Bane

January 22, 1964

"...you've accomplished a feat you cannot fathom, Goodman Walker. This is the beginning of the end of Coven everywhere. In thirty years we will push them into a corner. In sixty, you're looking at the recession of the heathen scum across these United States. Seven generations in, long after we are echoes of memory, the word witch will be long out of memory."

"It feels wrong."

"I understand your trepidation, and I can only hope in time you will understand the necessity of this project."

Clayton flexed his back, and tilted his head to one side, and then the other, stretching the sore muscles in his neck. "Your honor, I must confess my concerns. They're mystics, Nida and Amir. Even among their own people, heretics."

"I know what they are, Clay. Were I to tell you, would you have gone then?"

"...no."

"I thought not. I hate withholding things from you... but I was not lying when I said I favored your line. You always choose the correct path, but sometimes you choose the path you only believe is correct."

"I choose right doing, Judge. I choose what I know is right."

Grifford nodded, and clasped his hands together. "Of that I've no doubt whatsoever. You've only ever done right by The Order. You, your father before you, and his. What if this isn't about being right, or wrong?"

"It's about good, and evil. You can't have one foot in the door, and one foot in the war... it has to be all in, or not at all."

"I don't disagree with you, Clay. Truly. This project is our all in. If this is an evil, it's the lesser of all evils. Sacrifices must be made, and lesser evils can be the good of a greater cause."

"Or it can make us as bad as our heathen enemies, Judge."

"True. It is a fine line we walk, but are we not to walk the straight and narrow path?"

"With respect, you know the answer."

"The path of righteousness, then? We are blessed with the tools to turn the tide of this war, and it could start in your lifetime. You want an end to the Silent War, do you not?"

Clayton nodded, and cleared his throat. "I do."

Samael Grifford clapped him on the shoulder, and grinned his broad, cracked grin. "We all do! You are not alone in this war. God knows it feels like it. The Hands of God will end this war and wipe the heathen filth from the face of the world. This is God's work we're doing. Deus vult illud."

"Deus vult illud. God wills it." The resolve in Clayton's voice was gone. In the end, it was always quod voluntatem Dei. The will of God.

"Peace, Clayton Walker. The future of your family is very bright. Enjoy them." Judge Grifford made a severe expression. "Not all of us are so fortunate."

✟ ☧ ✟

Nida opened the door before Clayton was able to knock. An awkward silence hovered between them.

"Please, come inside. I would have tea prepared for you, but you cannot stay. You are here to check in on us."

Clayton felt warmth in his cheeks, and decided he was more embarrassed than upset. She was who she was, and if God willed it, then it was the will of God at work now. "Thank you, Mrs. Sharif."

"Nida." She placed her hands one on each Clayton's shoulders. "Nee-da."

Clayton nodded, feeling uncomfortable with the petite woman's hands on his shoulders. Nida withdrew her hands slowly, sliding them down Clayton's chest a moment. She gave him an ambiguous expression, and cleared the door way so he could enter. "Is Amir here?"