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rainbowfic2025-06-07 03:36 pm
paradoxcase) wrote in rainbowfic2025-06-07 03:36 pm
Techelet #10 [The Fulcrum]
Name: Repairing Bridges
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Techelet #10: Mechilah (forgiveness)
Styles and Supplies: Chiaroscuro, Graffiti (May/June Parents Challenge), Brushes (June 7 2025: abstruse), Novelty Bead ("In times of crisis, the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers." - T'Challa, Black Panther, given here)
Word Count: 1637
Rating: T
Warnings: Minority-Report-type stuff
Characters: Setsiana, Bríghlot (Setsiana's mom), Qhoroali, Cyaru
In-Universe Date: 1647.6.2.2
Summary: Setsiana seeks help from her parents.
Notes: Setsiana's mom will appear again much later in the story, but I'm not sure if her (Vrelian) name will actually make an appearance in the text. But I would like it to be known that I did give her a name.
Setsiana and the girl ran out the front arch of the temple and along the road. Setsiana grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her off the road and behind a line of bushes. The priestesses had been injured, but they would come looking for them eventually, and might bring the police into this as well. They couldn’t run forever, and she definitely couldn’t fight her way out of this with the knife. She needed some other plan.
She surveyed the nearby buildings, and her gaze settled on her parents’ house on the corner. She didn’t know if it was precisely the solution to her current problem, but maybe she could at least go there and buy some time. Surely they couldn’t forcibly recall her from her own parents’ house, right? At least not immediately, anyway.
She looked out and scanned the road, but didn’t see any black dresses, or any police. So far, so good. She pulled on the girl’s hand, and they ran down the road, and then she pulled them off of it again and down the garden path that wound around behind the house. She tested the back door; as usual, it had been left unlocked, for frequent access to the garden and wood store.
She brought the girl into the house and sat at the dining room table, setting the knife down, weary and a little out of breath. A door shut somewhere else in the house, and her mother entered the room, her face a picture of confusion. As she looked at Setsiana, though, some realization seemed to dawn, and she relaxed, slightly. She approached, pulling out a chair for the girl, who took it, reluctantly, and then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two cups of tea.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “And who is this?” The girl stared at her, uncomprehending.
Setsiana struggled to explain. “I think… I don’t know. I need your help. The priestesses… I’m sorry about the last conversation we had,” she finished weakly. “I didn’t mean it, really.”
“I know,” said her mother. “You are always welcome here.” She paused, and then continued: “You have made amends for that last conversation already, from my perspective. It is finished, and you are forgiven. Don’t worry about it right now. Please, just tell me what has happened.”
Setsiana did her best to explain what she’d seen, but when she got to her guesses about what was going on, her mother put her finger to her lips. “Shh,” she said. “That will be information protected by the temple, probably. It’s enough of a problem that you know it — best that I don’t find out about it, too.”
“What do you mean?” asked Setsiana.
“They have a list of untrustworthy people,” her mother said. “People who know their secrets who they feel they can’t trust, and they don’t feel they can trust anyone outside the temple at all. A book of pictures, so that they can recognize you in any time, any place, wherever you might go. When they add you to the book, they send your picture to every city, and the priestesses there take it back to the beginning — to the founding of that city — and give it to the temples there, and the authorities. They have an arrangement with the government that when they find someone on that list, they turn them over to the priesthood directly; they are not allowed to ask them any questions or listen to what they have to say, because they might tell the priesthood’s secrets. You are on that list, now. Well, really, you have been on it since your picture was taken back to the founding of Syarhrít, but I suspect they are putting you on it right now.”
“How do you know this?” Setsiana asked. She thought of something, then. “Was it from when you were a junior priestess yourself? I know you broke with the temple back then and left. Did you find out about this, and that was the real reason you decided to leave?”
Her mother smiled, slightly. “No,” she said. “I did not lie to you about the true reason I left, and they would not have let me leave knowing any of their secrets. I didn’t learn much from the priesthood during my time there, to be honest; this information about the list I learned from you.”
“From me? When did I tell you this?”
“About four months ago, the same time when you made amends for our argument. But if I understand correctly, I think that conversation is still in your future.”
Setsiana decided to just not worry about how that was going to happen, for the moment. “And what happens if they catch me?” she asked. “What will they do to me, for being on this list?”
“You’ll be confined to the temple. I don’t know what will happen to you there, but you won’t be allowed to leave.” She hesitated. “If they think you told me anything, I could wind up on that list, too. I’m sorry, but I can’t protect you here. Four months ago, you told me that there was going to be a way out for you, another person here who could protect you and take you away from here — or away from this time. I don’t know the details. That’s all you told me.”
A knock sounded at the door, then, and Setsiana and the girl both tensed in unison. “I’m sorry,” her mother said again. “I have to get that. You have to leave; I can’t protect you from whoever that is. I wish you the best of luck, and I hope you find the person who can help you.” She stood, and began to walk towards the front door.
Setsiana also stood, and pulled the girl up with her. She didn’t know where to go next, but she knew she did need to leave the house.
They went back out through the back, and snaked through gardens and hedges until Setsiana could get a look from the side at who was at her parents’ door; it wasn’t a priestess, or a policeman, but only one of the neighbors. She breathed a sigh of relief. She looked back along the road she’d come down earlier, and thought she saw someone in a black dress turn off the road into one of the houses. She had to find a way out of here.
She put her hand into her makeshift pocket again, but it was empty; she’d left the knife back at her parents’ house, she realized. It didn’t really matter, anyway — it wasn’t going to get her out of this. There was only one way out now, she realized. She knew what she had to do.
She ran back across to the other side of the road, the opposite side from where she’d seen the black dress disappear, leading the girl behind her. They traveled back towards the temple on that side, keeping hidden behind trees and rows of bushes until they reached the clearing where she’d left Qhoroali and Cyaru a little while before. In a stroke of luck, they were still there, although it looked like they were getting ready to leave, with Cyaru on his feet again and Qhoroali holding a bottle of qoire.
A flash of anger flickered across Qhoroali’s features. “I told you—”
But the girl seemed to recognize Cyaru in some way and ran to him. She began speaking to him in the language that Setsiana had thought was Naychren… but in retrospect, maybe it actually wasn’t. Cyaru responded, and they seemed to have some halting communication, which Qhoroali watched for a few minutes. Eventually Cyaru said, in QuCheanya, “Lucky — she’s from a fairly close timeline to me. I know exactly where to take her.”
Qhoroali turned back to Setsiana. “Where did you find her?”
“They kidnapped her,” Setsiana said. “The priestesses… they were going to going to make her work in the dining hall. I… I stabbed one of them and we escaped.”
“You stabbed a priestess? With what?”
“A knife. I took it from you, actually.” Then she added, “Please, I need you to take me away from here.”
“Are you sure?” asked Qhoroali. “I know you didn’t like staying with us, and you were apparently planning to stab me with my own knife.”
“I’m sure. You never harmed me, and I don’t think I am safe here any longer.”
“Alright,” said Qhoroali. “But I want you to know that you aren’t a prisoner anymore. If you want to go somewhere, just ask and we’ll take you. You really don’t have to stab anyone, I promise.” She paused, with the bottle of qoire in her hand. “Does this mean you forgive me for all this?”
The question brought to mind the saying that the priesthood often taught about forgiveness: Forgiveness heals the heart and eases the soul, but it is a costly gift; one who has not been made whole cannot yet truly give it. She was free now, but it had been two months of imprisonment and weeks of depression and feelings of futility. And very likely, she had now lost her place here at Taleinyo forever. She did not feel remotely like she had been made whole. Qhoroali’s action of releasing and returning her could not just make all of that disappear. “No,” she said. “Not yet.”
Qhoroali seemed thoughtful for a moment. “That’s fair, honestly. Let me know if there is ever anything I can do to change that.” Qhoroali reached out her hand, and Setsiana took it. They went over to where Cyaru and the girl stood, and Qhoroali downed her swallow of qoire, put her arm around his shoulders, passed him the bottle, and they made the journey back to 1912.
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Techelet #10: Mechilah (forgiveness)
Styles and Supplies: Chiaroscuro, Graffiti (May/June Parents Challenge), Brushes (June 7 2025: abstruse), Novelty Bead ("In times of crisis, the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers." - T'Challa, Black Panther, given here)
Word Count: 1637
Rating: T
Warnings: Minority-Report-type stuff
Characters: Setsiana, Bríghlot (Setsiana's mom), Qhoroali, Cyaru
In-Universe Date: 1647.6.2.2
Summary: Setsiana seeks help from her parents.
Notes: Setsiana's mom will appear again much later in the story, but I'm not sure if her (Vrelian) name will actually make an appearance in the text. But I would like it to be known that I did give her a name.
Setsiana and the girl ran out the front arch of the temple and along the road. Setsiana grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her off the road and behind a line of bushes. The priestesses had been injured, but they would come looking for them eventually, and might bring the police into this as well. They couldn’t run forever, and she definitely couldn’t fight her way out of this with the knife. She needed some other plan.
She surveyed the nearby buildings, and her gaze settled on her parents’ house on the corner. She didn’t know if it was precisely the solution to her current problem, but maybe she could at least go there and buy some time. Surely they couldn’t forcibly recall her from her own parents’ house, right? At least not immediately, anyway.
She looked out and scanned the road, but didn’t see any black dresses, or any police. So far, so good. She pulled on the girl’s hand, and they ran down the road, and then she pulled them off of it again and down the garden path that wound around behind the house. She tested the back door; as usual, it had been left unlocked, for frequent access to the garden and wood store.
She brought the girl into the house and sat at the dining room table, setting the knife down, weary and a little out of breath. A door shut somewhere else in the house, and her mother entered the room, her face a picture of confusion. As she looked at Setsiana, though, some realization seemed to dawn, and she relaxed, slightly. She approached, pulling out a chair for the girl, who took it, reluctantly, and then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two cups of tea.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “And who is this?” The girl stared at her, uncomprehending.
Setsiana struggled to explain. “I think… I don’t know. I need your help. The priestesses… I’m sorry about the last conversation we had,” she finished weakly. “I didn’t mean it, really.”
“I know,” said her mother. “You are always welcome here.” She paused, and then continued: “You have made amends for that last conversation already, from my perspective. It is finished, and you are forgiven. Don’t worry about it right now. Please, just tell me what has happened.”
Setsiana did her best to explain what she’d seen, but when she got to her guesses about what was going on, her mother put her finger to her lips. “Shh,” she said. “That will be information protected by the temple, probably. It’s enough of a problem that you know it — best that I don’t find out about it, too.”
“What do you mean?” asked Setsiana.
“They have a list of untrustworthy people,” her mother said. “People who know their secrets who they feel they can’t trust, and they don’t feel they can trust anyone outside the temple at all. A book of pictures, so that they can recognize you in any time, any place, wherever you might go. When they add you to the book, they send your picture to every city, and the priestesses there take it back to the beginning — to the founding of that city — and give it to the temples there, and the authorities. They have an arrangement with the government that when they find someone on that list, they turn them over to the priesthood directly; they are not allowed to ask them any questions or listen to what they have to say, because they might tell the priesthood’s secrets. You are on that list, now. Well, really, you have been on it since your picture was taken back to the founding of Syarhrít, but I suspect they are putting you on it right now.”
“How do you know this?” Setsiana asked. She thought of something, then. “Was it from when you were a junior priestess yourself? I know you broke with the temple back then and left. Did you find out about this, and that was the real reason you decided to leave?”
Her mother smiled, slightly. “No,” she said. “I did not lie to you about the true reason I left, and they would not have let me leave knowing any of their secrets. I didn’t learn much from the priesthood during my time there, to be honest; this information about the list I learned from you.”
“From me? When did I tell you this?”
“About four months ago, the same time when you made amends for our argument. But if I understand correctly, I think that conversation is still in your future.”
Setsiana decided to just not worry about how that was going to happen, for the moment. “And what happens if they catch me?” she asked. “What will they do to me, for being on this list?”
“You’ll be confined to the temple. I don’t know what will happen to you there, but you won’t be allowed to leave.” She hesitated. “If they think you told me anything, I could wind up on that list, too. I’m sorry, but I can’t protect you here. Four months ago, you told me that there was going to be a way out for you, another person here who could protect you and take you away from here — or away from this time. I don’t know the details. That’s all you told me.”
A knock sounded at the door, then, and Setsiana and the girl both tensed in unison. “I’m sorry,” her mother said again. “I have to get that. You have to leave; I can’t protect you from whoever that is. I wish you the best of luck, and I hope you find the person who can help you.” She stood, and began to walk towards the front door.
Setsiana also stood, and pulled the girl up with her. She didn’t know where to go next, but she knew she did need to leave the house.
They went back out through the back, and snaked through gardens and hedges until Setsiana could get a look from the side at who was at her parents’ door; it wasn’t a priestess, or a policeman, but only one of the neighbors. She breathed a sigh of relief. She looked back along the road she’d come down earlier, and thought she saw someone in a black dress turn off the road into one of the houses. She had to find a way out of here.
She put her hand into her makeshift pocket again, but it was empty; she’d left the knife back at her parents’ house, she realized. It didn’t really matter, anyway — it wasn’t going to get her out of this. There was only one way out now, she realized. She knew what she had to do.
She ran back across to the other side of the road, the opposite side from where she’d seen the black dress disappear, leading the girl behind her. They traveled back towards the temple on that side, keeping hidden behind trees and rows of bushes until they reached the clearing where she’d left Qhoroali and Cyaru a little while before. In a stroke of luck, they were still there, although it looked like they were getting ready to leave, with Cyaru on his feet again and Qhoroali holding a bottle of qoire.
A flash of anger flickered across Qhoroali’s features. “I told you—”
But the girl seemed to recognize Cyaru in some way and ran to him. She began speaking to him in the language that Setsiana had thought was Naychren… but in retrospect, maybe it actually wasn’t. Cyaru responded, and they seemed to have some halting communication, which Qhoroali watched for a few minutes. Eventually Cyaru said, in QuCheanya, “Lucky — she’s from a fairly close timeline to me. I know exactly where to take her.”
Qhoroali turned back to Setsiana. “Where did you find her?”
“They kidnapped her,” Setsiana said. “The priestesses… they were going to going to make her work in the dining hall. I… I stabbed one of them and we escaped.”
“You stabbed a priestess? With what?”
“A knife. I took it from you, actually.” Then she added, “Please, I need you to take me away from here.”
“Are you sure?” asked Qhoroali. “I know you didn’t like staying with us, and you were apparently planning to stab me with my own knife.”
“I’m sure. You never harmed me, and I don’t think I am safe here any longer.”
“Alright,” said Qhoroali. “But I want you to know that you aren’t a prisoner anymore. If you want to go somewhere, just ask and we’ll take you. You really don’t have to stab anyone, I promise.” She paused, with the bottle of qoire in her hand. “Does this mean you forgive me for all this?”
The question brought to mind the saying that the priesthood often taught about forgiveness: Forgiveness heals the heart and eases the soul, but it is a costly gift; one who has not been made whole cannot yet truly give it. She was free now, but it had been two months of imprisonment and weeks of depression and feelings of futility. And very likely, she had now lost her place here at Taleinyo forever. She did not feel remotely like she had been made whole. Qhoroali’s action of releasing and returning her could not just make all of that disappear. “No,” she said. “Not yet.”
Qhoroali seemed thoughtful for a moment. “That’s fair, honestly. Let me know if there is ever anything I can do to change that.” Qhoroali reached out her hand, and Setsiana took it. They went over to where Cyaru and the girl stood, and Qhoroali downed her swallow of qoire, put her arm around his shoulders, passed him the bottle, and they made the journey back to 1912.