“My father had taken a decorative sword down from the wall and raised it to strike at one of the attackers. He was armed with a dull, badly weighted sword against rapid fire assault weaponry. I saw his tunic stain with circles of red that grew bigger as I watched. His face looked,” she swallowed again, “so surprised.”
Although she was successful at controlling the emotion in her voice, she couldn’t keep the tears from overflowing. They slipped silently from her eyes, running down her face and dropping on her chest.
“I stood there and watched. Watched them die. I didn’t run. I didn’t scream. I did nothing. I kept wondering when bullets would claim me. I even wondered what it would feel like. But I was not wounded.
"People around me continued to fall and I almost felt like I wasn’t really there. Someone grabbed my hand and I was jerked back, almost off my feet. It was Monq.” The steps of her pacing grew longer and slower. Sometimes she would get caught up in a point of the story and balance her weight on one leg as if she had forgotten she was in mid-step.
“Monq pulled me through the kitchen and into a service elevator. When we were inside and starting down, he took me by the shoulders and shook me. Hard. I felt my teeth knock together. He said I needed to make myself present in the moment if I was going to survive, but in that moment, I didn’t care if I survived. The elevator delivered us to the subbasement level. When the doors opened he ordered me to run, saying that I was too big to carry. He sounded so very unlike himself. Fearful I suppose.
"I did not run. I was unresponsive. He pulled me all the way to his lab and ran to his safe. He was out of breath. I was thinking he must have lost his mind, that my family was being murdered upstairs while Monq was worried about securing his valuables. He pulled out a thing that looked like a remote control and, when he pushed a button, the wall next to where I stood opened up.” Her head jerked slightly to her right as if she was reliving the moment. “Simply opened up!” She repeated it almost to herself. "And there appeared a tunnel that seemed to go on without end. It began to spin. I was entranced. I couldn’t decide whether to think about how impossible it was that my family was massacred or how impossible it was that a stone wall just became a spinning hole.
"Monq was talking about a locket, something about calibrating for a life pattern match. He said, ‘Look for someone very like me and give him the locket.’ It made no sense.” She looked at Monq. “At the time.
"When I realized that he planned to put me in that thing, I started to say no, but then he pushed me without warning. I wasn’t expecting it because, well, because it was not something Monq would do. Monq is methodical. When he wants to persuade us of a point of view, he reasons with us until we see the merit of his argument and choose to agree. He does not use physical force.”
She stopped for another drink of water. Sol handed her a crisp white handkerchief which she used to dab at her face. She had successfully stopped the flow and become determined to get through the rest of the proceeding without more tears.
“If you saw me when I arrived here, you can probably guess what happened. The passage from my world to yours was like being birthed through a sieve and pummeled in a giant tumbler at the same time. I believe I may have come through somewhere in here.” She looked down at the floor. “And after a few moments I heard voices. One of them was yours.” She looked at Sol. “And one of them was yours.” She looked at Storm. “There were a couple of others. Storm carried me to the infirmary. I owe him my life. That was a little over three months ago.
"Since I’ve been here I’ve learned that your world is similar to mine, but not the same. That’s the end of my story except to say that, if my family had lived, I would surely be a great disappointment. The shame I carry for my lack of action, having stood in place, having done nothing while all those around me died, is something that I will carry with me every minute for the rest of my life.” She swallowed hard. “I was trained to act in defense of the king, but thought it was just another exercise in useless custom. A game of sorts. When the time came, I did not defend the king or even the people I most love. I have had many weeks to think about what happened. I have sworn to leave nothing out and want to append this vow to my statement. Should I ever again have an opportunity to act in defense of the life of another, I swear that I will not stand frozen in fear and dishonor.”
She looked down at the floor for a few seconds while everyone in the room remained transfixed and statue still. Then she walked, with as much dignity as she could muster, back to the end of the table, sat on the designated chair and folded her hands in her lap in a dignified and ladylike posture.
“That is all,” she said.
After a few moments, Sol cleared his throat. “Ms. Laiken, do you need a break before we continue with questions?”
“No.” She had not looked at Storm because she feared seeing censorship on his face. She was sure that, after hearing her confession, there would be no more visits, No walks. No smiles. No games of chess.
One of the panel asked who might have perpetrated the attack on Elora’s family, not because the answer to that question was relevant to the proceedings at hand, but because they were personally caught up in the story and wanted to know more. She gave a brief answer regarding clan politics with the disclaimer that any answer would be pure speculation; that there were rivals and that history indicated that a pattern of power shifts occurred every two hundred years or so.
Another asked what differences she had noticed between the worlds. She replied that any knowledge of differences had come from watching TV because she was not able to move about freely in their society. She said her initial impression was that their world was more advanced technologically, but lagging behind the pop culture of her world by about twenty years or so. By pop culture she meant such things as clothes, hair, makeup, music, and dance styles. She said she often had to ask about the use of certain phrases, but that she was making progress in understanding; that she listened carefully and tried to match the cadence of the Anglish dialect commonly spoken. She said there were many foods that were popular on TV that she had never heard of like fried chicken and burritos.
Another asked what sort of place she thought she had been in for the past three months. Since she was facing the wall with the giant, Black Swan banner, her eyes traveled upward and rested there for a moment before she answered. “I’ve been told this is a military base and that you carry out some sort of special operations. I know it must be dangerous work because you maintain a fully functional hospital complete with surgery. I witnessed the arrival of an emergency, not long ago, one that looked quite serious. The young gentleman’s comrades were quite distraught and almost as bloody as was he.
Also, I don’t know the exact nature of what you do, but, even though I object to the decision my Monq made to send me through an untested device, I believe he intended to do a good thing. He thought he was saving me. The last thing he said was,” she blinked rapidly, “'be happy.' I don’t think his counterpart in this world would work for an organization that doesn’t meet his ethical standards. People here have been kind to me.”
Without thinking, Elora looked over at Storm and almost dissolved into tears again when she found nothing but admiration on his handsome features. “Storm. And the people in the infirmary. It would be difficult to believe that these people are on the wrong side of a thing.”
Finally, Monq asked if she would go back if she could.
She sat looking at her hands for a long time before finally saying, “Even if I were willing to undergo the physical challenge, I don’t think my world has the medical expertise to put me back together again.” She looked up at Sol. “It would be a death sentence.”
She sighed as she absently glanced up at the huge silk Black Swan banner, hung high at the center point of the wall facing the entrance. The background was the bright crimson of blood as it appears in the moment when it first leaves the body, before adjusting to the chemical composition of air. The rich red background was relieved by a white, equal-sided cross almost as large as the banner itself. In the center, in front of the intersection of the arms of the cross, was a large black swan. The graceful bend of its long neck was exaggerated by its bill resting on its shoulder, giving an impression of sadness or melancholy. A medieval looking script superimposed on a banner across the bottom read, Furchtlosigkeit im Gesicht der Hilflosigkeit.
“Perhaps that’s what I deserve.”
The walk back to the infirmary was slow and solemn. Storm looked at her several times, but said nothing. He stepped into the room behind her, closed the door, turned her around and, taking her by the shoulders, placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through,” was all he said. Then he left.
Storm walked away with a newfound clarity, knowing why Elora had always lapsed into sadness and despondency whenever she was left alone for a few minutes. He realized for the first time how much courage it had taken for her to choose to survive the desolation of being the last one standing. His heart was swollen with sympathy, but also with respect and admiration. And he was determined that she wouldn’t face the future without support and protection. And love.
The hearing had been both emotionally and physically taxing and she was used up. She put on her softest, warmest comfort clothes, turned out the lights, and crawled into bed where she immediately fell asleep.
When she woke three hours later, Elsbeth, one of her favorite nurses, was checking her pulse. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” said Elsbeth. “There was a big guy around here earlier asking about you. Left you this.” She picked up a worn paperback book and put it on the bed next to Elora.
As soon as she had left, Elora sat up and looked at the book. Lord Jim. There was a bright, lime-colored post it note sticking out so she turned to that page. It said, “Read this. – S.”