#Veeti Windcarry

[mushroomowlchemist]

Balance of Scales

The wooden box slid into the metal contraption, and a heavy door closed behind it. Veeti's eyes fell and he stumbled backwards onto a stool, distraught. Flames leaped to life inside the contraption, flames hot enough to affect the temperature of the room and cause Veeti to start sweating. Tears, so common to him now, fell onto the floor along with the sweat. He didn't care if the staff of this place saw his facade break.

“Dr. Windcarry, do you need something to wipe your sweat?” One of the morticians asked. There was trepidation in his voice, but Veeti ignored it and reached up to accept the handkerchief. He knew his reputation for having a temper much larger than his diminutive stature, and he wasn't about to contradict that if it made people leave him alone.

Anya had willed that he have nothing to do with the disposal of her body, add to that the fact that cremations aren't for public viewing and Veeti had to exert significant political influence to sit where he was right now. Weeping on a chair while his friend burned. The noise of it would surely horrify anyone, had they not directly ordered and been present for the cremation of thousands more. Just another part of him taken by the Horrors. Just like Anya.

Veeti had been the only one at her funeral other than the priest. Anya didn't have a family, not as far as anyone knew, so Veeti didn't feel the need to send for anyone. Her will contained specific instructions on how to destroy and scatter all of her belongings and her house, even her body. She had always told him she wanted to be forgotten, for him to move on, but how could he? He loved her. Even if he didn't feel he had the right to anymore. This death was on his hands, scarred and bloody as they already were with all the rest. 

The cracking and groaning of the machine behind Veeti threw his mind back to the fires of the War. The empty battlefields filled with bodies of those who tore each other apart, himself included. He'd been there with the shovels and great machines that turned the soil and buried the fallen deep beyond any living memory. Were those deaths worth it? Were the lives he took to cure the Horrors? By no cosmic mistake were the burn pits of the Horrors so much the same as those fields.

Veeti's left hand gripped around his opposite arm. If he was able to tell another psychogenic seizure hovered close he didn't care. As shaking washed over him his temper flared and he swung his fist at a nearby cabinet. The anger wasn't at anything specific, other than himself perhaps, but ever since the War he had experienced sudden bouts of it. His fist hit the metal and bounced off, causing him to wince in pain and shake it as blood began to drip from the impact point.

The morticians around, seeing the bleeding, hurried to secure a first aid kit. As they rushed about, Veeti noticed something with the sudden clarity of vision due to the pain. A shining silver scale, sitting on the ground just across from his stool.

“Anya” Veeti whispered breathlessly. In the chaos as people panicked he slipped from his seat and pocketed the scale. “It isn't what you want. Would want. But I can't, I can't lose you. Not all of you.” He thought as he sat back down pushing away the tears as they began sprouting anew. 

The morticians finally got bandages to Veeti and tried to apply them, as if he wasn't the Royal Physician and most renowned doctor in the entire nation. He took the bandages and pushed them away. After a few more minutes he made an excuse and left, much to the relief of everyone there.

Outside now, Veeti took the scale out of his pocket and turned it over in his palm. One side was a dull gray, but the other shone a brilliant silver, as if it was still sitting amongst the rest on her body. He gripped his chest, trying to push away the guilt for keeping the scale, but the thought of taking it back made an even deeper pit grow in his stomach. Weeping, he put the scale into his bag and headed for his carriage.