On killing....

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

So there's this tale that Kael used to tell.

I don't remember the details, although I can tell you his expression as he told it. I think I'm getting things wrong in the telling, like the numbers of men that he ordered the Magi of Edinburgh to kill, because all I can remember is how his eyes were the colour of the sky on a cold and bitter day. I can't remember why they all had to die, exactly. I know they were coming to attack the Magi, and I know that Kael didn't look at me exactly as he told his story.

See. I can't tell this tale at all.

I know they were coming to kill, and so he ordered them to be taken out. I know that was on his head, although I can't remember if he lead the charge himself. He probably did. Kael normally did that kind of thing. I remember how still he was as well when he told me this story. Most people shift and twist with guilt. Kael is only ever still.

I know they all died. All thirty of them, I think. Maybe I do remember more of the details after all. Yes, thirty, I remember now.

Dead.

It was only afterwards, Kael said, with his voice as steady as granite, that he found out that those thirty had all been humans. Possessed or dominated in some way, but just humans. They were not responsible for their actions. They could have been saved. Instead, he ordered them executed.

He didn't want me to touch him after that, although he relaxed a little later and by the next morning his mood was gone and his story forgotten.

I remember it sometimes though. I remember it almost every time I kill, and I wonder, when I am standing drenched in someone's blood and high with the exhilaration of a fight gone well, when it is going to be my turn. And I wonder what my expression will be like when I tell my story to someone else, and feel my conscience twist and turn.