Free Agents of the Demiurge by Brian Blose Page B

to watch events unfold. The women crowded the one at
their center until one of them emerged carrying a bronze knife.
Then the level of agitation dropped dramatically.
    One of the older women spoke in a clear
voice, silencing the rest. “Beeta, you must be strong, girl. Fight
this madness. You don't want to bring grief on your mother and your
father. Too many people care for you, child.”
    The old woman paused after each sentence so
that the others could chime in with words of agreement. The object
of their attention slowly transitioned from crazed intensity to
mellow passivity. Beeta looked defeated. He couldn't tell who she
had intended as the target of the knife – herself or one of the
others. It was all but impossible to predict what someone under the
spell of madness would do, where they might turn their destructive
impulses.
    “I wish you had not seen that,” a man said
from beside him.
    Mott startled, then forced his features to
stillness. “Does the woman want to harm someone or is she seeking
attention?”
    “Beeta harms no one but herself.”
    “My name is Mott.”
    “Welcome to our village, Mott. We will have
food and company tonight. Tomorrow, if you are able, you can help
the men thatch roofs.”
    Mott's eyes drifted back to the crazy woman.
It had been years since he traveled with his last companion. Keeno
had been that man's name. He was a man with the face of a child and
the heart of a snake. Until he turned on the Creator's Observer.
Then Keeno had been a man without a face and the heart of a
terrified child.
    Perhaps it was time for a new companion.
    “My sister was like Beeta,” Mott said.
    There was a sharp intake of breath. “What
happened to her?”
    “I was always able to talk sense into her.
First when we were children and then later when she chose a man.
But I wasn't around all the time. The women knew not to let her
have a knife, but one day she took a shard of pottery and used that
instead. If I had been there that day, I could have stopped her. No
one knew the right words to use. Everyone thought they needed to
convince her that everything was good, but she knew in her heart
that wasn't true.”
    “What else would you tell someone burdened
with a heavy heart but that things are better than they seem?”
    “I always asked my sister about her thoughts
and let her tell me the truth she knew instead of forcing my truth
on her. Because I had never argued with her, she trusted me to
understand. Everyone else in her life tried to make her better. She
could never trust them again because of that. Everyone in our
entire village became her enemy except for me.”
    “But why did you never try to talk sense to
your sister?”
    “Because she was my older sister and I trusted her . She confided in me and by the time I was old
enough to wish her better I knew the ways of mental illnesses
intimately and didn't make the same mistakes as everyone else. Only
I knew how to talk to her. Only I had never betrayed her
trust.”
    The man was silent for a long time. Mott
glanced over from time to time, noting the play of thoughts on the
man's face. Finally, the man spoke. “We never knew. We wanted to
comfort her, make her feel better.”
    “Of course you meant well,” Mott said. “It is
no one's fault that you didn't know the things I know.”
    The man sighed. “You are wise, my friend. No
one is to blame for not knowing the best way to support dear
Beeta.”
    “You couldn't have known that your kind words
would make it impossible for her to trust everyone in the village,”
Mott added.
    “Not everyone in the village. My friend, you
have never spoken to Beeta. Surely she would not think you are
against her. You know the right way to calm madness. Would you be
willing to speak with her? I promise you that everyone would think
you a hard worker indeed if your labor tomorrow was words with
Beeta instead of laying thatch.”
    Mott bowed deeply. “I would be honored to
help that young woman. After the