But no matter! The
treachery is too much! You must speak directly to the Elders. They will bring
the lies to the light. They will bring the Masked Ones to the truth. Ahura
Mazda, Creator of the World!
9001 said: I
appreciate your kind words, father.
The man objected: No,
no. No! Do not be formal. I do not deserve it. Call me “father’s little brother”.
9001 choked up and her
words would not come out at first. Then, she said: Uncle…
She gathered her
bravery though the tears and continued: Uncle, I am scared. I am not a good
Healer. I have failed my father. He cannot meet his _fravashi_ because of me. I
have not trained well. I was bested by a Masked One who has not even been
formally trained in our arts. She made a mockery of me and killed my father. I
killed my own uncle and made my aunt a widow. I have no one to turn to, and I
can help no one. Not even myself. Ahriman may take me now!
As she exclaimed, she
drew her triangular blade and turned it toward herself.
Her father said
clearly: Daughter, stop! I am your father and I am proud of you. Put down your
blade. Ahura does not accept the souls of those who kill themselves. The
_fravashi_ cannot defend a spirit that is so helpless. You must learn to live,
barely alive and scrambling, or else truly end it all now by driving the point
into the scar on your neck… again.
Again? she wondered.
And then she pushed forward into the gap between light and dark. She could see
herself in the forest near their camp just before they were to set off. She
could see herself a little distance behind her father, on the left side. She
could see her posture was wrong: slovenly, leaning too far forward, legs too
far apart, and heels flat. Her father stood in the correct position with equal
distribution front, left, back, and right. His blade pointed outward and back
in the left hand.
9001 watched in silent
horror as the girl—her—leaned way too far forwards toward the point of the
blade. She could see that her eyes were fully closed by this point. Her stance
and practice were so horrible she had essentially tripped forwards and fallen
onto her father’s blade. Her father turned as he realised the problem, but it
was too late, the blade had slipped into her neck and she was sure to die.
Her father moved so
quickly that his arms were a blur, even in the frozen time between the light
and dark, he moved even faster. His body was still and his face was frozen in a
concentrated grimace, but his arms moved like this: his left arm withdrew the
blade, rotated and circled inwards, near his shoulder. The blade caught in the
long tail of the _lungee_ turban he wore and as he turned his head and pulled
the blade along, he tore off a piece of cloth about the length of his forearm.
In two or three motions, he had wrapped up her neck with a tight makeshift
bandage and then held the front of her neck with his right hand. He applied a
great deal of pressure to her neck.
The look on his face
was horror and contrition. Before her body had drifted to the ground, he said:
I have failed my training in you. I would rather kill myself. May Ahriman take
my soul in her stead. I have failed my daughter!
The magic spell ended
and 9001 fell to her knees and put away her blade. The man of the house was
frightened and held both his hands in front of his face. The man asked: What
was that? What happened?
9001 said: I had a
vision.
The man said: You
stood frozen as if a statue; your eyes rolled up to heaven, and you mumbled. It
was fearsome. Please spare me. Ahura save me!
9001 nodded. Power
welled up inside her, and flowed out of her words. She said: I bless you, loyal
and faithful follower of Ahura and our prophet Zarathrustra. I bless your family,
and all your descendants.
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