Chapter 67
A cadre of Shields led Maya to the Chamber, their weapons readied. It was humiliating: people stopped to stare at an Acolyte amidst Shields. That a Contegon led them was the only thing that saved face for Maya, but lesser Stations were still dragging her to the Guardian's administrative home. She was a criminal, something to fear, something to keep from the people of Geos.
She glanced at the shackles around her wrists. Draw had insisted on them in his gruff manner, but he hadn't enjoyed making these demands. The cold iron weighed heavily, kept her hands at hip level, but she would not hide from the public: this was the consequence of her actions, punishment she deserved.
Not that she could remember what she did. She could discern only fury from the gap in her memories, a rage that replaced every detail with deep red. Draw claimed she’d attacked the Shields, beating and hurting them for information: that a cadre of Shields tried to stop her, but she'd refused to halt her rampage, hurting many in the process. Maya was only thankful she'd not killed anyone.
Never before had her life and her self-control, just disappeared: she'd blacked out when struck in the head or wounded, but there was no trigger or trauma for this loss of control, this fugue. Maya tried to establish a cause as she was paraded before Aureu, and could only come up with Applekill and Tone's warnings about controlling herself, keeping her anger in check. But, if that were the case, it suggested an illness in her sensibilities, a fever in her judgement: it suggested she needed a Mentalist.
She didn't feel mad: her mind felt in order, she was in control, knew who and where she was. She’d had no trouble sleeping that couldn't be explained by the pressures of her Station. If anything, she felt clearer than she had in weeks. And yet there were Shields lying wounded in the Grip, and her hands had been covered in darkness.
Regardless of what happened, she needed a Mentalist. In the coming conversation with the Guardian, she would promise to meet one... if, of course, he didn't force her.
Thinking of the coming conversation made her heart a lead weight. Nothing good would come from a hurried meeting to discuss her attacking Shields. Her mind fizzed with potential punishments and punitive measures. And then there was the damage to her standing within the Council: how would her fellow Councillors judge someone who had fought Shields, how could they trust her counsel or views? Her heart plummeted away, fell deeper and darker than Nephilim's secret home.
Maybe she was reaching, but she didn't think that, under normal auspices, she would go on such a violent spree. That felt beyond her capabilities. Something related to Cyrus Force had happened, and it had happened when her Spirits weren’t present. Though facing her punishment was important, she needed to gather every detail, every scrap of information, for study. Applekill might be able to use the testimonies to construct what became of Maya, explain why she became like she had.
“May I see your report when it's ready, Contegon?” Maya asked, speaking for the first time. “And the Shields' reports as well?”
“I don't imagine you'll need to defend yourself, Acolyte Councillor,” the Contegon replied.
“Nevertheless, I would like to see them.”
The Contegon, Maya thought her name was Zip, was far beyond her Rest. She arched a wrinkled eyebrow at Maya and nodded: despite Maya being in chains, she still ranked above the Contegon.
The Chamber looked mute under the dull sky, its marble a deeper and less vibrant grey without Sol. The Shields peeled away as the steps approached: with their order to bring her to the Chamber done, they circled round and marched back to the Grip in a tight formation. She and Zip watched them go.
“Come on, let's get those shackles off,” Zip said. She produced a key from her robes and unlocked the iron mechanisms. “I don't think you're a risk to myself or anyone else.” She smiled. “Besides, even if you were, these cuffs would not stop you.”
“Thank you,” Maya said, rubbing her wrists to return feeling to them.
“I'll hand you to the Guardian's Clerics. The Guardian will meet you when he's available,” the Contegon explained as she climbed the Chamber's stairs. Her voice was easy, like she was discussing something amusing her child had done.
“Am I not under arrest, then?”
Zip shook her head. “It's uncertain whether you committed a crime, beyond taking your interrogation techniques too far. From what I was told, the Shields you injured were not too badly hurt. It was nothing that they wouldn't have experienced in a Discipline Chamber.”
Maya stopped, the world seeming to grow around her. Zip had meant the comparison as mitigation, a reason for her freedom, but it rocked her. Had she emulated Contegon Ward in her pursuit of the truth? Had she taken her torture out on others? Maya fought not to vomit.
“Acolyte, are you okay?” the Contegon asked, sounding a little scared.
“I am fine,” Maya said as strongly as she could. “Just considering what you said.”
The world felt too large - or she too small - as Zip handed her to the Guardian's Clerics. These serious folks in alabaster masks led her to the Guardian's office. Maya had been here often, so she didn't need to be led, but it was helpful as she tried to refocus, tried to reduce the world.
Maya spent an hour in the Guardian's waiting room, a six foot passage with comfortable chairs and copies of the Sol Lexic on its low tables. She meditated during the wait, turned her attention onto her failing mind. Everything was back in proportion by the time the Guardian stepped out from his office. His face neutral, he gestured for Maya to follow him inside.
Without talking, they entered his office, passing rows and rows of chairs. The Guardian stepped behind his desk and sat purposefully, disdain and unhappiness in every movement. Maya didn't hide from his judgement, merely sat in the chair left out for her.
“This is not how I expected to use my afternoon,” the Guardian said after a long, searching stare. “I have matters to see to, and having my most influential and powerful Councillor dish out violence against another Station wasn't supposed to be one of them.”
Maya didn't say anything, though tears tried to form in her eyes.
“What happened, Maya?” he asked.
“I think–” Maya couldn't get beyond those words without a sob. She took a deep breath, shook her head, and tried to act according to her Station. “Sol's Gift is based in emotion. My negative emotions around the loss of my Acolytes and the Cleric Councillor got the better of me, worked themselves out on the Shields.”
The Guardian seemed to consider this. “You talk as though you're absolving yourself of any responsibility, Maya. You attacked and wounded the Shields you were supposed to be interviewing!”
“I am not hiding from what I did,” Maya said. “You asked what happened, and I answered. I lost control of my Gift and in my...” She wanted to say crazed, but settled for simply saying, “state... I hurt those Shields. I take full responsibility for what I did, and I will cover Draw's Doctor fees from my own wages.”
“This isn't about Doctor's fees, Maya. You attacked those people. With Sol’s Gift!”
Maya closed her eyes. “I don't remember doing it.”
In her private darkness, she didn't see his reaction, but worry tinged his words. “What?”
“I remember waking this morning, but whatever I said or did during that interview is gone,” Maya said. “Like smoke blown away by a gust of wind.”
“That is not a good sign,” the Guardian said. He sounded almost sympathetic.
“No, it is not,” Maya agreed. She opened her eyes and stared at her boots. Dried mud clung to the dark leather. “It is not a good sign at all.”
“This may sound like a stupid question, but which emotions do you think overcame you?”
“Anger. Mostly anger.”
“Anger at what?”
She met his eyes. Though the glorious shine drawn in his Identity Papers had faded through illness, they looked brighter than they had in years. And in that brightness was an inquisitiveness, and,
yes, a little fear.
“Anger at the Council for blocking my requests. Anger at our suspects for Lun's Burst. Anger at the slow pace of the investigations. Anger at my own inability to see through the tangled mess these Disciples have woven to hide themselves...” She took a deep breath. “Even anger at the victims, at Pale and my Acolytes, for not avoiding this situation we find ourselves in.”
The Guardian slowly nodded. “You have had much to be angry about recently. Perhaps Sol is angry, and that fed through you?”
“We all have had reason to be angry,” Maya replied with a shake of her head. “So it is no excuse. And we would have seen other Acolytes losing their tempers if that were so. Sire, I am concerned: the knowledge Sol gave me says this should not have happened. I have requested the Shields' and Contegon Zip's reports so I can review them for clues as to what did happen. I will also... I'll book a session with a Mentalist.”
He sat back in his chair. “I'm surprised, though also glad that you're taking this seriously.”
“I am,” Maya said, not adding that it was because she never wanted to compare to Contegon Ward again.
“I must take this seriously as well, Maya,” he said evenly. He stood and walked over to lean on his large windows. “You attacked people. Stationed people. Regardless of the reasons, that cannot be allowed, let alone when a respected Councillor does it.”
“I will accept whatever punishment you see fit to give me,” Maya replied.
“Of course you will,” he said, nasty for a moment. “Here is what will happen: Secrecy Orders will be placed on everyone who knows about this event. The Shields, Draw, you, the Contegon, and my Clerics. This was either a lapse or the action of Lun, and I don't want it to have worse repercussions.”
“Thank you sire, though I know you don't do that for me.”
“No, I don't. I do this for Geos, which you have damaged with your actions.”
“Of course,” Maya said, shrinking into her seat.
“Your punishment will be twofold, Maya,” the Guardian continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “Firstly, I will hold you to the financial penalty the Shields will incur: the Doctors, Artificers, and Merchants fees needed to recover any and all damage to property and people will be deducted from your pay. Secondly, I can't trust your judgement on sensitive matters until you get a certificate of health from a Mentalist. As such, I am pulling you from the investigations into the criminals who killed Cleric Councillor Pale and your Acolytes, and removing your vote on matters brought to the Solaric Council.”
“No, sire, wait–”
The Guardian held up his hand, silencing her. “Maya, if you were in my situation, would you trust someone who cannot control their anger at the suspects, victims, even themselves? Would you believe they could provide impartial judgement?”
Maya tried to think, her mind racing. Whilst she'd been ready to accept any consequence of her frenzy, she hadn't expected to be rendered powerless and ineffective. But every excuse or comeback withered under consideration: the Guardian was right; she couldn’t be trusted with the investigations into Lun's Burst.
“I thought not,” he said, lowering his hand. “I expect a confirmation letter from Quill that you booked a session with a Mentalist by tomorrow. Your young Acolyte, Request, will produce a report on the possible reasons related to Sol's Gift for your... outburst. You can contribute to this, of course, but not lead. I want that report by the end of the month. You will rest and recover until you are deemed worthy of your role again by the Mentalist. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Maya said, though her mouth was dry, and her chest felt empty.
“Now leave,” he said, sneering slightly. “I hope for your sake that you’re ill or a victim of Lun's devilment.”
Dismissed, rejected and chastised, Maya left. She closed the Guardian's door behind her and had a strange feeling this would be the last time she held an audience with him.