I walked the edge of the cliff and stood looking over the sea, a sea unmarred by toxic spillage, though it was not a peaceful shore. Too much had happened in this new land and my heart was turning to stone because of it. Insurrection in the Alpha Institute… petty squabbles among the Praetors and the Legate… a Choi and Constantine who professed to have been ever only angels… it made no sense. Constantine talked of curtains and dreams, killing kitten after kitten in his failed attempts to open a portal to who knows where.
It was all too much, too soon after the flight from the City. I had done much of late that shadowed my heart with regret. I could no longer depend on Nareth, for she was not herself. Whatever remained of Omega’s Chylde lay deep in the belly of a ghost, growing into some unknowable thing. Our attempts to restore her had failed. The moments of her passion had been followed by insufferable anguish for me, and Desdecardo had made it clear: there was no easy freedom from thralldom. I was not unaware of the distrust with which most of the Institute viewed me because of this. Thus, I did the only thing I could… I sought refuge in the Tree of the Garden until all my desire was replaced by life and fire. I felt my wings unfurl. I was thrall no more, but the cost was great.
Now an even greater weariness lay upon my shoulders, a weariness from which I could find no rest. I’d heard the reports from the City, read the letters… Grrbool was dead. A picture drawn in crayon from Brit seemed to say only that Grr and Omega had left the City for a while. Ethan, however, would have sheltered Brit as best he could. The news in the letters though... I couldn't believe the truth of it. Grr and Omega’s bodies had been found in the Great Library. Their remains had been burned and carried away from the City.
Denenthorn hadn’t even wept.
Yet I still hear Grr’s cry to the moon.
He’s not dead.
He can’t be.
Showing posts with label Brit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brit. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Saturday, December 27, 2008
In the Garden
I felt a slight tug and jerk as Lorne touched the side of my cheek, my eyes growing unfocused. As the Garden swam into view, I know what I expected to see: A fiery Creature, a whirl of beating wings and blinking eyes, a blazing sword in Its midst. What I saw, instead, was a copse and beyond its perimeter, a free flowing river, its banks covered with lush and dense greenery. A Voice whispered on the breeze, “On the day you were created, you were prepared....” I turned expecting Lorne or Sariel, but I was alone in the stillness.
Taking one hesitant step forward, then another, I was inexorably drawn into the Garden before me. The abundance of trees was overwhelming and beautiful in its greatness. The branches of the largest seemed to lift ever upward to the sky, its roots going down to the waters of the river. I turned my head this way and that as I walked, the sound of birdsong catching my ear. Each call was piercingly beautiful and more real than I had ever heard before. The smell of the air was crisp and green.
I stopped beside the river and stood still as a needle, breathing deeply, and taking in the sweet smell of cedar mingled with the fragrance of the other trees. After a moment I knelt at the water’s edge and dipped in my fingers, finding surprising warmth where I had expected the icy coldness of a spring. I brought my fingertips to my mouth, tasting the water’s sweetness. As I did so, the Garden began to become ever more green, its smells more intense. I felt as though I had never tasted water before, never before seen a real tree.
There was sparkle of light, then three stones glimmering in a small patch of sand on the riverbank caught my eye, all smooth and polished by the water. I couldn’t tell you why, but at that moment I felt a strong impulse to choose one. It seemed important somehow, even necessary. I ran my finger over each stone, but the one in the middle seemed to tingle under my touch. After a moment, I chose it and dropped it into my pocket. I straightened and stood, noticing for the first time two trees at the very center of the Garden.
Each of the trees was laden with ripe fruit, but a fruit that I’d never seen before. At the base of one, there bloomed a rose bush; in the lowest branch of the other there nested a bird with brilliant red and gold feathers, a single plume of purple cascading from its back. I walked softly toward the tree not wanting to frighten the bird away, each boot making an impression in the tufted grass beneath my feet. I knew only that I longed to touch the bird’s silken feathers, I hungered to look into its dark and seemingly endless gaze. As I extended one hand toward it, the bird’s nesting branch seemed to bend toward my touch. I reached out to brush the soft red and gold plumage with my fingertips, but as I did so my fingers passed through unexpectedly, the creature’s feathers turning to flame and nearly consuming it with my touch. Its ashes drifted like dark snowflakes before me in a sudden stirring breeze, and I heard a lone cry as the single, remaining purple plume fell into my outstretched hand.
I stared at the purple blaze and then looked at the empty place where the creature had been. I should have felt fear or perhaps sadness for its loss, but instead I felt wonder. Whatever had happened to the creature had been so utterly right that I knew it with every fiber of my being. Unbuttoning the collar of my jacket dress, I slid the feather between my undergarments and my skin, placing it over my heart. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around the creature’s nesting tree, laying my head on its trunk and listening for something within.
Then I felt its pulse, images and sounds and scents rushing through me: The dance of fire at night, the scent of Grr’s fur, the cry of a newborn, Lorne’s touch on my cheek, the twinkling of the North Star, Brit’s shining eyes and the smell of the cookies she served in the Library. I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against the tree’s smooth bark, holding it and being held by the most living of living things. I’m not sure how long I stood there. I only know that I did not stir until, with the sound of rustling leaves and a glint of shimmering green, one leaf fluttered to rest at the toe of my boot.
I knelt at the foot of the tree, plucking the leaf from the grass and holding it between thumb and forefinger, studying each perfect vein from the base to the tip of the blade. I kissed it lightly and inhaled its scent, looking up to the tree with murmured thanks, before pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and wrapping the leaf neatly within. As I slid the small bundle into the folds of my skirt, I thought, “If only Grr could see this...it would make him whole....”
No sooner than the thought had formed, I found myself alone, standing in the wintry graveyard beside a cold slab nestled in the Toxian snow.
Lorne was nowhere to be seen.
Taking one hesitant step forward, then another, I was inexorably drawn into the Garden before me. The abundance of trees was overwhelming and beautiful in its greatness. The branches of the largest seemed to lift ever upward to the sky, its roots going down to the waters of the river. I turned my head this way and that as I walked, the sound of birdsong catching my ear. Each call was piercingly beautiful and more real than I had ever heard before. The smell of the air was crisp and green.
I stopped beside the river and stood still as a needle, breathing deeply, and taking in the sweet smell of cedar mingled with the fragrance of the other trees. After a moment I knelt at the water’s edge and dipped in my fingers, finding surprising warmth where I had expected the icy coldness of a spring. I brought my fingertips to my mouth, tasting the water’s sweetness. As I did so, the Garden began to become ever more green, its smells more intense. I felt as though I had never tasted water before, never before seen a real tree.
There was sparkle of light, then three stones glimmering in a small patch of sand on the riverbank caught my eye, all smooth and polished by the water. I couldn’t tell you why, but at that moment I felt a strong impulse to choose one. It seemed important somehow, even necessary. I ran my finger over each stone, but the one in the middle seemed to tingle under my touch. After a moment, I chose it and dropped it into my pocket. I straightened and stood, noticing for the first time two trees at the very center of the Garden.
Each of the trees was laden with ripe fruit, but a fruit that I’d never seen before. At the base of one, there bloomed a rose bush; in the lowest branch of the other there nested a bird with brilliant red and gold feathers, a single plume of purple cascading from its back. I walked softly toward the tree not wanting to frighten the bird away, each boot making an impression in the tufted grass beneath my feet. I knew only that I longed to touch the bird’s silken feathers, I hungered to look into its dark and seemingly endless gaze. As I extended one hand toward it, the bird’s nesting branch seemed to bend toward my touch. I reached out to brush the soft red and gold plumage with my fingertips, but as I did so my fingers passed through unexpectedly, the creature’s feathers turning to flame and nearly consuming it with my touch. Its ashes drifted like dark snowflakes before me in a sudden stirring breeze, and I heard a lone cry as the single, remaining purple plume fell into my outstretched hand.
I stared at the purple blaze and then looked at the empty place where the creature had been. I should have felt fear or perhaps sadness for its loss, but instead I felt wonder. Whatever had happened to the creature had been so utterly right that I knew it with every fiber of my being. Unbuttoning the collar of my jacket dress, I slid the feather between my undergarments and my skin, placing it over my heart. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around the creature’s nesting tree, laying my head on its trunk and listening for something within.
Then I felt its pulse, images and sounds and scents rushing through me: The dance of fire at night, the scent of Grr’s fur, the cry of a newborn, Lorne’s touch on my cheek, the twinkling of the North Star, Brit’s shining eyes and the smell of the cookies she served in the Library. I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against the tree’s smooth bark, holding it and being held by the most living of living things. I’m not sure how long I stood there. I only know that I did not stir until, with the sound of rustling leaves and a glint of shimmering green, one leaf fluttered to rest at the toe of my boot.
I knelt at the foot of the tree, plucking the leaf from the grass and holding it between thumb and forefinger, studying each perfect vein from the base to the tip of the blade. I kissed it lightly and inhaled its scent, looking up to the tree with murmured thanks, before pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and wrapping the leaf neatly within. As I slid the small bundle into the folds of my skirt, I thought, “If only Grr could see this...it would make him whole....”
No sooner than the thought had formed, I found myself alone, standing in the wintry graveyard beside a cold slab nestled in the Toxian snow.
Lorne was nowhere to be seen.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
In the Time of Pestilence
She remembered it all.
Lorne, leaning over the balcony railing, armored and wings spread, full of cold and silence as He watched Joah floating above the mantelpiece, her fingertips dripping maggots to the floor. The rushing sound of Sariel’s Sword unsheathed, stained with War, Lorne’s voice demanding for the Thing to leave, to return home. The Thing felt Joah’s body, her spirit tug as It watched Him reaching down through her and laughed.
“It shall already have been,” He spoke. The Thing grinned in reply and fed upon the imprint of the Void within Joah. It taunted Him, shifting shape to His firstborn, Lilith, reminding him of his failures before, of what he had lost.
Lorne watched wordlessly, and then raised His hand, palm up, and lifting the Sword: a squeal of metal cutting through metal. It sheared through His gauntlet palm, flashing red, exuding pure self-destruction into the throne room the Thing had made in Joah’s psyche.
Rhaven stood quietly, gathering her energies, preparing for anything.
“Joah needs fixed,” Brianna said in a hushed tone.
Grrbrool sang and raved and quivered, but was of no use.
The stench of rotting garbage began to fill the Library. The Thing fought against itself, touched by War and without the strength from its lost Sister-Brothers. It too, reached along the cord between Lorne and Joah. It, too, knew His weaknesses. The Thing's face began to shift; it’s eyes opening wider as the smell of rotting flesh assaulted the room. Long red hair streamed from Its head, creamy skin upon a beautiful face, wide eyes approximating innocence. “You’d do this to me?” It lisped.
"Joah isn't Joah. She's Pestilence and had me infested with Death," Blue hissed.
Denenthorn growled, “I want that sorry excuse of a Horseman gone and I want Grr and Joah back, Lorne. BREAK HIS SPIRIT LIKE HE AND THE OTHER THREE BROKE GRRBROOL'S."
Severus watched in silence, absently picking at the fresh and still dripping scourge marks left by Lucifer, pale eyes staring blankly.
Lorne sheathed his Sword and moved closer. Not Brit, not Eve he thought looking at the face before him. A set of scales dropped from his torn, empty hand, a haze of black drifting after the red along the link way, "You are called too early, tool. That you are here before the intended hour means you are called not by the One you serve, but the Adversary."
A cruel smile formed upon the lovely mask as the Thing changed its appearance back again to Sariel’s firstborn. “You are the Adversary, Old One,” it hissed, grabbing its belly in pain as it felt the gnawing of Famine’s black mist. The roar of birds’ wings arose from the hearth, screams and caws and claws scratching. “The stars are right. My time is now.”
“Your time is up,” Denenthorn snarled.
Suyuan stepped up behind Rhaven, her small warm hand coming to rest upon Rhaven’s shoulder, exuding energy, as Rhaven extended her wards, drawing Zoe and those about her into a protective cocoon.
“Turmoil,” Brit murmured, peering inside and coughing at the stench even outside the Library’s door.
Lorne lowers His hand, the scales sinking back into His palm, stepping down the stairs closer to the Thing. As he nears, He raises both arms high to the side. From each palm there grows crawling tendrils of wood, cricking, and snapping until they form a handled staff. With a sound of metal on metal, the blade of Death’s scythe extends, and He swings it, sending it through the body inhabited by Pestilence, passing it through without any visible mark left behind.
The Thing jerks violently, shrieks from the walls as a flock of ravens bursts from the hearth and pelts to the floor, beginning to decay instantly. The visage of Lilith drops from the Thing’s face and her eyes blaze white. "You think this will stop me? How many vessels do you think you can protect at once? I'll just take another...and another...choose Old One...which of these should I take?"
“But she should be dead,” Brianna blinked, “not...not go into another...it worked with the rest...."
Denenthorn growled, “I hate something that doesn't know when to quit..."
“Just give Joah back,” Blue hissed at the Thing.
Lorne drops the scythe, which disintegrates before it hits the ground. He then reaches up, wrapping His fingers around Joah's ankle, pulling her bit by bit closer, while rearing His injured hand back. The Thing looks at the Old One and grins as she is pulled down. "I believe I'll grant Blue and Denenthorn’s wish," she laughs, looking at Brit. Joah's body slumps and a rush of locusts flies from her mouth toward Brit, shattering the Library windows. The stench of rotting ravens permeates everything as the locusts fly.
Brit screams as she is surrounded, turning one way and then another, seeming confused at the mass of insects that surround her. Lorne turns, opening His mouth in a deafening howl, trying to pull them into His mouth with gale force winds, as Blue sends streak after streak of fire after them. Denenthorn clutches Blue’s arm, transferring strength to her ‘til he understands the attack is aimed at Brit, and then rushes out the door.
“Fuck!” Grr howls.
“Oh, fuck no!” Denenthorn cries in alarm, unable to tear his eyes away from his daughter.
“Go, if you need to Denny,” Rhaven yells urgently through the swarm, “I’ll try to heal Joah…”
The whirlwind continues around the floating Thing, Its hair flying wildly, wind swirling through the broken glass, pummeling Brit, lifting and tossing her through the air to the outside wall of the Library. The glass grazes her skin in prickles and points, sticking like tailor’s pins as she attempts to stand, coughing and pulling locusts from her hair.
“Not my daughter, bitch!” Denenthorn snarls.
Suyuan gasps, covering her mouth as she recoils, gripping Rhaven as a cool breeze surrounds them both, and Meng Po materializes to gaze down at her.
Lorne rushes to Brit, his throat tight, fearing her dead, hands reaching for her shoulders, air still dragging harshly into His mouth. A red glow begins to emanate from him, and the Thing’s body contorts, Its eyes and ears leaking blood, though It continues to pound Brit, tumbling and turning her, glass flying in shards, as she covers her ears trying to block It from reaching into her mind. It roars back in anger, blocked by the thing about Brit’s neck, as it slams her into the wall once again and drops her to the concrete, bouncing once like a sack of flour. Severus whirls around, striding out of the Library, uttering in Enochian as he gestures towards Brit and draws a glowing Theban symbol with one clawed hand, expelling all of his stolen soul essence into her in the form of a protective healing ward. The cuts in Brit’s skin begin to visibly heal.
Denenthorn begins to glow with power as he feels Brit's every hurt and pain, the Library begins to sing in the minds of all as a shield of healing and comfort enters those that mean no harm.
Lorne closes His eyes, sighing, and reaching back along the link way within Joah, looking about for any trace of the Horseman left to grab onto. “Joah?” He says into her mind, “Joah? I need your help.”
“Come on Joah...Sister by fate,” Blue urges.
Joah’s mouth opens slowly, blood spilling from her lips as her body shakes. The Thing feels her resistance, feels Joah grabbing, grasping the link between her and Lorne. "Lorne...." she half stammers, half whispers in her own voice.
Kneeling in front of Brit, Lorne raises His hands, palms open, and speaks into Joah's mind, "Joah? Where is the sigil?" The wind whirls in a deafening roar as Joah pushes against the Thing, calling on Creation’s power, Legion’s words echoing in her mind. She lifts up her shaking hand as the thighbone of a rat appears upon it.
Lorne reaches forward to Brit, trying to hug her close. He holds His injured hand out, willing the thighbone to it as Brit uses his cape like a rope to get to her feet. She coughs again and stares wide-eyed at the thighbone as it melts into the bit of black shown through the gash in Lorne’s gauntlet. He holds her tighter as the gauntlet itself melts away in a wave leaving His original flesh and clothing behind, spreading until even His wings are gone.
Inside the Library, Joah falls to the floor with a thud, blood leaking between her legs, pooling on the floor.
Lorne, leaning over the balcony railing, armored and wings spread, full of cold and silence as He watched Joah floating above the mantelpiece, her fingertips dripping maggots to the floor. The rushing sound of Sariel’s Sword unsheathed, stained with War, Lorne’s voice demanding for the Thing to leave, to return home. The Thing felt Joah’s body, her spirit tug as It watched Him reaching down through her and laughed.
“It shall already have been,” He spoke. The Thing grinned in reply and fed upon the imprint of the Void within Joah. It taunted Him, shifting shape to His firstborn, Lilith, reminding him of his failures before, of what he had lost.
Lorne watched wordlessly, and then raised His hand, palm up, and lifting the Sword: a squeal of metal cutting through metal. It sheared through His gauntlet palm, flashing red, exuding pure self-destruction into the throne room the Thing had made in Joah’s psyche.
Rhaven stood quietly, gathering her energies, preparing for anything.
“Joah needs fixed,” Brianna said in a hushed tone.
Grrbrool sang and raved and quivered, but was of no use.
The stench of rotting garbage began to fill the Library. The Thing fought against itself, touched by War and without the strength from its lost Sister-Brothers. It too, reached along the cord between Lorne and Joah. It, too, knew His weaknesses. The Thing's face began to shift; it’s eyes opening wider as the smell of rotting flesh assaulted the room. Long red hair streamed from Its head, creamy skin upon a beautiful face, wide eyes approximating innocence. “You’d do this to me?” It lisped.
"Joah isn't Joah. She's Pestilence and had me infested with Death," Blue hissed.
Denenthorn growled, “I want that sorry excuse of a Horseman gone and I want Grr and Joah back, Lorne. BREAK HIS SPIRIT LIKE HE AND THE OTHER THREE BROKE GRRBROOL'S."
Severus watched in silence, absently picking at the fresh and still dripping scourge marks left by Lucifer, pale eyes staring blankly.
Lorne sheathed his Sword and moved closer. Not Brit, not Eve he thought looking at the face before him. A set of scales dropped from his torn, empty hand, a haze of black drifting after the red along the link way, "You are called too early, tool. That you are here before the intended hour means you are called not by the One you serve, but the Adversary."
A cruel smile formed upon the lovely mask as the Thing changed its appearance back again to Sariel’s firstborn. “You are the Adversary, Old One,” it hissed, grabbing its belly in pain as it felt the gnawing of Famine’s black mist. The roar of birds’ wings arose from the hearth, screams and caws and claws scratching. “The stars are right. My time is now.”
“Your time is up,” Denenthorn snarled.
Suyuan stepped up behind Rhaven, her small warm hand coming to rest upon Rhaven’s shoulder, exuding energy, as Rhaven extended her wards, drawing Zoe and those about her into a protective cocoon.
“Turmoil,” Brit murmured, peering inside and coughing at the stench even outside the Library’s door.
Lorne lowers His hand, the scales sinking back into His palm, stepping down the stairs closer to the Thing. As he nears, He raises both arms high to the side. From each palm there grows crawling tendrils of wood, cricking, and snapping until they form a handled staff. With a sound of metal on metal, the blade of Death’s scythe extends, and He swings it, sending it through the body inhabited by Pestilence, passing it through without any visible mark left behind.
The Thing jerks violently, shrieks from the walls as a flock of ravens bursts from the hearth and pelts to the floor, beginning to decay instantly. The visage of Lilith drops from the Thing’s face and her eyes blaze white. "You think this will stop me? How many vessels do you think you can protect at once? I'll just take another...and another...choose Old One...which of these should I take?"
“But she should be dead,” Brianna blinked, “not...not go into another...it worked with the rest...."
Denenthorn growled, “I hate something that doesn't know when to quit..."
“Just give Joah back,” Blue hissed at the Thing.
Lorne drops the scythe, which disintegrates before it hits the ground. He then reaches up, wrapping His fingers around Joah's ankle, pulling her bit by bit closer, while rearing His injured hand back. The Thing looks at the Old One and grins as she is pulled down. "I believe I'll grant Blue and Denenthorn’s wish," she laughs, looking at Brit. Joah's body slumps and a rush of locusts flies from her mouth toward Brit, shattering the Library windows. The stench of rotting ravens permeates everything as the locusts fly.
Brit screams as she is surrounded, turning one way and then another, seeming confused at the mass of insects that surround her. Lorne turns, opening His mouth in a deafening howl, trying to pull them into His mouth with gale force winds, as Blue sends streak after streak of fire after them. Denenthorn clutches Blue’s arm, transferring strength to her ‘til he understands the attack is aimed at Brit, and then rushes out the door.
“Fuck!” Grr howls.
“Oh, fuck no!” Denenthorn cries in alarm, unable to tear his eyes away from his daughter.
“Go, if you need to Denny,” Rhaven yells urgently through the swarm, “I’ll try to heal Joah…”
The whirlwind continues around the floating Thing, Its hair flying wildly, wind swirling through the broken glass, pummeling Brit, lifting and tossing her through the air to the outside wall of the Library. The glass grazes her skin in prickles and points, sticking like tailor’s pins as she attempts to stand, coughing and pulling locusts from her hair.
“Not my daughter, bitch!” Denenthorn snarls.
Suyuan gasps, covering her mouth as she recoils, gripping Rhaven as a cool breeze surrounds them both, and Meng Po materializes to gaze down at her.
Lorne rushes to Brit, his throat tight, fearing her dead, hands reaching for her shoulders, air still dragging harshly into His mouth. A red glow begins to emanate from him, and the Thing’s body contorts, Its eyes and ears leaking blood, though It continues to pound Brit, tumbling and turning her, glass flying in shards, as she covers her ears trying to block It from reaching into her mind. It roars back in anger, blocked by the thing about Brit’s neck, as it slams her into the wall once again and drops her to the concrete, bouncing once like a sack of flour. Severus whirls around, striding out of the Library, uttering in Enochian as he gestures towards Brit and draws a glowing Theban symbol with one clawed hand, expelling all of his stolen soul essence into her in the form of a protective healing ward. The cuts in Brit’s skin begin to visibly heal.
Denenthorn begins to glow with power as he feels Brit's every hurt and pain, the Library begins to sing in the minds of all as a shield of healing and comfort enters those that mean no harm.
Lorne closes His eyes, sighing, and reaching back along the link way within Joah, looking about for any trace of the Horseman left to grab onto. “Joah?” He says into her mind, “Joah? I need your help.”
“Come on Joah...Sister by fate,” Blue urges.
Joah’s mouth opens slowly, blood spilling from her lips as her body shakes. The Thing feels her resistance, feels Joah grabbing, grasping the link between her and Lorne. "Lorne...." she half stammers, half whispers in her own voice.
Kneeling in front of Brit, Lorne raises His hands, palms open, and speaks into Joah's mind, "Joah? Where is the sigil?" The wind whirls in a deafening roar as Joah pushes against the Thing, calling on Creation’s power, Legion’s words echoing in her mind. She lifts up her shaking hand as the thighbone of a rat appears upon it.
Lorne reaches forward to Brit, trying to hug her close. He holds His injured hand out, willing the thighbone to it as Brit uses his cape like a rope to get to her feet. She coughs again and stares wide-eyed at the thighbone as it melts into the bit of black shown through the gash in Lorne’s gauntlet. He holds her tighter as the gauntlet itself melts away in a wave leaving His original flesh and clothing behind, spreading until even His wings are gone.
Inside the Library, Joah falls to the floor with a thud, blood leaking between her legs, pooling on the floor.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Lord of Fevers and Plagues
It slipped into her almost unnoticed with a breath of frozen air, the skittering of mice on a stone floor, and the cries of those dying with bitten and yellowed skin. It slipped in because the door had been opened before—perhaps not fully, but all It needed was a crack, a thin sliver. It slid in where the pale girl’s spirit was slightly ajar. Nareth, Labyrinth, the dreams, and her very nature had made it so. Now the Thing waited, tamping down the fire within the girl, choking off her speech, bored with her existence but compelled to wait within for the Others.
It hadn’t particularly tried to hide what It had done, though at first, only the Watcher had noticed. The Coyote had looked within the girl. He couldn’t see what the Thing was, but he knew It was there. As the Thing toyed with the girl’s body and her innate abilities so underused, the Coyote threatened. It’s response was to feed, kissing the Grrbrool with a seed of Ebola, smiling Its death grin as the Coyote stumbled into the wall of the hidden Library laboratory, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. It was a pity that Lycans healed so quickly.
When It used the girl to ravish Rhaven’s mind, the Coyote had called on his earthbound gods. “If you hurt my Family, I’ll stop you,” he snarled. He called on the Spirit in the Walls, slamming the girl’s body to the ceiling of the Library. The girl’s shoulder had been dislocated. The Thing had been amused. While It took no pleasure in the earthly sense from Its torments, It did relish the results.
The Coyote warned the Thing that he would break It’s shell if It didn’t stop. “Break it too badly and she will never come back to you," the Thing answered in rush of whispers.
“I’ll kill her ta free her from you, if I have to,” the Coyote said. In reply, the Thing extended one of the girl’s hands to the rusted, iron railing on the scaffolding where the girl’s body sat. At Its touch, a flood of ice...then a snap. It lifted the broken bar and plunged it into the girl’s chest. But the Coyote and the angel, Darkstorm, had intervened. They took the girl to the Wide River while her body yet lived, a place they believed could bind what cannot be bound. “I have dwelt ever in realms apart from the visible world," the Thing’s voices mocked as it hovered above the body.
The Coyote handed the girl to Darkstorm, and then pulled two gold coins from his pocket. The Thing watched. “Life is a hideous thing," It’s voices laughed. "You didn't want the body. I will take it." The Coyote and the Angel disagreed, working in tandem, the Angel pouring energy into the beast and the beast standing in Death’s river, the fire of the sun in his mouth and hands, the gold searing his flesh. He breathed life back into the girl’s body. And the Thing let her see the two, but only for a moment…then on a dry wind of plague It slipped back in.
It waited. Waited for the other Vessels…until the Death-Dreamer was ready. With a flood of vermin spilling from Its mouth, the pale girl's body found Her and kissed Her. As Death rushed into it's Vessel, the girl's body felt Her icy touch at the small of her back, tasted the charnel house on her lips. The Death-Dreamer had been called Blue. Together, They extinguished the fire of the Spirit in the Walls, the feeble Library Spirit. Together, They sought out the other Vessels, leaving in Their wake a red-haired girl with a touch of dengue fever and a Shelter full of dying rats, gifted with Black Death. They were unstoppable.
Except…
There was the problem of Sariel.
(quotes from HP Lovecraft)
Tohu va Bohu Series
Grr's Perspective
It hadn’t particularly tried to hide what It had done, though at first, only the Watcher had noticed. The Coyote had looked within the girl. He couldn’t see what the Thing was, but he knew It was there. As the Thing toyed with the girl’s body and her innate abilities so underused, the Coyote threatened. It’s response was to feed, kissing the Grrbrool with a seed of Ebola, smiling Its death grin as the Coyote stumbled into the wall of the hidden Library laboratory, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. It was a pity that Lycans healed so quickly.
When It used the girl to ravish Rhaven’s mind, the Coyote had called on his earthbound gods. “If you hurt my Family, I’ll stop you,” he snarled. He called on the Spirit in the Walls, slamming the girl’s body to the ceiling of the Library. The girl’s shoulder had been dislocated. The Thing had been amused. While It took no pleasure in the earthly sense from Its torments, It did relish the results.
The Coyote warned the Thing that he would break It’s shell if It didn’t stop. “Break it too badly and she will never come back to you," the Thing answered in rush of whispers.
“I’ll kill her ta free her from you, if I have to,” the Coyote said. In reply, the Thing extended one of the girl’s hands to the rusted, iron railing on the scaffolding where the girl’s body sat. At Its touch, a flood of ice...then a snap. It lifted the broken bar and plunged it into the girl’s chest. But the Coyote and the angel, Darkstorm, had intervened. They took the girl to the Wide River while her body yet lived, a place they believed could bind what cannot be bound. “I have dwelt ever in realms apart from the visible world," the Thing’s voices mocked as it hovered above the body.
The Coyote handed the girl to Darkstorm, and then pulled two gold coins from his pocket. The Thing watched. “Life is a hideous thing," It’s voices laughed. "You didn't want the body. I will take it." The Coyote and the Angel disagreed, working in tandem, the Angel pouring energy into the beast and the beast standing in Death’s river, the fire of the sun in his mouth and hands, the gold searing his flesh. He breathed life back into the girl’s body. And the Thing let her see the two, but only for a moment…then on a dry wind of plague It slipped back in.
It waited. Waited for the other Vessels…until the Death-Dreamer was ready. With a flood of vermin spilling from Its mouth, the pale girl's body found Her and kissed Her. As Death rushed into it's Vessel, the girl's body felt Her icy touch at the small of her back, tasted the charnel house on her lips. The Death-Dreamer had been called Blue. Together, They extinguished the fire of the Spirit in the Walls, the feeble Library Spirit. Together, They sought out the other Vessels, leaving in Their wake a red-haired girl with a touch of dengue fever and a Shelter full of dying rats, gifted with Black Death. They were unstoppable.
Except…
There was the problem of Sariel.
(quotes from HP Lovecraft)
Tohu va Bohu Series
Grr's Perspective
Saturday, November 8, 2008
The Anger of the Lady
It was comfortable and warm in the sitting room for the Library. I leaned close to Grr, stroking the fur at the base of his tail. He had taken off his back to lean against me; his lycan warmth of the scent of his fur felt like home to me. Rhaven Twine, one of the newer Omegans had been talking with Starwalker, their conversation a gentle background mixed with the popping and hissing of the logs in the hearth. I felt a soothing murring from his chest as Grr pressed in close.
The easy conversation was interrupted with the sound of glass shattering in the street. Rhaven turned toward the window. “I wonder when I’ll get used to the not-silence of this place,” she sighed.
“If you get used to it and don’t react, good chance your dead,” Starwalker grinned.
GrrBrool nodded, “Err, well, we don’t got a lot of law here, one reason it was a good place ta run to fer a lot of us.”
“It’s the end of the road for many,” I agreed.
Rhaven offered a soft shrug, “It’s just a matter of getting used to it, I imagine.”
I began stroking Grr’s back, my fingers lingering in the fur at his neck. “I’m worried about Brit. Has anyone seen her?”
Grr shook his head. “Hmm, no, truth be told, I ain’t seen Strong Gal save when Snappypants is with her.”
Starwalker frowned, hearing about Brit’s absence. “She wasn’t around to see how things went with the training sessions at the beach yesterday?”
“Not during the day…no,” I sighed. “Never during the day.”
Grr suddenly stood and bowed. I looked up to see the Lady Omega. She looked around, smiling a greeting to everyone. “How do we find ourselves this evening?” she asked.
“Yer Ladyship,” Grr began, “We were just wonderin, no one’s seen Strong Gal recently…last few days….”
Omega frowned. “No, she has not been seen.”
I turned to Omega. “Lady, I’m…worried.”
“I believe Ethan may be restricting her movements.” Omega settled in her customary chair by the fireplace. “I will be…investigating the matter.”
“Lady, I tried to speak with Ethan about…locking her in during the day.” I said this with not a little worry, for Omega had forbidden me to speak of the matter to Ethan. But when he had been in the Library, and Brit had been there, I had hoped that by drawing out I story I could help him see. “He was not…receptive, Omega.” I sighed. “I’ve told her Father. He is…most displeased.”
Grr nodded his head listening. “Err, yer Ladyship, I was wonderin if maybe I could give her some instructin.” Grr had been researching historical fighting techniques used by women, rapier and escrima…when women wearing bustles and hoop skirts had been trained to defend themselves. Grr thought that a “ladylike” method of self-defense might appeal to Ethan.
Omega barely moved her head, yet her eyes bored into mine. “I asked you to leave this to me, Joah, did I not? Yet you saw fit to question him on the matter. Now we see the results.”
I felt Grr’s back stiffen beside me. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Lady…but . . . he was here with her, and ….”
She cut me off. “Yes. Tempting. I know.” Rhaven lowered her gaze at the turn of the conversation, pretending to study a snag in her tights. Omega continued, “I am not accustomed to being disobeyed.” I rose from my seat, went before the Lady and knelt at her feet, my head low.
Grr cleared his throat. “Err, is she in any danger, ya think?”
“She is as safe as she may be, I suspect,” Omega replied to Grr. She then leaned over, whispering to me. “Joah…do you remember, what I did to my lamb, my Nareth, when she lied to me?” A shiver of dread shot through me. “She bore the scars of it for the rest of her existence….” Omega reached out, stroking my face with tenderness. Grr’s ears flattened.
I replied quietly. “Yes, Lady…I do.” I glanced over at the fire, remembering how Omega had plunged Nareth’s hand into the flames. “Please forgive me, Lady….”
Omega ran her finger along my jaw line, lifting my chin. She whispered, “And what must I do to you, to make you obey? Brit is paying the price for your disobedience now.” Though her tone was gentle, the threat behind her words was clear. My heart pounded in my chest, involuntarily causing the flames in the hearth hiss and spark. Rhaven and Starwalker said not a word.
I tried again. “But Lady, it wasn’t me…Ethan…he’s…there’s something wrong with him.” I stammered at a loss for words.
“His actions would not have garnered comment a few short years ago,” Omega said dismissively. I was reminded once again that she is not as I am. She is an ancient predator with a long and bloody history.
Grr shook his head with slight disagreement, his fur ruffling. “Protective of his mate, even past reason….”
“Past reason,” I agreed. I heard Rago come into the Library and attempt a greeting, but I didn’t turn away from Omega.
“Joah, he is unaccustomed to being questioned…especially in a matter he feels he has absolute dominion. It required a gentle touch, from one he considers an equal.” Omega had begun to speak very softly; now even her tone was not gentle.
“But…it’s wrong, Omega,” I pleaded. “Even if it’s done for love’s sake . . . it’s wrong,” I whispered. “And Brit is my friend….”
Grr looked over Rago. “Err…long time….we’re just…err, have a seat, mate,” he finally said, gesturing Rago to the sitting area.
Omega didn’t look around at Rago. She remained focused on me. “Which is why, Joah, I asked you quite directly to leave it to me.” Anger flashed across her face. “Well, you now have ample time to contemplate the fruits of your labor. Think on Brit, and her present state, next time you feel it’s wise to disobey me.”
I tried to turn away from her, but couldn’t. She had locked me in her gaze. “I had thought to go to their rooms, Omega.” I spoke barely above a whisper, but my own anger was rising, my words defiant.
“Yes, Joah,” Omega said with a voice full of derision. “Encourage Ethan to take her further away, beyond our reach, to where we know not. Excellent idea. Go bang on the door and harangue Ethan some more while you’re there…”
My eyes grew dark. “He’s making her thinking that he is the world, Omega. And he’s not.” A log fell from the fireplace with a loud pop and a shower of sparks.
Omega gave me a long look. “Well, I could appeal to your sense of reason…I could ask you simply to obey me. It seems you are interested in neither.” She stood abruptly, walking past me up the stairs toward Rago, greeting him as if nothing had happened. I continued kneeling in front of Omega’s chair, my head lowered, studying the carpet and saying nothing.
I felt Grr reach out to me, grabbing the shoulder of my jacket, hooking fingers and thumb through the seam, and pulling me slowly, but surely close. I darted a quick look at him, overwhelmed with confusion and dread at having displeased the Lady. Omega walked back toward us and stood over us, looking down at us.
“Joah, do you know what the road to hell is paved with?”
I nodded. “I’ve heard it said.”
Omega studied me in silence for a moment. “I do not doubt your motives, but I do not give instructions simply because I like the sound of my own voice.” The flame in the hearth began to lick up uncontrollably, spilling out over the hearth. I stiffened and sat quite still, nodding at the Lady’s words, though ever fiber of my being was alert.
“Operational protocols,” Grr murmured. “Understandin ain’t always required, in order ta act, when ya can’t see tha whole battleground….”
Omega continued. “Had I the opportunity to speak to Ethan, unimpeded...Brit might even now be enjoying the warmth of the fire with us. This matter will be concluded when Brit is returned to us, Joah. When we see what she has endured, then we will think upon a suitable punishment for you.”
I started to open my mouth to speak, then shut it realizing that there was nothing I could say.
“In the meantime,” Omega said, “We shall make her a care package…such as one might give to a prisoner. It will have some of her belongings. Things to eat. Letters from us. It must be given to Ethan.”
“May I take it to him, Lady?” I asked quietly.
Omega’s reply was cool. “I’m not sure you can be trusted with such an errand, Joah. Could you hand it over, graciously? Or must you continue to wield your barbed tongue, making the situation worse?”
I glanced over at Grr, hoping for reassurance, but there was a peculiar expression on his face. He had dug out his battered camo notebook and begun to draw.
“I promise, Lady, that I will say as little as possibly can be said.” I stood and walked to my room, looking for writing paper of my own.
Read Grr's perspective.
The easy conversation was interrupted with the sound of glass shattering in the street. Rhaven turned toward the window. “I wonder when I’ll get used to the not-silence of this place,” she sighed.
“If you get used to it and don’t react, good chance your dead,” Starwalker grinned.
GrrBrool nodded, “Err, well, we don’t got a lot of law here, one reason it was a good place ta run to fer a lot of us.”
“It’s the end of the road for many,” I agreed.
Rhaven offered a soft shrug, “It’s just a matter of getting used to it, I imagine.”
I began stroking Grr’s back, my fingers lingering in the fur at his neck. “I’m worried about Brit. Has anyone seen her?”
Grr shook his head. “Hmm, no, truth be told, I ain’t seen Strong Gal save when Snappypants is with her.”
Starwalker frowned, hearing about Brit’s absence. “She wasn’t around to see how things went with the training sessions at the beach yesterday?”
“Not during the day…no,” I sighed. “Never during the day.”
Grr suddenly stood and bowed. I looked up to see the Lady Omega. She looked around, smiling a greeting to everyone. “How do we find ourselves this evening?” she asked.
“Yer Ladyship,” Grr began, “We were just wonderin, no one’s seen Strong Gal recently…last few days….”
Omega frowned. “No, she has not been seen.”
I turned to Omega. “Lady, I’m…worried.”
“I believe Ethan may be restricting her movements.” Omega settled in her customary chair by the fireplace. “I will be…investigating the matter.”
“Lady, I tried to speak with Ethan about…locking her in during the day.” I said this with not a little worry, for Omega had forbidden me to speak of the matter to Ethan. But when he had been in the Library, and Brit had been there, I had hoped that by drawing out I story I could help him see. “He was not…receptive, Omega.” I sighed. “I’ve told her Father. He is…most displeased.”
Grr nodded his head listening. “Err, yer Ladyship, I was wonderin if maybe I could give her some instructin.” Grr had been researching historical fighting techniques used by women, rapier and escrima…when women wearing bustles and hoop skirts had been trained to defend themselves. Grr thought that a “ladylike” method of self-defense might appeal to Ethan.
Omega barely moved her head, yet her eyes bored into mine. “I asked you to leave this to me, Joah, did I not? Yet you saw fit to question him on the matter. Now we see the results.”
I felt Grr’s back stiffen beside me. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Lady…but . . . he was here with her, and ….”
She cut me off. “Yes. Tempting. I know.” Rhaven lowered her gaze at the turn of the conversation, pretending to study a snag in her tights. Omega continued, “I am not accustomed to being disobeyed.” I rose from my seat, went before the Lady and knelt at her feet, my head low.
Grr cleared his throat. “Err, is she in any danger, ya think?”
“She is as safe as she may be, I suspect,” Omega replied to Grr. She then leaned over, whispering to me. “Joah…do you remember, what I did to my lamb, my Nareth, when she lied to me?” A shiver of dread shot through me. “She bore the scars of it for the rest of her existence….” Omega reached out, stroking my face with tenderness. Grr’s ears flattened.
I replied quietly. “Yes, Lady…I do.” I glanced over at the fire, remembering how Omega had plunged Nareth’s hand into the flames. “Please forgive me, Lady….”
Omega ran her finger along my jaw line, lifting my chin. She whispered, “And what must I do to you, to make you obey? Brit is paying the price for your disobedience now.” Though her tone was gentle, the threat behind her words was clear. My heart pounded in my chest, involuntarily causing the flames in the hearth hiss and spark. Rhaven and Starwalker said not a word.
I tried again. “But Lady, it wasn’t me…Ethan…he’s…there’s something wrong with him.” I stammered at a loss for words.
“His actions would not have garnered comment a few short years ago,” Omega said dismissively. I was reminded once again that she is not as I am. She is an ancient predator with a long and bloody history.
Grr shook his head with slight disagreement, his fur ruffling. “Protective of his mate, even past reason….”
“Past reason,” I agreed. I heard Rago come into the Library and attempt a greeting, but I didn’t turn away from Omega.
“Joah, he is unaccustomed to being questioned…especially in a matter he feels he has absolute dominion. It required a gentle touch, from one he considers an equal.” Omega had begun to speak very softly; now even her tone was not gentle.
“But…it’s wrong, Omega,” I pleaded. “Even if it’s done for love’s sake . . . it’s wrong,” I whispered. “And Brit is my friend….”
Grr looked over Rago. “Err…long time….we’re just…err, have a seat, mate,” he finally said, gesturing Rago to the sitting area.
Omega didn’t look around at Rago. She remained focused on me. “Which is why, Joah, I asked you quite directly to leave it to me.” Anger flashed across her face. “Well, you now have ample time to contemplate the fruits of your labor. Think on Brit, and her present state, next time you feel it’s wise to disobey me.”
I tried to turn away from her, but couldn’t. She had locked me in her gaze. “I had thought to go to their rooms, Omega.” I spoke barely above a whisper, but my own anger was rising, my words defiant.
“Yes, Joah,” Omega said with a voice full of derision. “Encourage Ethan to take her further away, beyond our reach, to where we know not. Excellent idea. Go bang on the door and harangue Ethan some more while you’re there…”
My eyes grew dark. “He’s making her thinking that he is the world, Omega. And he’s not.” A log fell from the fireplace with a loud pop and a shower of sparks.
Omega gave me a long look. “Well, I could appeal to your sense of reason…I could ask you simply to obey me. It seems you are interested in neither.” She stood abruptly, walking past me up the stairs toward Rago, greeting him as if nothing had happened. I continued kneeling in front of Omega’s chair, my head lowered, studying the carpet and saying nothing.
I felt Grr reach out to me, grabbing the shoulder of my jacket, hooking fingers and thumb through the seam, and pulling me slowly, but surely close. I darted a quick look at him, overwhelmed with confusion and dread at having displeased the Lady. Omega walked back toward us and stood over us, looking down at us.
“Joah, do you know what the road to hell is paved with?”
I nodded. “I’ve heard it said.”
Omega studied me in silence for a moment. “I do not doubt your motives, but I do not give instructions simply because I like the sound of my own voice.” The flame in the hearth began to lick up uncontrollably, spilling out over the hearth. I stiffened and sat quite still, nodding at the Lady’s words, though ever fiber of my being was alert.
“Operational protocols,” Grr murmured. “Understandin ain’t always required, in order ta act, when ya can’t see tha whole battleground….”
Omega continued. “Had I the opportunity to speak to Ethan, unimpeded...Brit might even now be enjoying the warmth of the fire with us. This matter will be concluded when Brit is returned to us, Joah. When we see what she has endured, then we will think upon a suitable punishment for you.”
I started to open my mouth to speak, then shut it realizing that there was nothing I could say.
“In the meantime,” Omega said, “We shall make her a care package…such as one might give to a prisoner. It will have some of her belongings. Things to eat. Letters from us. It must be given to Ethan.”
“May I take it to him, Lady?” I asked quietly.
Omega’s reply was cool. “I’m not sure you can be trusted with such an errand, Joah. Could you hand it over, graciously? Or must you continue to wield your barbed tongue, making the situation worse?”
I glanced over at Grr, hoping for reassurance, but there was a peculiar expression on his face. He had dug out his battered camo notebook and begun to draw.
“I promise, Lady, that I will say as little as possibly can be said.” I stood and walked to my room, looking for writing paper of my own.
Read Grr's perspective.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Tarrochi
I went looking for Nerissa Dae, walking briskly from the Library to the Voodoo Shop. I’d barely asked Cinnamon Braveheart if Nerissa was available, when Nerissa strode in. “I thought my ears were burnin’. Have ya come for yer readin’?” Nerissa looked me over from head to foot. “Pop a squat, Joah. Gimme a moment to wake up a bit more.”
I nodded and headed toward the table in the corner. Nerissa appeared much better than the last time I’d seen her. She’d been raving about seals and vomiting blood on the stone paves of the Library. A stranger from the Coven had pressed a silver coin into her wrists, causing her to fall, nearly comatose, to the floor. Whatever had caused the fit, her internal wards now had been restored. She appeared, if not whole, at least contained.
I sat down in the armchair facing the window. A rowdy group of felines were playing in the street as if the City were the best toy in the world. I gazed at Nerissa as she settled into the opposite chair quietly with a deck already in hand. “Do you want to know why I am seeking the reading? Or do you read the cards cold?”
“I’m curious,” Nerissa said. “Why would you come all the way over here to me, specifically. I figure there’d be someone else around that could help ya.” She shuffled the deck slowly and gently.
“I came to you because…well, I trust you, Neri. You were Omegan. There is the matter of these dreams,” I began. “Four riders…then a fifth….” I paused wondering how much I should say. “Blue had them, too…at any rate, I can’t cast runes for myself…my judgment is clouded.”
“Ya shouldn’t really do a readin’ on yer self anyways,” Nerissa said, looking at her deck. “So, anything specific ya wantin’ to know? I’ll warn ya now though, it’s somethin’ I’m still learnin’.”
“I want to know what the dreams mean,” I replied. “War, Famine, Pestilence, Death… then the fifth rider…it drove a chariot pulled by the others or their horses. And at one point, I rode behind.” I sighed. “Faye’Li keeps saying that something is coming…that somehow I’m involved…I want to know what it is and why it comes and whether…I will prevail.” I met Neri’s gaze. “I want to know why Blue and I dream the same dreams.”
Nerissa’s finger played over the backs of the elaborately decorated cards while she looked across the table. “Does it have anything to do with the Tohu va Bahu?...or however ya say their name….” She tapped the cards. “Pick me five cards and leave them face down before me.”
“Yes…the Tohu,” I nodded, my fingers lightly touching the cards and hovering over them for a moment. I closed my eyes, breathed one long, slow breath…and began to draw from the deck…one, two…five cards. I set them face down before Neri.
Nerissa frowned a little and sighed under her breath. “I don’t like that they call me Princess…no one calls me that but Pie to annoy me…and I’ve not been one since my foster mother disappeared.” I looked up abruptly when Neri said, “Princess”, but she didn’t notice my glance. Denenthorn’s source had said they were seeking a princess. I had thought Brit; perhaps I was wrong. Reaching across the table, Neri gathered the rest of her deck and set them to her right elbow out of the way. The small stack she took to herself, laying it down before her from the far right, moving to the left.
Neri’s hand hovered over the first card she had set to the table. She turned it over to expose the card of strength in reverse. I sat up a little straighter, following Neri’s eyes as she looked it over. “Well,” she began, “This is a way to look deep into a situation of something specific…it’s usually used for deeper readin’s actually…but….” She stroked the elaborate card’s face. “There’s some weakness presented in the face of obstacles and adversity. Usin’ tremendous power and releasin’ it at the wrong time,” she murmurs. “Inability of defendin’ oneself. Confusion, and a lack of preparedness. Illness and hardships. Distress…and failin’ of physical forces….”
Slowly, Nerissa moved to the second card from the right. “Physical vision. How we see it at the base of a mechanical level….” Nerissa’s fingers turned it over to reveal the Magician. “The Master over words, mind and matter. To turn ideas into action. To control one’s life…an initiation to start a new project or a new way of life. “ Her brow furrowed as she looked at it.
“Inability…to…defend oneself…” I murmured. “Distress…failing….” I took a deep breath of resignation. Finally I said, “I see.” I looked up at Nerissa. “But…a new way of life?” I was puzzled. “The Tohu…I think they portend…the end of the things…perhaps it is a new way…or a way vastly different and very old.”
Nerissa touched the third card in the middle. “I don’t always understand why they come out the way they do...perhaps it was the wrong choice of spread.” She looked at the card. “A mental vision….” She turned over a reversed Queen of Swords. “A gifted person with both keen logic and natural intuition, showing uncanny powers of perception and insight…” Nerissa folded her lips tightly for a moment before continuing. “One that sees easily the weakness of any argument and feels the need to savage both friend and foe alike with biting sarcasm. A hollow sense of isolation and dissatisfaction with life is covered with dry and vicious wit….”
I nodded, biting my lip…but what could I say?
Nerissa moved to the fourth card and turned over the eight of cups. “An emotional vision. One to lose the interest of a matter deeply important. Bein’ forced to abandon something in which you had to invest great love and devotion. Seekin’ earthly, physical pleasures, to the exclusion of spiritual growth and emotional fulfillments. One showin’ emotional withdrawal and lethargy..”
“Visions we have had,” I nodded. “They come whether we bid them to or not. ‘And your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions,’” I whispered.
Nerissa moved to the very last card and turned it over to show the six of swords up side down.” Mystical vision. “Conceit and intellection pride is shown. Bein’ stuck in a problem which has no apparent solution. Frustration and anxieties that are left unsettled. A trip or explorin’ is delayed in the end….” She frowned a little self-consciously to herself and finally looked up from the cards. “I hope it makes sense for ya….
“It makes no sense and all the sense in the world, Neri.” I stood up. “Thank you. The reading was…invaluable. What payment do you seek?”
“Nothing,” Neri replied. “Consider it a token to make up for all trouble I’ve caused.” The demoness leaned forward, her hands in her lap now, and stared at the spread. “I wish I knew what they meant when they spoke of the Storm comin’ to look for me….” Neri’s words were soft and far away with her thoughts and in the end she shook her head.
I folded my arms across my chest and gazed out the window. “There is a gathering storm, Neri. But know this…you will always have sanctuary with the Institute….”
Nerissa quickly gathered the cards neatly and carefully, handling the custom deck with delicately boned fingers. “If it’s not to yer satisfaction, we can try for another readin’ later.”
I watched as the ornate deck vanished in Neri’s hands. Then I slipped my hand in my pocket and fumbled for something in my skirt. “You left this, Neri, when you were…ill.” I set down a small black phial, full of Neri’s vomited blood. “I would normally keep it…but let there be no debt between us.” I smiled. “I used only a very little of it…in the lab.”
Nerissa ‘s eyes flashed with fear and alarm. She snatched the phial from the table and looked at me. “Why? Seein’ what I’m made of?”
I shook my head. “Your blood does not begin to tell your story, Neri. But it is safe with me.”
Nerissa looked at the container, watching it freeze as she gripped it tight enough to shatter. “I hope so,” was all she said, meeting my gaze.
I nodded and headed back out into the street.
I nodded and headed toward the table in the corner. Nerissa appeared much better than the last time I’d seen her. She’d been raving about seals and vomiting blood on the stone paves of the Library. A stranger from the Coven had pressed a silver coin into her wrists, causing her to fall, nearly comatose, to the floor. Whatever had caused the fit, her internal wards now had been restored. She appeared, if not whole, at least contained.
I sat down in the armchair facing the window. A rowdy group of felines were playing in the street as if the City were the best toy in the world. I gazed at Nerissa as she settled into the opposite chair quietly with a deck already in hand. “Do you want to know why I am seeking the reading? Or do you read the cards cold?”
“I’m curious,” Nerissa said. “Why would you come all the way over here to me, specifically. I figure there’d be someone else around that could help ya.” She shuffled the deck slowly and gently.
“I came to you because…well, I trust you, Neri. You were Omegan. There is the matter of these dreams,” I began. “Four riders…then a fifth….” I paused wondering how much I should say. “Blue had them, too…at any rate, I can’t cast runes for myself…my judgment is clouded.”
“Ya shouldn’t really do a readin’ on yer self anyways,” Nerissa said, looking at her deck. “So, anything specific ya wantin’ to know? I’ll warn ya now though, it’s somethin’ I’m still learnin’.”
“I want to know what the dreams mean,” I replied. “War, Famine, Pestilence, Death… then the fifth rider…it drove a chariot pulled by the others or their horses. And at one point, I rode behind.” I sighed. “Faye’Li keeps saying that something is coming…that somehow I’m involved…I want to know what it is and why it comes and whether…I will prevail.” I met Neri’s gaze. “I want to know why Blue and I dream the same dreams.”
Nerissa’s finger played over the backs of the elaborately decorated cards while she looked across the table. “Does it have anything to do with the Tohu va Bahu?...or however ya say their name….” She tapped the cards. “Pick me five cards and leave them face down before me.”
“Yes…the Tohu,” I nodded, my fingers lightly touching the cards and hovering over them for a moment. I closed my eyes, breathed one long, slow breath…and began to draw from the deck…one, two…five cards. I set them face down before Neri.
Nerissa frowned a little and sighed under her breath. “I don’t like that they call me Princess…no one calls me that but Pie to annoy me…and I’ve not been one since my foster mother disappeared.” I looked up abruptly when Neri said, “Princess”, but she didn’t notice my glance. Denenthorn’s source had said they were seeking a princess. I had thought Brit; perhaps I was wrong. Reaching across the table, Neri gathered the rest of her deck and set them to her right elbow out of the way. The small stack she took to herself, laying it down before her from the far right, moving to the left.
Neri’s hand hovered over the first card she had set to the table. She turned it over to expose the card of strength in reverse. I sat up a little straighter, following Neri’s eyes as she looked it over. “Well,” she began, “This is a way to look deep into a situation of something specific…it’s usually used for deeper readin’s actually…but….” She stroked the elaborate card’s face. “There’s some weakness presented in the face of obstacles and adversity. Usin’ tremendous power and releasin’ it at the wrong time,” she murmurs. “Inability of defendin’ oneself. Confusion, and a lack of preparedness. Illness and hardships. Distress…and failin’ of physical forces….”
Slowly, Nerissa moved to the second card from the right. “Physical vision. How we see it at the base of a mechanical level….” Nerissa’s fingers turned it over to reveal the Magician. “The Master over words, mind and matter. To turn ideas into action. To control one’s life…an initiation to start a new project or a new way of life. “ Her brow furrowed as she looked at it.
“Inability…to…defend oneself…” I murmured. “Distress…failing….” I took a deep breath of resignation. Finally I said, “I see.” I looked up at Nerissa. “But…a new way of life?” I was puzzled. “The Tohu…I think they portend…the end of the things…perhaps it is a new way…or a way vastly different and very old.”
Nerissa touched the third card in the middle. “I don’t always understand why they come out the way they do...perhaps it was the wrong choice of spread.” She looked at the card. “A mental vision….” She turned over a reversed Queen of Swords. “A gifted person with both keen logic and natural intuition, showing uncanny powers of perception and insight…” Nerissa folded her lips tightly for a moment before continuing. “One that sees easily the weakness of any argument and feels the need to savage both friend and foe alike with biting sarcasm. A hollow sense of isolation and dissatisfaction with life is covered with dry and vicious wit….”
I nodded, biting my lip…but what could I say?
Nerissa moved to the fourth card and turned over the eight of cups. “An emotional vision. One to lose the interest of a matter deeply important. Bein’ forced to abandon something in which you had to invest great love and devotion. Seekin’ earthly, physical pleasures, to the exclusion of spiritual growth and emotional fulfillments. One showin’ emotional withdrawal and lethargy..”
“Visions we have had,” I nodded. “They come whether we bid them to or not. ‘And your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions,’” I whispered.
Nerissa moved to the very last card and turned it over to show the six of swords up side down.” Mystical vision. “Conceit and intellection pride is shown. Bein’ stuck in a problem which has no apparent solution. Frustration and anxieties that are left unsettled. A trip or explorin’ is delayed in the end….” She frowned a little self-consciously to herself and finally looked up from the cards. “I hope it makes sense for ya….
“It makes no sense and all the sense in the world, Neri.” I stood up. “Thank you. The reading was…invaluable. What payment do you seek?”
“Nothing,” Neri replied. “Consider it a token to make up for all trouble I’ve caused.” The demoness leaned forward, her hands in her lap now, and stared at the spread. “I wish I knew what they meant when they spoke of the Storm comin’ to look for me….” Neri’s words were soft and far away with her thoughts and in the end she shook her head.
I folded my arms across my chest and gazed out the window. “There is a gathering storm, Neri. But know this…you will always have sanctuary with the Institute….”
Nerissa quickly gathered the cards neatly and carefully, handling the custom deck with delicately boned fingers. “If it’s not to yer satisfaction, we can try for another readin’ later.”
I watched as the ornate deck vanished in Neri’s hands. Then I slipped my hand in my pocket and fumbled for something in my skirt. “You left this, Neri, when you were…ill.” I set down a small black phial, full of Neri’s vomited blood. “I would normally keep it…but let there be no debt between us.” I smiled. “I used only a very little of it…in the lab.”
Nerissa ‘s eyes flashed with fear and alarm. She snatched the phial from the table and looked at me. “Why? Seein’ what I’m made of?”
I shook my head. “Your blood does not begin to tell your story, Neri. But it is safe with me.”
Nerissa looked at the container, watching it freeze as she gripped it tight enough to shatter. “I hope so,” was all she said, meeting my gaze.
I nodded and headed back out into the street.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Songbird
I was writing by the fire when Ethan strode into the Library, heading straight for Brit. Her face lit up and she reached for his hands, beaming. Silhouetted in the moonlight of the Library’s large window a passerby would have thought they were a paradigm of love. A touch of his cheek, and kisses. A long pale finger brushing back her hair, and kisses again.
Ethan barely noticed me. I don’t even think he realized how intently I was studying him, debating whether to ask him the question that burned within me. I gazed at Brit for a long moment and made my decision, even though I knew at heart she would disapprove. They were talking about the fireplace, how Brit loved it. I waited till a lull in the conversation then asked, “Ethan…you have been a warrior, haven't you?”
He looked at me curiously. “I have fought in many wars, seen several empires rise and fall and believe I could attribute to myself a warrior background. It is not what defines me, but it is surely a part of me, Joah.”
I nodded. “What things did you fight for, Ethan?” I glanced at the fire, watching the flames flicker, then turned to watch Ethan and Brit again.
Ethan looked at me with an intrigued expression. “Not that I understand what triggered this question, but since you ask, it was mainly issues of faith, loyalty and duty Joah. At some points to defend the righteous path, at other times to ensure prolonged existence.” He inched closer to Brit and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her and caressing her fingertips one by one.
A sudden knock on the Library door disrupted the conversation. Pix Cazalet had come in looking for a book on Necromancy. She wanted to command the spirits of the dead. Brit bounced excitedly when she saw Pix, who was wearing a skirt made by Brit and Ethan’s seamstress. She happily agreed to help Pix find her book, going straight to the real magicks section of the library, past Road Kill Puppets and on to Necromancy.
I focused again on Ethan as Pix and Brit pulled down various books, studying each one. “I was just wondering, Ethan. You've lived so long…when you fought for your faith…did you fight to protect those who were persecuted?"
“It depended on why they were persecuted Joah.” Ethan had turned back to me, but his entire frame indicated that his primary focus was on his wife, Brit. “I will not lie about this, Joah. I have personally persecuted and imprisoned, even slaughtered for issues of faith. It depended on which side they were.” He lapsed into silence for a moment. “The crusades were not a time of impeccable ethics.”
I listened quietly as he spoke. Finally, I replied, “It’s good to know that that you’ve changed, Ethan. That you’re no longer a man who persecutes others or imprisons unjustly.”
Ethan’s dark eyes narrowed for a moment. “I never said it was unjustly done...it was questionable at times in, retrospect, but I am glad to not have too many regrets for most of my coordinated actions of the past.”
I studied him for a moment before speaking, trying to carefully gauge the impact of my words. “You know…a prison, no matter how lovely, is still a prison, Ethan.”
“I’ve never seen a lovely prison, Joah. Of course that would depend on how you define a prison. For example, being imprisoned would involve being held against ones will, correct?” Ethan flexed his muscles and fine mist engulfed his body.
I lowered my eyes, gathering courage, then met Ethan’s gaze. There are few I truly fear in the City; Ethan is one. What I needed to say must be said with care. “When I was on the mainland,” I began, “I heard the song of a beautiful bird. It was thrilling and high and sweet and lovely, the song coming from behind a garden wall. I walked over and peered through the gate.
“I saw a garden full of roses and jasmine. In the center of the garden was a beautiful cage. It was large, ornate…gilded and gleaming. There were perches and food and beautiful little toys inside…. On its perch inside the cage, was a pure white bird. It's feathers cascaded over the perch. It sang the most heartbreakingly beautiful song as an old man dressed in a morning suit cooed and tended it.
“I asked the man why he kept the song bird in the cage. He said it was because he loved her and wanted always to hear her sing…he wished her to come to no harm.
“But the thing is…she could never test her wings. And he could never see her fly.” I continued to watch Ethan carefully. “So was it a prison? Didn’t the songbird love being with her keeper? Didn’t he love her? I'm certain they both did…but she never flew.”
Ethan listened to my story, shifting his weight from side to side. “Ah,” he nodded, “So the old man was missing a vital part of the equation: the nature of the animal in the cage. Now that is very unfortunate, one must see their loved one’s strengths, weaknesses and gifts, and allow them to explore them.” He paused. “That was certainly a prison. If the bird was happy in it though we will never know. Maybe the song was so beautiful because it was an intricate cry for help trying to entice someone to rescue her.” He pauses again. “It is fortunate humans don't have such problems and can express themselves freely.”
In the meantime Brit was helping Pix choose her book then complete a library card application. Pix left satisfied with what she had chosen, and Brit wandered back over to the fire. I gazed at her, such a sweet and beautiful songbird. I looked back toward Ethan, “Perhaps the keeper of the garden was simply too afraid to see what would happen should his little bird spread her wings and fly,” I said quietly.
Ethan blinked and replied, “Well, we will never know if the garden keeper was telling the truth when he spoke to you, but also won't be able to know his motives. The fact remains, he was ignoring her nature. She was not a gramophone but a bird,” he smirked slightly.
I took a deep breath before going to the heart of the matter. “Ethan, last night Brit was making a list.”
His expression softened. “My wife was working on a list...that is so typical of her lately, I am getting so many lists about the Shelter from her, it makes me wonder if she begins to develop an organizational mastermind.” He grinned and looked over to Brit again.
“She was working on a list, Ethan,” I said quietly, “because she can no longer leave your resting place when you sleep. Her wings have been clipped.” I lowered my eyes to the ground, speaking as respectfully as I possibly could. “The list was for things she might need…cookies…crayons….paper….”
I looked up and could see Brit processing. “That's so I don't forget things, Joah,” Brit said, a trace of worry on her face. Nibbling her lower lip, she reached for Ethan's hand, thinking and puffing her cheeks slightly.
Ethan tilted his head to the side. “Why would you say her wings have been clipped?” His face began to harden. “I keep her by my side as a husband should do with his wife. She stays by my side, as a wife should do. These things we promised to Him. I simply keep her with me and make sure none can enter our resting place especially in light of the recent events. Again, when I was not present and she was in the streets. I would prefer to see her safe. It was fortunate Lorne was here to deal with the offensive werewolf.”
I looked seriously at Ethan. “It is well that you love her and that you wish her to be by your side. I know that she wishes it too. But what if she needs something you can’t? What if there were an accident in your rooms, while you slept?” I paused for a moment trying to frame my words carefully. “What if she was needed here? And Ethan…she is not a child. She is a woman. Your wife…but not…a slave, or a prisoner…or song bird in a cage....”
Brit frowned slightly and looked at me. She whispered, “Between beloveds, Joah.” She turned her head, looked out the window and slipped her arm around Ethan. I could tell she was unsure what to say, but she puffed her cheeks again, slowly processing.
Ethan closed his eyes for a prolonged moment. Little sparks, similar to the coals in the fireplace shone through his eyelids, before he opened them again, his eyes looking normal. Inwardly, I drew back, but I held my ground. “If my wife needs something,” Ethan said in an even voice, “I can supply it or she can acquire it in the time I am active. An accident in our room will not happen, because of the rituals I painstakingly made sure to protect us within it. I am a vampire Joah, a species hunted for centuries. I know how to keep my haven safe.”
His words had come out in a rush. He paused a bit, and then continued at a calmer pace. “If my wife is required in the library, I hope it is not too much to ask for her to be able to come when her husband is around. Surely you would not do anything that required my absence.” Ethan’s expression seemed calm again, but his tone made it obvious he was sharing information, not waiting for approval.
I breathed in deeply and faced squarely from my seat by the fire. I knew that that Brit had said this was between beloveds, but Ethan’s use of restraints warred at me. I caught his eye, imploring him without a trace of anger. “It is wrong, Ethan.” I lowered my head respectfully and spoke barely above a whisper. “Even if it is done for love's sake…it is wrong.”
Brit stammered, “J.J...Joah!” She bit her lip and said, “Between beloveds...just...between beloveds.” She blinked slowly and struggled for words. Turning back to Ethan, she looped her arm around him and says simply, “Ethan keeps me safe...and...is my husband...and....” So many things were pouring into her thoughts.
Ethan clenched his fists. The artery on his throat pumped visibly as he repeated over and over, “Wrong....” He kept Brit's hand in his and looked at the fireplace for some moments, then turns to me, forcing my eyes up with his gaze.
“I will not be told what is right and wrong in a matter that is strictly between Brit and me, Joah. Your input in this is appreciated but not required. I will not try to change your mind, though any further mentioning of this idea you have of....” he trailed the sentence off before adding, “wrong...will be considered interfering.
“Do not judge, not to be judged. I do not wish to start counting off the things going on in this library that are most definitely wrong...yet I do not mention them out of, not ignorance, but knowledge of my place and rights.”
He emphasized the word “rights.” Ethan looked to Brit and his fingers relaxed again, reaching for her face to caress her cheek.
I raised my head, watching Ethan as he spoke, an indefinable sadness washing through me. I said nothing for a moment after he finished. I simply stood up, watching him. Finally, I whispered, “As you wish, Ethan.” I gazed a Brit a long moment, then turned around and headed quietly upstairs.
Brit and Ethan's Perspective: The Nature of Beasts
Ethan barely noticed me. I don’t even think he realized how intently I was studying him, debating whether to ask him the question that burned within me. I gazed at Brit for a long moment and made my decision, even though I knew at heart she would disapprove. They were talking about the fireplace, how Brit loved it. I waited till a lull in the conversation then asked, “Ethan…you have been a warrior, haven't you?”
He looked at me curiously. “I have fought in many wars, seen several empires rise and fall and believe I could attribute to myself a warrior background. It is not what defines me, but it is surely a part of me, Joah.”
I nodded. “What things did you fight for, Ethan?” I glanced at the fire, watching the flames flicker, then turned to watch Ethan and Brit again.
Ethan looked at me with an intrigued expression. “Not that I understand what triggered this question, but since you ask, it was mainly issues of faith, loyalty and duty Joah. At some points to defend the righteous path, at other times to ensure prolonged existence.” He inched closer to Brit and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her and caressing her fingertips one by one.
A sudden knock on the Library door disrupted the conversation. Pix Cazalet had come in looking for a book on Necromancy. She wanted to command the spirits of the dead. Brit bounced excitedly when she saw Pix, who was wearing a skirt made by Brit and Ethan’s seamstress. She happily agreed to help Pix find her book, going straight to the real magicks section of the library, past Road Kill Puppets and on to Necromancy.
I focused again on Ethan as Pix and Brit pulled down various books, studying each one. “I was just wondering, Ethan. You've lived so long…when you fought for your faith…did you fight to protect those who were persecuted?"
“It depended on why they were persecuted Joah.” Ethan had turned back to me, but his entire frame indicated that his primary focus was on his wife, Brit. “I will not lie about this, Joah. I have personally persecuted and imprisoned, even slaughtered for issues of faith. It depended on which side they were.” He lapsed into silence for a moment. “The crusades were not a time of impeccable ethics.”
I listened quietly as he spoke. Finally, I replied, “It’s good to know that that you’ve changed, Ethan. That you’re no longer a man who persecutes others or imprisons unjustly.”
Ethan’s dark eyes narrowed for a moment. “I never said it was unjustly done...it was questionable at times in, retrospect, but I am glad to not have too many regrets for most of my coordinated actions of the past.”
I studied him for a moment before speaking, trying to carefully gauge the impact of my words. “You know…a prison, no matter how lovely, is still a prison, Ethan.”
“I’ve never seen a lovely prison, Joah. Of course that would depend on how you define a prison. For example, being imprisoned would involve being held against ones will, correct?” Ethan flexed his muscles and fine mist engulfed his body.
I lowered my eyes, gathering courage, then met Ethan’s gaze. There are few I truly fear in the City; Ethan is one. What I needed to say must be said with care. “When I was on the mainland,” I began, “I heard the song of a beautiful bird. It was thrilling and high and sweet and lovely, the song coming from behind a garden wall. I walked over and peered through the gate.
“I saw a garden full of roses and jasmine. In the center of the garden was a beautiful cage. It was large, ornate…gilded and gleaming. There were perches and food and beautiful little toys inside…. On its perch inside the cage, was a pure white bird. It's feathers cascaded over the perch. It sang the most heartbreakingly beautiful song as an old man dressed in a morning suit cooed and tended it.
“I asked the man why he kept the song bird in the cage. He said it was because he loved her and wanted always to hear her sing…he wished her to come to no harm.
“But the thing is…she could never test her wings. And he could never see her fly.” I continued to watch Ethan carefully. “So was it a prison? Didn’t the songbird love being with her keeper? Didn’t he love her? I'm certain they both did…but she never flew.”
Ethan listened to my story, shifting his weight from side to side. “Ah,” he nodded, “So the old man was missing a vital part of the equation: the nature of the animal in the cage. Now that is very unfortunate, one must see their loved one’s strengths, weaknesses and gifts, and allow them to explore them.” He paused. “That was certainly a prison. If the bird was happy in it though we will never know. Maybe the song was so beautiful because it was an intricate cry for help trying to entice someone to rescue her.” He pauses again. “It is fortunate humans don't have such problems and can express themselves freely.”
In the meantime Brit was helping Pix choose her book then complete a library card application. Pix left satisfied with what she had chosen, and Brit wandered back over to the fire. I gazed at her, such a sweet and beautiful songbird. I looked back toward Ethan, “Perhaps the keeper of the garden was simply too afraid to see what would happen should his little bird spread her wings and fly,” I said quietly.
Ethan blinked and replied, “Well, we will never know if the garden keeper was telling the truth when he spoke to you, but also won't be able to know his motives. The fact remains, he was ignoring her nature. She was not a gramophone but a bird,” he smirked slightly.
I took a deep breath before going to the heart of the matter. “Ethan, last night Brit was making a list.”
His expression softened. “My wife was working on a list...that is so typical of her lately, I am getting so many lists about the Shelter from her, it makes me wonder if she begins to develop an organizational mastermind.” He grinned and looked over to Brit again.
“She was working on a list, Ethan,” I said quietly, “because she can no longer leave your resting place when you sleep. Her wings have been clipped.” I lowered my eyes to the ground, speaking as respectfully as I possibly could. “The list was for things she might need…cookies…crayons….paper….”
I looked up and could see Brit processing. “That's so I don't forget things, Joah,” Brit said, a trace of worry on her face. Nibbling her lower lip, she reached for Ethan's hand, thinking and puffing her cheeks slightly.
Ethan tilted his head to the side. “Why would you say her wings have been clipped?” His face began to harden. “I keep her by my side as a husband should do with his wife. She stays by my side, as a wife should do. These things we promised to Him. I simply keep her with me and make sure none can enter our resting place especially in light of the recent events. Again, when I was not present and she was in the streets. I would prefer to see her safe. It was fortunate Lorne was here to deal with the offensive werewolf.”
I looked seriously at Ethan. “It is well that you love her and that you wish her to be by your side. I know that she wishes it too. But what if she needs something you can’t? What if there were an accident in your rooms, while you slept?” I paused for a moment trying to frame my words carefully. “What if she was needed here? And Ethan…she is not a child. She is a woman. Your wife…but not…a slave, or a prisoner…or song bird in a cage....”
Brit frowned slightly and looked at me. She whispered, “Between beloveds, Joah.” She turned her head, looked out the window and slipped her arm around Ethan. I could tell she was unsure what to say, but she puffed her cheeks again, slowly processing.
Ethan closed his eyes for a prolonged moment. Little sparks, similar to the coals in the fireplace shone through his eyelids, before he opened them again, his eyes looking normal. Inwardly, I drew back, but I held my ground. “If my wife needs something,” Ethan said in an even voice, “I can supply it or she can acquire it in the time I am active. An accident in our room will not happen, because of the rituals I painstakingly made sure to protect us within it. I am a vampire Joah, a species hunted for centuries. I know how to keep my haven safe.”
His words had come out in a rush. He paused a bit, and then continued at a calmer pace. “If my wife is required in the library, I hope it is not too much to ask for her to be able to come when her husband is around. Surely you would not do anything that required my absence.” Ethan’s expression seemed calm again, but his tone made it obvious he was sharing information, not waiting for approval.
I breathed in deeply and faced squarely from my seat by the fire. I knew that that Brit had said this was between beloveds, but Ethan’s use of restraints warred at me. I caught his eye, imploring him without a trace of anger. “It is wrong, Ethan.” I lowered my head respectfully and spoke barely above a whisper. “Even if it is done for love's sake…it is wrong.”
Brit stammered, “J.J...Joah!” She bit her lip and said, “Between beloveds...just...between beloveds.” She blinked slowly and struggled for words. Turning back to Ethan, she looped her arm around him and says simply, “Ethan keeps me safe...and...is my husband...and....” So many things were pouring into her thoughts.
Ethan clenched his fists. The artery on his throat pumped visibly as he repeated over and over, “Wrong....” He kept Brit's hand in his and looked at the fireplace for some moments, then turns to me, forcing my eyes up with his gaze.
“I will not be told what is right and wrong in a matter that is strictly between Brit and me, Joah. Your input in this is appreciated but not required. I will not try to change your mind, though any further mentioning of this idea you have of....” he trailed the sentence off before adding, “wrong...will be considered interfering.
“Do not judge, not to be judged. I do not wish to start counting off the things going on in this library that are most definitely wrong...yet I do not mention them out of, not ignorance, but knowledge of my place and rights.”
He emphasized the word “rights.” Ethan looked to Brit and his fingers relaxed again, reaching for her face to caress her cheek.
I raised my head, watching Ethan as he spoke, an indefinable sadness washing through me. I said nothing for a moment after he finished. I simply stood up, watching him. Finally, I whispered, “As you wish, Ethan.” I gazed a Brit a long moment, then turned around and headed quietly upstairs.
Brit and Ethan's Perspective: The Nature of Beasts
Monday, October 13, 2008
He Walks in Dreams
Severus stepped out of a shadow-shrouded portal into the Library, a seeping, bone-numbing coldness following him. He glowered, and then slammed the portal behind him with a vacuum-like sucking. As he turned to glance outside at the pouring rain and the rising floodwaters, he sighed heavily. Faye’Li and I were watching the rain-swollen streets, too, but she was pacing up and down the stairs, looking out every window, while I stood still in front of the hearth, close to GrrBrool and a sleeping Brit.
“I dun tink I'll be able to sleep if I see fish or bodies swimming by da windows,” Faye’Li sighed.
“Feel better fer tha little walk?” Grrbrool asked, referring to Faye’Li’s constant pacing. “Ya'll be awright, Messenger, we got…contingency plans. Heh.”
Faye'Li frowned. “I'm going to learn 'ow to swim when dis is over, Grr.”
“It doesn't matter, Faye’Li,” I replied. “In a flood, it isn't safe to swim.
Debris, toxins…bloated, decomposing bodies…the current….” I could hear Brit begin to breathe in slower, easier breaths. She snuggled under the cape she was wearing, using Grr like a pillow. Only her red hair could really be seen. I tried to catch Faye’Li’s eye. “It will be fine. The Institute is always prepared. And the Library protects its own.”
Faye'Li bit her lip, “I’m sorry. Just 'aven't been in a flood before.” Severus slowly arched a brow at her words, pale eyes shifting about.
Grr wrapped an arm around Brit as he shifted slightly toward Severus. “G'day Maker, heard tha news? Damp outside, and tha locks are off tha weapons lockers.” Upstairs, Blake and his companion had grown silent. His nose was buried in a book although I knew he was carefully listening.
Severus inclined his head slightly. “So I saw...yet another flood,” he muttered, his deep tone bitter. “Don’t have anything to lose this time.” I turned from gazing out the window to watch Severus, studying his appearance. He seemed himself. Not like I saw him last, pale as bone, his eyes lifeless, a scythe in hand.
Faye'Li Vidae looked over. "Ah welcome back monsieur." For a moment, she seemed somewhat relieved before thoughts of the water outside came back to her.
Severus shrugged his broad shoulders slightly, not really acknowledging the welcome. For Severus, the Omega Institute is not family. His own was lost to him in the Great Flood: his wife, his children, and his freedom. He had been like an angel; now he was of the damned. Yet…he stayed with us. He aided us, although there was always a price to be paid for his efforts.
Grr snuggled with Brit, leaning close to let her feel his radiant body heat, almost hot to the touch himself. Brit continued to sleep peacefully, hugging Grr as if he were a giant teddy bear. Severus’s intense pale eyes shifted over, meeting mine.
“Severus,” I began as I walked toward him, “Why….” I bit my lip, thought better of asking, and stopped.
Severus slowly arched a brow. “Why what?” he muttered tersely.
“Why…why did you leave me, Severus…leave me there in the Dreaming?”
Severus scowled blackly. “I didn’t. You...left me...I merely released you to sleep for a time. I never abandoned you. I'm contracted.”
“But I was…lost.” I pressed on. “Where did you go? You weren't there when Faye'Li and Grr came for me.” Grr nodded quietly.
“I was a few feet away from you on the path, Joah.” Severus narrowed his eyes. “You merely drifted in sleep.”
I lowered my eyes to the floor to hide my anger at having been left behind, struggling to speak without emotion. “We didn't see you. None of us did.”
Severus shrugged slightly. “You don’t know the laws of the path to the Dreaming. They weren’t brought or guided by me. Of course they wouldn’t see.” Faye’Li stood looking between the two of us, watching.
I raised my eyes, meeting Severus's, exasperated by his obstinacy. "She's still there."
“Larissa you mean?” he said nonchalantly.
“No,” I replied. “Abi.”
Severus nodded slowly. “Yes, yes she is...my contract remains incomplete.”
“And will you . . . complete it?” I asked.
“I can’t until you join Larissa again,” Severus shrugged. “You are in my contract. However, Grr offered another option…perhaps if my methods are so unfavorable, you should take it.” I glanced at Grr. His golden eyes met mine, but he didn’t speak. He knew this battle was between the incubus and me.
I drew closer to Severus…not touching him…never touching his skin, but closer. “I rode with you,” I said quietly, my anger rising.
“You what?” Severus uttered flatly.
“You were Death,” I whispered. “On a pale green horse, Severus. You pulled me up behind you…and I rode with you.”
“Death?” asked Faye'Li in a puzzled voice.
“Not exactly my kind of dream....” Severus muttered dryly. “Are you certain you don’t have any strange riding fetishes?”
And that was it. My temper exploded as I lunged across the space between us, grasping one of the spikes in Severus’ wrist. “You pulled me up behind you,” I spat. “Where were you going? Where were you taking me?”
Severus hissed through clenched teeth, pale eyes blazing as he wrenched his wrist from my grasp, the spike grinding against bone as his black blood began to seep through the open wound. I don’t know, damn you! They are your blasted dreams,” he snapped acidly through clenched fangs.
“You were in them,” Joah I said tightly.
Faye'Li looked at Severus and back to me, “What…does it mean?”
I whirled around. “Ask him. He's the one who walks the planes. Not I.”
“I don’t know what it means, Joah.” Severus growled low as he clutched his spike-pierced wrist to his chest, his black blood seeping down his arm sluggishly. “I simply don’t have the control I once did...I must be drifting through dreams,” he muttered, his deep tone terse.
“Yet you still do not feed…” I said, chagrined.
Severus shook his white-maned head slightly. “And I will not,” he said bitterly, continuing to rub his-spike impaled forearm.
I could only turn and walk away.
See Abi, lost in the Dream World.
Read about Blue's visit to Abi.
Read about Grr and Faye'Li rescuing Joah.
“I dun tink I'll be able to sleep if I see fish or bodies swimming by da windows,” Faye’Li sighed.
“Feel better fer tha little walk?” Grrbrool asked, referring to Faye’Li’s constant pacing. “Ya'll be awright, Messenger, we got…contingency plans. Heh.”
Faye'Li frowned. “I'm going to learn 'ow to swim when dis is over, Grr.”
“It doesn't matter, Faye’Li,” I replied. “In a flood, it isn't safe to swim.
Debris, toxins…bloated, decomposing bodies…the current….” I could hear Brit begin to breathe in slower, easier breaths. She snuggled under the cape she was wearing, using Grr like a pillow. Only her red hair could really be seen. I tried to catch Faye’Li’s eye. “It will be fine. The Institute is always prepared. And the Library protects its own.”
Faye'Li bit her lip, “I’m sorry. Just 'aven't been in a flood before.” Severus slowly arched a brow at her words, pale eyes shifting about.
Grr wrapped an arm around Brit as he shifted slightly toward Severus. “G'day Maker, heard tha news? Damp outside, and tha locks are off tha weapons lockers.” Upstairs, Blake and his companion had grown silent. His nose was buried in a book although I knew he was carefully listening.
Severus inclined his head slightly. “So I saw...yet another flood,” he muttered, his deep tone bitter. “Don’t have anything to lose this time.” I turned from gazing out the window to watch Severus, studying his appearance. He seemed himself. Not like I saw him last, pale as bone, his eyes lifeless, a scythe in hand.
Faye'Li Vidae looked over. "Ah welcome back monsieur." For a moment, she seemed somewhat relieved before thoughts of the water outside came back to her.
Severus shrugged his broad shoulders slightly, not really acknowledging the welcome. For Severus, the Omega Institute is not family. His own was lost to him in the Great Flood: his wife, his children, and his freedom. He had been like an angel; now he was of the damned. Yet…he stayed with us. He aided us, although there was always a price to be paid for his efforts.
Grr snuggled with Brit, leaning close to let her feel his radiant body heat, almost hot to the touch himself. Brit continued to sleep peacefully, hugging Grr as if he were a giant teddy bear. Severus’s intense pale eyes shifted over, meeting mine.
“Severus,” I began as I walked toward him, “Why….” I bit my lip, thought better of asking, and stopped.
Severus slowly arched a brow. “Why what?” he muttered tersely.
“Why…why did you leave me, Severus…leave me there in the Dreaming?”
Severus scowled blackly. “I didn’t. You...left me...I merely released you to sleep for a time. I never abandoned you. I'm contracted.”
“But I was…lost.” I pressed on. “Where did you go? You weren't there when Faye'Li and Grr came for me.” Grr nodded quietly.
“I was a few feet away from you on the path, Joah.” Severus narrowed his eyes. “You merely drifted in sleep.”
I lowered my eyes to the floor to hide my anger at having been left behind, struggling to speak without emotion. “We didn't see you. None of us did.”
Severus shrugged slightly. “You don’t know the laws of the path to the Dreaming. They weren’t brought or guided by me. Of course they wouldn’t see.” Faye’Li stood looking between the two of us, watching.
I raised my eyes, meeting Severus's, exasperated by his obstinacy. "She's still there."
“Larissa you mean?” he said nonchalantly.
“No,” I replied. “Abi.”
Severus nodded slowly. “Yes, yes she is...my contract remains incomplete.”
“And will you . . . complete it?” I asked.
“I can’t until you join Larissa again,” Severus shrugged. “You are in my contract. However, Grr offered another option…perhaps if my methods are so unfavorable, you should take it.” I glanced at Grr. His golden eyes met mine, but he didn’t speak. He knew this battle was between the incubus and me.
I drew closer to Severus…not touching him…never touching his skin, but closer. “I rode with you,” I said quietly, my anger rising.
“You what?” Severus uttered flatly.
“You were Death,” I whispered. “On a pale green horse, Severus. You pulled me up behind you…and I rode with you.”
“Death?” asked Faye'Li in a puzzled voice.
“Not exactly my kind of dream....” Severus muttered dryly. “Are you certain you don’t have any strange riding fetishes?”
And that was it. My temper exploded as I lunged across the space between us, grasping one of the spikes in Severus’ wrist. “You pulled me up behind you,” I spat. “Where were you going? Where were you taking me?”
Severus hissed through clenched teeth, pale eyes blazing as he wrenched his wrist from my grasp, the spike grinding against bone as his black blood began to seep through the open wound. I don’t know, damn you! They are your blasted dreams,” he snapped acidly through clenched fangs.
“You were in them,” Joah I said tightly.
Faye'Li looked at Severus and back to me, “What…does it mean?”
I whirled around. “Ask him. He's the one who walks the planes. Not I.”
“I don’t know what it means, Joah.” Severus growled low as he clutched his spike-pierced wrist to his chest, his black blood seeping down his arm sluggishly. “I simply don’t have the control I once did...I must be drifting through dreams,” he muttered, his deep tone terse.
“Yet you still do not feed…” I said, chagrined.
Severus shook his white-maned head slightly. “And I will not,” he said bitterly, continuing to rub his-spike impaled forearm.
I could only turn and walk away.
See Abi, lost in the Dream World.
Read about Blue's visit to Abi.
Read about Grr and Faye'Li rescuing Joah.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Je veux rentrer
I sat on one of the gold cushions by the fire, next to Nareth, and took a length of string from my pocket, holding it straight between my hands. “Nareth…the Nareth we knew...was many women. She traveled in many times.’
Nareth turned her head, watching me. “Traveled...in time?”
"I went with her once,” I nodded. “Imagine time running a long this string.” I held up my left hand, then the right. "The past…the future." I could see Omega watching, Brit listening, her eyes unnaturally bright.
“It's a string, just a string,” Nareth said. “And…I do not believe this.”
“Imagine an ant crawling along the string, moving from the past to the future.” I brought my hands together and the string fell beneath them in a loop. “But there can be a wrinkle.”
“A wrinkle?” asked Nareth.
“If the ant were on my left hand, it could walk straight to the right hand. Over the wrinkle. Through time to the future. Or step back into the past.” I took the string and tied it, forming a circle.
Nareth laughed nervously. “And you are saying I am an ant?”
“I am saying you are a traveler,” I replied. “An unconventional one. Now suppose, there were many threads of time." I looped the circle over my hands and wove it around my fingers, making a web. “Each thread, running its own course. Some parallel. Some not. But when I bring my fingers together…there is the wrinkle.”
Nareth furrowed her brow, not quite understanding.
“A traveler might move from one world’s time to another over such a wrinkle. It is called a tesseract.”
Nareth whispered, "Tesseract….The woman...in the market today... She...”
“She may have tessered you when she touched you,” I replied.
Nareth continued, “She said something. I had...forgotten. It makes no sense...Joah. What she said...I mean. Maybe…poetry. I do not know.”
“Will you tell us?” I asked.
Nareth nodded. “She said...to me…before she touched me...there's always a siren...and she said...there is another shore you know, upon..the other...side. And then….” Nareth glanced at the fire. “And then I was on the beach...well...almost.”
Grr had come bounding back into the Library, with food he had prepared, offering two bowls to Nareth, one slightly larger than the other. There were spoons in each, a laksa of some sort, noodles and green things bobbing its redness. The scent of ginger filled the room.
Nareth looked at Grr then gazed back into the fire. “I do not think…I am hungry…after all. Joah, if you are right...how do I…go home? Back...across the string?”
I sat in silence for a moment, tracing the arc of the flames in the hearth with my fingertip. “First, you have to decide where home is. Then you must learn to tesser.”
“I know…where home is...or…I know when,” Nareth frowned.
I nodded. “The Nareth I knew…simply opened a vortex. And went.”
Nareth lowered her head and stared at the floor.
Nareth turned her head, watching me. “Traveled...in time?”
"I went with her once,” I nodded. “Imagine time running a long this string.” I held up my left hand, then the right. "The past…the future." I could see Omega watching, Brit listening, her eyes unnaturally bright.
“It's a string, just a string,” Nareth said. “And…I do not believe this.”
“Imagine an ant crawling along the string, moving from the past to the future.” I brought my hands together and the string fell beneath them in a loop. “But there can be a wrinkle.”
“A wrinkle?” asked Nareth.
“If the ant were on my left hand, it could walk straight to the right hand. Over the wrinkle. Through time to the future. Or step back into the past.” I took the string and tied it, forming a circle.
Nareth laughed nervously. “And you are saying I am an ant?”
“I am saying you are a traveler,” I replied. “An unconventional one. Now suppose, there were many threads of time." I looped the circle over my hands and wove it around my fingers, making a web. “Each thread, running its own course. Some parallel. Some not. But when I bring my fingers together…there is the wrinkle.”
Nareth furrowed her brow, not quite understanding.
“A traveler might move from one world’s time to another over such a wrinkle. It is called a tesseract.”
Nareth whispered, "Tesseract….The woman...in the market today... She...”
“She may have tessered you when she touched you,” I replied.
Nareth continued, “She said something. I had...forgotten. It makes no sense...Joah. What she said...I mean. Maybe…poetry. I do not know.”
“Will you tell us?” I asked.
Nareth nodded. “She said...to me…before she touched me...there's always a siren...and she said...there is another shore you know, upon..the other...side. And then….” Nareth glanced at the fire. “And then I was on the beach...well...almost.”
Grr had come bounding back into the Library, with food he had prepared, offering two bowls to Nareth, one slightly larger than the other. There were spoons in each, a laksa of some sort, noodles and green things bobbing its redness. The scent of ginger filled the room.
Nareth looked at Grr then gazed back into the fire. “I do not think…I am hungry…after all. Joah, if you are right...how do I…go home? Back...across the string?”
I sat in silence for a moment, tracing the arc of the flames in the hearth with my fingertip. “First, you have to decide where home is. Then you must learn to tesser.”
“I know…where home is...or…I know when,” Nareth frowned.
I nodded. “The Nareth I knew…simply opened a vortex. And went.”
Nareth lowered her head and stared at the floor.
Days of future past
The brown girl stood next to the hearth, holding her gloves, murmuring that nothing looked familiar, no face, no part of the Library itself. Frank disbelief clouded her face as she gazed on all gathered, eyes lighting on the apparent non-humans: Grr and Lyra. The monk wheedled in a high-pitched worried voice, an adoring sycophant. The girl rubbed her head, saying again and again in heavily accented English, I am dreaming.
“Your holiness, our whole existence is because of you,” the monk Yoshua continued, his voice growing louder, his speech becoming more rapid. “Each generation passing down tales about you, and your coming. I was sent to locate you, and protect you. When you are ready, our journey begins.”
“Do you remember your name?” I interrupted, turning toward the brown girl.
“Yes…I remember my name. Nareth....”
Omega stopped cold, staring at the girl, open-mouthed.
“Nareth's place has always been here,” Grr said to the monk. “Now, more than ever. This is Home, this is…Family.”
“No!” Yoshua nearly shouted. “She belongs with us, the prophesied one.”
Omega’s voice rasped, each word agony. “Nareth?”
Nareth shook her head. “My family…such as it is…is in Cambodia. I have my state identicard.” She reached in a pocket to pull out something that looked like a faintly blinking green plastic button, and then offered it to me.
I took the button in the palm of my hand, rolling it around, looking at it. She said it wasn’t working, it had gotten wet. I extended my fingers, thinking thoughts of flame and heat, and the button rose an inch or so above my palm, a faint glow beneath it. The button began beeping, a light flashed, and then the image of Nareth appeared above my hand. A woman’s voice said
Nareth Nishi, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Issued August 3, 2021
ID Number 4251A-09-2314
Restriction, Zone 5-F
Conviction file 876-d-2
The image flickered, and then winked out. “Hey...I can explain that,” Nareth began as the monk ran out the door having been threatened by Omega. “The conviction...there was...a mistake. I mean…never mind.” Nareth looked utterly exhausted and confused.
Grr looked Nareth over, then looked softly from me to Omega. “I think our guest needs a lay down fer a bit.”
The Marketplace
Deadweight
Satyr
“Your holiness, our whole existence is because of you,” the monk Yoshua continued, his voice growing louder, his speech becoming more rapid. “Each generation passing down tales about you, and your coming. I was sent to locate you, and protect you. When you are ready, our journey begins.”
“Do you remember your name?” I interrupted, turning toward the brown girl.
“Yes…I remember my name. Nareth....”
Omega stopped cold, staring at the girl, open-mouthed.
“Nareth's place has always been here,” Grr said to the monk. “Now, more than ever. This is Home, this is…Family.”
“No!” Yoshua nearly shouted. “She belongs with us, the prophesied one.”
Omega’s voice rasped, each word agony. “Nareth?”
Nareth shook her head. “My family…such as it is…is in Cambodia. I have my state identicard.” She reached in a pocket to pull out something that looked like a faintly blinking green plastic button, and then offered it to me.
I took the button in the palm of my hand, rolling it around, looking at it. She said it wasn’t working, it had gotten wet. I extended my fingers, thinking thoughts of flame and heat, and the button rose an inch or so above my palm, a faint glow beneath it. The button began beeping, a light flashed, and then the image of Nareth appeared above my hand. A woman’s voice said
Nareth Nishi, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Issued August 3, 2021
ID Number 4251A-09-2314
Restriction, Zone 5-F
Conviction file 876-d-2
The image flickered, and then winked out. “Hey...I can explain that,” Nareth began as the monk ran out the door having been threatened by Omega. “The conviction...there was...a mistake. I mean…never mind.” Nareth looked utterly exhausted and confused.
Grr looked Nareth over, then looked softly from me to Omega. “I think our guest needs a lay down fer a bit.”
The Marketplace
Deadweight
Satyr
Friday, August 22, 2008
Celerity
She probably didn’t think I noticed her dancingdancingdancing, hair sticking to her smooth neck, slick with sweat. She probably didn’t realize that I could see the pink tinge of the wetness on her skin as I ascended the stairs of the Library. But I did notice, even though my mind was elsewhere, focused on the golem. And so did Grr, sniffing the air. “I smell Brit’s blood…it’s….” he’d said, then trailed off.
And when she came back into the room, I could see from the corner of my eye that she was freshly washed. I could hear the exchange of whispers between the girl and the coyote, see Brit blushing furiously and Grr patting her arm, then a look of relief and the question, “Promise?” addressed to Grr. One more piece of the puzzle.
In the twilight of the following day, I sat near the Library fire, thinking about Brit and reading a slim, small book I’d uncovered in the stacks. Omega stood gazing out the window. Pontifex worked quietly, scribbling notes. Severus . . . well, Severus sat silently, grim and glowering. I turned the book over in my hand: “Celerity” was stamped neatly in gold script on the leather cover. One passage in particular confused me and I wondered whether to seek clarification from Omega. Omega noticed my expression and asked, “Interesting reading, M'dear?”
"It’s talking about blood dolls,” I replied, “And the effects of vitae. This says a blood doll is ‘A mortal who freely gives her blood to a vampire. Most blood dolls gain a perverse satisfaction from the kiss, and actively seek out vampires who will take their vitae.’” I paused considering how to phrase my question before just blurting it out. “Is Brit a blood doll?”
Omega’s gaze narrowed. “No. she is not. And I would advise you not to use that term around her or Ethan; they believe it to be a disparaging one. Brit is not…bonded to Ethan. In all other ways, perhaps, but not that one.”
I didn’t understand. Brit and Ethan were beloveds, married. They drank deeply from each other. “What do you mean, ‘not bonded’, Lady?”
“Blood bonded, Joah. She is not bound to him in that way. Some mortals find the kiss of a vampire…any vampire, addictive,” Omega replied. “They will seek out any who would give them their desire. That could be classed as a general addiction, I suppose you could say. One who becomes bonded to a particular vampire though, that is somewhat different.”
“But she drinks his blood,” I wondered aloud. “Is she a ghoul then? This says: ‘A ghoul is a minion created by giving a bit of vampirism vitae to a mortal without draining her of blood first.’” Severus began muttering something that I couldn’t quite make out about his own addictive blood.
Omega ignored my question. “Brit is not blood bound to Ethan. Perhaps the question we ought to be asking - is why? Not all humans can be bonded. It is rare…very rare. It would have a certain irony to it though, would it not?” Omega paused, considering her words. “I would think carefully before broaching this subject with them, Joah. I have seen Ethan react very aggressively to the phrase ‘blood doll.’ And suggesting that he has not been able to bond Brit would be insulting on many levels.”
Pontifex chuckled, “How does he react to ‘sex doll’ then?” Severus grinned and made a ribald comment, which I pretended not to hear. I tried to press on. "But Brit's different, Omega. She's been becoming stronger and faster and…more alert. She picked Grr up and threw him once. And the other night she ran after him faster than any human being can run." I looked at the book again. “‘Celerity,’” I began reading. "‘The ability to move at faster-than-human speeds and with uncanny precision.’"
“She is getting the benefit of his blood, undoubtedly,” Omega said.
“But if she's not a blood doll…and she's not a ghoul …what is she?
Omega smiled, “Something else. She is something else.”
“She's married,” Pontifex said in his usual sarcastic manner. “It’s not entirely unusual in many cultures for the wife to suck her husband.”
“Pontifex,” growled Omega. If you have nothing of worth to add to the conversation, please be quiet.” Turning toward me, Omega began to explain, “Celerity is product of consumption, not bonding.”
Pontifex shrugged, “What I mean is, they are of one flesh … yeah … that's it.”
Omega whirled on Pontifex. “Must everything be a jest? A foolish question. Of course it must.” She shook her head, anger and something else unreadable on her face.
“If it's not life or death, then it is jest,” Pontifex demurred. “If not to use, then least to the djinns of fate.”
I studied Pontifex for a moment. “You are a scholar, studying much that is arcane. How does this bonding take place?”
Pontifex turned his gaze toward Omega, though he responded to me. “I have to say, with vampires I know little, except to avoid any fluid transfer.” For a moment silence was thick between the two of them; Omega seemed lost for words. “Those were your words after Myriam attempted to enthrall me, Omega.”
“But Brit and Ethan exchange fluids,” I began, trying to steer the topic away from the rift between Pontifex and Omega.
“Forgive me,” Omega hissed, “For attempting to protect you, Pontifex. How very foolish of me.”
Severus shrugged his broad shoulders slightly and turned toward me. “If it is anything like the addiction of an incubus, then the blood of the vampire binds its victim … or erm … partner. The more she feeds from the vampire, the stronger the bond.”
“I'm merely just stating my sum total of vampirism lore,” Pontifex continued. “No offense implied.” The smirk on his face said otherwise.
Omega acted as though Pontifex had not spoken. “As Severus says,” she began, “That is the usual way of it, yes.”
“So why doesn't it bond Brit?” I asked.
“Brit simply is not blood-bonded,” Omega replied. “In spite of … as Pontifex so eloquently puts it, their fluids transfer. An interesting puzzle, to be sure. But one I would tread delicately in attempting to investigate.”
Severus mused, “She must be unbondable … a rare condition. I wonder if my blood would have no affect on her either … not that I'd try….”
Suddenly, Pontifex interjected, “Am I the only one who sees the obvious?”
“Do, please, enlighten us, Pontifex,” Omega said in an icy tone.
“Brit was already bound to Ethan before blood, before marriage, before even Toxia.” Pontifex spread his hands in explanation. “Their bond isn’t some mere vampire or incubus trick. It is the one of their souls.”
“Seems Brit’s not the only one who can avoid bonds around here,” Omega muttered. “I'd say you've found the expert you were looking for, Joah.”
Omega strode over to the mysterious crate that had been delivered to the Library. Pushing at it, she shoved it a few inches. “About time we moved this damn thing.”
Pontifex smiled, but his mouth held a cruel twist. “You might best speak to Merma, Joah. She's the angel of the family, but, yes, souls are something both our kinds are intimately familiar with.”
I nodded and tucked the book back into my pocket. "Perhaps you are right, Pontifex. But maybe…." I glanced at the crate, at Omega, then stopped myself in mid-sentence. "We do need to move that. Or unpack it."
Pontifex did not relent. “Your book mentions how much the receiver enjoys the kiss. But I suspect the Vampire or Incubus draws pleasure from it as well. If it’s anything like … other releases of fluid, potentially even more so than the receiver. I can definitely tell you that possessing a woman is very pleasurable for me … though her pleasure isn’t really of mine concern....”
"Ownership," I speculated. "So it wouldn't matter to you where there was bonding?"
Severus interrupted. “For us the pleasure of the female is the ultimate concern. Without it, there is nothing to feed upon.”
Omega turned from the crate and spoke in a low, steely voice directed at Pontifex. “If you'll excuse me, I think I've heard quite enough. I would be happy to discuss this matter with you at another time, Joah.”
“Well, I believe I'm finished telling Joah the birds and the bees, ex rudis,” Pontifex smirked. “Though, Joah, if you need more private tutoring, I'm sure I can find someone to help you. I see my work is done; enjoy your day.”
I nodded to Pontifex, a bit confused, and then went to assist with the crate.
And when she came back into the room, I could see from the corner of my eye that she was freshly washed. I could hear the exchange of whispers between the girl and the coyote, see Brit blushing furiously and Grr patting her arm, then a look of relief and the question, “Promise?” addressed to Grr. One more piece of the puzzle.
In the twilight of the following day, I sat near the Library fire, thinking about Brit and reading a slim, small book I’d uncovered in the stacks. Omega stood gazing out the window. Pontifex worked quietly, scribbling notes. Severus . . . well, Severus sat silently, grim and glowering. I turned the book over in my hand: “Celerity” was stamped neatly in gold script on the leather cover. One passage in particular confused me and I wondered whether to seek clarification from Omega. Omega noticed my expression and asked, “Interesting reading, M'dear?”
"It’s talking about blood dolls,” I replied, “And the effects of vitae. This says a blood doll is ‘A mortal who freely gives her blood to a vampire. Most blood dolls gain a perverse satisfaction from the kiss, and actively seek out vampires who will take their vitae.’” I paused considering how to phrase my question before just blurting it out. “Is Brit a blood doll?”
Omega’s gaze narrowed. “No. she is not. And I would advise you not to use that term around her or Ethan; they believe it to be a disparaging one. Brit is not…bonded to Ethan. In all other ways, perhaps, but not that one.”
I didn’t understand. Brit and Ethan were beloveds, married. They drank deeply from each other. “What do you mean, ‘not bonded’, Lady?”
“Blood bonded, Joah. She is not bound to him in that way. Some mortals find the kiss of a vampire…any vampire, addictive,” Omega replied. “They will seek out any who would give them their desire. That could be classed as a general addiction, I suppose you could say. One who becomes bonded to a particular vampire though, that is somewhat different.”
“But she drinks his blood,” I wondered aloud. “Is she a ghoul then? This says: ‘A ghoul is a minion created by giving a bit of vampirism vitae to a mortal without draining her of blood first.’” Severus began muttering something that I couldn’t quite make out about his own addictive blood.
Omega ignored my question. “Brit is not blood bound to Ethan. Perhaps the question we ought to be asking - is why? Not all humans can be bonded. It is rare…very rare. It would have a certain irony to it though, would it not?” Omega paused, considering her words. “I would think carefully before broaching this subject with them, Joah. I have seen Ethan react very aggressively to the phrase ‘blood doll.’ And suggesting that he has not been able to bond Brit would be insulting on many levels.”
Pontifex chuckled, “How does he react to ‘sex doll’ then?” Severus grinned and made a ribald comment, which I pretended not to hear. I tried to press on. "But Brit's different, Omega. She's been becoming stronger and faster and…more alert. She picked Grr up and threw him once. And the other night she ran after him faster than any human being can run." I looked at the book again. “‘Celerity,’” I began reading. "‘The ability to move at faster-than-human speeds and with uncanny precision.’"
“She is getting the benefit of his blood, undoubtedly,” Omega said.
“But if she's not a blood doll…and she's not a ghoul …what is she?
Omega smiled, “Something else. She is something else.”
“She's married,” Pontifex said in his usual sarcastic manner. “It’s not entirely unusual in many cultures for the wife to suck her husband.”
“Pontifex,” growled Omega. If you have nothing of worth to add to the conversation, please be quiet.” Turning toward me, Omega began to explain, “Celerity is product of consumption, not bonding.”
Pontifex shrugged, “What I mean is, they are of one flesh … yeah … that's it.”
Omega whirled on Pontifex. “Must everything be a jest? A foolish question. Of course it must.” She shook her head, anger and something else unreadable on her face.
“If it's not life or death, then it is jest,” Pontifex demurred. “If not to use, then least to the djinns of fate.”
I studied Pontifex for a moment. “You are a scholar, studying much that is arcane. How does this bonding take place?”
Pontifex turned his gaze toward Omega, though he responded to me. “I have to say, with vampires I know little, except to avoid any fluid transfer.” For a moment silence was thick between the two of them; Omega seemed lost for words. “Those were your words after Myriam attempted to enthrall me, Omega.”
“But Brit and Ethan exchange fluids,” I began, trying to steer the topic away from the rift between Pontifex and Omega.
“Forgive me,” Omega hissed, “For attempting to protect you, Pontifex. How very foolish of me.”
Severus shrugged his broad shoulders slightly and turned toward me. “If it is anything like the addiction of an incubus, then the blood of the vampire binds its victim … or erm … partner. The more she feeds from the vampire, the stronger the bond.”
“I'm merely just stating my sum total of vampirism lore,” Pontifex continued. “No offense implied.” The smirk on his face said otherwise.
Omega acted as though Pontifex had not spoken. “As Severus says,” she began, “That is the usual way of it, yes.”
“So why doesn't it bond Brit?” I asked.
“Brit simply is not blood-bonded,” Omega replied. “In spite of … as Pontifex so eloquently puts it, their fluids transfer. An interesting puzzle, to be sure. But one I would tread delicately in attempting to investigate.”
Severus mused, “She must be unbondable … a rare condition. I wonder if my blood would have no affect on her either … not that I'd try….”
Suddenly, Pontifex interjected, “Am I the only one who sees the obvious?”
“Do, please, enlighten us, Pontifex,” Omega said in an icy tone.
“Brit was already bound to Ethan before blood, before marriage, before even Toxia.” Pontifex spread his hands in explanation. “Their bond isn’t some mere vampire or incubus trick. It is the one of their souls.”
“Seems Brit’s not the only one who can avoid bonds around here,” Omega muttered. “I'd say you've found the expert you were looking for, Joah.”
Omega strode over to the mysterious crate that had been delivered to the Library. Pushing at it, she shoved it a few inches. “About time we moved this damn thing.”
Pontifex smiled, but his mouth held a cruel twist. “You might best speak to Merma, Joah. She's the angel of the family, but, yes, souls are something both our kinds are intimately familiar with.”
I nodded and tucked the book back into my pocket. "Perhaps you are right, Pontifex. But maybe…." I glanced at the crate, at Omega, then stopped myself in mid-sentence. "We do need to move that. Or unpack it."
Pontifex did not relent. “Your book mentions how much the receiver enjoys the kiss. But I suspect the Vampire or Incubus draws pleasure from it as well. If it’s anything like … other releases of fluid, potentially even more so than the receiver. I can definitely tell you that possessing a woman is very pleasurable for me … though her pleasure isn’t really of mine concern....”
"Ownership," I speculated. "So it wouldn't matter to you where there was bonding?"
Severus interrupted. “For us the pleasure of the female is the ultimate concern. Without it, there is nothing to feed upon.”
Omega turned from the crate and spoke in a low, steely voice directed at Pontifex. “If you'll excuse me, I think I've heard quite enough. I would be happy to discuss this matter with you at another time, Joah.”
“Well, I believe I'm finished telling Joah the birds and the bees, ex rudis,” Pontifex smirked. “Though, Joah, if you need more private tutoring, I'm sure I can find someone to help you. I see my work is done; enjoy your day.”
I nodded to Pontifex, a bit confused, and then went to assist with the crate.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Girl talk
I stepped into the Library hearing the sound of cheery conversation and seeing a crew sitting at the Lady’s desk. My head was pounding, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down, but I had work to do. I nodded a greeting at Athanaric Criss, Bridgette Plunkett and Blueray Darkes as I walked by, then sought a cushion by the fire, pulled out my small tablet and pencil stub and began to write. I found it hard to focus between the pain in my temples and the buzzing conversation that seemed to be flowing through a wide and puzzling variety of topics: why any woman would do what a man told her to do, the dangers of riding a bike alone, and the sociological merits of artists versus scientists. Athanaric – A – wandered off to work on his research. I turned my attention once more to my tablet and settled in.
Suddenly Brit exclaimed, "I got a new shiny bullet!" Apparently, she’d been most distressed that someone had taken her other one. I could almost see Blue blink in astonishment, and – believe me – astonishing Blue is something of a feat in itself. Brit began rummaging through her pack. "It's pretty and shiny and, look!" I looked up from my writing and peeked behind the spiral staircase to see. "It fits in my pocket with my lipstick."
Blue grinned ruefully, "Brit, shiny as it is, those things are dangerous when fired from a gun. Bloody well hurt too." Having been shot in the leg, Blue knew. She began explaining about being shot, which, of course, genuinely troubled Brit until Blue reassured her. “It’s perfectly healed up,” she said. “Even the scar is gone. That’s when I changed races."
Brit lifted her pack, putting the bullet away. "I don't have a gun,” she said with a lisp. “And they don't hurt if you don't have a gun. Guns shoot them. I could throw it, but I don't think that would really hurt anyone." I looked up again; Brit was nodding to herself, pretty sure of what she was saying. "Besides!” she perked up, “It used to be Ethan's. And that makes it extra special."
Blue giggled leaning back in her chair, "Might leave a mark if you threw it at a forehead or something.” Blue clearly found Brit, her bullet, and her love and admiration for Ethan, rather endearing.
Brit suddenly dropped her pack and let out a small, soft, “Oh.” Her entire tone and demeanor changed. Brit is often slow to process what she’s heard, and she takes the words of others quite seriously and literally. It was beginning to dawn on her what Blue had meant about changing races. Brit was remembering. "I did not know you died,” she said. “Sorry. I would have come to the funeral."
Brit was gradually becoming accustomed, as was I, to people dying and resurrecting as something else. But the sadness of the change . . . my thoughts began drifting in different directions, thinking of Larissa, wondering about Nareth, trying to feel whether she was lost to us for good. My focus was brought back to the moment when Brit perked up and laughed, telling Blue, “But your hair is way prettier now!” To say that Brit sees the silver lining in every cloud is a bit of an understatement.
Blue waved a hand in the air, “I wouldn't worry about not coming to my funeral, Brit. I died twice in a sense and didn't have a funeral for either of them." She grinned. "I do like my hair, though.”
I smiled to myself at the conversation. I love Brit and Blue, two polar opposites of innocence and experience, but each strong and loyal and perceptive to the core. I looked down at my tablet and began, once again, my attempt to write, trying to piece together what had been happening to me of late. The headaches were coming more frequently, as well as the remembrances of smoke and steel smelting, of alarms and flashing lights. I sighed wanting no more of my own contemplation but was unable to filter the images from my thoughts. I heard a third voice at the door and realized that Picket McDonnell had strolled in, greeting her sister, Blue, and introducing herself to Brit. And because Brit is in love – truly, deeply in love – the talk turned as it so often does in her presence to beloveds and marriage. Brit’s first question of Picket was her usual: "Do you have a Beloved?"
I folded my tablet, tucked it and my pencil in a pocket in my skirt and stood before the fire, stretching. Perhaps the best distraction would be simply to be with others. I picked up a cushion and wandered over to the table to see Picket flashing her wedding ring and talking about her husband, a vampire named Alzreal, whom she pronounced very sexy, although Blue muttered something under her breath about him being annoying as hell. Though she was smiling, Picket looked terrible.
Brit was beaming happily and launched into a fairy-tale description of her wedding pulling out an album of her photos and handing them to Picket. If I believed in happily ever afters, Brit and Ethan’s love would be the proof of it. But there is nothing absolute in life. No loves that last forever. I tossed the cushion on the floor and sat between Blue and Brit, waving hello to all three who smiled in return. I needed to be away from my thoughts; the cheerful banter was a light breeze to me, helping the pictures in my mind drift away.
Blue laughed, “I couldn't make it to Brit's wedding but I got photos. Picket's took so long I ended up sleeping on the church floor.” She gave a mock-serious pout, "You got any idea how bad it is to wake up in a church? I had at least two angels crowding around me until I was awake enough to move".
Picket snickered about Bruno being a windbag, then pulled out a small wedding album from her pocket and tossed it to Brit. Picket grinned as Brit began perusing the photos, but her smile contained a grimace of pain. I wondered what was troubling her. Nevertheless, we all took turns looking through photographs of Brit’s and Ethan’s wedding. Blue, my best and favorite drinking companion pulled a small flask of vodka from her pocket and passed it to me. I tipped the flask and took several fiery sips. “I love weddings,” I said, taking another sip and handing the flask back to Blue. “So much better than funerals – although the liquor at a wake. . . ."
Picket giggled, “Yeah, but you have open bars at weddings.”
I smiled as Blue’s thoughts scattered their way toward me. She was wishing she’d had a funeral for either one of her deaths, thinking it would have been nice to lay there with everyone telling her corpse how they loved or hated her. Then she’d have risen and whacked them all about their heads for being mean to a dead person. That’s just one of the reasons I love Blue. Cute . . . and evil.
"Too many weddings recently,” Blue said aloud. “I got two more to go to soon.” She handed the bottle to Picket, who promptly waved it off holding her stomach and complaining of feeling sick.
“I think someone slipped something in my drink the other day,” Picket explained. I watched as Blue’s mirthful expression turned serious with concern.
Brit looked Picket up and down then blurted out, "Are you pregnant?"
I burst out laughing. "I . . . I don't think demons can get pregnant," Picket stammered.
Blue smirked, “It’s possible.”
“Nisha got pregnant,” Brit agreed. “And Lorne . . . um. . . ." Brit paused trying to remember what she’d been told. “Lorne spawned with Larissa. Only Larissa gave birth to his baby. Or it was her baby and his spawn." She blinked. “I'm not sure how that goes.”
Picket McDonnell shook her head. "Damn it! Someone should have told me this earlier. I am not used to this because I was a vampire and there is no chance in getting preggo when you are dead," she muttered.
Brit nodded. “Ethan says vampires do not have babies without some kind of unholy act.”
Blue began laughing, “When was the last time you and Alz did anything?”
Picket blinked at Blue, “Like . . . um . . . every day.”
Brit patiently explained to Blue, "Beloveds do things all of the time."
I began to study Picket carefully, "Do you mind if I take your hand?" I asked. She shook her head “no” and proffered her hand, which I took in both of mine. Pushing gently toward her, I probed for new life, new thoughts, and a second heartbeat. There was none. I looked up and smiled at her. "It appears you aren't with spawn. Or child. I'm not sure how that works either, Brit."
Picket sighed slightly. "Good – cause I might eat my own baby like cats do,” she said morosely.
“I don’t have a beloved,” Blue mused. “I just have warm bodies who share my bed.”
Brit looked at Blue with great seriousness. “Everyone needs a Beloved, Blue,” she said.
I smiled to myself at the talk of lovers and beloveds, but turned my focus back to Picket. "You are sick, though.” I pushed a bit toward her mind with my own. In her memories, I could see a vampire, slipping something into a goblet in the Haven. "I think it was the drink."
Picket frowned grumble, "Damn KA.”
I nodded. "I can help you, if you like. It troubles you now, but if you leave it unattended it will worsen."
Picket grimaced as a fresh wave of nausea hit her. “Yes, please,” she replied.
I still held Picket’s hand in my own two, but I dropped my left hand to my lap, palm up. I breathed deeply, sending a pulse of my essence through Picket, washing over her, pulling the poison away from her. It was worse than I’d at first thought. The KA’d meant to kill Picket, not just sicken her. Oily black residue formed on the fingertips of my open hand as I took the poison within me. I crumpled a little, holding my own stomach in pain. Picket gasped slightly as the sickness moved from her body, shivering as it crawled from her like a thousand little spiders.
I could feel Brit’s eyes on me, watching. She looked from Picket to me and back again to us both. Nibbling her lower lip, she lisped, “You took that inside of you. . . .”
Picket asked quietly, “Are you gonna be ok?”
“You think it’s that stuff that Sal gave to Bruno?” Blue wondered. “He said its bad for demons.”
I nodded, “It seems to be very bad for demons,” and wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach. “I’ll be fine. It will just take a little while.” Picket was frowning and watching me closely. There was really nothing I could do to reassure her that the poison and its effects would fade.
“So,” Blue muttered, “Whatever Sally has been dishing out is a rather bad thing indeed. Think we need words with him?”
"You both should speak with him," I replied, knowing full well that Blue's method of talking would mostly likely involve some physical persuasion of the violent sort. Blue’s expression of concern morphed into a wicked grin. Picket’s mouth widened into a dark smile showing a row of very white, perfectly sharp teeth.
Abruptly, Blue stood up, handed Brit a box of plushy kitties, and then turned to Picket, “Lets head to the church. Take it easy, Joah.” Picket nodded to Blue and with military sternness, they headed out the door of the Library.
Brit was obviously distressed that I was in pain. Pulling her legs into her chair and resting her chin on her knees, she gave me a confused and worried look. I stood unsteadily, leaning on Omega's desk. "I think I'd better lie down a bit. Brit, do you mind helping me to the sofa?"
She took my arm and braced me as I walked. “I don't think you should risk yourself like this, Joah.” She tucked a pillow on the couch, helped me settle and began looking around for my teakettle, which she laid on the embers of the fire.
“I’m a shaman, Brit. This is how I heal when other methods won’t work. There is always some risk, but so far, all the injuries I have taken have faded with time.” To be honest, I’d only recently realized this fact. It alarmed me. At first, after awakening in the City, I’d thought that any injury, any poison I took within my body healed. But I’d had time to think about the Earth from the Garden. I’d taken it in quite by accident the night Omega’s Chylde had come into existence. It remained within me, burning clearly, cleanly. And the plague I had taken from Sirenpetal – the swirling blackness I had inadvertently unleashed from her – I had found that small pock scars from its effects yet remained along the base of my ribs.
Brit said nothing for a moment as she lifted the handle of the kettle with her skirt and pulled it from the embers. "And what happens when it is so great that it cannot have time to heal?" she lisped. It was a question I’d pondered deeply, knowing there is a great difference between fading and healing.
“I think that if an injury were too severe,” I began, “If I somehow misgauged it, that it might not have time to fade. I don't seem to have the ability to heal myself.” Another cramp shot through me. “I can only take the pains of another. Then wait.”
Brit began talking about two Omegan doctors whom she thought would have treated me. They were twins: River and Rain. Doctors who healed with hands and with their magicks, scholarly curanderas, I suppose. I wondered again at the number of doctors who’d once resided within the walls of the Library, all mysteriously gone. Even Dominic Salving – I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Now his return seemed temporary at best. Although Brit thought Drs. River and Rain could have helped me, I suspected not. Whatever was going on inside me, magick had not been effective against it. Not even Mirah, with her great skill, had been able to touch the headaches and the pock scars.
Pouring the hot water into a teacup, and setting the kettle to one side, Brit made the tea and brought it to me. I thanked her and began to sip, but nearly spilled the whole thing as another I felt another cramp go through me. I held the teacup out to Brit, “Perhaps I should just try to sleep." I was afraid to lean over and set it on the floor.
Brit watched me with wide eyes. Knowing Brit, I suppose she was wondering whether those I help would return the favor if they could. I didn’t know at the time that Picket would more than return the favor in a few days. Picket would save my life. Taking the teacup, Brit held it for a moment and simply said, "Okay . . . rest. . . . . "
I closed my eyes, sank deep into the pillow and tried to sleep.
Suddenly Brit exclaimed, "I got a new shiny bullet!" Apparently, she’d been most distressed that someone had taken her other one. I could almost see Blue blink in astonishment, and – believe me – astonishing Blue is something of a feat in itself. Brit began rummaging through her pack. "It's pretty and shiny and, look!" I looked up from my writing and peeked behind the spiral staircase to see. "It fits in my pocket with my lipstick."
Blue grinned ruefully, "Brit, shiny as it is, those things are dangerous when fired from a gun. Bloody well hurt too." Having been shot in the leg, Blue knew. She began explaining about being shot, which, of course, genuinely troubled Brit until Blue reassured her. “It’s perfectly healed up,” she said. “Even the scar is gone. That’s when I changed races."
Brit lifted her pack, putting the bullet away. "I don't have a gun,” she said with a lisp. “And they don't hurt if you don't have a gun. Guns shoot them. I could throw it, but I don't think that would really hurt anyone." I looked up again; Brit was nodding to herself, pretty sure of what she was saying. "Besides!” she perked up, “It used to be Ethan's. And that makes it extra special."
Blue giggled leaning back in her chair, "Might leave a mark if you threw it at a forehead or something.” Blue clearly found Brit, her bullet, and her love and admiration for Ethan, rather endearing.
Brit suddenly dropped her pack and let out a small, soft, “Oh.” Her entire tone and demeanor changed. Brit is often slow to process what she’s heard, and she takes the words of others quite seriously and literally. It was beginning to dawn on her what Blue had meant about changing races. Brit was remembering. "I did not know you died,” she said. “Sorry. I would have come to the funeral."
Brit was gradually becoming accustomed, as was I, to people dying and resurrecting as something else. But the sadness of the change . . . my thoughts began drifting in different directions, thinking of Larissa, wondering about Nareth, trying to feel whether she was lost to us for good. My focus was brought back to the moment when Brit perked up and laughed, telling Blue, “But your hair is way prettier now!” To say that Brit sees the silver lining in every cloud is a bit of an understatement.
Blue waved a hand in the air, “I wouldn't worry about not coming to my funeral, Brit. I died twice in a sense and didn't have a funeral for either of them." She grinned. "I do like my hair, though.”
I smiled to myself at the conversation. I love Brit and Blue, two polar opposites of innocence and experience, but each strong and loyal and perceptive to the core. I looked down at my tablet and began, once again, my attempt to write, trying to piece together what had been happening to me of late. The headaches were coming more frequently, as well as the remembrances of smoke and steel smelting, of alarms and flashing lights. I sighed wanting no more of my own contemplation but was unable to filter the images from my thoughts. I heard a third voice at the door and realized that Picket McDonnell had strolled in, greeting her sister, Blue, and introducing herself to Brit. And because Brit is in love – truly, deeply in love – the talk turned as it so often does in her presence to beloveds and marriage. Brit’s first question of Picket was her usual: "Do you have a Beloved?"
I folded my tablet, tucked it and my pencil in a pocket in my skirt and stood before the fire, stretching. Perhaps the best distraction would be simply to be with others. I picked up a cushion and wandered over to the table to see Picket flashing her wedding ring and talking about her husband, a vampire named Alzreal, whom she pronounced very sexy, although Blue muttered something under her breath about him being annoying as hell. Though she was smiling, Picket looked terrible.
Brit was beaming happily and launched into a fairy-tale description of her wedding pulling out an album of her photos and handing them to Picket. If I believed in happily ever afters, Brit and Ethan’s love would be the proof of it. But there is nothing absolute in life. No loves that last forever. I tossed the cushion on the floor and sat between Blue and Brit, waving hello to all three who smiled in return. I needed to be away from my thoughts; the cheerful banter was a light breeze to me, helping the pictures in my mind drift away.
Blue laughed, “I couldn't make it to Brit's wedding but I got photos. Picket's took so long I ended up sleeping on the church floor.” She gave a mock-serious pout, "You got any idea how bad it is to wake up in a church? I had at least two angels crowding around me until I was awake enough to move".
Picket snickered about Bruno being a windbag, then pulled out a small wedding album from her pocket and tossed it to Brit. Picket grinned as Brit began perusing the photos, but her smile contained a grimace of pain. I wondered what was troubling her. Nevertheless, we all took turns looking through photographs of Brit’s and Ethan’s wedding. Blue, my best and favorite drinking companion pulled a small flask of vodka from her pocket and passed it to me. I tipped the flask and took several fiery sips. “I love weddings,” I said, taking another sip and handing the flask back to Blue. “So much better than funerals – although the liquor at a wake. . . ."
Picket giggled, “Yeah, but you have open bars at weddings.”
I smiled as Blue’s thoughts scattered their way toward me. She was wishing she’d had a funeral for either one of her deaths, thinking it would have been nice to lay there with everyone telling her corpse how they loved or hated her. Then she’d have risen and whacked them all about their heads for being mean to a dead person. That’s just one of the reasons I love Blue. Cute . . . and evil.
"Too many weddings recently,” Blue said aloud. “I got two more to go to soon.” She handed the bottle to Picket, who promptly waved it off holding her stomach and complaining of feeling sick.
“I think someone slipped something in my drink the other day,” Picket explained. I watched as Blue’s mirthful expression turned serious with concern.
Brit looked Picket up and down then blurted out, "Are you pregnant?"
I burst out laughing. "I . . . I don't think demons can get pregnant," Picket stammered.
Blue smirked, “It’s possible.”
“Nisha got pregnant,” Brit agreed. “And Lorne . . . um. . . ." Brit paused trying to remember what she’d been told. “Lorne spawned with Larissa. Only Larissa gave birth to his baby. Or it was her baby and his spawn." She blinked. “I'm not sure how that goes.”
Picket McDonnell shook her head. "Damn it! Someone should have told me this earlier. I am not used to this because I was a vampire and there is no chance in getting preggo when you are dead," she muttered.
Brit nodded. “Ethan says vampires do not have babies without some kind of unholy act.”
Blue began laughing, “When was the last time you and Alz did anything?”
Picket blinked at Blue, “Like . . . um . . . every day.”
Brit patiently explained to Blue, "Beloveds do things all of the time."
I began to study Picket carefully, "Do you mind if I take your hand?" I asked. She shook her head “no” and proffered her hand, which I took in both of mine. Pushing gently toward her, I probed for new life, new thoughts, and a second heartbeat. There was none. I looked up and smiled at her. "It appears you aren't with spawn. Or child. I'm not sure how that works either, Brit."
Picket sighed slightly. "Good – cause I might eat my own baby like cats do,” she said morosely.
“I don’t have a beloved,” Blue mused. “I just have warm bodies who share my bed.”
Brit looked at Blue with great seriousness. “Everyone needs a Beloved, Blue,” she said.
I smiled to myself at the talk of lovers and beloveds, but turned my focus back to Picket. "You are sick, though.” I pushed a bit toward her mind with my own. In her memories, I could see a vampire, slipping something into a goblet in the Haven. "I think it was the drink."
Picket frowned grumble, "Damn KA.”
I nodded. "I can help you, if you like. It troubles you now, but if you leave it unattended it will worsen."
Picket grimaced as a fresh wave of nausea hit her. “Yes, please,” she replied.
I still held Picket’s hand in my own two, but I dropped my left hand to my lap, palm up. I breathed deeply, sending a pulse of my essence through Picket, washing over her, pulling the poison away from her. It was worse than I’d at first thought. The KA’d meant to kill Picket, not just sicken her. Oily black residue formed on the fingertips of my open hand as I took the poison within me. I crumpled a little, holding my own stomach in pain. Picket gasped slightly as the sickness moved from her body, shivering as it crawled from her like a thousand little spiders.
I could feel Brit’s eyes on me, watching. She looked from Picket to me and back again to us both. Nibbling her lower lip, she lisped, “You took that inside of you. . . .”
Picket asked quietly, “Are you gonna be ok?”
“You think it’s that stuff that Sal gave to Bruno?” Blue wondered. “He said its bad for demons.”
I nodded, “It seems to be very bad for demons,” and wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach. “I’ll be fine. It will just take a little while.” Picket was frowning and watching me closely. There was really nothing I could do to reassure her that the poison and its effects would fade.
“So,” Blue muttered, “Whatever Sally has been dishing out is a rather bad thing indeed. Think we need words with him?”
"You both should speak with him," I replied, knowing full well that Blue's method of talking would mostly likely involve some physical persuasion of the violent sort. Blue’s expression of concern morphed into a wicked grin. Picket’s mouth widened into a dark smile showing a row of very white, perfectly sharp teeth.
Abruptly, Blue stood up, handed Brit a box of plushy kitties, and then turned to Picket, “Lets head to the church. Take it easy, Joah.” Picket nodded to Blue and with military sternness, they headed out the door of the Library.
Brit was obviously distressed that I was in pain. Pulling her legs into her chair and resting her chin on her knees, she gave me a confused and worried look. I stood unsteadily, leaning on Omega's desk. "I think I'd better lie down a bit. Brit, do you mind helping me to the sofa?"
She took my arm and braced me as I walked. “I don't think you should risk yourself like this, Joah.” She tucked a pillow on the couch, helped me settle and began looking around for my teakettle, which she laid on the embers of the fire.
“I’m a shaman, Brit. This is how I heal when other methods won’t work. There is always some risk, but so far, all the injuries I have taken have faded with time.” To be honest, I’d only recently realized this fact. It alarmed me. At first, after awakening in the City, I’d thought that any injury, any poison I took within my body healed. But I’d had time to think about the Earth from the Garden. I’d taken it in quite by accident the night Omega’s Chylde had come into existence. It remained within me, burning clearly, cleanly. And the plague I had taken from Sirenpetal – the swirling blackness I had inadvertently unleashed from her – I had found that small pock scars from its effects yet remained along the base of my ribs.
Brit said nothing for a moment as she lifted the handle of the kettle with her skirt and pulled it from the embers. "And what happens when it is so great that it cannot have time to heal?" she lisped. It was a question I’d pondered deeply, knowing there is a great difference between fading and healing.
“I think that if an injury were too severe,” I began, “If I somehow misgauged it, that it might not have time to fade. I don't seem to have the ability to heal myself.” Another cramp shot through me. “I can only take the pains of another. Then wait.”
Brit began talking about two Omegan doctors whom she thought would have treated me. They were twins: River and Rain. Doctors who healed with hands and with their magicks, scholarly curanderas, I suppose. I wondered again at the number of doctors who’d once resided within the walls of the Library, all mysteriously gone. Even Dominic Salving – I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Now his return seemed temporary at best. Although Brit thought Drs. River and Rain could have helped me, I suspected not. Whatever was going on inside me, magick had not been effective against it. Not even Mirah, with her great skill, had been able to touch the headaches and the pock scars.
Pouring the hot water into a teacup, and setting the kettle to one side, Brit made the tea and brought it to me. I thanked her and began to sip, but nearly spilled the whole thing as another I felt another cramp go through me. I held the teacup out to Brit, “Perhaps I should just try to sleep." I was afraid to lean over and set it on the floor.
Brit watched me with wide eyes. Knowing Brit, I suppose she was wondering whether those I help would return the favor if they could. I didn’t know at the time that Picket would more than return the favor in a few days. Picket would save my life. Taking the teacup, Brit held it for a moment and simply said, "Okay . . . rest. . . . . "
I closed my eyes, sank deep into the pillow and tried to sleep.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The seed knows its time
I hugged Brit and kissed her lightly on the cheek in greeting. The ocean from the sea wall was nearly beautiful, a swirl of toxic green and blue. Brit looked across the water, “It is way pretty here,” she sighed, “I think Toxia is most pretty.” Brit was right; the green blinked kaleidoscope-like over the blue water.
“You see beauty in everything, Brit,” I marveled.
“I don’t know, Joah, but it looks like a moving painting. So beautiful.” Brit’s fiery hair whipped in the wind. “Several people asked me . . . um . . . why we were married in Toxia . . . but . . . I thought the church was beautiful . . . and we live in Toxia. I’m glad Ethan did not pick anywhere else.”
I smiled at the new bride. “All weddings are beautiful, Brit. You and Ethan chose well.” The swirling water drew my focus away from Brit for a moment. “Pity that what is so beautiful is also so deadly,” I mused. “But that’s the nature of evil isn’t, it? Lucifer, son of the morning. . . .”
“I don’t really understand evil, Joah.” Brit lisped quietly. “People have told me that Vlad is evil, but he has only been kind to me.”
I do not know Vlad. I have seen him, seen the respect and fear he engenders, and seen Brit’s fondness for him. But then again, Brit sees beauty in everything. “He has always protected you and that is good. So perhaps there is some good in him. I don’t understand much of the ways of vampires, the Lady included.”
Brit began to smile and talk rapidly. “I’ve never seen him do anything horrible. He made me toys that moved. And colored with me. And gave me things just because he wanted me to have them. He helped me make a necklace that protected me . . . and always kept ice cream in his home for me. He told all of those who lived with him that I was welcome and protected. Vlad calls me his one good deed. He told all of those who lived there with him that I was welcome and protected. Vlad calls me his spawn and says I was his one good deed.”
I could not help but be drawn to the necklace around Brit’s throat. The glimmer of it both attracted and repelled me, as always. Every time I’ve tried to touch it, an indefinable something holds me back. I lifted my hand to try again, felt the same old uneasiness and dropped my hand quickly to my side. The necklace made by others for Brit. “Vlad is your father?”
Brit bit her lower lip. “I don't know," she worried. "Ethan said I should not tell anyone he said that.” She paused. “Do not say it to anyone. Okay?” She shrugged a bit, face frowning in concentration. “Pars said my parents were mortal, human like me.” I watched as Brit began shifting back and forth in agitation. “Pars took me from the hospital to the garden the day I was born.”
I had heard this story before. And again, I was puzzled about Pars and his theft of the baby Brit. The theft that Brit always seemed to take for granted as natural in the course of things. Perhaps a theft from Vlad. “How old is Vlad, Brit? How long as he been as he is?” I searched for words, trying to formulate the thoughts in my mind. “He must have been human at one time.”
“Oh, Vlad is very old. Older than Ethan. Ethan was a monk when he was mortal, for Constantine the First.”
I considered this. Vlad’s time as man born of earth would have been far too long ago for him to sire Brit. But I also knew there are other ways of fathering. “It is not,” I began slowly, “unheard of for a vampire to father a child.” I wondered how to explain this to Brit so that she would understand. “Have you ever heard of Elkiminus?”
Brit shook her head with puzzlement. “Ethan said his kind do not reproduce.”
“No, generally they do not.” How best to explain? “But Elkiminus . . . they’re half spirit, half vampire. Invisible. They possess human beings in order to take on corporeal form.”
Brit considered this for a moment. “Vlad . . . is . . . um…he is not a typical vampire. He is many and one.”
I thought of Legion and the thousands of souls in it. “What do you mean, Brit?”
Brit began to drift a bit. “He keeps those who have gone alive. Like Dr. Harlow. And Olivia. And he gives all kinds of presents. He gave Ethan a seed.”
I shifted from foot to foot, trying to find a way into Brit’s inner thoughts. I had no idea who Dr. Harlow and Olivia were, nor did I understand the seed given to Ethan. “So the seed was Vlad’s present to Ethan? Did it make him happy?”
But, as is so often the case with Brit, the moment was lost. Overtaken by the thought of Vlad’s gifts, Brit pulled a small mannequin from her pack. A toy, I thought at first, animated, yet there was no key in his back. He stepped lightly in her hand, as though he were a courtier attending the throne of a monarch.
Brit held him out to me and as he crossed in to my palm, I pushed a bit toward him. I was both shocked and surprised; this was no toy. I felt prana. But he was not unhappy. He twirled in my hand as I blew him a kiss. He walked seriously back to Brit’s hand, gave me a salute, and then leapt into her pack.
She then began coloring for me, suns and roses and happy pictures, un'impressione sull'aria. There would be no more talk of fathers and seeds today.
Brit, there is so much I want to know about you. Though you say not, you are far from ordinary. Your seemingly unintended arrival in the city . . . I suspect it was no mere coincidence and that Vlad wanted you here. Your necklace. The seed. You are a puzzle box and I want to find the key.
“You see beauty in everything, Brit,” I marveled.
“I don’t know, Joah, but it looks like a moving painting. So beautiful.” Brit’s fiery hair whipped in the wind. “Several people asked me . . . um . . . why we were married in Toxia . . . but . . . I thought the church was beautiful . . . and we live in Toxia. I’m glad Ethan did not pick anywhere else.”
I smiled at the new bride. “All weddings are beautiful, Brit. You and Ethan chose well.” The swirling water drew my focus away from Brit for a moment. “Pity that what is so beautiful is also so deadly,” I mused. “But that’s the nature of evil isn’t, it? Lucifer, son of the morning. . . .”
“I don’t really understand evil, Joah.” Brit lisped quietly. “People have told me that Vlad is evil, but he has only been kind to me.”
I do not know Vlad. I have seen him, seen the respect and fear he engenders, and seen Brit’s fondness for him. But then again, Brit sees beauty in everything. “He has always protected you and that is good. So perhaps there is some good in him. I don’t understand much of the ways of vampires, the Lady included.”
Brit began to smile and talk rapidly. “I’ve never seen him do anything horrible. He made me toys that moved. And colored with me. And gave me things just because he wanted me to have them. He helped me make a necklace that protected me . . . and always kept ice cream in his home for me. He told all of those who lived with him that I was welcome and protected. Vlad calls me his one good deed. He told all of those who lived there with him that I was welcome and protected. Vlad calls me his spawn and says I was his one good deed.”
I could not help but be drawn to the necklace around Brit’s throat. The glimmer of it both attracted and repelled me, as always. Every time I’ve tried to touch it, an indefinable something holds me back. I lifted my hand to try again, felt the same old uneasiness and dropped my hand quickly to my side. The necklace made by others for Brit. “Vlad is your father?”
Brit bit her lower lip. “I don't know," she worried. "Ethan said I should not tell anyone he said that.” She paused. “Do not say it to anyone. Okay?” She shrugged a bit, face frowning in concentration. “Pars said my parents were mortal, human like me.” I watched as Brit began shifting back and forth in agitation. “Pars took me from the hospital to the garden the day I was born.”
I had heard this story before. And again, I was puzzled about Pars and his theft of the baby Brit. The theft that Brit always seemed to take for granted as natural in the course of things. Perhaps a theft from Vlad. “How old is Vlad, Brit? How long as he been as he is?” I searched for words, trying to formulate the thoughts in my mind. “He must have been human at one time.”
“Oh, Vlad is very old. Older than Ethan. Ethan was a monk when he was mortal, for Constantine the First.”
I considered this. Vlad’s time as man born of earth would have been far too long ago for him to sire Brit. But I also knew there are other ways of fathering. “It is not,” I began slowly, “unheard of for a vampire to father a child.” I wondered how to explain this to Brit so that she would understand. “Have you ever heard of Elkiminus?”
Brit shook her head with puzzlement. “Ethan said his kind do not reproduce.”
“No, generally they do not.” How best to explain? “But Elkiminus . . . they’re half spirit, half vampire. Invisible. They possess human beings in order to take on corporeal form.”
Brit considered this for a moment. “Vlad . . . is . . . um…he is not a typical vampire. He is many and one.”
I thought of Legion and the thousands of souls in it. “What do you mean, Brit?”
Brit began to drift a bit. “He keeps those who have gone alive. Like Dr. Harlow. And Olivia. And he gives all kinds of presents. He gave Ethan a seed.”
I shifted from foot to foot, trying to find a way into Brit’s inner thoughts. I had no idea who Dr. Harlow and Olivia were, nor did I understand the seed given to Ethan. “So the seed was Vlad’s present to Ethan? Did it make him happy?”
But, as is so often the case with Brit, the moment was lost. Overtaken by the thought of Vlad’s gifts, Brit pulled a small mannequin from her pack. A toy, I thought at first, animated, yet there was no key in his back. He stepped lightly in her hand, as though he were a courtier attending the throne of a monarch.
Brit held him out to me and as he crossed in to my palm, I pushed a bit toward him. I was both shocked and surprised; this was no toy. I felt prana. But he was not unhappy. He twirled in my hand as I blew him a kiss. He walked seriously back to Brit’s hand, gave me a salute, and then leapt into her pack.
She then began coloring for me, suns and roses and happy pictures, un'impressione sull'aria. There would be no more talk of fathers and seeds today.
Brit, there is so much I want to know about you. Though you say not, you are far from ordinary. Your seemingly unintended arrival in the city . . . I suspect it was no mere coincidence and that Vlad wanted you here. Your necklace. The seed. You are a puzzle box and I want to find the key.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
A cluster of thoughts
Did she push me or did I fall? I remember only being asked to help with a lesson. She opened up the void within her; I felt the lifeblood drained from me and a bitter cold within. She said I had no choice but to drink from her. She said she saved my life. Perhaps she did. I would have frozen in the abyss that is Nareth.
I could not be with her, yet I could not leave. I both longed for her and despised her. The blood of the Omega runs through her veins. And that is not a gift to be rejected lightly.
I chose to walk away. Nicholette, for your sake, I hope I did the right thing. . . .
*****
Burned and black. Burned and black. Larissa, dear friend, you would not have forth told were it not to be. Yet this dream of death must be mutable. Despite Pontifex’s mocking, there must be free will. The Creator has made it so. Dear friend, you placed a white rose in my hand--a funerary ornament or the way to rebirth?
*****
A lovely pink heart. A silly pink mustache. I watched with amazement as Brit drew them sparkling in the air. She said Lorne had given her dream ink in which to dip her colors. A two-edged demon gift. Not all dreams are those we wish to come true. There is the dark side, the nightmares we keep hidden within. I wondered, though, whether a nightmare so beckoned might prove to protect Brit if other defenses failed. “Can you draw one”, I asked? “You mean a scary picture?” Brit questioned. She closed her eyes and lifted her hand, crayon poised . . . and a toxic waste monster appeared. . . .
*****
I walked the streets and the shore, searching to satisfy my hunger. The building drew me. Would there be answers inside? The woman, Scarlette, had said she descries the future, not by crystal ball, but by the cards. “Watch me read,” she invited. Perhaps I was too much of a Silver-Hair, though I tested neither beds nor porridge. Yet a sword was drawn on me, with the threat of sending me back to the Omega in pieces. I only sought answers.
I could not be with her, yet I could not leave. I both longed for her and despised her. The blood of the Omega runs through her veins. And that is not a gift to be rejected lightly.
I chose to walk away. Nicholette, for your sake, I hope I did the right thing. . . .
*****
Burned and black. Burned and black. Larissa, dear friend, you would not have forth told were it not to be. Yet this dream of death must be mutable. Despite Pontifex’s mocking, there must be free will. The Creator has made it so. Dear friend, you placed a white rose in my hand--a funerary ornament or the way to rebirth?
*****
A lovely pink heart. A silly pink mustache. I watched with amazement as Brit drew them sparkling in the air. She said Lorne had given her dream ink in which to dip her colors. A two-edged demon gift. Not all dreams are those we wish to come true. There is the dark side, the nightmares we keep hidden within. I wondered, though, whether a nightmare so beckoned might prove to protect Brit if other defenses failed. “Can you draw one”, I asked? “You mean a scary picture?” Brit questioned. She closed her eyes and lifted her hand, crayon poised . . . and a toxic waste monster appeared. . . .
*****
I walked the streets and the shore, searching to satisfy my hunger. The building drew me. Would there be answers inside? The woman, Scarlette, had said she descries the future, not by crystal ball, but by the cards. “Watch me read,” she invited. Perhaps I was too much of a Silver-Hair, though I tested neither beds nor porridge. Yet a sword was drawn on me, with the threat of sending me back to the Omega in pieces. I only sought answers.
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