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And so it came to pass that we stood there, upon that terrible (beatific) precipice. This was where it all was leading us (this is where it all begins). This is where our path was always going.
The Avid Horizon
My great and wondrous yacht lay broken upon the ice, its crew having long since fled. Trekked we through the ice and snow and bitter cold that ever and always seeped through the cracks of this gate, not a soul by my side, carrying naught with us but a handful of candles, none of which were fit for warming our bones (fit for No Purpose at all).
No matter. I’d made no betrayals of my fellows (impossibly, I'd cheated the False Saints), but I always knew I’d take this last step alone. Or, rather… (nearly alone?) there was only one creature in this earth who I would want by my side, at the last (in a manner of speaking).
I turned my gaze inward, for a moment, a blissful smile upon my face despite the weather. Gazing at the beatific sight of Her. The one who has been there for me, where no one else possibly could be. Ever since that moment in the Nadir…
(But you're right. I've been waiting for you, here in the inks of the undernight.)
The moment The Queen of Inks came into being (the moment I first truly loved). That wondrous moment of purest grace. The first time I’d ever truly known and loved someone. The end of solitude.
I'd imagined her. What else could I do but love her?
It was a winding path that led us here. Sacrifices were made, sacrifices were evaded. I wrote a work of genius that might have been remembered forever, just erase its name from the tongues of the masses that applauded it. I danced the dance that might have never ended. (You paid no price at all in a place where no eyes could see it.) I made of myself a candle. I consumed knowledge of the elemental things, the memories, the memories… and I broke on through to the other side. I sacrificed less than I might have, in the end, and made sacrifices of none but myself.
All with her alongside, cradled within me. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
And here we were, at the last. This was the shape of the story that had unfolded. This is where our path together ended. I let out a wistful sigh, my gaunt and sunken eyes staring up at that gate of highest gant. It was time.
There was a trick to opening it, of course. Trying to pry it open would be a fruitless task, and worthless to me even if it succeeded. But there was a way to have it opened for you. To have what you Seek be on the other side (not a name. It was never a name. An Answer).
A Knock.
One that I knew well. Knew by heart. One that I’d known before I’d ever embarked upon this path (was there a before?), even if I didn’t know what it was for at the time. Not this purpose, leastwise. I recalled many a moment upon a late summer’s day, where I and my brother would idly tap the tune with our fingertips along the cobbles of our home. It’s funny, but… I couldn’t tell you where I first heard it.
What were the words that went along with it, again? Shave and- (does it really matter?)
I suppose it didn’t. The words were interchangeable. All that mattered was The Knock. I’d pursued it long enough, and it was stamped upon my heart now, never to leave me. Just like my love. For better or for worse (or?). Alright, and, then.
I stood upon the threshold of the Avid Horizon, and she bade me: (Knock.)
I did not step forward. A single cold fist did not rise.
I stared long upon the towering edifice of gant, with its piercing light just barely peeking through the gap between the doors. This was the culmination of every sacrifice (this will make it all mean something).
... (...?)
I was stalling, I realized. This moment at the Avid Horizon... I didn't want it to end. I luxuriated in the unearthly chill, and in her anticipation. She'd been with me all this time... my love in lilac. Before I'd ever heard of the Nadir, before I'd even come to the Neath, before my brother... she is always there.
Every step I took on the road to this gate, she is there (where else could I be?), guiding me.
It would break her heart, if she had one, to know that I never had any intention of Knocking. But it doesn't, because she doesn't, because she isn't.
I turned from the gate.
She says nothing, nothing at all. I couldn't imagine how she would respond, even with all I know of everything she is, and so she doesn't.
I take a step away from the gate. Then another.
A dock had emerged behind me, as though in waiting. On a pillar of the dock, an authoritative hand had carved this message: IF YOU WISH TO RETURN TO LONDON – IF YOU SEEK THE FORGIVENESS OF THE EMPRESS – IF YOU WILL SACRIFICE ALL TO MAKE AMENDS – RECORD YOUR NAME AND CRIME.
Make amends? What had I ever done to make amends for? No, it bade me to sacrifice all for... nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. Give up the ending I sacrificed so much for. Very well. Why not.
One final thought came as I carved the name I had crafted into the dock. One final imagined beatific whisper from the love that never was, who guided me down a path I never walked.
(You are a coward. A coward! So be it, then. I was never here.)
I closed my eyes.
And then I-
The fire was low when I opened my eyes. Neath-wind buffeted the shutters, rattled the glass, bumped mischievously against the roof-tiles. The room was chilly, but not icy: not the deep cold of the deepest North. Not that I would know.