Heavy is the Crown

"Why?" she asked.

The simplest of questions. The sharpest of daggers.

Her mothers, all three, stood before her. In all their majesty and power, there was no majesty in their stance, no aura of ineffable, implacable will--they were not goddesses, nor queens, just family.

Family which had gathered fuel, sparked a fire, and set her to burn in it.

She'd slept.

And finally, her mind was clear. A strange numbness in parts, an odd narcotic buzz in others--a mind stitched back together, however expertly, is an unnatural thing--but it was hers, and it was running at full power for the first time in days.

"Why did he have to die?"

A loaded question, but surely they grasped every ounce of its nuance. She'd gained so much, so quickly, but lost infinitely more. She'd trade every ounce of it for another day, if she could. But even the Witches Three couldn't turn back time, nor defy Death to such a degree. And in this moment, she hated them for it.

"Daughter," Katra began, but paused at Selina's glare.

Gone was her facade. Her patterns burned with green hellfire and red suffering, plain to see. Her demon eye raged, but the human eye was pink with expended tears, no longer ravaged by fatigue, but by something incurable.

"Selina," she continued. "You need to understand...several things."

You're damn right I do, she thought, and for once, her thoughts echoed through her mind as they used to, with nothing nibbling at her psyche, devouring her memories. She was once again alone inside, just like the outside.

"Our mother was...cruel. Inhuman. Driven."

"Her name is Echidna," Maenya offered. "The mother of monsters."

"Born centuries apart, but sisters in her blood. Survivors of a cruel age, a different time." There were images behind Katra's eyes, bloody and savage, which even now she wanted to spare her daughter. "In many ways, it was like this realm, just...more intense."

Selina could sense the weight of years and pain behind her words, and the intent behind the terse summation, but she refused to feel empathy. She owed it to her missing half.

"She wanted to devour the world, the gods, and the very ordering of the Cosmos. We believe she is the daughter of Khyber, but it's hard to say...she's older by far than we," she looked to Teraza, who nodded in assent. "And beyond the reach of our memory or divinations."

"History," Maenya tried to explain, "is not written by the victors, but by those who reign. And sometimes they reign in the shadows of titans, in the calm before the storm."

"When the cat's away," Teraza offered helpfully, "the mice will play."

"And so is the realm of Galifar, and Dhakaan before it. This continent, this world, is the plaything of demons. They merely bide their time, stayed by dragons' fire, but regrouping, preparing to resurge."

"The dragons' retreat," Maenya seethed with hints of long-repressed rage, "tells us all we need to know about their intention. They would lose another war, and they've already surrendered this continent."

"So you decided to join them?" Selina asked, pointedly. In the rarest of moments, she seemed to surprise and confuse her mother. "Or did my father's natural charm overcome you?"

Katra understood, and winced with the weight of complex emotions older than her daughter, as she searched for words. "If our power could defeat the demons," she began carefully, "we would have done so long ago. But it isn't enough. We are too few, our power is limited."

"Limited! I couldn't have believed it all my life, but it's become patently obvious recently!" Selina's angered seethed, and Katra took it on the cheek, sympathetically, but her ego still a bit wounded.

"Limited," she explained, shoving down her own emotions, "by our creed, our philosophy, and an understanding of the ultimate nature of magic. If we dig too deeply into the black, too greedily, however pure our intentions, it will claim us. Such is the nature of demons. Feeling...emotion..." she reached out a hand to offer comfort to her daughter, but held short as she saw the reluctance to accept it, "is all demons do. They desire all that the living do--justice, life, maybe even love. But demons are what happen when that is denied, and hatred and rage take its place."

The warning was clear, but it was far too premature to take root.

"You didn't want to corrupt yourselves," Selina spat, but inwardly she couldn't help but imagine a different version of her mother. What if she'd experienced what I have? she asked herself, imagining a far darker version of her life. Then, she asked the question again, more soberly, and didn't dare to follow the thought.

"It would be impossible to do any good. What demon has ever done good? Which has risen above its nature, to do anything but perpetuate the misery that birthed it?"

"There was one," Teraza mused, and Katra nodded in ascent.

"Khaz-Ulaan," she breathed, daring to speak his name. He wasn't a god, nor even known by that name, but the current of magic still held a certain charm linked to those sounds, and Selina was quite sure she'd only ever heard it twice, and quite recently.

"We don't know how," her mother continued, "or why, or by what unknown laws of the Cosmos it was even possible, but he defied all the laws of Magic and reality. He rose above his nature, transcended the limitations of man and god alike. Not that he'd become a force for good...far from it I'm afraid...but a force for change. A different equilibrium. Chaos, destruction, but...creative destruction. A scourge for heaver and hell alike, to leave a fertile ruin behind, ready for rebuilding."

Was there admiration there? Affection, even? Impossible, how could a wise witch who loves life find goodness in a man of such violence, such destructive power, who drains the life from the wicked to reshape the world according to his deepest beliefs? Okay, subconscious, that was a little on the nose.

"But he was never going to succeed, not alone. He would either be crushed by the weight of the established powers, or consume himself in his rage. He'd never known an ounce of the wisdom and truth of reality. He can't help that he'd never been taught of magic's nature. His will demands that he become an ever-sharper weapon, and however pure his will, he will be inevitably consumed by his darkness."

"And yet," Teraza mused, continuing to knit her thread dispassionately.

Katra took a breath, no doubt pushing down a thousand refutations of her elder sister's clever and harsh insight in arguments long past. "And yet," she continued, "what if that power could be combined with wisdom? What if his potential was born into a form untainted by the cruelty and hopelessness of the circumstances of his birth?"

What if I existed? she thought, and wasn't sure she wanted to anymore. Should a mother birth a child on the promise of such a question, if she has no notion of the answer? If the possibility of suffering and failure is so high?

Then again, does any mother face an easier choice?

"And thus, Selina," the young witch completed. "Half-demon, half-monster." She tried to sharpen her words, but a fresh wave of grief undermined her, and it sounded more a cry for help than an accusation.

There was warmth. Powerful arms, strong enough to shield her from harm--well, future harm, not the soul-crushing pain already inside, but comforting nonetheless. Maenya embraced her, and she didn't shy away, or lash out. She found a few tears which had somehow escaped the many purges that had scoured her in the hours since her resurrection.

Katra didn't interrupt, nor did she dare to risk spoiling her daughter's moment of healing, however small against the tide of suffering she endured. Despite her longing to do so.

"No one is born a demon," Teraza explained wisely, with the weight of millennia in her words. "Demons do not breed true. All souls can fall to darkness, or ascend to the light. Every demon was a soul who succumbed to anger, or fear, or hatred."

"Loneliness," Maenya offered, still embracing her.

"Selfishness," Katra continued, ethereally. "Disconnection...with the essential Vitae that defines life, and makes it worth living." She could no longer hold back her instincts, the truth of her heart. She rushed forward, taking her daughter and sister in her arms.

No longer was she a uniter of clans, an overlord goddess manipulating lesser minds, or even a harsh teacher of the cold realities of life. Just a mother, a sister, a beating heart, longing to give warmth and love to those close to her, in a vast, uncaring universe of darkness.

Selina didn't resist. Grief overpowered anger, her sense of justice, her yearning for meaning and purpose. She was, for just a moment, just a vulnerable soul, in need of comfort, support, and hope. And every effort, every ounce of the two witches, was poured into that void.

It was a moment of Beauty. Like a candle in the void, in its infinitesimal briefness and furtive light, it outshone all the darkness in the Cosmos, even if only for a fleeting moment. Eternal in its present, grieved in its past.

But it did pass. And cold darkness replaced it.

"Then why lie?" Selina's voice rang out in the silence like a bell, a reckoning, its toll commanding finality to events long drawn-out, choices long-since made, whose consequences had come due.

"Why," Selina continued, "mask the nature of my being, hide me from the dreams and nightmares of my blood? Why the dreamless sleep, which silenced all voices but your own, predisposing me to some alien parasite, who, by no means it could have foreseen, set me on an unstoppable path to the most grievous wound I've ever suffered, the sundering of my heart, and the indelibable corruption of all the good you'd hoped to forge?"

The silence was deafening.

Naturally, Maenya looked to her elder sister, her stoic gaze speaking volumes. Teraza kept knitting, of course, but Selina had long learned how to read her subtle cues. Katra was festooned with rope, the gallows was built, now all that remained was the question of what she'd do with it.

"I believe in you," she began, and masterfully left just enough time so that Selina was summoning the words to demand an explanation.

"Now." she finished. "Now that you've grown. Now that you've learned what we've taught, and learned on your own. Do you suppose you would be the same woman if you'd had demons whispering in your ear every day since birth?"

"We'll never know," Selina riposted. "I never asked to be protected from what I am."

"No child asks to be born. Life is a cruel miracle. We none of us have the freedom to choose the circumstances of our birth, but we do have the opportunity to decide what to do with our lives. And yes, even to choose the circumstances of our children, as you yet may."

"I certainly won't blind them to their nature, making them wonder why they're different their whole life, and why no one will explain why." It wasn't the sharpest barb, but she'd expected some sort of reaction--if not wounded or ashamed, surely her mother would be indignant or aloof, as per usual. Instead, she looked...curious, even eager.

"Why not put those words to the test? The opportunity abounds." Neither sister looked surprised at Katra's turn of the conversation, and immediately Selina suspected some sort of conspiracy. Even if they hadn't discussed anything beforehand, this was one of those times when they all knew something she didn't, and it was always so irritating. Now, as a peer, as an aggrieved party, she particularly didn't care for it.

"What are you on about? Dodging responsibility? Changing the subject?"

"There will be time for blame, but your window of opportunity is closing. Are you going to have this child or not?"

Selina was motionless, attempting to process the cues and hints her mind her catalogued throughout the conversation, through everything she'd experienced since awakening from her nightmare. What did I miss? What child? What the HELL did I do while I was asleep?

Before Selina could panic too much, Maenya stepped in. "It is still possible...to bear his child, young one."

It was like a rod was jammed down her spinal column. A bizarre feeling, neither hot nor cold, but intense--buzzing with potential, but awaiting its final form. Would she be incensed? Overjoyed? Aghast? Whatever it was, it would be powerful, but the emotion couldn't form until she understood just what nonsense they were speaking. Because it was nonsense, of course. And yet, they don't speak untruths.

After all, I was born of a man who'd been dead for centuries. Not that I want to know the story of THAT night.

"Tell me," she managed, promising to make her mother pay for forcing her to say it.

"Creation is the right of every mother. It is the magic by which life is sustained. And if you understand its secrets, you can harness its true potential. You have everything you need from him already, and more than enough power. You need only make the choice." Katra gave her a level expression, with the ghost of a microexpression telling her this was always her agenda, and at the same time, the best explanation she was going to get for her question. Learning by example, as she'd always preferred.

"I can see how that...might work, in most cases," she offered, glancing through the possibilities in her mind, as uncomfortable as it was. "But, he was undead. I didn't think that was an option for him, not for many years."

Katra allowed a tiny smile. "The seed is strong. The soul is the true seat of a man's worth. The rest is...details. As your soul was implanted within him--for which we're all eternally thankful--his remains within yours. But the details do matter, and there are other, more temporary ingredients."

"Gross."

"It's not like that," Maenya insisted, as much to dispel her own discomfort as Selina's. "Not to pry, but the ritual required...cleansing..." she forced herself to say, "so we're talking about, so much..."

"Fuck's sake, kids!" chided the old lady, and actually bothered to glare at her granddaughter. "Baby batter! Trouser gravy! Throat yogurt!" Each was like a death spell, causing the other three to wince in turn. When they'd all but put their wards to protect themselves, she let it hang in the air for a moment, then finished them with, "Daddy Sauce."

"MOTHER!" came the voice of Katra, with a tone Selina had literally never heard. It wasn't commanding, it was...defensive. Afraid. Uncomfortable. The other two literally couldn't meet her gaze, and the elder savored her victory.

"With that out of the way," she lectured, "it's basic thaumaturgy, my dear. With or without a live specimen--I trust you've gathered a few, yes?"

"COME ON!" Maenya protested, but the elder witch was undeterred, and Selina silently answered.

"Well then. It's left a certain impression, and your magic can fill in the rest. The ritual isn't too complex, although it's helpful to have a donor. Any young studs come to mind?"

"I'm gonna go," Maenya said, and started to gather herself, as Katra offered, "this is not how I intended to--"

"My daughter will teach you the necessaries--assuming you don't already have them in that book of yours." Teraza winked at her. "Ask me, I'd say have a dozen. Can't hurt to have a few in reserve!"

"Tell that to Morag," Maenya muttered, but winced even as she said it. Selina looked to Katra, expecting some form of anger, sadness, or stoic reserve, but instead she saw that look, all too familiar, when a sister looks to another, anticipating their parent's wrath. Morag wasn't hers?

Teraza didn't acknowledge the remark, but that alone was telling. Katra steeled herself to break the ice. "I don't want you to feel too rushed. You don't have years, but you have more than hours. Take the time to decide, and I will offer council."

Selina's heart had sunken into her stomach. The thought of bearing his child wasn't unpleasant. The idea that some part of him could live on was more than she could have hoped, even if it were a hope that would remind her of the pain every day. In that moment, she knew she could bear it, that it would bring far more joy than suffering. That wasn't what upset her.

As had happened so many times in life, she had an important choice to make. A choice that would define her life, one that was deeply personal, one only the most intimate and caring soul could help her make. And every time before, she would seek the same person to counsel her, with utter trust and certainty.

This time, her instincts immediately told her otherwise. She didn't want to know her mother's opinion. She didn't care for it. Something had burned between them, and she didn't know if it would ever heal. For all the sensibility, for all the wise words and stoic grace, her mother had made a choice for her, a choice that had inevitably led to this moment.

"I shall," she simply replied, then conjured all the gravitas she could muster. It must have worked, since the other two frozen and attended her before she spoke her next words. "Thank you for your council, wise mothers. You may take your leave. But Katra, I must speak to you in private."

Teraza scanned the eyes of her daughters, utterly unsurprised, but eager to see their responses. Maenya, no stranger to sudden turns of the tide of battle, straightened her spine and took a soldier's stoic stance, nodding curtly, and taking her leave. Teraza gave her a nice, formal bow--if a bit muted by the discomforts of age--and took her time ambling out of the room. Katra remained motionless.

"I have decided on my response to your actions," she said levelly at her mother, the witch who united the clans, the mother of (most?) of the Coven, the wielder of the mighty magicks that protected Great Crag in times past.

And she passed her judgment.