A Peaceful Word

The Court has been convened less than ten times in the history of the universe. Nothing mortal has ever been inside it. Even the Powers that govern the universe are unsure where the Court is. If the universe is a bike wheel, each one is a spoke. Life. Death. Time. Justice. Others, too: some have taken forms to speak with others. Some never have. A few no longer are: the universe is older than most think, and has changed often in order to survive.

The seat of judgement is reserved for the Power that has been contested. This time, as it was once before, Time sits on it. Time looks to be young, and humanoid, pale and sexless. Arth’Ba’Toch has many forms, but Winter is one of the common ones. One of the nicer, people say, who do not understand the Powers at all. Winter’s gaze flicks to the doors at the far end of the room. Other Powers move. Not that they are not powers as well, but Winter is one of the oldest.

“The prisoner is late,” Winter says, sounding amused.

“I know. I am getting him,” Justice says calmly. “A moment.”

The doors always open soundlessly. Justice has taken the form of a human male. Lance Christensen, who knows the prisoner in this form. The prisoner walks in behind Lance. He is eleven. All the Powers know this. Most also know the prisoners name. The silences in the Court take on different tones. Some try and avoid being noticed, but the prisoner perhaps doesn’t realize that.

“You’re in two places at once?!” the prisoner says to Lance, staring at him, then at Justice. “I’ve never been able to do that properly!”

“We know,” Lance says dryly. He raises his voice. “The prisoner is brought forth: Jay, also known as Jayseltosche. Among many other names.”

“I gave you a list,” Jay says helpfully.

“I know. And I’m not reading all of those.” Lance’s voice rings out, entirely business: “The charge is stepping into the future and breaking time.”

“The prisoner was late,” Winter says. “Explain.”

“He broke out of the prison. It pulled him back in.” Even Winter pauses at that. Lance’s smile is mirthless. “The prison is insane. This has not helped it at all.”

Winter turns to Jay. “Explain.”

“I was given sprinkles to eat from the future and I ate them. Which means I saw someone being pretty mean and went into the future and got them fired so they wouldn’t hurt anyone else.” Jay crosses his arms. “And then you got rude!”

“In time,” Time says without irony, “you will have... certain privileges. You do not have them now. You risked breaking far more than a single world with your actions. Why did you leave the prison?”

“Because I was told that saying sorry is never enough so only actions fix things and I was gonna act and fix them jaysomely.” And Jay’s grin of helpful pride draws something kin to laughter from several Powers.

“You do not fix things, however. The wandering magician does, or Charlie.”

“I’m totally learning how to!”

“He is,” Lance says quietly, his tone a warning.

“But he is here as a minor in the Court,” a voice whispers from the shadows.

“The wandering magician – tried to be here,” Lance says. “He summoned me and overstepped his boundaries. He can do many things, and bluff many others, but not such as we.”

“You hurt Honcho?” Jay asks.

Lance smiles gently. “No. Perhaps his pride, but not him.”

“That might be the same thing, kinda –” Jay offers.

“If not his guardian, his mother should be here,” the voice in the shadows whispers, “as he is a minor.”

Jay doesn’t move. His silence pulses through the court. “No,” he says finally.

“No?”

“You won’t bring my mother here.” And the words are not a request.

Nothing speaks in the Court then. Winter stands. “Jay. There are Powers necessary to the universe that other Powers do not agree with. There are balances that even we do not always understand. The Court would be – more favourable to this situation if you did not bind that Power.”

“Fine.”

There is a gasp from the shadows, and a low hiss of shock.

“You can consider it a trick,” Jay says, and turns back to Winter. “I’m not stupid, Winter. I know I can be all kinds of scary and maybe I can do things with bindings that even you can’t but I’ve been friends with Charlie and Honcho for years and a Jay gets very good at knowing when they’re being used. So! maybe this could get real before Honcho or Charlie get really scared?”

Time chuckles. “Sometimes you surprise me.”

“Being Jay is really important to me. I’m not giving it up even if sometimes I have to be a different me, like now. Everyone here is totally scared of me, and that... that’s kinda scary, but you’re cornerstones of the universe and pretty important too!”

“You backslide,” Winter says. “Explain.”

Jay blinks, once. “The prison is an entity like me. I can’t be the first Outsider as strong as me to be in the universe. The first like me, of course, because jaysome, but at least one other must have broken in. one who wasn’t me, and you all worked together, wrapped them up in chains and made them into a prison for other offenders. One that has become less and less stable and so you’re getting scared of them. And the prison is forming around this court to trap you all here, so I break you out and I’m absolved. It wasn’t a hard binding to figure out.”

“You would have been brought before this court regardless,” Lance murmurs. “But you are correct. The prison is trying to form here. If we act directly, it risks – more damage than some of us desire. Some of us did not exist when the prison was made. Some were younger, or more foolish. We grow as we interact with the universe, Jay. We become more as everything else does as well.”

Jay nods, walks back the door and opens it. No prisoner should be able to open the door that leavers the Court, but Jay was never told that.

“Hi!” He grins at the prison that is prison and warder both. What screams back is insane, alien and painfully old. “I know you’re pretty mad and you have lots of good reasons to be mad. I do, too, and not just because they might have hurt Honcho. But! there are also words that can help. A word that can help you. There’s no Power for peace, I think, and there should be. A jaysome one.”

The Court dissolves. Powers disperse. Jay floats in a darkness without form, and listens as it takes form. He listens after, too, hearing what had been and will be. And he waits.

In time, Winter forms beside him. “You made a Power.”

“You helped. I felt that. I’m not allowed to make a Power, but you made it happen because it was your fault.” Jay turns to Time. “I thought I might have family that wasn’t – wasn’t my progenitor. And you knew that, and used it, and – that happens. I understand. But you were the first Power, alone and lonely, so you met an Outsider, and had a child.”

“I did,” Winter admits. “You are the only know who knows this as truth. Others suspect, no doubt.”

“You imprisoned your own child in time. That wasn’t jaysome at all.”

And Winter flinches visibly at what crosses Jay’s face in that moment. “I was young, and afraid. By the time I knew how to fix it, the universe was – too stable for me to do so. We made her a prisoner and prison both, to at least have purpose.”

“Wow. So this was all about getting me to help you?”

“No. The warning was real. You can’t play with time and space like that, not until you are older and know what you are doing.”

“Oh.”

“But I am in your debt, and in time – in Time you will be able to do what you need to, with my blessing.”

“Oh!” And Jay grins, huge and delighted, hugs Time and vanishes.

“He – hugged you.” The voice that speaks is young and old, a woman and a child, ravaged and healed. Peace is never as simple as people think. “Even I cannot do that.”

“I think the word impossible was invented to describe Jay. Retroactively.” Winter does not move. “We could – talk, if you wish.”

“Perhaps. Not now. Not for – some time.”

And Time nods once and stands, in a space that is not space.

And Time stands, alone and scared, but not allowed to be those things.

“Perhaps I can be jaysome as well,” Winter says softly, and relaxes just a little.