Down the Whispering Well, Vaysh, post 2
Mar. 23rd, 2008 08:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneTitle: Down the Whispering Well
This post rating: general
Warnings: the usual angst
Word Count: 4372
Disclaimer: Ashmael, Vaysh, and the harish world all belong to Storm Constantine; I'm merely playing with great abandon in her sandbox.
Pairings: Vaysh/Ashmael (historic); Vaysh/OC
Summary: Being brought back from the dead doesn't mean happily ever after, especially if you're Vaysh. Life has its costs, and he pays dearly. An exploration of Vaysh's character in the years before and through Pellaz's transformation, and the burdens he endures, because he must.
Time pases in 'the cold place,' and summer allows Vaysh an occasional respite from his demons. The coming of Natalia brings things to the surface Vaysh doesn't want to deal with, as well as unexpected guests. Continued from the first post, here.
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
~ "The More Loving One," W. H. Auden
As time passed, despite continuing to swim in deep waters of ennui and futility, I found myself nesting. The problem was that I had nothing of my own. Thiede and his attendants made sure I lacked for no necessity, and my growing drive to domesticate wasn't stifled. The weeks blossomed into the brighter months of summer and I became more attuned to the subtle workings of the hara. I learned many of their names, and eventually asked Feslavit if I could go with them to the nearest town.
"I would love to take you," he enthused, his verbal skills in my language having improved over our time together. We weren't chesna, of course, nor even that close of confidantes, but he was a friend, a lively companion, trustworthy and exceedingly patient. We'd taken aruna a few times, in the same manner as before, but I'd brooded after each liaison for days. Locked away in my room, I'd get drunk on the liquor they called dauthi. Feslavit, it appeared, was biding his time, certain that I'd eventually come around and be like a normal har. I'd simply tried to quit thinking, instead indulging in the activities allowed to me given our location. I knew that the serving-hara went to a town to get supplies and to trade, and I'd grown sick of staying at the fortress, its grounds and the nearby slumbering forest.
Feslavit roused me from bed early on a day near mid-summer; I'd had rather a lot of dauthi the night before and let him spend the night after I'd pleasured him orally. He'd been reduced to babbling all sorts of heated nonsense in his native tongue. I found healing in the act, and smirked at the knowledge I could turn the powerful har to jelly with tongue, teeth, and oiled fingers. I didn't allow him to reciprocate, but he was placated at the very rare opportunity to spend the night in my bed.
"Get up, star eyes!" he said, yanking down the covers.
"Fuck! You're cruel and wicked," I groaned, grasping at the rumpled bed linens that still smelled of him, of clove and moss.
"You want to go to market. We must get ready, and you said you want to look your best. You are always beautiful, though," he said warmly. His voice, still roughened from sleep, was like suede drawn softly across my skin.
"You flatterer," I groused.
Still, I got up and shuffled into the bathroom as he lit the fire. He left instructions with one of the hara before heading to his own rooms. It was summer, but it little resembled the season as I knew it from my former life— except for the insects. They'd emerged when the snow melted, but thankfully hadn't made life too miserable. I found my nerves were buzzing; this was the first time I'd ventured out into the world in this body, internally ravaged but externally perfected by Thiede's touch. I applied a few cosmetics, braided whispering tendrils in my hair, and debated what to wear. At length I settled on leather trousers, soft and supple that I knew showed off my legs, a blouson shirt, vest, and brought a woolen travelling cloak in case we didn't return until late. The sun almost didn't set, dipping to the horizon to tease at it before beginning its slow ascent again. It was disconcerting, but I'd grown to enjoy the nearly continuous sunshine.
Feslavit let out a low rumble of frustrated lust when I met him at the stables. "You… you're a ruby, a fox. You will feast on my heart and then race away," he said, gathering me into a tight embrace.
"I take it you approve," I said provocatively, giving his backside a playful squeeze before kissing him on the cheek and wriggling out of his arms.
Several coaches had been readied; in my exploring, I'd discovered that perhaps due to the isolation, there was transportation beyond individual horses for summer and winter travel, well-tended carriages and sleighs. I assumed that Thiede, when he did make bodily appearances, came via sedu. As our small entourage rode off and away from the stone citadel, I revelled in the bright sun, at the scent of fir and lupine, and the miraculous ability to cross my ankle across my knee and breathe deeply of it all. Theide had sent regular messages to me via mind-touch and even in my dreams, I believed, reassuring me that he had plans for me. I was treasured even if I was flawed and unable to serve as archon or whatever titular name he would use in his realm in Immanion. That gnawing ache, however, remained in me, resistant to forces negative and positive. I dulled it with dauthi or poked new sores in it spending nights chain-smoking cigarettes and tormenting myself with images of Ash. Doubtless he was rooning with abandon, having been forced to leave me, literally, in the dirt.
I shook my mane of hair, clearing my head of recent depressing remembrances and situating myself on cushions provided for the ride. There were four other hara in our carriage, and two up front to manage the horses. The serving-hara engaged me in conversation for a time, then spoke amongst themselves, their words drifting around the creaks and squeals of the wood as we travelled to the harish hamlet of Tollsend. They all spoke a language that I didn't, though I'd decided to learn it on my own just so I could know whether or not they ever gossiped about me. I'd brought one of the vapid human books with me in case boredom set in, but I didn't touch it. Feslavit and I talked about the herb garden we'd been cultivating, and then he asked for a tale or two from my past. I was careful in what I told, as I didn't want to go on about Ashmael. I knew he sensed the absent presence which loomed, massive and elegiac, when I spoke. I'd had my share of experiences on my own, however, or with others in my clan, and in Castlegar. During the ride I shared a few stories and encouraged him to do the same.
It was a market day; hara were out doing business, delighting in each other's company, all under the blue sky scrubbed clean of clouds. I'd been given a bag of coins and a cursory overview of the costs of things. After the weeks — months? — I'd spent in the subdued stronghold of my rebirth, this was a feast of sight and sound. I gorged myself, literally and figuratively. I ate well at our fortress, but I couldn't resist the roasted lamb, seasoned and served on herbed flat bread. The hara of this area were easy on the eye: oval-faced, a wide variety of hair and eye colours, wearing brightly patterned fabrics and often bursting into song in pairs or quartets. Ale, wine and dauthi was in abundance, as well as jewellery and leather goods crafted by artisans.
I found myself at a jeweler's stall, fingering a beautiful piece of amber, creatively held in silver. Its body was flanked with upturned wings of tiger's eye, with actual beady eyes of garnet— a phoenix.
"That is no butterfly," Feslavit said in my ear, his voice doubtless meant to sound enticing, but I'd buttressed myself against the effect.
I'd remembered a ring of citrine Ash had bartered for me, his powers of persuasion over the artisan more efficacious than mine. I'd had my heart set on it for some time but hadn't come up with a satisfactory trade. I'd begun to think I was going to have to resort to sycophantic means when Ash produced it as a gift. I was filled with morbid curiosity: did someone else in Castlegar wear it now? I thought of Cloudblaze, and hoped perhaps it had found a home with him.
"I'm no butterfly, either," I replied to Feslavit, placing the amulet back on its pillow of cobalt velvet. "If anything, I'm a fallen star. I could wear a rock around my neck for symbolism."
"Do not be so black," Feslavit scolded. "You breathe, the sun shines, you have new inks, and decorations for rooms. I know you bought burgandy leather boots, too. And you have my company!" he said, smiling broadly, taking my arm. "It is a good day!"
I shook my head at his zealous mission to restore my happiness. Yet, how could a sieve hold goodwill even as bountiful as Feslavit's?
"A good day, indeed. Those boots are works of art," I agreed, unable to stop from grinning when he growled in mock exasperation.
There was no laziness to be found; with such short months of relative warmth, even a gathering like this vibrated with frenetic energy. It was invigorating and draining, all at once. I'd not been around such continuous frivolity and noise in what seemed like forever. I filled a flask with wine and the two of us walked over to an artist, sitting on a natural stool — a portable tree trunk — painting the view of a small lake and swans gliding on its peaceful surface. For a long time I stood, watching the har sketch on large sheaths of parchment, using black charcoal and an umber pencil. Feslavit grew tired of that and wandered off, promising to return. I took sips from my flask, standing nearby after ensuring I wasn't making the har nervous or annoyed. I found myself engrossed at the smooth strokes and twitchy jabs of shading that spilled across the paper.
"What is your name?" he asked without looking up. "I've not seen you before. I'd remember if I had."
Startled, I glanced around, but he was indeed talking to me. "Vaysh," I replied. "You're quite skilled. And you are?"
"Who I am is not important. But you'll find that my chesnari, Grimska, is. He can sell you something to declaw your demons."
I stood up straighter, haughtiness creeping stealthfully up my spine, steeling it. "I beg your pardon?"
He stopped his sketching and turned to look at me. His golden eyes were feral, and uncannily old; I felt the night of aeons in him, a primeval tiger seeing through to everything I kept closeted away, even my anguished heart.
"No one — nohar — can take your pain away. It radiates from you, if one is attuned to such things," he said in a rich tenor.
"And so what if it does?" I said frostily, clutching my wine and trying to ressurect my protective barriers.
"Go and speak with Grimska. Be discreet. Where you live there's no shortage of nosy busybodies."
"I'm well aware of that."
The artist's expression softened slightly. "It's a shame I've not seen you before now, in the flesh. Too soon the sun will begin her retreat and our trading will become infrequent. Perhaps I'll see you again at the solstice."
"If you know me so well already, you'd know you can't possess even a part of me," I challenged him, taking in more of his appearance. His skin was a tawny brown, a constellation of freckles decorating his handsome face.
"I don't wish to possess, only make things more bearable. See Grimska. He's near the blacksmith."
I took a long drink from my flask as he regarded me. I didn't see pity, which was gratifying, but neither did I feel any empathy from him. It was unsettling; if I'd had feathers, they would have been ruffled.
"Go before your comrade returns," he suggested.
Without a word, I recapped my flask and made my way to the blacksmith's tent. The noise and number of hara facilitatied my mingling without actually being noticed as I looked for— I didn't know who I was supposed to find. A cherubic, jovial-faced har stood, leaning under an awning in front of a booth selling scented candles and incense. His provocative smile drew me over, thugh it seemed incongruous that he would be dealing in whatever seemingly illicit drugs the artist had thought I'd benefit from.
"How much coin do you have?" he asked under his breath, his gaze sliding quickly over me like a wave ebbing back from shore.
"I'm not telling you that," I snapped, keeping my voice low. "I presume you know I'm not here for your more obvious wares."
"I know who sent you. I'll sell you four gold koseks worth; enough to last you a decent spell of time, if you're judicious. You have needles in that den of stone, right?" He'd moved behind his shelves, discreetly glancing about to make sure he wasn't being watched.
"I can get my hands on one," I said boldly. "Look, we're Wraeththu. We don't have laws. Why are you so secretive?" I'd begun sniffing at some of the sturdy pillar candles, having decided I'd buy a few for my room, and some fronds of incense for good measure.
"Not just anyone can make this. We prefer to keep our clientelle exclusive." He straightened up, showing me a black, satin-lined tin with a dozen or so opalescent crystals. They glowed with inner light, not pulsing, but a more fluid, soft shimmer. "You can pick out a few tapers, they're complientary."
"Why me?" I asked, no stranger to drugs, though I'd not found the need for many since I'd become a har.
"Noric dreamed about you. He said you'd be here today, and he thought he'd offer it up if your pathcrossing felt auspicious. Apparently it did. Your actual coming to me was your choice," he said with a delicate shrug of his shoulders. "But no coincidence."
He eased the tin into my palm and I slid it into an inner pocket inside my vest. I put the rather exorbatant amount of money on the wooden conter; in an instant, it vanished. "Let me wrap your candles. Your companion is seeking you; Noric let me know. About the drug: melt it down, then inject it. It can't change the past or present, of course, but it will sand off some of the roughest edges."
"You are Grimska?" I asked, my nerves alight with the rush of doing something of my own volition.
"Oh yes." His expression grew playful, and tender. "Perhaps I'll see you again at Natalia."
The word was a perfectly-aimed throw to the gut. I winced. For fuck's sake, I swore at myself. Bury your past. You must, no matter the cost.
"Did I say something wrong?" Grimska asked, genuinely concerned. He was far more emotive than his artist lover.
"I died the day after Natalia," I whispered, the words tasting of metal, as my own blood had when it had filled my mouth. I knew I sounded utterly insane and I didn't give a damn.
Grimska looked up, startled, but continuing at his task. "Evidence would suggest otherwise," he quipped.
"You have no idea."
* * * * *
The rest of that all-too-brief period of light was tolerable, even pleasant at times. I wrote, learned the language being spoken around me, went on long horseback rides, and shored up my spiritual training. I had periods of merciless melancholy, and drank vast amounts of wine or dauthi, sometimes not leaving my room for days at a time. Feslavit had to repair my door, wrenched off of its hinges when I wouldn't answer it after a week's-long drunken funeral I nurtured in my heart. I couldn't open the door; I'd passed out. It takes a lot of alcohol to render a har unconscious, but I learned well how much it took for me and I created my own private stash. The drugs I had, whatever they were, I hid carefully away with a procured needle, figuring I might even wait for a celebratory occasion to try them out, should I ever again have any reason to celebrate.
Despite not actually doing all that much, the months went by rapidly. The chill returned on its nimble feet, and night ascended again to her throne, holding sway over more and more hours. The fertile lands settled under ever-deeper blankets of snow; the scepter of winter waved across the forests and lakes, rendering them mute. I felt as though I was in a waking sleep, my heart becoming dormant though Feslavit continued his earnest, futile pursuits. He felt like a brother, a concept which had no reality anymore that I knew of. I called him my golden shadow, my protective lion; he slept in my bed, but I rarely allowed anything remotely erotic. I did let him share breath on occasion, as I felt like a dry leaf scuttling over the stone floors if I went more than several weeks without any harish communion at all.
"What's the matter?" he asked one night, massaging clove-scented oil into my feet, a luxury I could never resist.
I'd been on edge, caterpillar-creepings of discontent and unease inching along my spirit day after day. I thought I knew the cause, but I hesitated sharing my thoughts, since they were such a fundamental part of me. They'd seeped from the wound for which there was no salve.
"It's Natalia next week."
A thick blond eyebrow raised. "And? That is good! Hara will come here, and there will be a grand, lavish party. I wil make sure you are glorious, even though no-one else may have you," he said warmly, though his own irony suffused the words and they hung, limp, like the wilted flowers on my dresser.
"You don't have me," I reminded him.
Feslavit let out a laboured sigh. "This I know," he said. "But I am closer than anyone else. I do not want to share."
"I don't exactly think there's a queue of hara lying in wait to carve pieces of me away. I know I'm not that desirable. But I was, once," I intoned, my morbid thoughts now fully in control.
"Stop speaking nonsense and riddles!"
"You were here when I was first regenerated, or whatever it was Thiede did. Weren't you one of the poor, unthanked hara who had to clean and tend to the filth and near-disintegration of my body after the aruna Thiede forced on me? You may have been one to shoot me up just to stop my screaming!" I said, eyes blazing and my jaw aching with tension. "You were there. I'm no riddle. I died the day after Natalia. The holiday makes my skin crawl. Just— go away, please."
I took deep, shaky breaths, my fingers digging so deeply into the flesh of my palms I thought I would draw blood. Tremours of anxiety shook me to my core; my composure toppled, smashing any sense of decorum.
"Vaysh, my firefly—" Feslavit began, worry sculpted in his features.
"I'm not your fucking firefly," I snarled. "I know you mean well, but I can't be what you want. Ever. You're too full of life for a catastrophe like me."
Warring emotions battled for dominance in him; for all of my angry bravado, I did feel a modicum of pity. He was proud, and I'd beaten him around the heart with a truth he didn't want to accept.
"I can help you," Feslavit growled, crawling up the bed. He straddled my lap and with the speed of a lightning strike, he'd thrown my hands beside my head, pinning me down. "I will do what it takes. I helped nurse you back. I wiped clean your oozing sores, I kept vigil even when I did not really know who you were, or why you were here."
I squirmed under him, but he was far stronger than I was. I'd let myself get quite weak. Obviously I needed to change that.
"You won't admit it, but I know you feel for me, here," he yelled, removing one hand to thump his chest. "You complete me. I adore you."
"That's your problem!" I said, gnashing my teeth. "Yes, I'm fond of you, but Thiede brought me back, and even though I didn't turn out the way he wants, he won't let me go. Don't you understand?"
The wail of my voice blew through the room like a gust of wind. "I'm Thiede's! My feelings are irrelevant! I only ever loved Ashmael but he buried me, don't you see?" I panted, frantically trying to calm the storm roiling in my heart. I tore my gaze away from his bruised expression, focussing on the window, on the heavy shadows in the velvet curtain. "Thiede won't tell him I'm alive. I was supposed to be king, or Archon, or who the fuck knows what. Now I'm supposed to do his bidding, at least until he does this again to some other hara, enough times until he succeeds. Then maybe I'll be released."
Feslavit sank down next to me, a kite falling gracefully to the ground in a dying breeze. "Oh Vaysh. I yearn to be with you," he murmured, stroking his fingers across my cheeks, wiping away tears I hadn't been aware of.
"There's only room in this bed for one martyr, and it's me," I said, attempting some humour, no matter how dark. All at once, I sensed a disturbance out in the nearby aethers. It wasn't Thiede, but I had the vaguest brush of a stirring of the Otherlanes, and a whisper of Tassia's unique intelligence. I sat up and jumped out of bed, rushing over to the chifferobe where my winter clothes hung.
"What the hell are you doing?" Feslavit asked, storming over to me.
"Someone's coming, on Tassia. The sedu I rode, back before. It's not Thiede, but I can't tell who it is. They're coming through the Otherlanes, from far away. Maybe it's Arahal," I mused out loud, jerking up my woolen trousers and shoving my arms through the woolen tunic.
"I will come with you. Ah— Nevrast!" Feslavit practically threw himself toward the door where the har stood, agitated and doubtless wanting to alert us that there was a churning in the sky, that guests were coming and none of us had been told. "I will go with Vaysh, outside."
They spoke some more in Nevrast's language, and I caught enough to hear Feslavit giving orders, but they were just as clueless as to who was coming, or how many hara were coming, why, anything of that nature. Feslavit went running down the corridor to his rooms as I quickly brushed my hair. Whoever it was, I wanted to look decent. To steady my nerves, I poured myself a healthy shot of dauthi and tossed it back. For good measure, I did so twice, my eyes burning as I swallowed down the second serving. As I strode down the stairs to the front door where my coat hung, however, I felt far more serene and ready to face whomever it was. Feslavit's footsteps came pounding up behind me. There was a buzzing of activity; we'd all been caught off-guard. It was unexpected and I was filled with no small amount of trepidation, though the edge had been softened thanks to the liquor.
I opened the door and walked outside. The stars were radiant in the sky, a million winking, dispassionate eyes scattered in the velvet night. Under their indifference, I stamped my feet along the path, waiting as I saw the disfiguring folds in the air, smelled ozone and heard the whoop of a voice both familiar and yet unidentifiable. There were three sedim, and one was Tassia. As the horses galloped toward us, the one in front, with his rider's flowing white hair and disaffected cool rendered him immediately recognisable: Velaxis. They all slowed to a canter, and then a walk, their breath huffing into the cold with bursts of white. Feslavit protectively stood to my side but just a bit in front as bridles and bits jostled, clinking in the harsh quiet after their noisy entrance into this part of the world.
"That was fucking unbelievable!" a cheery voice said, the tone like a wooden flute. Velaxis simply stared down his nose at me before sliding off his sedu with feline grace. The two hara behind him wore hoods, so I couldn't readily tell who they were. Chills stirred my blood and gooseflesh rose under my layers of warmth; there was a whiff of a reunion in the air and I wasn't at all sure I was sturdy enough to face it head on like this with no warning.
"Vaysh," Velaxis said, his voice smooth as satin. "You're looking better. I've brought two of your former companions, hara whom Thiede has determined would be a comfort to you, as well as of use to him."
"Oh my God," another familiar voice sounded. His breath hitched; a short string of invectives drifted into the wintry air like smoke. The hood was thrown back and vivid orange curls shone in the torches from the fortress entrance. "You're… it can't be. I know he said, but I just couldn't…"
The other har wasted no time. He swung his leg over the back of Tassia, who'd snorted at me in greeting, and rushed over to me. He was a blur of burnished skin, black eyes shining with tears before he was stopped by Feslavit's shove into his chest.
"Slow down!" Feslavit bellowed. "He is precious to me."
"It's all right," I mumbled, wracking my memories to place context on the handsome, hawkish face, cascading rivers of black hair, and wisdom that burned deep in his gaze, discordant with his youth. He was quite obviously an adult, though. His frigid hands cupped my chin as he marvelled at me and I grew increasingly uncomfortable. He was so much like Cloudblaze—
"Vaysh. I'm Firethorn. Jaffa's here, too. We're chesna. You look… I…"
"How many years?" I choked out. I'd always assumed Thiede had recreated me overnight, with powers I couldn't begin to fathom.
"How many years have we been together?"
"No," I spluttered, my knees already threatening to give out. "How many years since I died?" The words were a frantic rattle in my throat.
"Seven."
The world swam, and with tremendous gratitude, I passed out.
This post rating: general
Warnings: the usual angst
Word Count: 4372
Disclaimer: Ashmael, Vaysh, and the harish world all belong to Storm Constantine; I'm merely playing with great abandon in her sandbox.
Pairings: Vaysh/Ashmael (historic); Vaysh/OC
Summary: Being brought back from the dead doesn't mean happily ever after, especially if you're Vaysh. Life has its costs, and he pays dearly. An exploration of Vaysh's character in the years before and through Pellaz's transformation, and the burdens he endures, because he must.
Time pases in 'the cold place,' and summer allows Vaysh an occasional respite from his demons. The coming of Natalia brings things to the surface Vaysh doesn't want to deal with, as well as unexpected guests. Continued from the first post, here.
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
~ "The More Loving One," W. H. Auden
As time passed, despite continuing to swim in deep waters of ennui and futility, I found myself nesting. The problem was that I had nothing of my own. Thiede and his attendants made sure I lacked for no necessity, and my growing drive to domesticate wasn't stifled. The weeks blossomed into the brighter months of summer and I became more attuned to the subtle workings of the hara. I learned many of their names, and eventually asked Feslavit if I could go with them to the nearest town.
"I would love to take you," he enthused, his verbal skills in my language having improved over our time together. We weren't chesna, of course, nor even that close of confidantes, but he was a friend, a lively companion, trustworthy and exceedingly patient. We'd taken aruna a few times, in the same manner as before, but I'd brooded after each liaison for days. Locked away in my room, I'd get drunk on the liquor they called dauthi. Feslavit, it appeared, was biding his time, certain that I'd eventually come around and be like a normal har. I'd simply tried to quit thinking, instead indulging in the activities allowed to me given our location. I knew that the serving-hara went to a town to get supplies and to trade, and I'd grown sick of staying at the fortress, its grounds and the nearby slumbering forest.
Feslavit roused me from bed early on a day near mid-summer; I'd had rather a lot of dauthi the night before and let him spend the night after I'd pleasured him orally. He'd been reduced to babbling all sorts of heated nonsense in his native tongue. I found healing in the act, and smirked at the knowledge I could turn the powerful har to jelly with tongue, teeth, and oiled fingers. I didn't allow him to reciprocate, but he was placated at the very rare opportunity to spend the night in my bed.
"Get up, star eyes!" he said, yanking down the covers.
"Fuck! You're cruel and wicked," I groaned, grasping at the rumpled bed linens that still smelled of him, of clove and moss.
"You want to go to market. We must get ready, and you said you want to look your best. You are always beautiful, though," he said warmly. His voice, still roughened from sleep, was like suede drawn softly across my skin.
"You flatterer," I groused.
Still, I got up and shuffled into the bathroom as he lit the fire. He left instructions with one of the hara before heading to his own rooms. It was summer, but it little resembled the season as I knew it from my former life— except for the insects. They'd emerged when the snow melted, but thankfully hadn't made life too miserable. I found my nerves were buzzing; this was the first time I'd ventured out into the world in this body, internally ravaged but externally perfected by Thiede's touch. I applied a few cosmetics, braided whispering tendrils in my hair, and debated what to wear. At length I settled on leather trousers, soft and supple that I knew showed off my legs, a blouson shirt, vest, and brought a woolen travelling cloak in case we didn't return until late. The sun almost didn't set, dipping to the horizon to tease at it before beginning its slow ascent again. It was disconcerting, but I'd grown to enjoy the nearly continuous sunshine.
Feslavit let out a low rumble of frustrated lust when I met him at the stables. "You… you're a ruby, a fox. You will feast on my heart and then race away," he said, gathering me into a tight embrace.
"I take it you approve," I said provocatively, giving his backside a playful squeeze before kissing him on the cheek and wriggling out of his arms.
Several coaches had been readied; in my exploring, I'd discovered that perhaps due to the isolation, there was transportation beyond individual horses for summer and winter travel, well-tended carriages and sleighs. I assumed that Thiede, when he did make bodily appearances, came via sedu. As our small entourage rode off and away from the stone citadel, I revelled in the bright sun, at the scent of fir and lupine, and the miraculous ability to cross my ankle across my knee and breathe deeply of it all. Theide had sent regular messages to me via mind-touch and even in my dreams, I believed, reassuring me that he had plans for me. I was treasured even if I was flawed and unable to serve as archon or whatever titular name he would use in his realm in Immanion. That gnawing ache, however, remained in me, resistant to forces negative and positive. I dulled it with dauthi or poked new sores in it spending nights chain-smoking cigarettes and tormenting myself with images of Ash. Doubtless he was rooning with abandon, having been forced to leave me, literally, in the dirt.
I shook my mane of hair, clearing my head of recent depressing remembrances and situating myself on cushions provided for the ride. There were four other hara in our carriage, and two up front to manage the horses. The serving-hara engaged me in conversation for a time, then spoke amongst themselves, their words drifting around the creaks and squeals of the wood as we travelled to the harish hamlet of Tollsend. They all spoke a language that I didn't, though I'd decided to learn it on my own just so I could know whether or not they ever gossiped about me. I'd brought one of the vapid human books with me in case boredom set in, but I didn't touch it. Feslavit and I talked about the herb garden we'd been cultivating, and then he asked for a tale or two from my past. I was careful in what I told, as I didn't want to go on about Ashmael. I knew he sensed the absent presence which loomed, massive and elegiac, when I spoke. I'd had my share of experiences on my own, however, or with others in my clan, and in Castlegar. During the ride I shared a few stories and encouraged him to do the same.
It was a market day; hara were out doing business, delighting in each other's company, all under the blue sky scrubbed clean of clouds. I'd been given a bag of coins and a cursory overview of the costs of things. After the weeks — months? — I'd spent in the subdued stronghold of my rebirth, this was a feast of sight and sound. I gorged myself, literally and figuratively. I ate well at our fortress, but I couldn't resist the roasted lamb, seasoned and served on herbed flat bread. The hara of this area were easy on the eye: oval-faced, a wide variety of hair and eye colours, wearing brightly patterned fabrics and often bursting into song in pairs or quartets. Ale, wine and dauthi was in abundance, as well as jewellery and leather goods crafted by artisans.
I found myself at a jeweler's stall, fingering a beautiful piece of amber, creatively held in silver. Its body was flanked with upturned wings of tiger's eye, with actual beady eyes of garnet— a phoenix.
"That is no butterfly," Feslavit said in my ear, his voice doubtless meant to sound enticing, but I'd buttressed myself against the effect.
I'd remembered a ring of citrine Ash had bartered for me, his powers of persuasion over the artisan more efficacious than mine. I'd had my heart set on it for some time but hadn't come up with a satisfactory trade. I'd begun to think I was going to have to resort to sycophantic means when Ash produced it as a gift. I was filled with morbid curiosity: did someone else in Castlegar wear it now? I thought of Cloudblaze, and hoped perhaps it had found a home with him.
"I'm no butterfly, either," I replied to Feslavit, placing the amulet back on its pillow of cobalt velvet. "If anything, I'm a fallen star. I could wear a rock around my neck for symbolism."
"Do not be so black," Feslavit scolded. "You breathe, the sun shines, you have new inks, and decorations for rooms. I know you bought burgandy leather boots, too. And you have my company!" he said, smiling broadly, taking my arm. "It is a good day!"
I shook my head at his zealous mission to restore my happiness. Yet, how could a sieve hold goodwill even as bountiful as Feslavit's?
"A good day, indeed. Those boots are works of art," I agreed, unable to stop from grinning when he growled in mock exasperation.
There was no laziness to be found; with such short months of relative warmth, even a gathering like this vibrated with frenetic energy. It was invigorating and draining, all at once. I'd not been around such continuous frivolity and noise in what seemed like forever. I filled a flask with wine and the two of us walked over to an artist, sitting on a natural stool — a portable tree trunk — painting the view of a small lake and swans gliding on its peaceful surface. For a long time I stood, watching the har sketch on large sheaths of parchment, using black charcoal and an umber pencil. Feslavit grew tired of that and wandered off, promising to return. I took sips from my flask, standing nearby after ensuring I wasn't making the har nervous or annoyed. I found myself engrossed at the smooth strokes and twitchy jabs of shading that spilled across the paper.
"What is your name?" he asked without looking up. "I've not seen you before. I'd remember if I had."
Startled, I glanced around, but he was indeed talking to me. "Vaysh," I replied. "You're quite skilled. And you are?"
"Who I am is not important. But you'll find that my chesnari, Grimska, is. He can sell you something to declaw your demons."
I stood up straighter, haughtiness creeping stealthfully up my spine, steeling it. "I beg your pardon?"
He stopped his sketching and turned to look at me. His golden eyes were feral, and uncannily old; I felt the night of aeons in him, a primeval tiger seeing through to everything I kept closeted away, even my anguished heart.
"No one — nohar — can take your pain away. It radiates from you, if one is attuned to such things," he said in a rich tenor.
"And so what if it does?" I said frostily, clutching my wine and trying to ressurect my protective barriers.
"Go and speak with Grimska. Be discreet. Where you live there's no shortage of nosy busybodies."
"I'm well aware of that."
The artist's expression softened slightly. "It's a shame I've not seen you before now, in the flesh. Too soon the sun will begin her retreat and our trading will become infrequent. Perhaps I'll see you again at the solstice."
"If you know me so well already, you'd know you can't possess even a part of me," I challenged him, taking in more of his appearance. His skin was a tawny brown, a constellation of freckles decorating his handsome face.
"I don't wish to possess, only make things more bearable. See Grimska. He's near the blacksmith."
I took a long drink from my flask as he regarded me. I didn't see pity, which was gratifying, but neither did I feel any empathy from him. It was unsettling; if I'd had feathers, they would have been ruffled.
"Go before your comrade returns," he suggested.
Without a word, I recapped my flask and made my way to the blacksmith's tent. The noise and number of hara facilitatied my mingling without actually being noticed as I looked for— I didn't know who I was supposed to find. A cherubic, jovial-faced har stood, leaning under an awning in front of a booth selling scented candles and incense. His provocative smile drew me over, thugh it seemed incongruous that he would be dealing in whatever seemingly illicit drugs the artist had thought I'd benefit from.
"How much coin do you have?" he asked under his breath, his gaze sliding quickly over me like a wave ebbing back from shore.
"I'm not telling you that," I snapped, keeping my voice low. "I presume you know I'm not here for your more obvious wares."
"I know who sent you. I'll sell you four gold koseks worth; enough to last you a decent spell of time, if you're judicious. You have needles in that den of stone, right?" He'd moved behind his shelves, discreetly glancing about to make sure he wasn't being watched.
"I can get my hands on one," I said boldly. "Look, we're Wraeththu. We don't have laws. Why are you so secretive?" I'd begun sniffing at some of the sturdy pillar candles, having decided I'd buy a few for my room, and some fronds of incense for good measure.
"Not just anyone can make this. We prefer to keep our clientelle exclusive." He straightened up, showing me a black, satin-lined tin with a dozen or so opalescent crystals. They glowed with inner light, not pulsing, but a more fluid, soft shimmer. "You can pick out a few tapers, they're complientary."
"Why me?" I asked, no stranger to drugs, though I'd not found the need for many since I'd become a har.
"Noric dreamed about you. He said you'd be here today, and he thought he'd offer it up if your pathcrossing felt auspicious. Apparently it did. Your actual coming to me was your choice," he said with a delicate shrug of his shoulders. "But no coincidence."
He eased the tin into my palm and I slid it into an inner pocket inside my vest. I put the rather exorbatant amount of money on the wooden conter; in an instant, it vanished. "Let me wrap your candles. Your companion is seeking you; Noric let me know. About the drug: melt it down, then inject it. It can't change the past or present, of course, but it will sand off some of the roughest edges."
"You are Grimska?" I asked, my nerves alight with the rush of doing something of my own volition.
"Oh yes." His expression grew playful, and tender. "Perhaps I'll see you again at Natalia."
The word was a perfectly-aimed throw to the gut. I winced. For fuck's sake, I swore at myself. Bury your past. You must, no matter the cost.
"Did I say something wrong?" Grimska asked, genuinely concerned. He was far more emotive than his artist lover.
"I died the day after Natalia," I whispered, the words tasting of metal, as my own blood had when it had filled my mouth. I knew I sounded utterly insane and I didn't give a damn.
Grimska looked up, startled, but continuing at his task. "Evidence would suggest otherwise," he quipped.
"You have no idea."
* * * * *
The rest of that all-too-brief period of light was tolerable, even pleasant at times. I wrote, learned the language being spoken around me, went on long horseback rides, and shored up my spiritual training. I had periods of merciless melancholy, and drank vast amounts of wine or dauthi, sometimes not leaving my room for days at a time. Feslavit had to repair my door, wrenched off of its hinges when I wouldn't answer it after a week's-long drunken funeral I nurtured in my heart. I couldn't open the door; I'd passed out. It takes a lot of alcohol to render a har unconscious, but I learned well how much it took for me and I created my own private stash. The drugs I had, whatever they were, I hid carefully away with a procured needle, figuring I might even wait for a celebratory occasion to try them out, should I ever again have any reason to celebrate.
Despite not actually doing all that much, the months went by rapidly. The chill returned on its nimble feet, and night ascended again to her throne, holding sway over more and more hours. The fertile lands settled under ever-deeper blankets of snow; the scepter of winter waved across the forests and lakes, rendering them mute. I felt as though I was in a waking sleep, my heart becoming dormant though Feslavit continued his earnest, futile pursuits. He felt like a brother, a concept which had no reality anymore that I knew of. I called him my golden shadow, my protective lion; he slept in my bed, but I rarely allowed anything remotely erotic. I did let him share breath on occasion, as I felt like a dry leaf scuttling over the stone floors if I went more than several weeks without any harish communion at all.
"What's the matter?" he asked one night, massaging clove-scented oil into my feet, a luxury I could never resist.
I'd been on edge, caterpillar-creepings of discontent and unease inching along my spirit day after day. I thought I knew the cause, but I hesitated sharing my thoughts, since they were such a fundamental part of me. They'd seeped from the wound for which there was no salve.
"It's Natalia next week."
A thick blond eyebrow raised. "And? That is good! Hara will come here, and there will be a grand, lavish party. I wil make sure you are glorious, even though no-one else may have you," he said warmly, though his own irony suffused the words and they hung, limp, like the wilted flowers on my dresser.
"You don't have me," I reminded him.
Feslavit let out a laboured sigh. "This I know," he said. "But I am closer than anyone else. I do not want to share."
"I don't exactly think there's a queue of hara lying in wait to carve pieces of me away. I know I'm not that desirable. But I was, once," I intoned, my morbid thoughts now fully in control.
"Stop speaking nonsense and riddles!"
"You were here when I was first regenerated, or whatever it was Thiede did. Weren't you one of the poor, unthanked hara who had to clean and tend to the filth and near-disintegration of my body after the aruna Thiede forced on me? You may have been one to shoot me up just to stop my screaming!" I said, eyes blazing and my jaw aching with tension. "You were there. I'm no riddle. I died the day after Natalia. The holiday makes my skin crawl. Just— go away, please."
I took deep, shaky breaths, my fingers digging so deeply into the flesh of my palms I thought I would draw blood. Tremours of anxiety shook me to my core; my composure toppled, smashing any sense of decorum.
"Vaysh, my firefly—" Feslavit began, worry sculpted in his features.
"I'm not your fucking firefly," I snarled. "I know you mean well, but I can't be what you want. Ever. You're too full of life for a catastrophe like me."
Warring emotions battled for dominance in him; for all of my angry bravado, I did feel a modicum of pity. He was proud, and I'd beaten him around the heart with a truth he didn't want to accept.
"I can help you," Feslavit growled, crawling up the bed. He straddled my lap and with the speed of a lightning strike, he'd thrown my hands beside my head, pinning me down. "I will do what it takes. I helped nurse you back. I wiped clean your oozing sores, I kept vigil even when I did not really know who you were, or why you were here."
I squirmed under him, but he was far stronger than I was. I'd let myself get quite weak. Obviously I needed to change that.
"You won't admit it, but I know you feel for me, here," he yelled, removing one hand to thump his chest. "You complete me. I adore you."
"That's your problem!" I said, gnashing my teeth. "Yes, I'm fond of you, but Thiede brought me back, and even though I didn't turn out the way he wants, he won't let me go. Don't you understand?"
The wail of my voice blew through the room like a gust of wind. "I'm Thiede's! My feelings are irrelevant! I only ever loved Ashmael but he buried me, don't you see?" I panted, frantically trying to calm the storm roiling in my heart. I tore my gaze away from his bruised expression, focussing on the window, on the heavy shadows in the velvet curtain. "Thiede won't tell him I'm alive. I was supposed to be king, or Archon, or who the fuck knows what. Now I'm supposed to do his bidding, at least until he does this again to some other hara, enough times until he succeeds. Then maybe I'll be released."
Feslavit sank down next to me, a kite falling gracefully to the ground in a dying breeze. "Oh Vaysh. I yearn to be with you," he murmured, stroking his fingers across my cheeks, wiping away tears I hadn't been aware of.
"There's only room in this bed for one martyr, and it's me," I said, attempting some humour, no matter how dark. All at once, I sensed a disturbance out in the nearby aethers. It wasn't Thiede, but I had the vaguest brush of a stirring of the Otherlanes, and a whisper of Tassia's unique intelligence. I sat up and jumped out of bed, rushing over to the chifferobe where my winter clothes hung.
"What the hell are you doing?" Feslavit asked, storming over to me.
"Someone's coming, on Tassia. The sedu I rode, back before. It's not Thiede, but I can't tell who it is. They're coming through the Otherlanes, from far away. Maybe it's Arahal," I mused out loud, jerking up my woolen trousers and shoving my arms through the woolen tunic.
"I will come with you. Ah— Nevrast!" Feslavit practically threw himself toward the door where the har stood, agitated and doubtless wanting to alert us that there was a churning in the sky, that guests were coming and none of us had been told. "I will go with Vaysh, outside."
They spoke some more in Nevrast's language, and I caught enough to hear Feslavit giving orders, but they were just as clueless as to who was coming, or how many hara were coming, why, anything of that nature. Feslavit went running down the corridor to his rooms as I quickly brushed my hair. Whoever it was, I wanted to look decent. To steady my nerves, I poured myself a healthy shot of dauthi and tossed it back. For good measure, I did so twice, my eyes burning as I swallowed down the second serving. As I strode down the stairs to the front door where my coat hung, however, I felt far more serene and ready to face whomever it was. Feslavit's footsteps came pounding up behind me. There was a buzzing of activity; we'd all been caught off-guard. It was unexpected and I was filled with no small amount of trepidation, though the edge had been softened thanks to the liquor.
I opened the door and walked outside. The stars were radiant in the sky, a million winking, dispassionate eyes scattered in the velvet night. Under their indifference, I stamped my feet along the path, waiting as I saw the disfiguring folds in the air, smelled ozone and heard the whoop of a voice both familiar and yet unidentifiable. There were three sedim, and one was Tassia. As the horses galloped toward us, the one in front, with his rider's flowing white hair and disaffected cool rendered him immediately recognisable: Velaxis. They all slowed to a canter, and then a walk, their breath huffing into the cold with bursts of white. Feslavit protectively stood to my side but just a bit in front as bridles and bits jostled, clinking in the harsh quiet after their noisy entrance into this part of the world.
"That was fucking unbelievable!" a cheery voice said, the tone like a wooden flute. Velaxis simply stared down his nose at me before sliding off his sedu with feline grace. The two hara behind him wore hoods, so I couldn't readily tell who they were. Chills stirred my blood and gooseflesh rose under my layers of warmth; there was a whiff of a reunion in the air and I wasn't at all sure I was sturdy enough to face it head on like this with no warning.
"Vaysh," Velaxis said, his voice smooth as satin. "You're looking better. I've brought two of your former companions, hara whom Thiede has determined would be a comfort to you, as well as of use to him."
"Oh my God," another familiar voice sounded. His breath hitched; a short string of invectives drifted into the wintry air like smoke. The hood was thrown back and vivid orange curls shone in the torches from the fortress entrance. "You're… it can't be. I know he said, but I just couldn't…"
The other har wasted no time. He swung his leg over the back of Tassia, who'd snorted at me in greeting, and rushed over to me. He was a blur of burnished skin, black eyes shining with tears before he was stopped by Feslavit's shove into his chest.
"Slow down!" Feslavit bellowed. "He is precious to me."
"It's all right," I mumbled, wracking my memories to place context on the handsome, hawkish face, cascading rivers of black hair, and wisdom that burned deep in his gaze, discordant with his youth. He was quite obviously an adult, though. His frigid hands cupped my chin as he marvelled at me and I grew increasingly uncomfortable. He was so much like Cloudblaze—
"Vaysh. I'm Firethorn. Jaffa's here, too. We're chesna. You look… I…"
"How many years?" I choked out. I'd always assumed Thiede had recreated me overnight, with powers I couldn't begin to fathom.
"How many years have we been together?"
"No," I spluttered, my knees already threatening to give out. "How many years since I died?" The words were a frantic rattle in my throat.
"Seven."
The world swam, and with tremendous gratitude, I passed out.