Laquendi on The Carpet

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 6 evening – The Godcarvers]

> “What I am about to say,” the Holy Man continued, “is to be considered
> covered by the Seal of the Confessional. Is that understood?” Off to
> the side, Sister Erin readily nodded her assent, and after a moment,
> so too did Laquendi.
>
> “Good,” the Abbot continued. “As Sister Erin has not before heard any
> of these details, and will only hear those that are needful,
> understanding that nothing is to leave this tent.”
>
> “Of course, Your Grace,” Sister Erin replied quietly.

Ben turned his attention now solely on Laquendi. “When the Skyking,” he
began, and together both he and Erin sketched out the Sign of the Bolt
at His Name, “saw fit to grant his Divine Regeneration and Curatives
upon you, he clearly saw that you had value. That much should be self
evident; had He not, the benefit of those prayers would have been denied
to you. Now, given that Belmak Himself sees that you have value, does it
not seem just a little bit presumptuous of you to gainsay His opinion?”

Again, Laquendi found herself beset with a variety of answers, but
something in the Abbot’s tone suggested that he was not yet done with
his one sided version of the expected Interrogation that was the prelude
for whatever was to inevitably follow.

And as expected, Ben continued without waiting for an answer. “To some
degree, your lack of self preservation demonstrated today – and perhaps
earlier – can be put on my OWN shoulders.”

He paused, and looked positively pained as he admitted quietly, “This
Waterworks expedition was NOT one of my prouder moments, and I let my
zeal for combatting Evil in all of its forms get in the way of my better
judgement. And by doing so, I failed those in my Command, and for that I
truly apologize, and have a long stretch of introspection and prayer
before me to… if the Skyking is willing, atone for this misstep. The
gravest of which has clearly been to set such a terrible example for YOU
in particular, Laquendi. And for that failure, I am most abjectly sorry,
and humbly seek your pardon.”

Laquendi blinked. This was not the direction that she had expected this
Interrogation to go. But the Holy Man was clearly not yet done.

“But those are my OWN failings,” the Abbot continued. “And unlike a
certain Cat Priestess who seems to delight in getting under my skin, I
have not yet seen any evidence that you show any dereliction of your
Duty to those in your Command. If I did, while you are not in my direct
chain of Command and I have no authority to gainsay the Will of the
Vowsisters, I would send you packing back to Symbala. But I have not,
and so far, will not, unless your actions towards your team convince me
otherwise. Something that I trust will NOT happen.”

Laquendi stared hard at the Abbot for a lingering moment, wondering if
this was yet her turn to speak.

Apparently, it was not, as Ben added sadly, “But I cannot shoulder the
ENTIRE burden of your lack of self value, and your indifference to your
own fate. Life has… VALUE, Laquendi. This is a core tenet of the entire
Tellic Faith. Why is it that you are so indifferent to your own fate,
and the gap you will leave in the lives of those who look up to you?”

Once again, he held up an interrupting hand. “And please, do not relate
the horrors of your past. It is not that I am indifferent to them; the
very opposite would be the truth. And having performed the Regeneration
prayer, I have a very real sense of how you have been abused, something
that Sister Erin is only hearing about for the very first time, right
now. And that sense tells me that retelling of those tales, shaping that
horror into words, would do the very OPPOSITE of helping where you are
right NOW.”

Earnestly, the Abbot looked up at the dusky elf. “How can we help you
see that you DO have value, Laquendi? What may we do to help?”

Laquendi nodded, and gathered her thoughts a moment before speaking. "My
actions in The Waterworks were, to steal a phrase I have heard
elsewhere, a shitshow. My arrogance and ego nearly got you *and* me
killed in permanent ways. I do not see the need to rehash those
decisions in more detail here."

"The healings I have received were from the Gods' mortal instruments and
with the Gods' blessing. That was never in doubt, and the experiences
have been... wildly transformational," she finished with a soft genuine
smile. "What Jeyshann does not know - and you, Imam Kenobi, do - is it
has been all of eleven days since the totality of healings have taken
effect."

"Now the harder work begins," she continued resolutely after a moment,
"of unlearning behaviours and patterns based around the concepts of my
*personal* value being more than what I can provide for others - and for
much of that time that value was how quickly and efficiently I would
follow orders to kill." Laquendi's tone was neither shameful nor proud -
if anything she was speaking of it as mere fact. "All of these events
took place before I arrived here last summer."

The silver-haired Elf cleared her throat, admitting, "I concede I am
without a map as to the next waypoint on this journey and have no good
answer to your question other than, 'I will be better'."

She nodded as she half remembered a similar admonition given to a
certain forlorn little waif in circumstances very similar to the one
Laquendi found herself in now. Nodding respectfully both to the memory
and to the Abbot, Laquendi added, “And I will endeavour to DO better.”

“More than that,” Ben mused, “neither the Telar nor their Servants ask.
Though I will add an additional request.”

Laquendi mutely nodded.

“Please be aware,” the Abbot continued, “that both my tent and my time
are open to you at ANY time of the day or night, should you need someone
to talk to.” He coloured slightly as a new thought occurred to him. “And
given the… ah.. nature of your Regeneration, should you wish for a
private talk with one of your OWN gender, I am quite certain that Sister
Erin is willing to make herself available to you.”

“Yes, your Grace,” the Belmakian clerk agreed.

“Or,” Ben continued a bit awkwardly, “should you prefer a female
viewpoint from the… shall we say… more… free willed members of our
Church, I am entirely confident that Mother Alaelia is likewise
available for counsel, a role that I understand she fulfills with many
of the Sisterhood.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Laquendi said steadily. “I will keep it in
mind.” Her voice may have been steady, but to her chagrin, she felt her
heart racing. This, she was quite certain, was the conclusion of the
Interrogation. It had followed an entirely different path than the one
in that vexing Vision inspired memory, but the end result was the same.
Laquendi had admitted her guilt, and had agreed to the proper path
forward. Now, all that remained was the physical correction to cement
the lesson this novel “talking to” had presented.

Once again, of their own accord, her eyes strayed over to the nearest
chair, predicting that her next command would be to place it in the
center of the makeshift office, and there to await further instruction.
Was she now only moments away from meeting Sister Erin’s infamous ruler?
Or did Belmakians prefer a different tool of the trade?

And just who was to administer the forthcoming discipline? The Abbot,
thanks to the magical girdle that Laquendi could recognize, was easily
the stronger of the two Belmakians, and would very likely be able to
hold the much smaller elf in place no matter how much she might
struggle, despite Laquendi’s own wiry strength. But perhaps the Holy Man
would prefer to subcontract this up and coming phase of tonight’s lesson
to his underling. Particularly if any adjustment of clothing was going
to be required, as had apparently happened in that half remembered
Vision. Laquendi vaguely sensed that the Belmakian man was uncomfortable
about such things, and might very well prefer to pass the task off to a
female of his species.

And was she about to be tipped over a Belmakian knee on that chair, to
emphasize the juvenile nature of her correction? Or to be commanded to
bend over the article of furniture, and further ordered to keep herself
in place? Laquendi simply did not know, and stoically awaited the next
few commands that would make everything plain. Quietly, she hoped that
she would have more success in maintaining her composure and dignity
than the protagonist in that vexing Vision… but that could not be
assured. Laquendi KNEW herself to be tough. But in their own way, so too
were these Belmakians. So this was something else that only time would
tell… starting any moment now.

The awkward silence, something that Laquendi could also recognize from
her recent Vision, lingered. Finally, Laquendi heard a command that she
very much did NOT expect. “If there is something else you would like to
add or ask, Laquendi,” the Abbot gently urged, “please speak up now.”

Laquendi did her best not to gape at the man. Was he being deliberately
cruel, making the penitent before him navigate her OWN way into what was
to happen next?

However, Sister Erin might just possibly have had some additional
insight into Laquendi’s predicament than her Boss. “I believe, Your
Grace,” the clerk observed quietly, “that Laquendi was anticipating
being assigned a dozen Hail Mikhails, at the very least. And quite
likely, considerably more.”

“Lines, perhaps,” the priestess mused aloud. “Writing ‘I shall not be
fatalistic and disrespectful of the sanctity of my own or another’s
life’ a thousand times I am thinkin’ might begin to drive home the
lesson better than the ruler I doan in fact believe in usin’ save as a
last resort.” Erin sighed, and observed sadly, “ P’rhaps not, though,
you strike me as every bit as stubborn a lass as I, though obviously it
DID eventually take, enough to get me through seminary at least. Gives
ye time to think an’ concentrates the mind, but gives ye an awful cramp,
too. But like the Abbot, I claim no authority to order any such thin’.”

For the first time since entering the tent, Laquendi swung her gaze away
from either the Abbot or the anticipated punitive chair, and towards
Sister Erin. The young clerk’s gaze was full of sympathetic
understanding, and the dusky elf found herself nodding mutely.

“Well,” the Abbot rumbled, “if that would help, I can certainly assign
them to you, but as you are not, so far as I know, a member of our
specific sect, I believe the gesture would lack meaning. Nor can I
really command you to Go Forth and Sin No More. But what I can and will
do is send you off with TWO notions to keep in mind.”

“Your Grace?” Laquendi asked quietly, not certain that she was quite
able to grasp the vastly different direction this office visit appeared
to be taking.

“First,” Ben mused, his voice warm and sympathetic, “remember that doubt
is entirely natural, and doubt alone does NOT constitute Sin. We are
judged by our actions, not our doubts, and a certain degree of doubt is
inevitable. So when, and not IF those doubts assail you, young Laquendi,
just look to the evidence of the Skyking’s Favour he has shown you. He
clearly has found that you have worth, and so use that when your OWN
self-doubts inevitably creep up upon you in the darkest hours of the night.”

Mutely, Laquendi nodded, not bothering to correct the Holy Man that
“young Laquendi” was a century or two OLDER than the man instructing her.

“And the second,” Ben continued mildly, “is my direction to go out and
LIVE, bounded by your own constraints of conscience and morality. And a
specific suggestion, if I might?”

Again, a mute nod was Laquendi’s answer.

“Go out and enjoy the concert I believe the Pussycats and bards are
arranging even now,” the Abbot suggested. “It all sounds like
caterwauling to me, but I understand that it has a certain appeal to
youngsters like you.”

For the second time, Laquendi refrained from reminding the human about
the inherent contradiction about their relative ages, and instead simply
answered, “I will consider that. Thank you, Your Grace.”

And much to her surprise, Laquendi found herself walking out of the
Abbot’s tent, entirely unencumbered by aching hindquarters in need of a
healing salve. Something she felt oddly qualified to apply. Perhaps she
WOULD attend the concert, if for no other reason, to enjoy actually
being able to sit down comfortably, an act she had predicted would be
beyond her for a while. And perhaps, to find Tramma, and apologize to
her fellow silver hair for moodkilling the bard’s evening. Though that
might perhaps be better left for the next day to not interfere with the
up and coming show. Tomorrow would work… either in the morning, or
perhaps better yet out at the Briarpatch where, according to that
occasionally annoyingly handsome elf’s plans, she and Tramma were
destined to meet. Tomorrow would indeed be another day.