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"In the Sea of Unknowing"
Date: September 15, 2000 (Aether: February 6, 3907)  Bare, webbed feet tap quietly over the painted stone ground as Katya leaves the practice room. The middle-aged woman looks clearly different than when she came here. Not only has her 'indecent' outfit consisting merely of a belt been replaced by a 'proper,' albeit short loincloth, but the cold, hard and unforgiving expression on her pale face has softened a bit. The ice in her eyes must have melted partially, now showing confusion more than anything else. Once she has left the practice room, a Hound is immediately at her side, eyeing her warily. A hand of the young man is constantly gripping the hilt of his sword, as if seeking safety in the weapon. "Now, don't touch my brain, you witch-woman. Or else..." grumbles the Soldat. The hem of robes and of an overlying cloak shift and hiss against the stairs as the halfbreed carefully wends her way down the winding stairs. There is little briskness to this step -- just enough to give flurried life to the soft, underdeveloped wings that are folded at her back. At the grumbling sound, so like thunder shredding the haze of distractions she has found herself in, Cassandra pauses tentatively just above the bottom-most step. Feet balance precariously on the squared edge, toes tugging at the webbing between when they can be seen beneath the hem of her garments. Sterling lashes have risen above the widened eyes, gaze settled lightly upon the foreign sight of the woman before her. As Katya's blue eyes meet those of Cassandra, the self-control and ice freeze them back once more. The halfbreed woman is studied from top to bottom, before the Najada's thought reaches out to her. Katya tries to determine the Sybil's race, but her thoughts reflect as much confusion as her gaze did just a moment ago. *Who/what are you? (Rusalki/Empyrean/Atlantean/Southern Rusalki)?* One fact is determined. No matter what she is, she is not one of them. No Aesir or Najada would ever have survived that many years with a gaze graced with such naivete and frailty. It takes a moment for the halfbreed to recover from her startlement, color shifting and flickering from the shallowest of seas to a rich, convoluted green. Cassandra tugs at the sides of her robes and cloak and skims down that last stair until she is firmly rooted at the floor's level. Hesitation ripples over her soulful features, before her own mind manages to communicate in return. *I am both Empyrean and Atlantean. Neither and both, in between.* Habitual is the gesture that opens her mouth to continue speaking, before her jaw clamps closed. *I am Cassandra, Sibyl of Delphi. Overseer of those with Sight.* There are pauses between words, slow and sluggish. The question of Katya's identity in return lingers not on her tongue or on words in her mind, but instead on the inquisitive angling of her head and the query bright within her eyes. Katya steps toward the other woman, leaving the Hound behind, watching in silence. The reluctance and lack of use for telepathy are noted, a piece of information stored away for later. *Rusalki,* she determines flatly, despite the fact that Cassandra's feathered wings do not match the image. *You are the head Kurie, then.* It's obvious that Katya tries to force Cassandra into her own patterns of thinking, into what she is used to. But how can somebody who makes such a slow, weak and unsure impression represent the strength of the gods? *I was taught by one like you. Do you believe in the strength of Vodyanoi then, at least? Can you hear him?* The presence of her god lingers always in the background of Katya's mind, a presence that has spoken before to her in visions. *I am Katya. Likewise, Kurie of him. Wife of Izak and mother of Hedeon.* Cassandra's spine straightens as the other woman draws closer, a willowy strength adopted to the frame, chin lifting up a touch. It is not so much a position of defense, as it is a pride forgotten and remembered when memory suits her. *I am not familiar with your Vodyanoi. Most of what I see comes from the world I know, and faith known to others.* She inclines her head in a nod towards the woman, attempting to hold her gaze from minimally staring when taking in the woman's bold frame and equally brave garment. *I am pleased to meet you, Katya.* Katya's eyebrows draw deeper, leaving some lines upon the smooth, slick forehead. Her lips thin to a line of disappointment, but her own stature straightens, giving the Sibyl a minimum of respect, now that she has accepted it herself. *I am pleased to meet you as well, Overseer of the Kurie,* echoes in Katya's mind, a mere reflection of the phrase she hears, regardless of her own thoughts. With both look and thoughts sharp, piercing and crystal-clear, the Najada dives on to find out more about the weak-yet-powerful mage in front of her. *Then what do you believe in? And how can you see anything meaningful if you have to grasp the faith of others to color your own visions?* There is a certain composure to Cassandra's own thoughts as well, hemming along a sure and steady path instead of skimming along the surface of a thousand distractions and dreams. *I do not grasp the faith of others, but I can, at times, see the gods to whom they pay homage.* Fingers release the sides of her robe and cloak, relaxing into even stillness. *I dreamt of your arrival before it came, for example, and saw the Atlantean goddess Pasiphae beside another man... Atlantean-seeming, without hair upon his head.* Slight is the shake to her head, a brief flicker of her gaze through the room. *As for myself, there is but Fate in my belief. What has come and what will be -- written thousands of years before they unfold.* *Vodyanoi,* shoots back Katya's tendril at the mention of the bald man. Her own thought fleshes out the projection, making him more handsome, in a fiery, dangerous way. Lets the storm whip about him, waves clashing to his knees. Annoyed by the Seer's passiveness, the Kurie presses harder. *Can you not see that the gods have chosen you? You are meant to stand between them and the other world, just like me.* In the following moment, desperation and urgency resounds from Katya over the mental link. *So what have you seen of the two gods? How did they behave? Who came to rule, who came to fail?* *Little was to be seen of them, for there was much surrounding the nature of your inevitable visit. He brushes his fingers through her long hair, dark like midnight without a moon in the sky.* Memories summon this vision to mind, the sea of Pasiphae's eyes, the swishing tail of her fishlike lower body. *She smiles and then begins to turn away, and he draws back. The waters boil with his anger, which grows as she still turns from him. The sea rages with his mood before the sight fades into others.* Confusion skitters across the emotions of the halfbreed, uncertain what portion of her demeanor has inspired this frustration in the Najada before her. Katya sucks up the vision, peeling it from the halfbreed's mind to grasp it fully, imprint it into her own. A minute of silence follows. Not that the Najada has uttered a word in this conversation, but even the telepathic link projects only a static buzz, a sign that the connection holds, but nothing else. Finally, after a seeming eternity of contemplation, a vision is thrown back, but it is clouded much more in the icy, chilly colors that the Najada seem to favor. It, too, encompasses both Ursala/Pasiphae and Vodyanoi, but it is the man who is tamed, controlled by the woman's hand. His strength of the storm and the sea is kept in bonds, the gentle force of the female touch guiding it, controlling it, but also keeping it. The two figures seem so entangled together that it seems impossible to discern whether they fight or hold each other. However, in that vision, the moon shines overhead, and they both seem to draw strength from it, and both wane as the moon subsides again. *I cannot see the outcome of this struggle,* she finally admits, her mental impression brittle. *I have hoped you could. That the gods would let you know something for which I am not ready.* Cassandra may be uncertain about the world before her, or that which is unfamiliar, but when the subject of her ability is brought up, all that can be found is a strength of confidence that belies her frailty. She knows her magic is strong, stronger than most Delphi has ever seen, and it is this that holds her steady in the sea of unknowing. Silver lashes flitter over her gaze for a moment as the vision is absorbed, before a breath is drawn and released evenly -- with the flow of strong, certain tides. *No, I have not seen it today, but each day reveals another truth that was elusive the day before. Perhaps I shall see it, on another day.* There is no 'perhaps,' however, in the subtle strengthening of her curved jaw. Katya sees both strength and weakness, vision of what lies beyond, but restricted grasp of what lies in front of her in the Delphic Seer. Again, the note of disappointment is strong, leaving the Kurie once more in a void of unknowing. *Maybe the gods have not decided upon the future yet, and it is among us to shape it.* Us. Behind the self-image of the minor clairvoyant, the other remaining warriors of the Najada appear, lead by Izak. Determined to make the future. *If it comes to you, I will see you. And your vision.* There is little doubt in Katya that Cassandra could see something she could hide from her. *Another day. May Vodyanoi grant you knowledge, wisdom and guidance.* The wish is apparently meant as a farewell, for the Najada woman turns to head back into her quarter. Knottings that had stirred within the woman's stomach, uncomprehended and faint, have slowly bubbled to the surface of thought. Frustration, at having repeatedly felt the cold wash of disappointment touch upon her. *Another day, and may you be granted the same.* Incapable of holding back that raw edge of emotion, it bleeds through the Sibyl's thoughts, lends more strength to will. Falling into a brooding silence, brightly lit eyes are aglow on Katya's heels. And there, they linger until the Najada is well out of sight. If the raw emotions leaking out of Cassandra are still caught or not is unsure, but there is no reply from the telepathic link as Katya walks off from the direction she came, entering the practice room once again, without having spoken a word. And yet so much was exchanged, and so many questions remain open.
FIN
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