Neytopia › Part 2: Noon › Chapter 31

Turning point

The raven took the giant to a secluded mountain cave where they could talk undisturbed. The raven said, without looking at the giant,

We must fight.

Black smoke separated from the raven’s body and materialized into the little girl. She spoke calmly, again without opening her mouth,

Do you understand what going to war means?

Of course I do, who do you think I am?

Maybe you should think through why you are doing this. You think you’re immortal because I brought you back. Your first death was necessary; you had to die to see—

She interrupted herself. The giant asked,

See what?

Tell him, raven.

To see I had to kill the last remains of cruelty in me. To see there is something greater than me at stake here.

But the next time you’re dead, you’re dead. And I’ll die with you. So I would appreciate it if you people gave me a vote in this.

The giant nodded,

Fine, say what you have to say.

We should not go to war. Not to this one, not to any war. It’s a futile exercise that often causes death. Of course wars are interesting, to the people watching or talking about them years after they’re over. But the people fighting them don’t have fun. At first, when you haven’t fought in any wars, you can’t wait for honor and glory. That’s before you have seen the severed limbs, heard the screaming men or smelled the gangrene.

The giant grimaced at her description. She went on,

Tell me raven, please, please, I want to know. What are you exactly fighting for? Land, gold, revenge, maybe love? Any of those things is either: A) irrelevant when you’re alive. B) useless when you’re dead. C) something you could have in abundance with enough time.

And we have enough time in our hands to do what we want with the world. Going to war wouldn’t just waste our time. It would waste our lives.

The raven replied,

Remember that I know what you want to do, what your endgame really is. You want to let everyone kill each other and then swoop down like vultures to pick the bones of the world. And I used to be ok with that—

But now you want to save this city, am I right?

Yes. We can still conquer the world, but we can at least preserve some of its past.

The giant intervened,

You know, I can picture an easy life on some island, growing tomatoes and whatnot. But we wouldn’t really have anything to do, there wouldn’t be a purpose to our lives. Why do we have these gifts, this power, if we’re going to waste away in comfort? What life is that for warriors like us?

The raven nodded,

A coward’s life! A life for old men, for great men who have left their mark in the world and wish to rest before death’s sweet release. What about that disgusting old woman and the evil she has done to mankind? Not to mention what she has in store. Are we supposed to ignore that!?

The little girl held her ground,

You both know you can’t win. Even better: you know it doesn’t really matter, and you’re just using it as an excuse, just like every other argument you’ve used so far. Will you defeat her? No. Is it a life for old men? Yes, but that’s precisely what you both are, men who have fought and lived long enough. You want to leave a mark, a legacy? I am your legacy, and I am telling you this is not the way. And what about you, giant? Hell, you don’t even remember who you are! Why is it so important other people do? And don’t think for a second, either of you, that they will remember you.

You will be “the raven” and he will be “the giant”, both empty titles that don’t explain who you were or what you accomplished. No amount of words can really do that. So, do you want to go through years of pain and struggle for the chance to have some people in an indefinite future remember a distorted and incomplete version of “your” actions?

Please, don’t be like this.

Be like what!? Where am I wrong? Tell me. Are you two really so vain? I didn’t think so, but maybe I was wrong. Especially about you, raven. After all, I’m here because of you.

The raven held the little girl’s hands and said,

I’m sorry, but this is something we have to do.

She looked at the giant, who nodded. She started again, upset,

Why!? Just tell me why. So far you have only given me excuses, the superficial reasons why others would do it. I want to know why you want to do it. What is it that is really driving you?

After doubting for a while, the giant spoke to defend his friend,

Because they know the truth about me.

Sure. I never believed it was a coincidence that the Greater man’s face looked so much like yours. I think the king could know what happened to you and this is a way of finding out. Again, think about the cost you will be paying for—

But the raven finally told the truth,

Because I don’t think I want to live without them. I want to marry the nurse, I want to live in this land. I want to win this war so our children grow up without having to hide from anyone.

After he finished, the little girl looked at them both, smiling.

Good. I just wanted you to admit it. Now I’ll tell you how things will really go:

First, the war will be brutal. You will lose your new friends. All of them. And you will have to tell their wives and children that their husbands and fathers are dead. If you get married, raven, you will leave one or two orphans of your own. Or what’s worse, you will grow up to watch them, your wife, and your love for them wither and die. Assuming you win, of course. Otherwise they will burn you, her and your children alive at the fourth full moon so the crops come out red or some crazy shit like that.

And you, giant. You won’t learn anything useful, satisfactory, or healing. If anything, the truth will probably make you want to kill yourself. There’s only pain down this road. The kind of pain that breaks you.

The raven said to her,

Well, I think we have already endured more pain than we will ever—

She interrupted to argue,

Bullshit! You have no clue. You will cry and beg me to make it all go away. Because when this is over, you won’t be able to sleep. Food will lose its taste, women will hold no interest to you. You’ll be dead inside.

You’re only painting a grim picture because you don’t want to die.

And neither do you, trust me.

The little girl took the raven’s hands in one last attempt to convince him.

I think you already know, but I will say it anyway. You won’t age. You still don’t get how much you will love your children because, well, you’ve never had living… children. Still, I promise you, they’ll become the focus of your life. And when they grow old and die in your arms, you’ll cry because you’ll know that no man should have to bury his child. Now you’re ready to make this decision being fully aware of its consequences.

She was about to say something more, but by the look on the faces of both raven and giant, she realized their mind was set. Instead, she said,

Look, I don’t believe in turning points. Life is a continuum of decisions where no outcome is tied to a single choice. But I want you to remember this particular decision in the years to come.

With that, she stopped talking, turned into black fumes and returned inside the raven.