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Multitude

Stronger As Many

By Rhys B. CrabtreePublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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We stand facing the street, feet sinking into the damp grass, toes curling around the blades, anchoring us within the well of wild magick threaded there, back to the small patch of forest in the neighborhood where our house sits.

"I could tell you that I'm a Walker until the days cease to form and time unravels, but you'll never know what it means."

We're standing in a semi-circle, a crescent formation that allows each of us a clear sight of all around and before us. At the center stands our , the Heart of us, the one who holds us together, gives us purpose, and while his voice never leaves his humanoid throat, we can hear the shrieks and howls; the words of fear and fury, unspoken but no less impact-inducing or terrifying for their silence. Only two before us see us in total: one swings, the other paces. But the one who needs to see us but doesn't—can't—is absolutely oblivious to the danger standing some fifteen feet away. But it doesn't matter. We know, the Therianthrope and the Daemon know, and that's enough. We won't step out of line, won't make a move beyond what we have without the permission—the order—of our .

"You aren't a Multitude so you'll never understand. You have two, I have hundreds."

"But only seven are named."

"It doesn't matter how many are named. It makes the rest no less important for lack of a term to describe them individually."

"I understand."

"No, you don't... and you never will. And for that I'm sorry."

A trembling Call shudders down the Lines, sends the Currents to dancing, and Shadi leaves without a word, without any of us needing to say anything, and so we are down to six to protect the Heart of us. Six of us to steady the one who was supposed to be unflappable but has been broken down to his baser instincts, to the very foundations upon which he built his empire of strengths and Barriers and Shields and knowledge.

The Therianthrope growls under his breath and the ice wolf, Lycarn, turns to face us, moving with a slow, easy grace across the porch and onto the grass, sidling up to Rhys-Rin easily and dropping his rump to the grass, as though he were a guard to the second oldest of us. As a collective, we roll our eyes and focus back in on the conversation.

Nully is speaking now as our begins to unravel. Words have always hit him harder than any physical blow. The watery form of our collective rage sloshes dangerously towards the edges of the container it was shoved into. The fire cat, Azuna, joins us next, standing beside Leighlani, his favorite, a calm fire to match the most boisterously murderous individual we've encountered in many years. Still the Daemon paces and still, the Blind One blubbers, and we're left to fluctuate between boredom and anger.

"I cannot do this. I cannot be expected to explain how this works to you! How could you even ask that of me?"

Another desperate call hits the lines and this time we look to the Daemon, past her face to the one within—the halfling Romny woman cowering in a ball on herself. We raise an eyebrow, wondering why a Call was sent to us regarding the terrified, hurting one. We cannot do anything about that. It's not our place to even if we wanted to. Relyt received aid because he is Blooded, because he Oathed hundreds of millennia ago. We would "help" the Therianthrope but he would merely snarl at us. And our response to that would be most unpleasant for all involved.

"What would you have me do?! Honestly! Tell me, give me direction for I utterly lack it, you ignorant fucking twat!"

Shadi is back with us suddenly, sapphire eyes the darkest we've ever seen and her face is a mask of death, though untouched by blood, which is out of character for her if that look is upon her features.

Our Heart is back in control, speaking with a tone that shakes the ground, rattles the magickal senses of any and everyone for thousands of miles in all directions. There is a warning there, one we know is missed because the Blind One doesn't hear the sub-vocal warning, doesn't hear the supersonic whine of the Currents. As much as we tried to train her, life and things got in the way. A stray thought from our brings our attention back and the World holds its breath. A decision is made, spoken with the finality only a Walker can manage, the threads of Sanctuary strengthening off the wild magick patches, changing and shifting, revoking an invitation. We refrain from chittering in happiness, but only barely.

"Careful about giving back gifts from a Walker. It is a heavy thing, handing something back. It means you reject everything, from Familial ties to friendship."

"I didn't know."

"That's why I am confirming your decision."

"It would have been used against me."

"Hahaha, would that I wanted to do harm to you, I would not need a novice's way to tether to you and destroy you from the inside. It has been and always will be, much easier than that for me to do harm to another."

We sigh as each of the other three disperse to their assigned tasks, the boundaries of the Sanctuary shaking violently, a rich obsidian instead of the fog-like grey they normally are. The Daemon raises an eyebrow at us, eyes fever-bright with tears from emotions she has never had to feel before, looking to any advice on how to handle it. We shrug as our curls in on himself, locked deep within us, wracked with sobs and howls and bitten-back words. It's as he falls into a distance only he can enter and exit that another awakens, one whose name has been spoken only five times in its history.

"I cannot teach a victim how to thrive, lil'it uhn. You need to want it, to find it on your own. Once you hit that status you covet so desperately, I can help you stay there. But the getting there? That's on you."

There are times when we manifest to the visible spectrum of humanity, and there are other times where we manifest only to those who know what to look for. It's as the moon rises slowly, powerful as the first harvest fires are lit in the distances, that we each manifest visibly before going half-seen again and then disperse to do our various assignments.

After all, we are a Multitude that heads a Family as weak as it is strong. Each one of us once-victims are now survivors willing and capable of doing anything and everything to remain there. But no one sees or hears what our Heart howls and scratches and carves into his skin. For long ago he learned that carving into his metaphysical flesh does far more exquisite pain than doing so to his physical flesh.

It takes much strength not to go after those that have caused this pain in our . But we are nothing if not creatures of order and habit, so we remain steadfastly silent on the matter.

"I'm beyond being an Entity. I'm a Multitude. And one day you'll know what that is and you'll remember this conversation and when you do, it will destroy you. Being what I am is not a status symbol. It's not something you should want. It is not a good thing nor a bad thing, but barely even neutral. Be happy with what and who you are because were you ever to become like me? The first thing you'd beg for would be the being you are at this very moment. No mercy, no early death, no second chances, just that: who you are right now and everything that that entails."

We are all and none; a collective that moves as one and yet is individualized and separate, for we are all independently moving pieces on an elaborate chess board in a game we have only a sliver of a chance of winning.

psychological
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About the Creator

Rhys B. Crabtree

Originally from the Mississippi Gulf Coast (USA), I now live in the Lowcountry of South Carolina (USA) with my three cats.My larger work can be found at www.thesevenworlds.net and amazon.com/author/rhysbcrabtree

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