been knocked out.
I'm not my father's daughter. My dad was a thankless junkie. I don't belong anywhere.
Yes, that was it.
Prue shut her eyes for a moment, trying to rein in her emotions. This wasn't the time for a personal crisis. She could cope with it all once she was out of here.
"I'm not doing anything until I see Bane," she spoke, making sure her voice echoed.
Miranda heaved a wearied sigh. "Oh, all right. I suppose it can't hurt."
Her casual indifference did not sit well with Prue, but she still hoped she could appeal to Bane for reason.
It did not take long for him to show up. He was never too far away. A Shadow, like everyone else in the League.
When he entered the room, the air shifted, became populated with something tangible.
He moved soundlessly, yet everything groaned around him.
"Your pet was asking for you, darling," Miranda spoke leisurely over her shoulder where Bane had parked himself, like a looming gargoyle. "I'm afraid she needs a little encouragement."
Prue stared at the man in the mask. "You never told me any of this. You never told me I was signing up for..." She couldn't even finish it.
Bane did not look perturbed. His eyes turned glassy, almost absent, as they swept the room and her in it.
"You were not. Now you are," he replied evenly. "Things never remain static in this world."
"No. No. This wasn't your initial plan. Admit it. I was just supposed to be your delivery girl. Admit it."
Bane regarded her with contempt. Prue had never seen this look before. It hurt her, despite everything.
Miranda lifted her finger. The giant bent low at her side and she whispered something in his ear, lips against the shell.
Now that she was seeing them together in person, Prue could tell they were close. Closer than usual. There was something more intimate about their rapport. She couldn't imagine either of them showing true affection to another person. Though she had once believed Bane behaved according to some kind of code.
She did not know what to think now.
Miranda cleared her throat, demanding her attention. "You don't have to fret, Prue. You won't be doing very complicated things. You can still be a delivery girl." She said the words in mockery. "It takes years to train our Shadows properly. There is no rush. For now, you will only be a low-level subordinate."
Prue gripped the sides of her chair until her knuckles turned white. They were talking about her like it was a done deal. She felt so much helpless anger. She glanced at Bane.
"Is he also only a lowly subordinate?"
The jab was too impertinent, even for her.
Miranda nodded to one of her cronies. The slap was backhanded and it hurt a lot more. Her cheek rang with pain.
She tasted blood.
She heard the whir of Bane's mask, heard him move behind Miranda, but when she looked up, he was still again.
"Another one for good measure," Miranda called.
This time, the man used his other hand and Prue felt the cold imprint of metal on her cheek. The man sported a thick iron band around his forefinger. It left a gash. He chuckled.
"Don't hurt her," Mrs. Morris stage-whispered, too terrified to speak out loud.
Prue inhaled sharply. The old woman was her responsibility too.
"You don't need to do this," she rasped, eyeing Miranda now. "I will never go to the police, I promise. I won't say anything to anyone, you have too much leverage."
"Sign your name and we shall see. The more you prolong this, the harder it gets for Mrs. Morris too. Don't you think she wants to go home?"
Prue wiped a small tear from her eye. Her whole face hurt. It seemed that she had never stood a chance.
She grabbed the quill that was offered. She wanted to rip it in half, but she stayed her hand.
She bent over the book. There was a half-finished row of names on the fifth page.
"Will I find Bruce Wayne's name in here?" she asked, hoping to surprise Miranda.
But the woman did not even flinch. She only smiled. "Canard étrange."
Odd duck, indeed.
Prue clenched her teeth. She wrote her name with shaking fingers, quill scratching against parchment. The name above her said Yvonne. Was it another woman who had gone to the big city and never returned, she wondered?
When it was done, she felt that something of her had been left on the page.
She did not believe in the supernatural, she held no superstitions. But this was The Book of the Dead. It meant something.
"Very good, Prue. You are almost done."
Prue looked up. "Almost?"
"Almost. In order to complete the contract, you must do one more thing," Miranda said with another impish smile. "You are still innocent, still untouched. You still see yourself different from us."
"I don't think I'm innocent."
"Good. Then you will not mind shedding blood. For there is no true baptism without it."
Prue blanched. "Shedding blood."
"Not yours, don't worry," Miranda assured her. "We need you in one piece. No, it must be your friend here. This is why I have invited her, after all."
The room was spinning. Inchoate shadows slipping down her throat, making it hard to even have lungs.
Miranda rose from her chair. "The ceremonial dagger, if you will."
"No. No. Please, no," Prue stammered as Mrs. Morris drew back from her chair with a small cry.
"She has lived a long and full life," Miranda said as Bane held out an ivory mosaic box to her. He looked like a man turned to stone. Not even his chest moved as Miranda extracted the ivory-encrusted dagger. The blade had a russet sheen to it from all the blood it had shed.
Prue bolted from her chair and shielded Mrs. Morris with her body. "You will not hurt her."
Miranda sighed with displeasure. "Of course not. We have already told you. You will."
"You'll have to kill me first," Prue spat.
"You signed your name. You cannot go back," Miranda said imperiously. "If you do not complete the contract, more people like Mrs. Morris will suffer."
Prue gripped the old woman's hand. "More people are already suffering."
"Even your father?" Miranda asked, raising an eyebrow.
Prue looked from her to Bane. "What did you tell her?"
"He did not have to tell me anything," Miranda replied tartly. "I am the one who informs others."
Prue wiped her eyes again. "Please. I signed the book. I will pay my debt another way."
Miranda heaved a sigh. "Becoming a Shadow is nasty business, I won't deny it. It is the lowest point of your existence. It must be. That is what Bardo Thodol means. Bar do, entering the intermediary state between life and death, and thos grol, acquiring knowledge. Enlightenment. A form of liberation."
Prue licked the blood from her mouth. "This isn't liberation. It's imprisonment."
"They are often one and the same," Miranda spoke, eyes seeing and unseeing something in the distance.
Bane took a step forward, moving away from her chair.
Prue watched as he parted the air in his path. He was coming towards her. He had taken the dagger from Miranda.
"Stay back," Prue croaked, keeping Mrs. Morris behind her.
"Make it quick and clean, for her sake," Bane rasped, handing her the dagger by the hilt.
Prue stared down at the offensive thing. What if she grabbed it and tried to plunge it into Bane's neck? Could she reach that high before he crushed her?
She knew the answer before she'd asked.
He guessed her intent all too well. His eyes crinkled. "You will have that chance, perhaps, someday. But now, you must finish it."
Prue reached out bravely and knocked the dagger from his hand. It fell with a soft thud on the floor.
Miranda exhaled in frustration. "Oh, for goodness' sake."
Bane hummed and bent down patiently. The other men watched. He picked up the dagger.
When he lifted his head and looked at Prue, she knew she couldn't pull that move twice.
But his eyes held something else beyond dull anger. There was – there was a demand there, a request.
Do it. Do what must be done.
Only his request was not triumphant, like Miranda's. He was not glorifying in her initiation.
Little comfort that was. Perhaps it was indifference, after all.
"I can't do it. You know I can't do it."
"You can. You will."
Prue wanted to spit in his face, wanted him to taste her hatred.
She felt Mrs. Morris' hand squeeze hers. The old woman turned her around.
She was shaking, but her voice was clear, almost confident.
"My dear…you must get out of here. You must live. Even if I don't."
"No – Mrs. Morris – I'm not even considering –"
"I am. It is my life. And it is true, I've lived a full one. If someone must do it," she swallowed thickly, "let it be you."
"No," Prue sobbed.
"If we both die, if your father dies, what will it have been for?" she asked, raising her arm and wiping Prue's tears and blood.
Prue turned her head away. She couldn't take the woman's kindness. She glared at Bane.
"I trusted you. I don't know why I was that stupid, and I can't tell you the reason, but I trusted you. I thought you had a line you didn't cross. I knew you were doing terrible things, but…"
I never really thought you'd make me do it, were her unspoken words.
Bane's masked face remained impassive, but there was a ripple in his shoulders as he bent forward and offered her the dagger again. His body seemed less stolid than before.
"That was narcissistic of me, to think I would be spared," Prue said, laughing bitterly, tears tracking her cheeks.
"No. You were a child," Bane spoke each word in a careful cadence. "You won't be one anymore."
He pressed the dagger into her hand. His skin was hot and rough to the touch, but the warmth was no comfort. She sensed his heightened pulse, despite his sobriety. She wanted to beg him to stop playing this charade, but no matter what he thought deep down, he would follow through on his words.
That much she knew about him.
Mrs. Morris spoke behind her quietly. "I think I'm ready, Prue. Please, the waiting only makes it worse."
Prue fought a hysterical sob as she turned the dagger on her old friend.
The distance between them was both small and infinite. What would it take to close it?
Everything.
Prue's hand shook uncontrollably. She would fail Mrs. Morris even here. It would not be a clean death; it would be a carnage, because she couldn't make it stick. She couldn't do it in one thrust.
The difficulty in killing, she realized, was in the technique. She almost wanted to laugh again. Gallows humor, was it?
Prue stood behind her.
"Go on." Become a Shadow.
A week ago, she was talking to her advisor, she was going to classes, she was still hanging onto a thread.
Her eyesight was blurred with tears. She wiped them furiously.
"Please, Prue," Mrs. Morris begged, her face white, already a cadaver.
Prue drew back her hand, preparing for the strike. The strike that would end years of living.
She swayed on her feet, trying to focus on the clinical aspects of her task. How to make it painless, how to make it quick?
How to do it so quick that afterwards she could turn the dagger on herself?
Moments passed in dissolution.
There was a sense of impending doom. Whatever she would do, it would be the end of it.
She suddenly saw her mother standing there, cradling her hospital gown, red between her legs.
Prue heaved. She swayed again.
But she stopped swaying when his hand landed on her shoulder. Solid, read. Keeping her in the here and now.
Before she could protest, she felt his fingers move swiftly to her elbow, pushing her forward. They struck together at the same time.
Prue screamed as her body collided with Mrs. Morris and the dagger lodged inside her heart.
The sound of the blade going in was one she was never going to forget.
Mrs. Morris smiled a tremulous smile as her body collapsed on the floor.
Prue screamed again. Maybe she'd never stop screaming because at least she couldn't hear the dagger going in.
Bane still had his hand on her elbow, fingers pressing on her pulse. He dragged her away from the corpse. He locked her in his arms as she cried. She beat herself against his cage, screaming murder, but he would not let go. She buried her face into his chest, not out of solace, but because she wanted to suffocate. Bane allowed her this much. He was not looking at her.
He was staring at Miranda.
She had sat down in her chair again. She nodded her head, although she did not look quite satisfied.
A few moments later, Bane released Prue, but he still held onto her elbow. He raised his thumb and smeared something on her forehead.
Blood.
Mrs. Morris' blood.
"One of us now," he rasped mournfully.
Prue did not wrench her head away. She accepted the stigma. In a sense, she knew she had to bear this mark - the mark of what she had done.
Bane sidestepped her and bent low. He wrenched the dagger from Mrs. Morris' chest. He cleaned it on his trousers.
He lumbered away from Prue and walked towards the man who was now holding the mosaic box. The one with the iron band around his forefinger. The one who had hit her.
Bane stopped before him. He eyed his hand.
The henchman opened the box wider. His expression was expectant. What are you waiting for?
Bane grabbed him by the arm and bent it until the man cried out and dropped the box.
The terrifying giant pinned the man to the ground and lodged the dagger in his hand, twisting it until it passed through bone and sinew.
The henchman screamed.
"Bane," Miranda called out angrily.
Her faithful commander rose, kicking the man with his boot. "This one was insolent."
Prue folded in on herself, trying to remove herself from the carnage.
But the blood was on her hands, forehead, lips, throat.
It was done.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait. As you can see, this chapter was on the heavy emotional side and it took something out of me to write. Apologies for any typos, I may have been sloppy in my editing. I already have a good chunk of the next chapter written and it's mostly Bane and Prue interactions, coping with the aftermath. So expect a quicker update, hopefully. Thank you for your reviews and your patience, and I hope you enjoyed this grisly chapter and where I'm taking the story.