jeriendhal: (Default)
[personal profile] jeriendhal
Y'know, I've been waiting to use that infodump I came up with about Vulpine concepts of the Afterlife for years.



They dumped her back onto the bed in her cell. She couldn’t have said how long the interrogation had lasted. There was no time anymore. There was nothing except Dream Stalker’s hands on her scalp and… and…

She curled up in a ball and tried very hard to not think of anything at all. She was still trying when they wheeled Marty back into his cell, strapped to his gurney again. He looked… blank. Like he’d been a few moments after his burst of grief at the murder of his sister.

Lucky.

After perhaps a quarter hour his eyes blinked and he turned his head to look at her with concern. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“No,” she managed to choke out.

“What memories did she force from you?”

She shuddered. “All of them.” She swallowed and added, “I shot your sister. Over and over and over again. I don’t think she was even looking for anything. She just wanted to look at it again and again. I can still smell it. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said once again.

“How did you fight it? She said trying to scan your mind was like looking at a blank room. How could you fight her when I couldn’t?”

“I didn’t fight it,” Marty replied. “My goddess made a safe place in my mind, where I could not be found.”

“But, but why you and not me?” she asked, choking back a sob.

“The Holy Den Mother is not a cruel goddess. If it had been within her power to protect you from the Dream Stalker’s assault she would have. But you are a free willed being, despite how the Varn have tried to twist your soul. I am not.”

She rubbed her sodden face fur, trying to blink away tears. “I don’t understand.”

“I was arrested and sent to special research facility when I was younger, a place administered by the Varn Mind Strider. She exploited my fears of high places and flying, trying to break my mind and reshape it, much as Social Shaper is doing here to you and your crèche mates. She succeeded, at least in the breaking part.”

“You don’t talk like you’re mad.” Madder than anyone else here at least.

“Oh, I am. You have little basis for comparison, but when you leave this station and finally meet your brothers and sisters in the universe beyond these walls you will see I’m considered a bit…. odd. At any rate, I was placed in a tank and made to float within, cut off from all sensation. I felt like I was falling through black silence for weeks. Then finally, when there was nothing left of my mind, when the soul of the creature that had been dubbed Marturari Greycoat was shattered, the pieces scattered about the universe, the Holy Den Mother gathered them in folds of Her robes put them back together again.

“At that moment I was given a choice. I could return to my family and attempt to live out my life as peacefully as I could, or I could choose to spread the Goddess’s Word among those who had forgotten it. I have pledged myself to that cause, and even if I am subjected to great pain, I am in the Holy Den Mother’s grace, so it does not shatter again.”

“What happens when you’re not in Her grace? What happens if you… die?”

Marty considered that one for a moment. “Death is a different matter. What has
the Varn Social Shaper taught you about such things?”

“Dead is dead. We were born to serve the Varn and the Varn are immortal gods. Once we are of no use, we are euthanized so that our successors may serve as well. I’m not sure how this “soul” you keep talking is supposed to fit into that.”

“Hm. Well, the soul is… you. Not the body you inhabit, not just a collection of thoughts and memories. It’s you. When all pretense and prejudice and petty desires are stripped away, it is what you are. It is what the Goddess cherishes. It cannot be destroyed or stolen, though as this station has demonstrated, it can be damaged.”

She sat up, uncurling herself from her defensive ball, staring at him. “So what happens to my “soul” when my body dies?”

“When you die,” Marty said, “you will find yourself in the Cold and Dark, naked and alone. It’s a place of high mountains and cloud covered sky, the snow constantly falling around you, making any path difficult to see.”

“What’s “snow”? What’s “sky”?”

“They’re….” He sighed and started again. “I’ll explain those concepts later when I get the chance. But the important thing is that you find yourself cold and alone.”

“And that’s your reward for obeying your Goddess?”

Marty shook his head as much as his restraints permitted. “No, that’s your fate. The greatest sin is deliberate blindness to Her teachings. In the afterlife such a soul is in turn blind to Her call. They will wander through darkness and snow for eternity, forever cold and alone.”

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms and tail around them, letting out a soft cry of despair.

“Those souls that welcomed Her into their life, however, are welcomed in turn,” he continued. “They will see the light of Her fire, and be guided towards Her Den. There they are clothed and given comfort, until they are ready to pass beyond the Den, to the Green Fields where their loved ones that have passed before them await to be reunited.”

“So your sister is there?” she asked.

“Yes,” Marty answered. “So I am content that Lili comforted and without pain now.”

“I don’t have any loved ones,” she said softly.

“You are beloved by the Holy Den Mother. More so because you have suffered at the hands of those that would deny you the comfort you deserve.”

“What about all the others? What about the ones that were arrested?”

“They will be welcomed when it is their time. It is not their time yet.” he added sharply.

“So what are we supposed to do? Save them?”

“Yes.”

“How? We have nothing. You’re crippled and I don’t have any tools or weapons.”

“You have your teeth, your claws and your soul. It’s a start.”

The door leading into the cell block opened, and Captain Barloch entered personally, accompanied by a guard. He motioned for her to step back away from the cell door, pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt. “Prisoner White D6, please permit yourself to be restrained for euthanasia.” Barloch’s face was cool and controlled. If there was pity there for her, she didn’t see it.

She nodded and lowered her head, turning around to face the wall and clasping her hands behind her back. Softly she said, “My name is Whitepelt.”

Then she turned and leaped.

TBC

Date: 2009-08-04 10:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] aynne-witch.livejournal.com
if you may die - might as well die kicking and screaming! yes!

September 2025

S M T W T F S
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
282930    

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jan. 23rd, 2026 02:15 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios