(no subject)

[bannion_sight]

She's seen this place many times before during this long winter, the same images tumbling and falling through her nights until she had finally been able to make sense of them. In the days of those first dreams she had been too young in power, too new to her gift to realize where she was-- and it had taken repeated dreaming for her to realize that she had been deceived not by where, but by when. A seer's dreams twist and loop through time, she now knows, and with that knowing she had been able to look through the blurring of her inner vision and see truly.

Now, Kim Ford walks with clear sight in her dream, moving forward across the starlit grass, passing over now-familiar ground before pausing in the shadow of a monolithic stone to look out at Stonehenge as it had once stood, three thousand years ago. She looks toward the grave of a dead king who will lie silent until the time comes for her to raise him by the strength of the need within her and the power of the Warstone on her finger, and as always the sorrow threatens to drown her with grief.

But as she has before, this time again she hardens her heart as much as she can, making herself and the sorrow within her as much a stone as the boulders by which she stands-- and this time as she does the sky above is suddenly filled with falling stars as the ground under her feet twists, turning her away from Stonehenge, spinning her down a loop of time until she finds herself standing on a peaceful shore and looking outward once more.

It is an image of near-heartbreaking beauty, this green, green island in the middle of a glass-still lake, lit in silver by the thin new crescent of the moon overhead. Once, she would have wept at the sight and the knowledge, at the rising memory within her of a furious young man with white hair like her own and a choking fear within him. Once she would have wept, and not so very long ago at that, despite all that has been said and done.

Here at last, however, is the place she has sought-- and she has been waiting too long, far too long for this moment, this knowledge, to see the place of summoning. Even as her unconscious cry splits the Toronto night with a despairing plea, here within the deepest part of herself Kim knows that there is far too much need to allow room within her now for the space of grief or the solace of tears.

Comments

[still_golden]

Jen sleeps lightly, these days. She wakes with a start when Kim's cry cuts through the silence.

Swinging out of bed, she grabs her robe and heads for the kitchen to put water on the stove. That done, she looks in on Kim, then returns to the kitchen, gets the phone, and dials.

"Kevin? It's Jen. No, I'm all right . . ."

"Dave, it's Jen. Of course I know what time it is . . ."

"Paul, you need to come over."

[bannion_sight]

Alone in her room, Kim opens her eyes. For some time she does nothing but stare at the ceiling, dry-eyed and without even the dim promise of tears.

Eventually, she rises from her bed, noting as she does the muted flicker of the Baelrath on her hand. With a weary sigh, Kim wraps her robe around herself and starts for the kitchen.

It's four in the morning, she sees by the clock-- and sees as well that she's not the only one awake.

"Hi."

[still_golden]

"Hi."

She nods towards the chairs around the kitchen table. The kettle's just coming to a boil.

"You cried out. I thought something was happening."

[bannion_sight]

"It did."

She sinks into one of the chairs, tightening her robe about her with a shiver. These days, it seems she's always cold, especially when returning from the paths of her dreaming.

[still_golden]

Quiet -- "You know what you have to do?"

[bannion_sight]

Kim nods.

Somehow, it seems to take too much effort to speak.

[still_golden]

"Is it all right?"

[bannion_sight]

She shrugs, still borne down by the weight of vision that denies speech.

In times like these, she finds herself thinking more and more of Ysanne, and the peaceful solitude of the little cottage by the lake.

Finally, Kim says, "We'd better call the guys."

The Warstone continues to glow as she speaks-- a dimmed warning still, but one nearly as bright as the light on the ceiling above them.

[still_golden]

The water's getting to be in danger of boiling over; Jen gets up and crosses to the cabinets, pulling out mugs and tea.

"I already have," she says, pouring the water and bringing the mugs over to the table. "They'll be here soon."

[bannion_sight]

Kim wraps her hands around her mug, grateful for its warmth, then gives Jen a sudden sharp look.

"Just what did I say in my sleep, Jen?"

[still_golden]

Jen looks back steadily, eyes gentle and kind.

"You cried out for forgiveness."

[bannion_sight]

Kim looks down at the mug, unseeing.

She would drag the dead from their rest, and the undead to their doom.

"Fat chance."

[still_golden]

"Oh, Kim," she murmurs.

Around then, the doorbell rings, and Jen rises. "I'll get it. Drink your tea."

[pwyll_twiceborn]

Paul's grey eyes are intent on Jennifer as soon as the door opens.

"She saw," he says, and it's not a question.

[inthetapestry]

The noise of Dave's car driving up in front of the apartment intrudes before Jen can answer; Dave jumps out of the front seat, disguising a yawn, and heads up to the door.

He doesn't say 'this had better be damn important', though.

He knows it is.

[inthetapestry]

Kevin shows up not long after Dave, though his entrance is considerably more stylish.

Or it would be, if Kevin were into that kind of posturing.

Now doesn't seem the time for it, though.

Even less so if something ends up happening.

[still_golden]

Jen nods as Kevin joins them on the porch, and turns to lead them in.

"Come on."

In a moment, all four of them are in the kitchen, gathered around Kim.

[bannion_sight]

She looks up at them-- waiting anxiously for her to speak, as they'd all been waiting, for so very long.

But tonight there is a dream, a seer's dream of an isle in the middle of a distant glassy lake, and it's with a strange sense of falling that Kim Ford opens her mouth and asks in a bright, brittle tone,

"So. Who's coming with me to England?"

It turns out to be all of them.