[interlude] like black waters when they are heavy
The evening he takes his first breath, smoke rises from a chimney at Altar Mansion. A blazing fire keeps the creeping chill of fall at bay, and the king shares wine with Reverend Samuels while he prepares the lamb. Together they slice the best cuts free; they throw fat and salt into the fire, and Silas offers the reverend the rest. The smell of charred meat wafts up to the heavens.
God does not partake.
From the time he is very small, he dreams. A single reoccurring dream, but not a night terror, not properly, because he remembers each one with pristine clarity. Even though there is nothing to remember. Only the void, an ashen blackness like modal sheets twisted so tightly around him he cannot breathe or move -- but there is nothing of him to move, no skin to feel the lack of wind nor chest to implode in the depths of absence- he doesn't have lungs to drown and yet he does, inhaling the thickened silence of invisible mouths-- vacuous resonations-- screaming wordless ecstasy--
It ends in the soundless bass of a closing door.
In that non-moment between sleeping and waking, he lifts his head; Joseph's fingers slide through his hair against the grain.
Jack finds himself at Reverend Samuel's temple. When the sun pours through its elongated windows it is a place of light and joy, but before dawn there is only solemn dark and firelight. His candle drops into the water, the single flame floating adrift in the slick blackness.
"A man with much to consider." The reverend stops at a distance. Patiently, he waits for speech to find his guest.
"My whole life, I've waited for this moment, my chance to lead, to- impress my personality on a country and make it better..." His words fade to nothing. "Tomorrow it happens. But I- I don't feel anything. It's not there."
"You mean He is not there."
"Shouldn't He give me something? Words... of wisdom, or... a warning, an image for a new standard. My father had signs, butterflies, whole conversations, whatever, to give him the confidence to speak in His name. What's my blessing?"
"God does not take counsel with sinners. Recently, you and I, we've been made unforgiveable."
"-We both knew my father needed to go."
"And all the others? All the innocents shot dead--your declaration of war..."
"That's William-"
"We allowed it. Silas was right; I cannot accuse him and let myself go unscrutinized."
He catches the reverend by the arm. "I can make good of our mistakes. Once you put the crown on my head, you will see how well it fits."
"The crown will never touch your head."
The air in his lungs turns to oil.
"That is the hollowness that you feel--and you know it; He knows it... and He will never speak to you."
"Why not?"
The reverend leans close and whispers kindly, "You are not the one He wants."
[dialogue © canon]
God does not partake.
From the time he is very small, he dreams. A single reoccurring dream, but not a night terror, not properly, because he remembers each one with pristine clarity. Even though there is nothing to remember. Only the void, an ashen blackness like modal sheets twisted so tightly around him he cannot breathe or move -- but there is nothing of him to move, no skin to feel the lack of wind nor chest to implode in the depths of absence- he doesn't have lungs to drown and yet he does, inhaling the thickened silence of invisible mouths-- vacuous resonations-- screaming wordless ecstasy--
It ends in the soundless bass of a closing door.
In that non-moment between sleeping and waking, he lifts his head; Joseph's fingers slide through his hair against the grain.
Jack finds himself at Reverend Samuel's temple. When the sun pours through its elongated windows it is a place of light and joy, but before dawn there is only solemn dark and firelight. His candle drops into the water, the single flame floating adrift in the slick blackness.
"A man with much to consider." The reverend stops at a distance. Patiently, he waits for speech to find his guest.
"My whole life, I've waited for this moment, my chance to lead, to- impress my personality on a country and make it better..." His words fade to nothing. "Tomorrow it happens. But I- I don't feel anything. It's not there."
"You mean He is not there."
"Shouldn't He give me something? Words... of wisdom, or... a warning, an image for a new standard. My father had signs, butterflies, whole conversations, whatever, to give him the confidence to speak in His name. What's my blessing?"
"God does not take counsel with sinners. Recently, you and I, we've been made unforgiveable."
"-We both knew my father needed to go."
"And all the others? All the innocents shot dead--your declaration of war..."
"That's William-"
"We allowed it. Silas was right; I cannot accuse him and let myself go unscrutinized."
He catches the reverend by the arm. "I can make good of our mistakes. Once you put the crown on my head, you will see how well it fits."
"The crown will never touch your head."
The air in his lungs turns to oil.
"That is the hollowness that you feel--and you know it; He knows it... and He will never speak to you."
"Why not?"
The reverend leans close and whispers kindly, "You are not the one He wants."
[dialogue © canon]