"Down the Whispering Well," post 6
Apr. 12th, 2008 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneTitle: Down the Whispering Well
This post rating: adult
Warnings: angst, threesome, pearl birth
Word Count: 4417
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); this post, Vaysh/Firethorn/Jaffa
Novella 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.
Post summary: Ferelithia opens her arms to Vaysh, Firethorn and Jaffa as the months pass. One fateful, purposeful night changes everything for the two chesnari, and hastens Vaysh's intended return to the cold place via Olopade. Continued from post 5, here.
I breathed enough to learn the trick,
And now, removed from air,
I simulate the breath so well,
That one, to be quite sure
The lungs are stirless, must descend
Among the cunning cells,
And touch the pantomime himself.
How cool the bellows feels!
~ from Poems: Third Series, Emily Dickinson
* * * * *
After a fortnight, we'd found a house to rent with three bedrooms and a walled patio out back. After three months, Firethorn and Jaffa had become mini-celebrities. The Fereliths did like well made, showy things, but they also loved music and to have a good time. There were a few clubs in town, but the music that Jaffa and Firethorn played wasn't usually in that kind of rock band genre. That said, once they'd gained some fame from their duets played out by the bobbing ships on the quay, one or both of them was occasionally pulled up on stage by a fellow musician.
I'd gone to Temple Radiant, an established club and bar, a few times. One night I'd been at the table, nursing a violently purple drink that reminded me of the Banshee Wails that Jaffa had enjoyed up north. I saw the lead singer of a popular band, Breath of the Dragon, encourage Firethorn and Jaffa to sing something more lyrical than the band's usual fare. To my ear, Breath of the Dragon's music bore an eerie resemblance to the yowling of cats in heet, but they had quite a following regardless. The singer invited the two from Castlegar up for a trio, with the band's guitarist picking subtly along in the background. Another band member, with similar colouring to Jaffa who always wore a knee-length tartan skirt, provided another layer of beauty by playing a silver flute that glinted under the stage lights. Firethorn and Jaffa were born performers, and the arms of Ferelithia and her decadent, thriving townhara enfolded them in a fond embrace. Strangely enough, I found myself drawn to Grimska's trade— that of candle-making, anyway. There were bazaars most days of the week and I went when it pleased me, doing a brisk business when I did. I pressed local flowers into the wax, or decorated the outsides of the wide columnar candles with patterns of herbs and spices. The latter could be found in plenty from the spice trade. Jaffa and Firethorn busked for the most part, until their growing group of fans found a regular venue for them and they started playing at a hotel bar every weekend.
The weather was mild, especially so compared to my time in the cold lands near Tollsend. We were drawing nigh to Natalia, yet again. I'd found myself in the first period of true calmness of spirit versus a deadness of heart since I'd died and been brought back. The seed that Velaxis had planted of quiet confidence in my elevated cate and reserve of inner strength, germinated at an unhurried pace. I chose to spend hours each week in practise and meditation. For the first time, I found that Thiede was sensing and actively looking for me in those esoteric lands. He was pleased, even warm in those invitations to see through him. I was invited to wear, for brief periods of time, the gossmer mantle of perception and breathgaze as I saw the world through his harish vision. I was with him in heady moments of purpose when he played the part in his first inception and harhune; the manchild was indeed beautiful, but this was no surprise. Thiede couldn't bear ugliness of any sort. I'll admit I was equally fascinated by seeing the Calanthe figure Jaffa and Firethorn had mentioned as having made such an impression on Abelard.
As the planet turned and spring opened her radiant eyes, I found that I began to set my sights on going to visit the land of Olopade. I hadn't said anything out loud to Firethorn and Jaffa, though Thorn's innate perceptiveness had picked up on some of my disaffections with the town. I found some of my former prickliness returning, and didn't wonder that Thiede was behind it. Tensions I'd locked away began to rattle around in their cages; the proximity to Immanion started to gnaw fearfully at me again and the thought of going as an emissary to a more rustic territory wasn't unwelcome.
Even Thiede doesn't forsee everything, though he could hardly have planned more fatefully the occasion that hastened my journey north. I'd been invited along with Firethorn and Jaffa to an impromptu art gallery. A companion to one of the couple's many musician friends put together an art showing of sculptures and other items deemed as art, involving paint, plaster, and fabrics from the burgeoning textile industry. It had been a fun evening with a lot of potent wine and some liquor that smelled and tasted of liquorice. Firethorn and Jaffa seemed very much in their own element. I was content enough to be alone, as I hadn't made the kinds of amicable relationships that they did and no one had come along to dote on me as Feslavit had. That was fine by me; the exercises of spirit were a solitary pursuit. Tonight I felt Firethorn and Jaffa reaching out to me, however, and though it brought with it a twinge of remembered loss, I pushed that to the side.
I'd had quite a bit of the liquorice-tasting liqueur, to the point that I wasn't entirely steady on my feet during the walk home. The air was warm, but not sticky, and my head cleared the closer we got to the lights of our cheery, inviting home. Jaffa and Firethorn had been especially affectionate toward one another all evening, sneaking furtive glances when apart but usually glued to one another's sides as though newly discovering each other's charms and compelling attraction. Jaffa headed straight for their bedroom once we came home. I was hardly surprised, and had turned to make my way alone to mine when a husky voice murmured in my ear, "Don't go, please. Be with us."
It was Firethorn, his lithe chest pressed up behind me, strong arms winding sensually to wrap at my waist as he nibbled on my earlobe. This was surprising.
"Thorn, now isn't a time for jokes. You've been eating each other up all evening. Go and enjoy yourselves."
"We want you," he insisted, the scent of wine from his breath ghosting across my cheek.
"You never have before," I said, placing my hands on his before he snuck them down any further. "Why are you so keen to have me tonight?"
"For starters, you're gorgeous."
"Oh, do go on," I drawled, trying to ease out of his grasp. It wasn't that taking aruna with them was totally out of the question. We were dear friends and I felt close to them on myriad levels, but the timing seemed strange. My perfidious body was already reacting to Firethorn's advances, perhaps a consequence of having been on another purposeful arunic fast.
"No, truly. Turn around."
I rolled my eyes, though of course he couldn't see the gesture, and did as requested. His expression was both playful and deeply contemplative.
"Firethorn, what—"
"Jaffa dreamed it, and so did I. Please, Vaysh, be a part of us tonight. It must happen with you."
"Thorn, you sound a lot like your hostling, obtuse and speaking in riddles."
His black eyes twinkled; he was dreadfully handsome. He'd made an impression even before his coming of age, and then… well, my taking of aruna with anyone in the past few years had been sporadic, at best.
"I am a lot like him. I've seen what must be, and you're a necessary, beloved part. Don't make me beg!" he pleaded. An aromatic scent of sandalwood and saffron wafted enticingly down the corridor. "Am I that unattractive to you?"
"God, no, it's just— unexpected," I said feebly before he'd brushed my hair out of my face.
He regarded me with the solemnity of a mage before leaning in. The kiss and shared breath were full of smouldering, reverential passion. I broke away for air, still uncertain why tonight I'd been firmly enfolded in his arms, and even less so why it seemed a sound decision to break my arunic drought with both of them at once. I followed him down the corridor and into their rooms. Jaffa's eyes shone with relief; his russet spirals tumbled down his freckled back.
"So you really were in on this, too?" I asked, allowing him to undress me after he shared breath with his chesnari.
"Oh yes."
Everywhere I saw candles that I'd made, their varied scents of pine and vetiver commingling with the spicy incense. The tan lines on Jaffa's skin were less noticeable in the dimmed light; Firethorn was already a burnished god. When Jaffa claimed my mouth, my senses reeled at the intensity of affection. It was as though he wanted to drown me in it.
"You must both have powerful dreams to want me, the dry and chaste one, joining with you," I said. I felt a pang of guilt when I saw how hurt Firethorn seemed at my words.
"You're far more selective, more cautious," he said, regret heavy in his voice. "We respect that. Will you gift yourself to us?"
"Sun, moon and stars," Jaffa said, his taut abdomen and stiffening ouana-lim pressing against me. His wide-knuckled fingers fanned out across the swell of my buttocks. "I'll be the ocean of lights, and you the comet, diving into me."
I let out an unsophisticated, garbled noise as I grasped the positions they'd envisioned.
"And he'll pierce me like the blaze of light at noon," Firethorn moaned from the bed, fully soume, wearing a set of beaded amulets I didn't think I'd ever seen before.
I was caught up in the waves of love and eagerness that sang in the air. The energies carried on currents from one of them to the other, and to me, and circling back again. We became a sensuous jumble of limbs and mouths; through the erotic fog I recognised I'd had more adventures than many in the garden of delights to be found in aruna with three hara. Now was certainly not the time to reflect on those faces and worshipped bodies from the past. Panting and wild-eyed, Jaffa shoved pillows under his rounded backside as Firethorn shared breath with me, his eyes dilated with pleasure. I noticed a damp trail on his cheek, and licked the salty skin.
"Tears of happiness," he assured me, and his voice didn't waver.
I kneeled at the vee of Jaffa's legs, taken aback at the breathtaking awe of him, spread out for me as only a harish banquet could be. He offered colourful, fragrant dishes as both soume and ouana. Firethorn enveloped the bright petaled coral of Jaffa's ouana-lim as I plunged into the narrow floods of his soume-lam. Jaffa's cries and Firethorn's punctuated, yelping groans vibrated in my ears. The sheer carnality was an explosion of delights. Each thrust sent molten desire winging to my groin where a maelstrom of release churned in wait.
I might not have recognised the moment of change in their communion if I hadn't experienced it myself. It was a lifetime and another corporeal body ago, but oh, the memory was branded on my soul. To withdraw from them completely would have ruptured the weave and weft of their union, and I was a thread on the binding. Now it all struck me like an axe-blow, all that Firethorn had implied but I'd not understood until this moment. I was breath to add heat to their fire, though the air was stuck in my throat. As though within myself I felt Firethorn's innermost rose flowering open, knew when Jaffa's spring uncoiled past sealed depths in his chesnari he'd never before touched. Firethorn bloomed. The thorns of memory wrapped around my heart and I bled myrrh, the sepulchre of my barren hollow annointed with spices for the dead.
What seemed a dozen aeons later, but was really only an hour or so, I sat out in the jasmine-scented terrace, chain smoking clove cigarettes, my eyes unfocussed. Jaffa came out to see me; Firethorn had the training and intuitive understanding to know I couldn't bear to be in his presence for a short time. He might try and offer kindness that would be too much like pity. Jaffa would only apologise, even though he didn't yet know why I'd left so abruptly. He pulled up a bench and sat down across from me, a chalice of wine in hand, held out in offering. I accepted graciously.
"What did we do wrong?" he asked, his anguish bone-deep. He was baffled, and hurt, the incomprehension skating over his features and residual euphoria that he'd doubtless feel for days.
"I'd say you did everything right. Firethorn's with pearl, wasn't that your premonition?"
His nods were slow, conflicted. I'd only just started my grieving process, yet again, but poor Jaffa… he didn't know what had caused me to walk so silently out of the room as soon as I safely could. He was glowing with their — our — aruna, and yet, I'd turned my back on them. I owed them an explanation.
"May I speak freely?" I asked.
"Of course. For my sake, and Thorn's— Vaysh, if this was going to affect you so negatively, why the hell didn't you say something? We wouldn't have asked you! You've got to believe me, we just didn't know. Please tell me what happened," he begged, concern blazing from his eyes.
I felt sturdy and solid and dead. I was a hewn tree, the rings all there to be seen, my tale to be told. What was the use in keeping secrets from them: from the grown harling whose Feybraiha I'd witnessed, the grown harling whose Feybraiha and flourishing love I'd missed? If I'd been paying more attention tonight, I would have picked up on the full fruit they'd offered, not just the beckoning skin.
"Ashmael and I almost had a harling. I was nearly with pearl. I should have been, but Thiede intervened at the last moment. Not in person," I assured him, almost laughing darkly at the look of stunned horror on his face. "From wherever he was, he was watching me all the time, memorising each atom, I suppose. At the time I'd thought he'd wanted our child to be conceived and raised in Immanion at a later opportunity. I still believe those were his thoughts when he threw up a barrier and Ash was stopped. For everything that Thiede can control, accidents of nature don't fall into that category. Now, thanks also to Thiede, I'm barren."
"Oh God," Jaffa said in a thick voice, weighed down by the crush of his feelings. "Thiede is a fucking sadistic bastard."
Firethorn, I reached out in mind-touch, gentle and welcoming. I felt outside of myself, watching as I played the part of tragic victim of circumstance. This would be my coup de grace before I left. I didn't trust myself to stay much longer after the harling was born, and to stay sane. I'd like for you to hear this as well. Will you join us?
Moments later he rushed out to the tiled patio, kissing all over my head and the palms of my hands. "I didn't know!" he said, miserable.
"You couldn't have. And for all I know, Thiede planted those dreams in your head, and I really was supposed to be an element to the harling you've conceived."
"Tell me everything. If you're willing to share."
For the first time since my forced rebirth, it seemed as natural as breathing to talk about Ash, about how we'd been drawn together, of our conversations with Thiede and Arahal. I told them about the forced aruna wth Thiede, of our bed as a pyre, the aftermath, and my inability to host life anymore. It was only toward the end that I realised I was fingering the pendant Feslavit had given me, the phoenix warm against my fingers. I spoke for a long time, and as the words and scenes fell from my tongue, I sensed them sinking away. They weren't too deep; when I was put to bed, fussed over and coddled as though I were the one with pearl, I thought I saw my memories like bright fish swimming under a protective layer of ice. For the first time in months, or perhaps ever in this new-not-new self, I drifted to sleep with a smile on my lips.
* * * * *
Firethorn's gestation passed quickly; he and Jaffa now had fans painting their portraits, leaving wreaths of olive branches or flowers. I was as enthralled and captivated as anyone else, having only ever seen one har undergo the trial and joy of being with pearl. It was fitting that Thorn, himself such a novelty, would be the first in Ferelithia to create life that way. It wasn't like a human pregnancy and he wasn't rotund, but the swelling was noticeable and they became full-blown celebrities.
Even as all of this unfolded, I'd continued with my spiritual meditations, readying to return to the north. I wasn't rude, or cold, but I was growing distant. My arunic energies were seeped into this to-be harish life, but he wouldn't be mine. The pain of being around the two of them with their son would be too much. I might be a martyr, but I had decided to take my sackcloth and ashes far away. After seeing this Phade individual in the tower where Thiede had ensconsed him, I'd return to the fortress near Tollsend. Feslavit would understand; I respected his ability to know me so thoroughly and not blanch at the wretchedness and occasional white-hot anger I possessed. I didn't miss him, but I had to admit that I looked forward to his company, whenever I did return.
When the time came for Firethorn to deliver, I took the role of priest, lighting the incense and invoking the angels to guard over the birth. Jaffa was beside himself at Thorn's cries, but he had what seemed to be a relatively easy time of it. I chanted over Firethorn and kept wiping the sweat from his face; Jaffa gave words of encouragement and at last held up the shining pearl, its outside covered in sticky fluid and some blood. As though made of solid gold, I carefully sponged it off while Jaffa made sure Firethorn didn't need healers of any kind— he seemed to have torn a bit, but the bleeding stopped and he insisted his body would heal of its own accord. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat, the sheets were soaked with the pungent fluid that had protected the pearl inside his body. I suggested that perhaps we could carry Firethorn to the bath, and Jaffa agreed. The exhaustion and struggle of expelling the pearl had taken its toll; easily I laid him in a tub of warm, aloe-infused water. The pearl was kept in someone's arms all the time. The shell grew hard within a few hours, its shining integument compelling and exquisite. None of us ever wanted to let it out of sight.
"Stay with us as long as you can bear it," Jaffa said quietly as Firethorn napped that first afternoon. "I want him to know your presence, your voice, your love."
"I'll do what I can," I said simply, tugging on the phoenix that lay on my chest.
I spent the night in their bed— thankfully it was made for larger hara and there was space for the three of us and the pearl. Firethorn recovered his strength over the next two weeks, and their groupies came by in droves to see this exotic jewel. Many of them brought gifts: little wood carvings for toys; infant-sized clothes with beautiful handiwork, embroidery and smocking; small shoes with beadwork to commemorate Thorn's ancestry.
I felt nothing but a bottomless affection for the yet-unborn harling, and hoped beyond all sense that I wouldn't be overcome by sorrow once he emerged into the world. I was at the bazaar, having had an exceptionally rewarding day of trade, when Firethorn cried out to me via mind-touch that the pearl was splitting open. I rushed home as fast as I could, but the process was faster than I'd imagined. Once home, I threw down my satchel and called their names, but the house was quiet. I strode quickly to the enclosed back courtyard and there they were.
Firethorn had made a hanging wicker chair while with pearl, industrious no matter his condition, and he and Jaffa both sat in it, holding the harling. I walked over and smoothed my hand over his scalp, the rich mahogany hair wavy and fine in my fingers. The child had stuck its tiny fist in its mouth and was gumming at it. Jaffa looked as though he'd burst open with pride; Firethorn glowed with untarnished joy.
"You should hold him," he said, turning the harling around so he looked up at me. His eyes were an arresting light blue-grey; bright wolf eyes that had no harish sentience behind them. He was breathtaking, and alien. Despite that, I wanted to bury my nose in his scent, and hold him tightly to my chest, whisper to him every joyful secret I possessed.
Firethorn lifted him up. He was naked and perfect and warm and made a muted sound of distress during the short journey from his hostling's arms to mine. I held him carefully, gazing at his face and the animal intelligence behind the wide, light eyes. I was unable to see similarities of Jaffa or Firethorn in him yet, aside from his hair. I arranged him against my shoulder so I could stroke his back, softly swaying from side to side as I looked down at the new parents.
"He's absolutely perfect," I said without a baleful or envious thought. "Those eyes— I could stare at them for hours. He doesn't have our sense yet, does he?"
"I don't think so," Jaffa said, holding Firethorn's hand as they slowly swung in the chair. "Firethorn knows a lot more than I do since he spent so much time with Lemuel when he was first born."
"You'll see light behind them in a week or so," Firethorn confirmed. "He's a miracle, an enigma. And he doesn't look a thing like us!" he said with an easy laugh. "I'm sure his skin will darken over time, and his hair is a mix of ours. The bright eyes, though… maybe he'll have a calling to spend his life near the water."
The harling squirmed and I adjusted him in my arms, nuzzling gently and breathing in his clean scent, of innocence and hope. "Have you chosen a name yet?"
I'd heard them volley a variety of possibilities from a bevy of cultures, both human and Wraeththu. To me, the harling was terribly exotic, and in my heart I hoped they'd picked something that sounded spicy on the tongue. If they'd chosen more demurely, though, obviously it was their decision.
"Yes. You'll like it— you don't filter your thoughts as well as you think," Jaffa said with a laugh low in his chest. "Yazdyar. No doubt he'll end up as Yaz for most of his life, but I think it suits him."
I raised my eyebrows, delighted. The harling kicked his short legs and grabbed a fistful of my hair. "Yazdyar," I repeated slowly. "It means…?"
"Friend of angels," Firethorn said, smiling broadly and reaching out for him. "I need to feed him."
Grudgingly I gave him back.
"I'm afraid that there's going to be a lot of hara coming to visit," Jaffa said apologetically. "Everyone wants to see what a harling looks like." A wry smile tugged one side of his lips. "Don't let them run you off. But you're not staying long, are you?"
My sleeping tiger of melancholy had been sweetly roused at the first touch of Yazdyar's impossibly soft skin. No, I couldn't stay here or I'd be eaten alive by regret and resentment.
"No. Thiede needs me. For what I'm not really sure, but I know I'm meant to go back up to the fortress. I love your son, I do, you both must know that," I said, my voice charged with grief.
"We know," Firethorn said softly. "He wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."
"You don't know that."
"We're pretty damn sure," Jaffa said stridently. "How can I change your mind? It's not right, your heeding Thiede's beck and call when he's ruined you!"
"Thanks," I snapped. "Obviously I'm not that ruined if you meant what you said."
"Oh fuck," he groaned, grinding his fingers against his forehead. "I didn't mean it like that. I'd just feel better if you were with us."
"It would be too hard." I noticed I was tugging at my hair again and forced myself to stop. "Thiede's beyond love or hate; don't waste your energy on it. I've been summoned back north, so that's where I'll go. It's a brave new world in Almagabra, and I have more to see. Besides, Feslavit will probably do summersaults when I show up."
Firethorn gave me a heartbreaking, rueful look. "You hate being this close to Immanion and not being allowed to see Ash."
"Thiede is too fucking cruel!" Jaffa shouted, and the harling started to cry.
"I am Thiede's," I said, brushing angrily at the damp in my eyes. "I'm going out tonight. Don't wait up."
"Our door will be open," Thorn promised, easing out of the chair to walk around the patio, making soothing sounds until the infant's crying had subsided.
I spent the early evening packing while Jaffa lurked, wanting to be helpful but afraid of tripping over his words again. I went to Temple Radiant and danced until the sweat poured off of me, and then took a last walk by the quay. Deliberately I commited the sound of water gently slapping against the boats to memory, mooring the scents and effervescent frivolity in a harbour deep within myself. When I returned home, I stopped into Jaffa and Firethorn's room since the door was open, just as Firethorn had said. Yazdyar lay on his back, soft blankets around him and a mobile of birds hanging above his wooden cradle. I ran my thumb over his feathery eyebrows, careful not to wake him. Wordlessly I cast spells of protection and devotion until I was drained and my eyes burned with unshed tears.
This post rating: adult
Warnings: angst, threesome, pearl birth
Word Count: 4417
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); this post, Vaysh/Firethorn/Jaffa
Novella 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.
Post summary: Ferelithia opens her arms to Vaysh, Firethorn and Jaffa as the months pass. One fateful, purposeful night changes everything for the two chesnari, and hastens Vaysh's intended return to the cold place via Olopade. Continued from post 5, here.
I breathed enough to learn the trick,
And now, removed from air,
I simulate the breath so well,
That one, to be quite sure
The lungs are stirless, must descend
Among the cunning cells,
And touch the pantomime himself.
How cool the bellows feels!
~ from Poems: Third Series, Emily Dickinson
* * * * *
After a fortnight, we'd found a house to rent with three bedrooms and a walled patio out back. After three months, Firethorn and Jaffa had become mini-celebrities. The Fereliths did like well made, showy things, but they also loved music and to have a good time. There were a few clubs in town, but the music that Jaffa and Firethorn played wasn't usually in that kind of rock band genre. That said, once they'd gained some fame from their duets played out by the bobbing ships on the quay, one or both of them was occasionally pulled up on stage by a fellow musician.
I'd gone to Temple Radiant, an established club and bar, a few times. One night I'd been at the table, nursing a violently purple drink that reminded me of the Banshee Wails that Jaffa had enjoyed up north. I saw the lead singer of a popular band, Breath of the Dragon, encourage Firethorn and Jaffa to sing something more lyrical than the band's usual fare. To my ear, Breath of the Dragon's music bore an eerie resemblance to the yowling of cats in heet, but they had quite a following regardless. The singer invited the two from Castlegar up for a trio, with the band's guitarist picking subtly along in the background. Another band member, with similar colouring to Jaffa who always wore a knee-length tartan skirt, provided another layer of beauty by playing a silver flute that glinted under the stage lights. Firethorn and Jaffa were born performers, and the arms of Ferelithia and her decadent, thriving townhara enfolded them in a fond embrace. Strangely enough, I found myself drawn to Grimska's trade— that of candle-making, anyway. There were bazaars most days of the week and I went when it pleased me, doing a brisk business when I did. I pressed local flowers into the wax, or decorated the outsides of the wide columnar candles with patterns of herbs and spices. The latter could be found in plenty from the spice trade. Jaffa and Firethorn busked for the most part, until their growing group of fans found a regular venue for them and they started playing at a hotel bar every weekend.
The weather was mild, especially so compared to my time in the cold lands near Tollsend. We were drawing nigh to Natalia, yet again. I'd found myself in the first period of true calmness of spirit versus a deadness of heart since I'd died and been brought back. The seed that Velaxis had planted of quiet confidence in my elevated cate and reserve of inner strength, germinated at an unhurried pace. I chose to spend hours each week in practise and meditation. For the first time, I found that Thiede was sensing and actively looking for me in those esoteric lands. He was pleased, even warm in those invitations to see through him. I was invited to wear, for brief periods of time, the gossmer mantle of perception and breathgaze as I saw the world through his harish vision. I was with him in heady moments of purpose when he played the part in his first inception and harhune; the manchild was indeed beautiful, but this was no surprise. Thiede couldn't bear ugliness of any sort. I'll admit I was equally fascinated by seeing the Calanthe figure Jaffa and Firethorn had mentioned as having made such an impression on Abelard.
As the planet turned and spring opened her radiant eyes, I found that I began to set my sights on going to visit the land of Olopade. I hadn't said anything out loud to Firethorn and Jaffa, though Thorn's innate perceptiveness had picked up on some of my disaffections with the town. I found some of my former prickliness returning, and didn't wonder that Thiede was behind it. Tensions I'd locked away began to rattle around in their cages; the proximity to Immanion started to gnaw fearfully at me again and the thought of going as an emissary to a more rustic territory wasn't unwelcome.
Even Thiede doesn't forsee everything, though he could hardly have planned more fatefully the occasion that hastened my journey north. I'd been invited along with Firethorn and Jaffa to an impromptu art gallery. A companion to one of the couple's many musician friends put together an art showing of sculptures and other items deemed as art, involving paint, plaster, and fabrics from the burgeoning textile industry. It had been a fun evening with a lot of potent wine and some liquor that smelled and tasted of liquorice. Firethorn and Jaffa seemed very much in their own element. I was content enough to be alone, as I hadn't made the kinds of amicable relationships that they did and no one had come along to dote on me as Feslavit had. That was fine by me; the exercises of spirit were a solitary pursuit. Tonight I felt Firethorn and Jaffa reaching out to me, however, and though it brought with it a twinge of remembered loss, I pushed that to the side.
I'd had quite a bit of the liquorice-tasting liqueur, to the point that I wasn't entirely steady on my feet during the walk home. The air was warm, but not sticky, and my head cleared the closer we got to the lights of our cheery, inviting home. Jaffa and Firethorn had been especially affectionate toward one another all evening, sneaking furtive glances when apart but usually glued to one another's sides as though newly discovering each other's charms and compelling attraction. Jaffa headed straight for their bedroom once we came home. I was hardly surprised, and had turned to make my way alone to mine when a husky voice murmured in my ear, "Don't go, please. Be with us."
It was Firethorn, his lithe chest pressed up behind me, strong arms winding sensually to wrap at my waist as he nibbled on my earlobe. This was surprising.
"Thorn, now isn't a time for jokes. You've been eating each other up all evening. Go and enjoy yourselves."
"We want you," he insisted, the scent of wine from his breath ghosting across my cheek.
"You never have before," I said, placing my hands on his before he snuck them down any further. "Why are you so keen to have me tonight?"
"For starters, you're gorgeous."
"Oh, do go on," I drawled, trying to ease out of his grasp. It wasn't that taking aruna with them was totally out of the question. We were dear friends and I felt close to them on myriad levels, but the timing seemed strange. My perfidious body was already reacting to Firethorn's advances, perhaps a consequence of having been on another purposeful arunic fast.
"No, truly. Turn around."
I rolled my eyes, though of course he couldn't see the gesture, and did as requested. His expression was both playful and deeply contemplative.
"Firethorn, what—"
"Jaffa dreamed it, and so did I. Please, Vaysh, be a part of us tonight. It must happen with you."
"Thorn, you sound a lot like your hostling, obtuse and speaking in riddles."
His black eyes twinkled; he was dreadfully handsome. He'd made an impression even before his coming of age, and then… well, my taking of aruna with anyone in the past few years had been sporadic, at best.
"I am a lot like him. I've seen what must be, and you're a necessary, beloved part. Don't make me beg!" he pleaded. An aromatic scent of sandalwood and saffron wafted enticingly down the corridor. "Am I that unattractive to you?"
"God, no, it's just— unexpected," I said feebly before he'd brushed my hair out of my face.
He regarded me with the solemnity of a mage before leaning in. The kiss and shared breath were full of smouldering, reverential passion. I broke away for air, still uncertain why tonight I'd been firmly enfolded in his arms, and even less so why it seemed a sound decision to break my arunic drought with both of them at once. I followed him down the corridor and into their rooms. Jaffa's eyes shone with relief; his russet spirals tumbled down his freckled back.
"So you really were in on this, too?" I asked, allowing him to undress me after he shared breath with his chesnari.
"Oh yes."
Everywhere I saw candles that I'd made, their varied scents of pine and vetiver commingling with the spicy incense. The tan lines on Jaffa's skin were less noticeable in the dimmed light; Firethorn was already a burnished god. When Jaffa claimed my mouth, my senses reeled at the intensity of affection. It was as though he wanted to drown me in it.
"You must both have powerful dreams to want me, the dry and chaste one, joining with you," I said. I felt a pang of guilt when I saw how hurt Firethorn seemed at my words.
"You're far more selective, more cautious," he said, regret heavy in his voice. "We respect that. Will you gift yourself to us?"
"Sun, moon and stars," Jaffa said, his taut abdomen and stiffening ouana-lim pressing against me. His wide-knuckled fingers fanned out across the swell of my buttocks. "I'll be the ocean of lights, and you the comet, diving into me."
I let out an unsophisticated, garbled noise as I grasped the positions they'd envisioned.
"And he'll pierce me like the blaze of light at noon," Firethorn moaned from the bed, fully soume, wearing a set of beaded amulets I didn't think I'd ever seen before.
I was caught up in the waves of love and eagerness that sang in the air. The energies carried on currents from one of them to the other, and to me, and circling back again. We became a sensuous jumble of limbs and mouths; through the erotic fog I recognised I'd had more adventures than many in the garden of delights to be found in aruna with three hara. Now was certainly not the time to reflect on those faces and worshipped bodies from the past. Panting and wild-eyed, Jaffa shoved pillows under his rounded backside as Firethorn shared breath with me, his eyes dilated with pleasure. I noticed a damp trail on his cheek, and licked the salty skin.
"Tears of happiness," he assured me, and his voice didn't waver.
I kneeled at the vee of Jaffa's legs, taken aback at the breathtaking awe of him, spread out for me as only a harish banquet could be. He offered colourful, fragrant dishes as both soume and ouana. Firethorn enveloped the bright petaled coral of Jaffa's ouana-lim as I plunged into the narrow floods of his soume-lam. Jaffa's cries and Firethorn's punctuated, yelping groans vibrated in my ears. The sheer carnality was an explosion of delights. Each thrust sent molten desire winging to my groin where a maelstrom of release churned in wait.
I might not have recognised the moment of change in their communion if I hadn't experienced it myself. It was a lifetime and another corporeal body ago, but oh, the memory was branded on my soul. To withdraw from them completely would have ruptured the weave and weft of their union, and I was a thread on the binding. Now it all struck me like an axe-blow, all that Firethorn had implied but I'd not understood until this moment. I was breath to add heat to their fire, though the air was stuck in my throat. As though within myself I felt Firethorn's innermost rose flowering open, knew when Jaffa's spring uncoiled past sealed depths in his chesnari he'd never before touched. Firethorn bloomed. The thorns of memory wrapped around my heart and I bled myrrh, the sepulchre of my barren hollow annointed with spices for the dead.
What seemed a dozen aeons later, but was really only an hour or so, I sat out in the jasmine-scented terrace, chain smoking clove cigarettes, my eyes unfocussed. Jaffa came out to see me; Firethorn had the training and intuitive understanding to know I couldn't bear to be in his presence for a short time. He might try and offer kindness that would be too much like pity. Jaffa would only apologise, even though he didn't yet know why I'd left so abruptly. He pulled up a bench and sat down across from me, a chalice of wine in hand, held out in offering. I accepted graciously.
"What did we do wrong?" he asked, his anguish bone-deep. He was baffled, and hurt, the incomprehension skating over his features and residual euphoria that he'd doubtless feel for days.
"I'd say you did everything right. Firethorn's with pearl, wasn't that your premonition?"
His nods were slow, conflicted. I'd only just started my grieving process, yet again, but poor Jaffa… he didn't know what had caused me to walk so silently out of the room as soon as I safely could. He was glowing with their — our — aruna, and yet, I'd turned my back on them. I owed them an explanation.
"May I speak freely?" I asked.
"Of course. For my sake, and Thorn's— Vaysh, if this was going to affect you so negatively, why the hell didn't you say something? We wouldn't have asked you! You've got to believe me, we just didn't know. Please tell me what happened," he begged, concern blazing from his eyes.
I felt sturdy and solid and dead. I was a hewn tree, the rings all there to be seen, my tale to be told. What was the use in keeping secrets from them: from the grown harling whose Feybraiha I'd witnessed, the grown harling whose Feybraiha and flourishing love I'd missed? If I'd been paying more attention tonight, I would have picked up on the full fruit they'd offered, not just the beckoning skin.
"Ashmael and I almost had a harling. I was nearly with pearl. I should have been, but Thiede intervened at the last moment. Not in person," I assured him, almost laughing darkly at the look of stunned horror on his face. "From wherever he was, he was watching me all the time, memorising each atom, I suppose. At the time I'd thought he'd wanted our child to be conceived and raised in Immanion at a later opportunity. I still believe those were his thoughts when he threw up a barrier and Ash was stopped. For everything that Thiede can control, accidents of nature don't fall into that category. Now, thanks also to Thiede, I'm barren."
"Oh God," Jaffa said in a thick voice, weighed down by the crush of his feelings. "Thiede is a fucking sadistic bastard."
Firethorn, I reached out in mind-touch, gentle and welcoming. I felt outside of myself, watching as I played the part of tragic victim of circumstance. This would be my coup de grace before I left. I didn't trust myself to stay much longer after the harling was born, and to stay sane. I'd like for you to hear this as well. Will you join us?
Moments later he rushed out to the tiled patio, kissing all over my head and the palms of my hands. "I didn't know!" he said, miserable.
"You couldn't have. And for all I know, Thiede planted those dreams in your head, and I really was supposed to be an element to the harling you've conceived."
"Tell me everything. If you're willing to share."
For the first time since my forced rebirth, it seemed as natural as breathing to talk about Ash, about how we'd been drawn together, of our conversations with Thiede and Arahal. I told them about the forced aruna wth Thiede, of our bed as a pyre, the aftermath, and my inability to host life anymore. It was only toward the end that I realised I was fingering the pendant Feslavit had given me, the phoenix warm against my fingers. I spoke for a long time, and as the words and scenes fell from my tongue, I sensed them sinking away. They weren't too deep; when I was put to bed, fussed over and coddled as though I were the one with pearl, I thought I saw my memories like bright fish swimming under a protective layer of ice. For the first time in months, or perhaps ever in this new-not-new self, I drifted to sleep with a smile on my lips.
* * * * *
Firethorn's gestation passed quickly; he and Jaffa now had fans painting their portraits, leaving wreaths of olive branches or flowers. I was as enthralled and captivated as anyone else, having only ever seen one har undergo the trial and joy of being with pearl. It was fitting that Thorn, himself such a novelty, would be the first in Ferelithia to create life that way. It wasn't like a human pregnancy and he wasn't rotund, but the swelling was noticeable and they became full-blown celebrities.
Even as all of this unfolded, I'd continued with my spiritual meditations, readying to return to the north. I wasn't rude, or cold, but I was growing distant. My arunic energies were seeped into this to-be harish life, but he wouldn't be mine. The pain of being around the two of them with their son would be too much. I might be a martyr, but I had decided to take my sackcloth and ashes far away. After seeing this Phade individual in the tower where Thiede had ensconsed him, I'd return to the fortress near Tollsend. Feslavit would understand; I respected his ability to know me so thoroughly and not blanch at the wretchedness and occasional white-hot anger I possessed. I didn't miss him, but I had to admit that I looked forward to his company, whenever I did return.
When the time came for Firethorn to deliver, I took the role of priest, lighting the incense and invoking the angels to guard over the birth. Jaffa was beside himself at Thorn's cries, but he had what seemed to be a relatively easy time of it. I chanted over Firethorn and kept wiping the sweat from his face; Jaffa gave words of encouragement and at last held up the shining pearl, its outside covered in sticky fluid and some blood. As though made of solid gold, I carefully sponged it off while Jaffa made sure Firethorn didn't need healers of any kind— he seemed to have torn a bit, but the bleeding stopped and he insisted his body would heal of its own accord. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat, the sheets were soaked with the pungent fluid that had protected the pearl inside his body. I suggested that perhaps we could carry Firethorn to the bath, and Jaffa agreed. The exhaustion and struggle of expelling the pearl had taken its toll; easily I laid him in a tub of warm, aloe-infused water. The pearl was kept in someone's arms all the time. The shell grew hard within a few hours, its shining integument compelling and exquisite. None of us ever wanted to let it out of sight.
"Stay with us as long as you can bear it," Jaffa said quietly as Firethorn napped that first afternoon. "I want him to know your presence, your voice, your love."
"I'll do what I can," I said simply, tugging on the phoenix that lay on my chest.
I spent the night in their bed— thankfully it was made for larger hara and there was space for the three of us and the pearl. Firethorn recovered his strength over the next two weeks, and their groupies came by in droves to see this exotic jewel. Many of them brought gifts: little wood carvings for toys; infant-sized clothes with beautiful handiwork, embroidery and smocking; small shoes with beadwork to commemorate Thorn's ancestry.
I felt nothing but a bottomless affection for the yet-unborn harling, and hoped beyond all sense that I wouldn't be overcome by sorrow once he emerged into the world. I was at the bazaar, having had an exceptionally rewarding day of trade, when Firethorn cried out to me via mind-touch that the pearl was splitting open. I rushed home as fast as I could, but the process was faster than I'd imagined. Once home, I threw down my satchel and called their names, but the house was quiet. I strode quickly to the enclosed back courtyard and there they were.
Firethorn had made a hanging wicker chair while with pearl, industrious no matter his condition, and he and Jaffa both sat in it, holding the harling. I walked over and smoothed my hand over his scalp, the rich mahogany hair wavy and fine in my fingers. The child had stuck its tiny fist in its mouth and was gumming at it. Jaffa looked as though he'd burst open with pride; Firethorn glowed with untarnished joy.
"You should hold him," he said, turning the harling around so he looked up at me. His eyes were an arresting light blue-grey; bright wolf eyes that had no harish sentience behind them. He was breathtaking, and alien. Despite that, I wanted to bury my nose in his scent, and hold him tightly to my chest, whisper to him every joyful secret I possessed.
Firethorn lifted him up. He was naked and perfect and warm and made a muted sound of distress during the short journey from his hostling's arms to mine. I held him carefully, gazing at his face and the animal intelligence behind the wide, light eyes. I was unable to see similarities of Jaffa or Firethorn in him yet, aside from his hair. I arranged him against my shoulder so I could stroke his back, softly swaying from side to side as I looked down at the new parents.
"He's absolutely perfect," I said without a baleful or envious thought. "Those eyes— I could stare at them for hours. He doesn't have our sense yet, does he?"
"I don't think so," Jaffa said, holding Firethorn's hand as they slowly swung in the chair. "Firethorn knows a lot more than I do since he spent so much time with Lemuel when he was first born."
"You'll see light behind them in a week or so," Firethorn confirmed. "He's a miracle, an enigma. And he doesn't look a thing like us!" he said with an easy laugh. "I'm sure his skin will darken over time, and his hair is a mix of ours. The bright eyes, though… maybe he'll have a calling to spend his life near the water."
The harling squirmed and I adjusted him in my arms, nuzzling gently and breathing in his clean scent, of innocence and hope. "Have you chosen a name yet?"
I'd heard them volley a variety of possibilities from a bevy of cultures, both human and Wraeththu. To me, the harling was terribly exotic, and in my heart I hoped they'd picked something that sounded spicy on the tongue. If they'd chosen more demurely, though, obviously it was their decision.
"Yes. You'll like it— you don't filter your thoughts as well as you think," Jaffa said with a laugh low in his chest. "Yazdyar. No doubt he'll end up as Yaz for most of his life, but I think it suits him."
I raised my eyebrows, delighted. The harling kicked his short legs and grabbed a fistful of my hair. "Yazdyar," I repeated slowly. "It means…?"
"Friend of angels," Firethorn said, smiling broadly and reaching out for him. "I need to feed him."
Grudgingly I gave him back.
"I'm afraid that there's going to be a lot of hara coming to visit," Jaffa said apologetically. "Everyone wants to see what a harling looks like." A wry smile tugged one side of his lips. "Don't let them run you off. But you're not staying long, are you?"
My sleeping tiger of melancholy had been sweetly roused at the first touch of Yazdyar's impossibly soft skin. No, I couldn't stay here or I'd be eaten alive by regret and resentment.
"No. Thiede needs me. For what I'm not really sure, but I know I'm meant to go back up to the fortress. I love your son, I do, you both must know that," I said, my voice charged with grief.
"We know," Firethorn said softly. "He wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."
"You don't know that."
"We're pretty damn sure," Jaffa said stridently. "How can I change your mind? It's not right, your heeding Thiede's beck and call when he's ruined you!"
"Thanks," I snapped. "Obviously I'm not that ruined if you meant what you said."
"Oh fuck," he groaned, grinding his fingers against his forehead. "I didn't mean it like that. I'd just feel better if you were with us."
"It would be too hard." I noticed I was tugging at my hair again and forced myself to stop. "Thiede's beyond love or hate; don't waste your energy on it. I've been summoned back north, so that's where I'll go. It's a brave new world in Almagabra, and I have more to see. Besides, Feslavit will probably do summersaults when I show up."
Firethorn gave me a heartbreaking, rueful look. "You hate being this close to Immanion and not being allowed to see Ash."
"Thiede is too fucking cruel!" Jaffa shouted, and the harling started to cry.
"I am Thiede's," I said, brushing angrily at the damp in my eyes. "I'm going out tonight. Don't wait up."
"Our door will be open," Thorn promised, easing out of the chair to walk around the patio, making soothing sounds until the infant's crying had subsided.
I spent the early evening packing while Jaffa lurked, wanting to be helpful but afraid of tripping over his words again. I went to Temple Radiant and danced until the sweat poured off of me, and then took a last walk by the quay. Deliberately I commited the sound of water gently slapping against the boats to memory, mooring the scents and effervescent frivolity in a harbour deep within myself. When I returned home, I stopped into Jaffa and Firethorn's room since the door was open, just as Firethorn had said. Yazdyar lay on his back, soft blankets around him and a mobile of birds hanging above his wooden cradle. I ran my thumb over his feathery eyebrows, careful not to wake him. Wordlessly I cast spells of protection and devotion until I was drained and my eyes burned with unshed tears.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-13 06:17 am (UTC)I am enjoying your language so much - the smooth sound of the words - low-key and luminous. Here's a selection of my faves this time around:
"As the planet turned and spring opened her radiant eyes"
"I'll be the ocean of lights, and you the comet, diving into me."
"The thorns of memory wrapped around my heart and I bled myrrh, the sepulchre of my barren hollow annointed with spices for the dead." [that is just stunning]
"felt sturdy and solid and dead. I was a hewn tree, the rings all there to be seen, my tale to be told"
"I thought I saw my memories like bright fish swimming under a protective layer of ice."
"I might be a martyr, but I had decided to take my sackcloth and ashes far away."
clean scent
"My sleeping tiger of melancholy had been sweetly roused at the first touch of Yazdyar's impossibly soft skin."
"Thiede's beyond love or hate; don't waste your energy on it." [I really like this understanding on Vaysh's part, so cynical and perceptive. Beyond love or hate, that is Thiede.]
"I went to Temple Radiant and danced until the sweat poured off of me" [believable response]
I'm glad you're writing fast. *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-15 01:46 am (UTC)So glad that you're enjoying the language, especially the myrrh and sepulcher comment. As I emailed you, I have no doubt that much of my inspired imagery is thanks to listening to Ms. Renault and TPB. The tree and the rings I had to insert, because Ashmael had also used that same imagery, and I'm an author who loves to mirror things like that. ;)
Thiede is beyond nearly everything, but I really felt that I needed to have Vaysh be infused with a truer sense of him and his role, because otherwise his extensive time with him coming up in the near future would seem quite strange.
I'm glad to be writing fast as well! The angst is getting to me, though. :( I really should write a short Cal/Swift PWP to cleanse my palate. :P Thank you as always for your in-depth comments, and especially letting me know which images and phrases caught your attention.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-14 05:26 pm (UTC)I also thought the part where Vaysh holds the harling is so perfect. It's just how you feel when you have a child.
I do ache for Vaysh sometimes. He wants to be happy for his friends, and I'm sure he is, but his heartbreak is just so deep.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-15 01:50 am (UTC)I could see him in my mind's eye with Yazdyar, and eyes (I admit it!) inspired by Jared Leto. ;) We don't really have a sense of Wraeththu genetics, so perhaps the eyes are a recessive gene, though given Firethorn's Chickasaw background, that's pretty unlikely.
I ache for Vaysh every single day. But I'm still going to cry and mourn for him when this story is done, though I'll be free from his spell, at least within this context. He is truly broken, a feeling I know well. Probably why it comes across so effectively!!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-15 04:24 am (UTC)This was sooo beautiful again! I love it!
And it gave me the possibility to catch some breath, at least ;-) Not that there hadn´t been enough parts where you could mourn for poor Vaysh. But this time you´ve painted a somehow quite pleasant scene with all the things like Thorn´s and Jaffa´s music or the pearl or Vaysh being into that bazaar. It could all be so perfect if there wasn´t this always itching hint of melancholy. I guess this is the calm before the storm or something, am I right? Next time I´ll probably need tissues again (and I don´t want to *tremble*).
I have to join into the comments above about your beautiful phrases like that one with "I bled myrrh"... That´s stunning. You´re a striking author.
By the way - I´m busy with reading and enjoying M&M. I like it, too, very much.
Hope you´ll never stop writing Wraeththu stories :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-16 01:38 am (UTC)I'm thrilled that you're enjoying M+M! Now you'll know the genesis of Jaffa and Firethorn and see some of those scenes that Vaysh mentions, but from Ashmael's POV, when they originally happened.
I've only just started with Wraeththu, trust me. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-16 10:10 pm (UTC)Storm couldn´t have written a more beautiful story about Vaysh. If she ever decided to publish more about him it should be your stories :-) I really love them, and these days I kind of feed on this stuff ;-)
Not saying that to just flatter you - it´s what I really think.
*hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-18 01:21 pm (UTC)Yep— a friend send me the initial trilogy as a house-warming gift back in late November-December and that's when I first read the series. Then, to my surprise, I found myself writing fanfic. ;)
I'd be thrilled if these stories made their way into Mythos novels, of course, but I don't think that Storm is focusing on these characters nearly as much. Still, the fact that you think they're worthy is high praise. It's a universe in which I now feel very much at home!! Thankfully right now I'm also writing a roonfest Cal/Swift to counteract all of the Vaysh angst, but not to worry; there'll be another DtWW post this weekend as well. ((hugs))