Page 83 of Veinblood
Silence falls again. The conversation with Vorith has given me a lot to think about, but it’s also left me with more questions. One in particular is loud in my head.
What would these people be willing to do if they thought Sacha would stand with them?
That evening, Kalliss comes to visit me.
“Walk with me.” He doesn’t wait for my response, and steps outside. I follow him to the garden.
“In my visions,” he says after we’ve found a place to sit. “Ihave seen two very different outcomes that occur from your arrival here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your appearance heralds a choice. One between the safety we’ve built through hiding, and the safety that might come through revelation. In some visions, we reveal ourselves and find victory. In others, we find only death.”
I’m not sure if it’s the words or the matter-of-fact tone he uses that chills me more. “Which happens more often?”
“They’re balanced. Equal possibilities.” He looks at me. “But there is something else. In every vision where we choose to remain hidden, the hiding eventually fails anyway. Not straight away, but the Authority always finds out about us. Our children make a mistake, someone betrays us. And then the purges begin again until we are truly wiped out.”
“Then hiding isn’t really safety at all. It’s just delaying the danger.”
“It is. So, the question becomes do we choose the time and manner of our revelation, or do we allow it to be chosen for us?”
“What do you think should happen?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” He stands. “Come. There is a gathering happening that you need to be a part of.”
We walk to the common hall where I first met Vorith and the other masters. The room is full, with people filling benches and crowding along the walls. As soon as I enter, they fall silent and watch as I make my way across to an empty chair.
“We’ve been talking.” It’s Kessa who breaks the silence. “About the Vareth’el, and what it means that he has returned.”
“I want my children to know their history. I want them to understand that we come from people who helped others, not monsters,” Nava adds.
Their words seem to break something in everyone, and voices rise up.
“My grandmother used to tell stories,” a man I haven’t met before says. “Not just about the help we provided people, but about the responsibility that came with our abilities, and that we had an obligation to use them.”
“Those times are gone,” someone calls out.
“Are they? Or have we just convinced ourselves they can never return?”
“What kind of example are we setting?” another asks. “We’re teaching our children that hiding what we are matters more than anything else? That having power means nothing if you’re afraid to use it.”
“I watch my son practice hiding his abilities, and I see the confusion in his eyes,” Nika speaks up. “He doesn’t understand why what he can do is wrong. How do I explain that’s not wrong, it’s just dangerous?”
“You explain it the same way our parents explained it to us.”
“But should we? Should we pass that burden to another generation?”
“What is the alternative?”
“I don’t know. But maybe it’s time to find out.”
The debate grows heated, voices overlapping as people shout to be heard. An older man struggles to his feet.
“I’m tired of teaching children that what they are is dangerous. I’m tired of being afraid all the time.”
“But fear keeps us alive!”
“Does it? Or does it just keep us breathing while everything meaningful dies inside us?” His question sounds like a challenge, and around the room people glance at each other.
