Marco was in an alien world, full of emotions with physical form. Music was physical and physical objects were but a shadow, an illusion. Dull and numb and difficult to identify. The comb Marco was trying to sing magic into was one such object but it seemed stubborn. It was a comb Marco crafted himself - he crafted it to never again strike people, but that was a long time ago.
Marco sung to the comb and the comb resisted, if the comb had a will of its own. It simply did not want to become a power focus. “I think I picked a poor talisma - it simply ignores my mana.” He said to Jed. Jed answered “That specific comb may be a bad talisma. It already has an aura of its own. Perhaps you should make a new one.”
Marco said “It has to be this one - I do not even remember how to work with wood anymore. It was so many years ago.”
Jed said “I am not very optimistic about it - I am not sure you can even theoretically enchant this comb. It is clearly important to you but it is so important that it already has your aura imprinted in it. Nothing can have two auras. You are trying to fill a full glass if you want a metaphore.”
“It has to be this one - It has to work.” said Marco and continued.
What happened next was astonishing, the comb sung back at Marco. Not sung per say but the stress of being enchanted have released something hidden inside - a memory.
“Strike the dog!” - it was Chris - the teacher Marco hated. It was the first time Marco actually harmed a living being. It was so real, so vivid as if Marco was living it all over again.
little Marco held the stick in his hands - striking the dog made no sense. It would bring him physical pain he knew that already. Striking the dog was like striking himself - both made no sense. Still - this is what he was asked to do, how could the will of the Lord make so little sense?
“Do it Marco, strike the dog. If I tell you to strike the dog, God tells you to do so. It is your test, it is God’s will.”
Marco look at the man, he felt ashamed. “I hurt you many years ago - you never forgave me for shooting your leg. I never forgave myself, I was a young boy weak and terrified. I lost control - you deserve my apology you are evil, but you did what you believed was the will of the Lord. I should not resent you, I should forgive you. I should forgive myself... but I cannot do so, I liked watching you bleed. I wanted you to die - I am not sure why I did not kill you, I wanted to cross that line.”
The man did not reply - it was a memory an emotion and not even a visual one. Little Marco held the stick in his hand his hands. He asked “Please Chris, the dog have done me no harm - it is just a dog. He is innocent”
“This is your test Marco, Abraham was willing to strike a dog, he had no problem to sacrifice an animal. You are an hammer, a weapon - you must be able to exercise violence no matter how you feel.”
Marco looked at the poor dog and approached him. He knew already that striking the dog will bring him physical pain. It made no sense - but to defy his teaching? To alienate himself from everything that he knew? It was unthinkable at the time. Deep down he knew, their love was manipulation and compassion was nothing more but a disguise. These people were after power and control, but they were all he had.
Marco surrendered - he approached the dog and stroke it again and again. The dog just looked at Marco in disbelief, it had compassion in his eyes. Marco felt that the little dog was much more noble than himself. If any, God was in these sad eyes looking at him disappointed.
“Good work Marco, that’s enough”
Mature Marco would have said somthing like: “ I hate you, I hate God, I hate Christ and I hate the Church, you took everything from me and made me a stick. I was a person, an innocent like that dog and you made me an ugly weapon. You took everything from me, you took my own identity. One day I will strike you like this dog - and if that Lord of you loves you so much he will have to stop me himself.”
But little Marco could not even think of saying anything remotely like that. He was terrified of these emotions. Saying these things would make them real - keeping them in would silence them, or so he thought. He has no idea how difficult it was going to be to keep all these negative feelings at bay.
The sad doggy eyes - it was all that was left from this memory. They represented shame, violence and remorse. Old Marco thought “I am so sorry Lucky - I was not strong enough. I was just a child and I failed to be the friend you needed, you were nothing but good to me and you are dead because I was not brave enough.”
“You just stood there and took the beatings, you were more noble than any of us. Yet we could not see that - you showed me the way and I ignored it.”
Marco was shaken, the memory was overwhelming but he suddenly knew how to fill an empty glass. He knew how to enchant the comb - “I need to empty the glass - if the comb is carrying my emotions and memories I need to take them away from it. These are my memories and I should be the one carrying them and tormenting over them. I need my retribution, I am so a shamed but I can never forgive if I am powerless to have my revenge. I can only forgive when I have an actual chance to burn that monastery down.
if I do not let it out, my rage out it will consume me... better them than me. "
Better them than me.” Mumbled Marco.
“I do not know what you did, but it is working. Said Jed but Marco kept mumbling “Better them than me.” He kept mumbling insanely submerged in some mirage or an illusion.
The deepweed effect were long gone - but Marco was still hearing the voices, still seeing the music. He did not eat, he did not sleep - he just chanted. He did not care if the words were love or compassion or rage and revenge - the words were himself, his emotions - all of them.
Arc's message was in another world as in a dream, Marco could not even see the display of the comlink with all the distractions in his eye sight let alone answer. He ignored the message and continued chanting and talking to a wooden comb. Not only love, not only compassion, but survival instinct, pain, hate fear and remorse. Remorse for the pain of an innocent that was beaten in the name of the most noble of ideas.
