The Power and the Glory

Book 1 Chapter VIII: An Awkward Conversation

So rides my soul upon the sea
That drinks the howling ships,
Though in black jest it bows and nods
Under the moons with silver rods,
I know it is roaring at the gods,
Waiting the last eclipse.
-- G. K. Chesterton, The Ballad of the White Horse

Irímé drummed his fingers against the edge of the balcony. Never before had he found it so difficult to focus on a opera, especially one that was new to him. Normally he would have been mentally critiquing every aspect of the music, singing, and plot -- making allowances of course for how even tíarna operas[1] generally had very flimsy plots. Today he hardly even noticed that the lead actor struggled with the high notes, or that one of the valrin[2] players in the orchestra lagged a beat behind everyone else. Such things would usually have grated on his nerves. But today...

Today music was the last thing on his mind. The reason for that was sitting right beside him but far enough away for propriety's sake.

Certain members of his family had the idea that Irímé was an idiot. He had much the same opinion about them and so he never tried to correct them. He could tell when something wasn't quite right. And he knew something was a great deal more than not quite right here.

Nothing interesting had happened on that little planet -- whatever its name was -- since it was used as a military base during the War of Jijuhr[3]. Very few people even remembered it existed. If asked where the zombie apocalypse was likely to start, no one would include it anywhere on the list.

Suddenly it was in all the headlines. Abihira had been there at the time of the Incident. She had looked very shaken when the subject was discussed. Those three facts had to be connected.

Irímé glanced suspiciously over at his fiancée. To all outward appearances she was absorbed by the opera. The light from the stage glinted off the sapphires in her black hair and caught in the silver embroidery on her cobalt mirvomon[4]. (If for a minute he imagined her in wedding blue[5], that was no one's business but his own. And if the thought filled him with a confusion mass of conflicting emotions, he had no one to blame but himself.)

Objectively he knew he was considered attractive. Goodness knew everyone from relatives to complete strangers had commented on it enough over the years. Beauty and physical appearance had never mattered as much to him as it did to other men. But he'd never been able to decide if Abihira was pretty or not. As he looked at her now he thought he'd finally settled it to his satisfaction. She wasn't pretty as such, but in certain lights she looked like she was.

And that is entirely beside the point! he reproved himself, annoyed at how his thoughts had wandered off. The question is: what did she do on that planet?

He had no doubt she was involved somehow. The painful memory of some of her more outrageous past pranks still haunted him.

In the background an aria reached a crescendo. Abihira's parents were in the next box and unlikely to overhear anything he said. In keeping with custom her ladies-in-waiting sat in the seats closest to the door, where they could be chaperones while still giving the betrothed couple privacy to talk. It was likely the only chance they would get to have a serious conversation for quite some time.

Under normal circumstances Irímé viewed music with the same seriousness most people reserved for matters of life and death. Heaven help anyone stupid enough to talk to him in the middle of an opera. These were not normal circumstances. Even before the incident of the walking dead he had important things to tell Abihira. Well, one important thing. Now he had two, and it was time to get the inevitable awkwardness over and done with.

On the stage the chorus sang a -- very loud -- warning to the heroes. The ghost was about to appear. Abihira leant forward so she could get a better view. Irímé took a deep breath. It was now or never.