Father has always been our intermediary, at your request. Therefore I shall seek an audience unto him and he will decide what is fair.
The Scribe Virgin kept her emotions in check as frustration surged. And this declaration is the reason you brought me here?
Yes. It is.
Your contest of my action is naught but pretense. Nothing in the course of the war has been altered—
Your borne son is now out of the field and heavily protected as a result of your interference, and we both know that he is an integral element of the outcome given his unique importance to the Dhestroyer. So there has been a very material shift in power, one that inures unto your benefit, and that deserves redress.
The Scribe Virgin recognized the aggression being projected unto her for what it was: the thrashes of someone who was greatly diminished and yet avoiding the nature of that reality. The end was near, and her brother’s losses were tallying up. He was flailing around, and therefore, so much more dangerous.
Yet she trusted their Father.
Do what you must, my brother, she said remotely.
I always will.
Is this all you require of me at this time?
There was a pause, as if the Omega had expected a stronger response. Had counted on it. Had looked forward to protest and argumentation. He had always loved conflict.
Yes, that is all, he said tersely.
All right, then. I shall expect Father will inform me of his decision when he is ready.
The Scribe Virgin turned away and floated over toward the stairs. There were other ways of leaving, but she did not wish to miss the experience of descending down those grand and white marble steps.
In the event it was the last time she did.
When her brother joined her, it was a surprise, but she welcomed his presence. As always, the pair of them were separated by the brass handrail, him taking the left side, her the right. And as always, she was the one who set the pace, although whether that was him stalking her or adhering to protocol, she never knew.
Well, she could guess.
The Scribe Virgin proceeded slowly as there was another finality that could be occurring. She did not know if she would e’er be in the company of her sibling again. Indeed, this could be the last time for that as well.
At the bottom, he stopped and she was compelled by his halt to do likewise.
You should know something, the Omega said quietly. I deliberately never went after Vishous. I have known all along that I could, and I am precisely acquainted with how his elimination could be of benefit to my position and survival. But I declined to involve him.
The Scribe Virgin looked across the bannister. I must say, this is unexpected.
He is family, after all. He is my blooded relation through you. And it is as I stated. There is a bit of your goodness in me.
You have my gratitude, she murmured.
Alas, this means you gave yourself a disadvantage for no reason. You did not have to go unto the Dhestroyer and plant the seeds you did. Your birthed ones have always been off-limits for me.
For a moment, she was tempted to fight. To point out that she would have made a different choice, if she had known of his reticence. She elected to let the animus go.
Thank you, she said simply.
Upon that note of gratitude, she spirited herself away from her fraternal twin, leaving the Omega to whatever course he was set upon.
Her brother was the autumn wasp wandering upon a windowsill, bathed in the last sunlight of summer, unaware of or refusing to believe of the death that would soon come and carry him unto his back, his legs curled in as mobile became immobile.
His stinger was something of which to be especially watchful.
And thus she would allow him the petty victory he was claiming.
She had concerns of far greater magnitude. She had always taken solace in the Dhestroyer Prophecy, assured that however great the losses and the pain sustained by her creation at the merciless hand of her brother, there would be an end.
She had never considered the idea that in that termination there would be repercussions for herself. What if what her brother purported was true? Balance had to be preserved, so with him gone, where did that leave her?
Perhaps she was wrong about the inevitability of her brother’s failure, however. She had certainly never seen coming so much of what had transpired.
As great as her powers were, she was not their Father.
The future was not hers to command.
And she had never dreamed of a moment where she might have to choose her own existence . . . over her creation’s.
The train rocked back and forth, the subtle sway and distant clickety-clack of the sets of wheels over the tracks a lullaby that had Jo’s eyelids growing heavy. When she had boarded the Keystone Service 701 toward Harrisburg at 8:18 in the morning, she had been fortunate enough to get a row of seats all to herself, but that had not lasted. There were a lot of people doing the go-to-work thing, so she soon had to put her backpack at her feet to accommodate another passenger.
The trip was just over three hours, and she could have driven, but with New York City sitting in the way of the most direct road route, she had opted out of the immovable object that was rush hour traffic.
Besides, there was something magical about a train. On the far side of the broad window, she watched the landscape change, high-rise apartment buildings replacing the sprawl of suburban neighborhoods as they approached Manhattan; then the skyscrapers coming into view; then the Big Apple’s bridges rising and falling over the Hudson. After that, there was the descent underground and the slowing and stopping under the great city, with a further exchange of passengers at Penn Station. Finally, they were off again, the air in the car smelling of oil and coal as they proceeded out of the subway system’s subterranean tunnels.
Bright light again now, free of the city on the far side, the trees and grass of New Jersey always a surprise given the concrete congestion of New York.
The train pulled into the 30th Street Station on time, and Jo sat quietly for a moment before grabbing her pack and getting to her feet. There was not much of a wait to get off, and as she stepped down onto the platform, she looked around, the hot breath of the hissing engine catching a lick of her hair.
The next thing she knew, she was out of the columned, squared-off building that, with its rows of vertical supports down its glass panels, had always reminded her of a federal prison. Or maybe it was Philadelphia, itself, that made her think things of a penal nature.
Or maybe it was her family.
Using her phone, she got a Lyft to take her out to the house. When she and the driver pulled in between the stone pylons and proceeded up the lane, the guy behind the wheel glanced back at her in the rearview of the Toyota Sienna.
“I thought this was a residence?” He shook his head. “I mean, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter to me—”
“No, it’s a family—well, a couple lives here.”
“Huh. You don’t say.” He looked out to the side, at the specimen trees that were as yet still without buds, and the statuary that remained unchanging through the seasons. “You applying for some kind of a job here or something?”
Jo thought about the role she had played in the household as she had grown up. “I was already hired.”
“Oh, congrats. The pay must be good.”
Well, it had gotten her through college without any debt. But only because she’d gone to Williams, which was her father’s alma mater. She had often wondered how the finances of her bachelor’s degree would have gone if she’d only been able to get into a state school. When she’d been accepted into the Yale master’s program for English, they’d indicated she’d have to pay for that herself.