J. Mitchell - The Severed Tower

It was always strange and slightly sad when Mira encountered an older Heedless, someone for whom the Tone had no effect. Adults were as much relics these days as automobiles and computers, and it was always difficult being reminded of it, of how things once were.

Gideon wore the same pattern of black and gray as his students, the same white double helix symbol around his neck, and a similar combination of belts and gear, with only one exception. Attached to a clip on one of the straps on his chest hung a small, old, leather book, with its own ballpoint pen. His Lancet hung from his back, and surprisingly, of all the ones Mira had seen, Gideon’s was the most basic. Made of just a simple winding tree branch, the bark removed and the wood sanded and oiled, and little else. In fact, the only thing ornate about it were the two blue crystal spear points on either end, wrapped in their flowing, brass casings.

“Your Lancet,” she said. “It’s very simple.”

“What need do I have of decoration?” Gideon asked. “Who would appreciate it? My enemies?”

Mira instantly regretted her words. He was right, what did a blind man need with an ornate weapon? “I’m sorry,” she said.

Gideon smiled. “I have found that seeing isn’t as critical as you might think. We place too much value on what our eyes tell us. Ironically, they often assign importance to things that do not deserve it. In this place, I do not need to see. I can sense everything. So can my students. It is my hope you will be able to sense as well.”

Mira looked at him in surprise. “Why would you want that?”

“Because I can see the Pattern forming, and I feel the task of guiding the Prime to the Tower may fall to you. If that is the case—you must be ready.”

Mira felt a sense of dread. “But… you’ll be there. You understand this place better than anyone, you should take her. Or one of your students. Any of them would be—”

“As I said, Mira, I can see the Pattern forming. I fear our destinies lie in different directions,” Gideon replied in a low, unsettled voice. Whatever that direction was, he was conflicted about it. “Besides, the Offering you will use to enter the Vortex will only be enough to shield the Prime and one other.”

Mira felt her heart sink. Every time she thought she’d found a way to hand off the responsibility for Zoey to someone more capable, it just came right back to her. “I… I don’t think I can do it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m scared.”

“Fear is an emotion and little else. It only has the power we grant it.”

“I wish it were that simple, but it isn’t. I’m scared because I know I’m not good enough.”

“And why do you think this?”

“Because the first time I was ever here, I failed,” Mira said tightly. “In a big way. I’ll fail again, I know it. I can’t do it alone. There has to be a better choice than me. ”

“No.” Gideon’s pace gently slowed until he came to a stop. “There is no better choice. And you must come to believe that.”

Mira looked around at where they were. A dozen or more White Helix were filling hundreds of canteens with water from a series of large plastic vats connected to the river by mini aqueducts made from PVC pipe and funneled by an ingenious system of paddles and wheels. All of it, like everything else, was being disassembled and carried toward the phone booth at the other end of the camp.

Gideon unclipped the small leather-bound book from the strap, and Mira saw it in more detail. It was old, more than a hundred years probably, and its black leather cover had been inscribed with the white double helix symbol that all of Gideon’s followers wore. “Would you believe me if I told you this was the most powerful artifact in all the Strange Lands?”

Mira looked at the notebook skeptically. It didn’t seem likely, but then again, the Chance Generator was unassuming to look at, and she knew the horrible power it wielded. “What is it?” she asked.

“I will show you,” Gideon replied, pulling the pen free from the binding. She watched as he opened the notebook, and to her surprise it was empty. The pages were yellowed with age, their lines barely visible, and they were all blank. Gideon wrote only a few words inside—and then abruptly ripped out the page.

As it yanked free, a slight flickering line of flame burst to life down the seam where it had been ripped loose. Almost instantly, another page rematerialized in its place, flashing to life in a similar brief flicker of fire.

Before Mira could see more, Gideon shut the notebook, replaced the pen, and reattached all of it to the clip on his chest.

As he spoke, he began folding the piece of paper. Small, specific folds, over and over, blending the corners into seams in the middle, working them with his hands. “Once long ago, there was a demon named Asegai. He was vile and terrible, and there was none more feared. One day, Asegai was traveling through the villages of the countryside with his attendants. In one of these villages, they witnessed a man performing walking meditation. Nothing uncommon on its own, but as they watched, the man’s face suddenly lighted up in wonder. For he had just discovered something amazing on the ground.”

Mira watched the old man’s hands move over the piece of paper, folding and blending it into some complex shape.

“Asegai’s attendants asked what the man had found,” Gideon continued, “and Asegai simply replied, ‘A piece of truth.’”

“‘Doesn’t this bother you when someone finds a piece of truth, Evil One?’ his attendants asked. ‘No,’ answered Asegai. ‘Right after this they often make a belief out of it.’”

Mira tried not to roll her eyes at the parable. “If something’s true, it’s true,” she retorted.

“Yes, but it is we who determine what is true, ” Gideon countered, still folding the paper. With each fold it became smaller as a whole, and more complex. “We are what we think we are. You—you think you are afraid… and incapable. And so that is what you are.”

Mira sighed. “Okay. Fine. I think you’re probably right, and my rational self believes it, too, but, for whatever reason… the rest of me doesn’t.”

“You have spent much energy running from your fear. What has it gotten you?”

“Nothing,” Mira said in exasperation, “but what do I do?”

“Understand that fear is a part of your experience, yet something separate from who you are. See that having fear is irrelevant. It simply is. ” His hands stopped moving, but Mira couldn’t see the final result. It was now clutched mysteriously within a double fist.

Mira looked at him in frustration. “And how the hell do I do all that?”

“Normally? With years of study and meditation.”

Mira sighed and looked away.

“But there are alternatives, assuming you are willing to accept a small amount of pain.” His fists uncurled, he held the paper out to her. It had been folded into the shape of what looked like a dragon.

“Origami?” Mira asked skeptically.

Gideon smiled almost sheepishly. “A childhood skill, one I never enjoyed then, but the folds are more beautiful to me now that I can only feel them. I’m not sure why that is.” The last part he said musingly, as if examining a riddle; but it only distracted him a moment. “The energy of the ‘idea’ must be stored on the paper of the notebook, and folded before it releases. It need only be folded once, but… I indulge myself.”

Mira smiled. She liked Gideon, and understood now why his followers were so devoted. He was another reminder of what the world had lost. There were no great teachers anymore.