As Bravo orbits a Kulmykian supply dock, Kyra reflects in her journal. The Hood has offered a home, a planet. Reward he said. Said. A lot is said.
Journal entry (Kyra):
And so again, we are underway and the question arises, as it has for three years, where forth? To what purpose? We say we journey to find a home, a place to settle, as if this need is in our genes, as womb to baby, one must surely follow the other, to be complete, yes, for what is one without the other? Yet, tell me, what planet can hold us? Tell me what system will be our own, for one doesn't own a system, the system owns the one. And as the planet moves, does not Bravo? So, again, I say, what is our charge? What is my command? Where forth is thy Hyneria? Whence thy Hynerian Age?
Plant thy seed and thy seed will scatter. To the wind, assimilated into the foreign body. The closed fist opened, the power of Hyneria no more. Planet Bravo. This is our home. And the solar wind is our current, steered by the hand of fate, concentrated within our metal home and going the only place worth going.
My flag I plant, my cause established. Still, I am not Janus and the offer, our Kulmykian reward, a planet of our own, must be made known. I feel as if in the one hand I hold thunder and in the other lightning. I am the storm not seen before the picnic of my crew, the light and the dark, the rain and the hail and what destruction I render is no more known by my mind and heart than the wind and the rain. So be my burden. So be our fate. I pray to Janus may our trees grow stronger in the wind and our crops rise with the rain.
And so again, we are underway and the question arises, as it has for three years, where forth? To what purpose? We say we journey to find a home, a place to settle, as if this need is in our genes, as womb to baby, one must surely follow the other, to be complete, yes, for what is one without the other? Yet, tell me, what planet can hold us? Tell me what system will be our own, for one doesn't own a system, the system owns the one. And as the planet moves, does not Bravo? So, again, I say, what is our charge? What is my command? Where forth is thy Hyneria? Whence thy Hynerian Age?
Plant thy seed and thy seed will scatter. To the wind, assimilated into the foreign body. The closed fist opened, the power of Hyneria no more. Planet Bravo. This is our home. And the solar wind is our current, steered by the hand of fate, concentrated within our metal home and going the only place worth going.
My flag I plant, my cause established. Still, I am not Janus and the offer, our Kulmykian reward, a planet of our own, must be made known. I feel as if in the one hand I hold thunder and in the other lightning. I am the storm not seen before the picnic of my crew, the light and the dark, the rain and the hail and what destruction I render is no more known by my mind and heart than the wind and the rain. So be my burden. So be our fate. I pray to Janus may our trees grow stronger in the wind and our crops rise with the rain.
4 comments:
one doesn't own the system, the system owns one...
& if anyone does it is Janus...
great entry!
Thank you Mona. Sometimes I feel pawned by my conceptual systems of emotional survival, foisted upon Vald's stake, just one of the twenty-thousand. Don't be afraid, give me your hand. :-D
I thought of one word when I read this..."Faith".
If for not the dozens of other reasons, this journal entry lends extensive validity to Kyra being the chosen one. Writing for no other reason that to record her own thoughts, organize her own thoughts, there is such passion, such vigour and voice in her words, this could have been a speech written to address a larger congregation than even the pivotal group of 6-9 fellow 'Bravonians'. This chapter brings to the forefront other chapters like The Chapel and the one, oh gosh kicking myself in disbelief for not being able to remember the title of the song, for its place in my favourites and more than that for its place here amongst these pages, but the one where love stood on the battlefield singing, where Kyra sang for Von, and there are other chapters too, but these two in particular, and especially The Chapel. So long ago now, this was a most influential chapter, one also mentioned in comments since many times :-), for it was in this chapter that we were first made to understand exactly what fate had dealt them, exactly what it meant to be them, before we ever met them as individuals, when they were still, just, only a crew of eight unnamed Hynerians, anonymous souls, fears, hopes, destiny though the term is unsatisfactory divulged. Before we knew them, we knew this. Grand and rousing, passionately eloquent, I am the storm not seen before the picnic of my crew, the light and the dark, the rain and the hail and what destruction I render is no more known by my mind and heart than the wind and the rain. So be my burden. So be our fate., to read this is as to sit in a darkened theatre, words booming from the stage and it is as if the sound with all its weight, with all its meaning all but permeates the skin as it bangs into the chest wall, as to stand before a podium supporting the most competent of public speakers, the real McCoy, genuine passion on a subject close to the heart, pen scratching paper, ink flowing silently this may be, but mind and heart reverberates. Like thunder.
Stunning piece of penmanship.
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