| Logs |
2011 February 27
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Seventh Movement, Sixth Verse: Arequius
The day has worn on. Now, the light of the distant Mirror peers uncertainly beneath the clouds of the chill region surrounding Yggdrasil. on the grean branch of the Worlds-Ash that Asgard stands upon, the feast-hall of Odinn stands still and quiet, while orange light filters through the breaks in the wall. Thought and Memory are again on their perches on Odinn's throne, happily and noisily devouring the rabbit that Jareth brought them.
"We look forward to whatever news you may bring," Thought says. Memory agrees, "We like hearing news!""
Norris makes an amused sound. "I just bet." he murmurs to the curious ravens. A thought occurs to him. "We should find our companions...but is there anything we can do for you before we go?"
THe ravens cock their heads to either side. "Nothing I can think of," Thought says. "We will continue to flit about, up and down the world and back and forth across it."
Norris ahs, and nods. "So you'll be able to still find sustenance when you need...it." A thought comes to him, and he looks at Jareth. "Maybe we could get the folk that come to the shrines to leave offerings of food?"
Jareth thinks about that and nods, "It would make a good deal of sense." He says to Norris.
Thought opens his beak and sticks out his tongue. "Not yet, please.... Don't want to give angels or angels' agents the idea we're here."
Memory chimes in, "Or what's here!"
Thought abruptly turns and pokes Memory hard with its beak. "Hush, fool!"
Jareth perks up at that, "What is here?"
Norris looks at Jareth, and then back at the ravens. "We're not thieves. You have nothing to fear from us taking things." he assures.
Thought spares another glare for Memory. "Taking, yes... but taking knowledge."
Memory: "A Thing that is here."
Thought: "At least, here in Yggdrasil."
Jareth nods slowly, "And knowledge is an important thing. Especially to two such as you." He rubs his temples slowly, head still aching a little from the information download. His brows draw together. What's a download?
Norris's brow knits. Knowledge is different, in that it can be gained without removing it. "You have already offered knowledge to us freely...what is different about the Thing you speak of?"
Thought and Memory exchange another look, then look to them. "To give you this knowledge," Thought says carefully, "we require another piece of knowledge of equal value."
Mikal comes walking slowly back into the room, leaning on Raphael as if she's very, very tired. She says in an exhausted, flat tone of voice, "You have the greatest knowledge of all. You know the old deities are not dead."
Raphael, who in Loki-form had ben hugging Mikal tightly, comes back with her, supporting her as best as he can.
Norris looks wry. "Well, hell, that's not a bad trade. Better than having to give up an eye. I like my eyes. My momma gave them to....me." He trails off when Mikal speaks up, and he stares at the bone-weary Mikal.
Mikal settles tiredly with her back to the deepest wall of the great hall, thanking Loki quietly and curling up with her backpack in her arms. She adds without looking up, "Where's the squirrel?"
Jareth hurries over and crouches next to Mikal, hand on her shoulder, "Are you alright, love?" He can see and feel the ache in her eyes.
Thought and Memory open their beaks at one another; it's apparently some sort of corvidae equivalent to a wide variety of expressions. "This is true," Memory says. Thought replies, "Not dead... hee! No, not dead...!"
And in answer to Mikal's question, something the size of Okori and with grey fur drops right into her lap, chittering.
Mikal looks silently up at Jareth, as if she's having trouble parsing the question. Her eyelashes are still wet, and there's a peculiar moment where Jareth can see in her storm-gray eyes all the pain and anguish of centuries of life.
Norris perks, still looking like Hephaestus even though he's mostly Norris. "Well, hey, look who came to say hello." he rumbles, pointing out Ratatosk.
Mikal doesn't react to the squirrel sitting on the backpack in her lap; she's still staring at Jareth. After a long moment she breaths a soft, "They killed him, Jareth. He was tied up and -- and helpless..." She blinks, her eyes starting to well up in tears again, and her voice is choked as she adds, "-and they sh-shoved a spear through him!"
Jareth rests his forehead against hers, touching his third eye to hers and closing his physical eyes, "Oh... the poor creature." As is more and more common when the compassion in him comes out, there's a sort of half-shift toward Lilith, the goddess' love slipping out to wrap around the grieving Mikal.
The squirrel moves in quick, sharp movements. scampering off of Mikal's backpack. It chitters a bit, exploring around the group a bit, not quite brave enough to poke into pockets.
Mikal wraps her arms tightly about Jareth, shaking with the effort to cry silently.
Norris feels a lead weight in his belly, hearing this news. He clings to Hepheastus to help him be strong, and the blonde-bearded god kneels at Mikal's other side, squeezing her shoulder. Looking at Ratatosk, he grimaces. "Bad timing, branch-dancer." he says in his deep voice. He does get out some grain, however, and offers it to the squirrel.
Jareth wraps his arms around Mikal and whispers, "If there was ever a time to weep, beloved, it is now."
Mikal has already cried herself out, mostly. She grieves for a short while but ends up feeling a bit numb from all the crying she's done. After sniffling a few times she simply clings to her beloved packmates, slowly pulling herself together again. She will, if Jareth does not seem to mind, continue leaning against him as she watches Hephaestus with Rattatosk; Raphael curls up in wolf form against her also. The frisking, darting, chittering squirrel brings a small, slightly shaky smile to Mikal's lips, and she finally murmurs, "I b-brought the rope with me... just in case."
Jareth smiles lopsidedly, "Magical rope might come in handy."
Rattatosk chitters a little, and accepts the grain, stuffing its cheeks, and looks curiously at Mikal.
Meanwhile, Thought and Memory have been watching. They exchange another open-beak look, then look again. Thought says, "Ratatoskr will show you something." Memory adds, "He knows the path, and can take you to what you should see."
Norris nods sagely at Ratatosk. "Smart. Don't eat it all at once. Store it, save it for later." he informs the grey squirrel, before looking at Mikal, to see if she's up to going to see.
Mikal sighs and pulls herself to her feet. Philosophically she murmurs, "Gotta keep moving." She shoulders her backpack, then takes Jareth's hand, glancing up shyly at him as she softly adds, "Thanks..."
Raphael shifts back to his humanoid shape in the great hall, taking Mikal's other hand and squeezing it gently.
Jareth kisses Mikal's hand and squeezes it gently, "Any time." He looks over at the ravens and says, "Thank you. Even for the headache."
Mikal looks at the ravens too. "Is this the knowledge you were discussing when I entered?"
Hephaestus inclines his head to the cheek-stuffed Ratatosk. "Show us the way, roots-groomer." he says respectfully to the grey frisky squirrel, stretching out his aching, crooked legs.
Thought flaps his wings a little. "Yes," he says. "Ratatoskr knows the way for those who cannot fly."
Mikal looks over at Hephaestus silently, studying him for a few silent heartbeats... then she gets a funny look on her face. "Hephaestus, Hera's son... Great Hera's... eternally reborn son... Hera's consort and lover... why do you wish your legs crooked, immortal Hero?"
The smith god opens his mouth, and then closes it. "It's not something I wish, exactly. It was the wound inflicted on me by Zeus, when he threw me to earth out of jealousy. I had to learn to live with it when I was mortal, because nothing could heal me then - at least, not without Hera revealing she was looking out for me. But I learned to be strong, in spite of my infermity. Aphrodite chose to love me, regardless of my crippled legs. And, I suppose, when I became a god...I could have, perhaps, tried to heal myself. But it was so long a part of me...." And then he trails off. Wondering if he kept those twisted legs, because his fear of Zeus still held sway over him.
Mikal tilts her head, then straightens -- and abruptly she's no longer just Mikal. Inanna's eyes flash light the storm's lightning, and she intones in her powerful voice, "Hephaestus, you are the perfect, beloved, and reborn Son of the Great Goddess Hera! Will you shame her with fear of the man who raped her and forced her into marriage?! Or will you stand tall and proud of your heritage?"
Hephaestus stares at Inanna for a moment that stretches out...it's all so long ago. His family is gone, save for in his heart. Zeus himself is likely now another facet of the Architect or Metatron...so much has changed. And in his past, Norris had reached out to change that ugly moment, when Zeus tried to turn him against his mother. Maybe he had reasons, even valid reasons, long ago for keeping this legacy injury. But this is now, and holding on to old wounds does not aid their cause. And in moments, his legs twist and reform, and he does, in fact, stand straighter as he he makes his wound no longer be. "Thank you for your wisdom, Lady of Heaven." he murmurs.
Inanna smiles, although her eyes still hold the pain of centuries. She says quietly, "You would have arrived there on your own soon enough, Son and Hero... but thank you for the regard." She glances at the ravens, then the squirrel, before she nods once towards the door, "Lead."
Ratatoskr chitters, then scampers of to a doorway in the back of the hall, pausing there and looking back expectantly. When the others catch up, he scampers off again....
Inanna slides her arm about Jareth's waist, sighing and leaning against him for a moment... then walks after the squirrel in a relaxed, loose-hipped sway.
Hephaestus smiles, watching Inanna with Jareth...she grows so much taller when she switches forms. But then, Inanna would look strange at Mikal's height. And he wonders, absently, if their mortal forms are somehow significant in regards to the gods they are. There is an interesting dichotomy there that the smith god considers as they follow the puffy-cheeked Ratatoskr.
Jareth hugs Inanna for a moment, pressing a kiss to her temple. He gives Hephaestus a crooked little smile and then sets off after the goddess.
The squirrel -- a fine example of the appropriately named Sciurus vulgaris -- keeps up a steady stream of what must be some sort of conversation as it leads the four out the hall and along a path. It is a well-hidden path, and at times it is not easy, almost vertical albeit with handholds. It does, in fact, seem to lead within the bark of the Worlds-Ash in several places.
After a long time of travelling, it is dark outside, clearly evening and well past Dusk. But now it's clear that the group is below the roots of Yggdrasil.
Hephaestus does his best to keep up with the conversation...but it's all squirrel, and he doesn't understand a word. He looks instead to Loki, hoping he can translate...and then realizes that maybe now's not the best time to ask him. Even though this is one of the few times he'd get anything that's not a wolfish response. He's glad at least, that Inanna convinced him he could heal his legs...that makes the journey much easier.
Raphael gives Jareth a small, grateful smile when he comforts their young packmate. Sometimes ahead of them, sometimes between them, Inanna climbs with silent, deliberate care, like someone slowly remembering. Occasionally she'll reach out and run a hand in a gentle caress over whomever is closest, as if she's memorizing.
Deeper, and deeper... below the now-lukewarm chambers of Niflheim; the embers of Muspelheim; the halls of Helheim, silent now but still smelling of decay. They are so deep now, that looking down into a nearby crevasse, they can see the roiling surface of the Nether, from whose borne no god or aethyr has returned.
Until at last, in a tiny chamber in the very stone, they find a simple well. It is in the old style of the Norse, a simple wooden pile surrounding a hole. In the depths of the water, they can see the Nether, far below.
By now, the twin ravens have flitted down through an opening in the high wall, perching on a rock that overlooks the well. "Here's where he hung," Memory squawks.
Inanna steps forward fearlessly, "Mimir's Well. Yes, he would be arrogant enough to sacrifice himself to himself, would he not? -as well as to claim he found the runes himself." She trails her fingers along the wooden edge, adding quietly, "Poor Freyja."
She looks up at the ravens, "Why have you brought us here? I cannot believe the angels who would basely slaughter a helpless creature would hesitate to foul a well, magical or otherwise, after all."
Jareth touches his head again, then reaches to touch the well, "But was he..." He shakes his head, "The thought won't come. Was he like Yeshua ben Yuseph? A sacrifice of a mortal god to the immortal form of himself? They both hung from a tree..."
Hephaestus arches a brow. "I think they're suggesting the angels never found it? I mean, really, would it even occur to the angels to look? This wasn't exactly a short journey." He comes to the edge, daring to look into the well.
Jareth blinks at that thought.
Memory opens its beak in a corvidae grin. "They did not. They never found the Well. But Odinn remembered the plan of the one whom he once called 'lover.'"
Inanna looks disbelieving, "If they did not find the well, then where is Mimir?"
Jareth hesitates, "He was trying to rejoin the wheel?"
The smith god tries to remember. "Mimir was already dead...sort of. Didn't Odinn take and embalm his head?"
Inanna looks at Hephaestus, "Then doesn't the question still stand?" She looks back at the ravens, "Where is his head?"
Of the ravens, Memory seems to be the one in charge here. "When Ragnarok -- of sorts -- came to Yggdrasil in angelic rather than giant form, Odinn came here with Mimir's head for counsel. We were there too. Mimir and Odinn spoke at great length. Odinn resolved to fight by his sons' side, while Mimir asked to be cast into the well, and descend unto the Nether so that he might not be captured by the angelic host."
Thought adds, "We were here as well."
Memory continues: "Here Mimir told Odinn a secret. He said, 'Odinn, my cousin, my friend. We have been through much, have we not....?"
AS Memory speaks, reciting the words from memory and imitating Odinn and Mimir perfectly, it's almost as if it is recreating that moment before the group, as if by some sympathetic magic within the words, they can hear the two Aesir speaking, and, even, see them...
Odinn is the grey wanderer here, tired and worn, almost a mockery of his might. He stands there in olden armor and helmet that covers the eye he sacrificed here. He paces around the well, furtive. "Yes," he says. "Yes, old friend, we have. I had thought the giants would be the ones who came to visit destruction and desolation upon us, not El-Amon-Re's angels."
Mimir's head is... a little grisly. It is rather disturbing to see it upon the edge of the well there, the silken bag about it's severed neck, and yet the face being so animated. Mimir was not young when the Vanir beheaded him, but -- as much as someone could have come through such an experience -- appears little the worse for wear... which is rather bizarre, but seems to work for him. "We knew our time would come at some point."
"Yes, but not like this, Mimir! At least Inanna, Lilith, Hephaestus, and that poison-tongued half-brother of mine escaped into the wheel...."
Inanna's face is still, her expression one of weariness as she listens. She leans against Jareth and takes Loki's hand in her free hand, squeezing it gently.
Jareth's eyes go from the head to the entrance of the well, "Into the well. Into the Nether..."
Hephaestus's temple aches, listening to Odinn speak ill of Loki. It's true, perhaps had cause...but he's protective of his companion nonetheless, who has been true and steadfast to his sister, Inanna. The smith snarls, a little. "He makes it sound like we were worried only about our own lives, instead of trying to enact a plan against the Architect."
Inanna reaches out and runs her hand gently along Hephaestus' arm, encouraging him to stand closer with them all if he wishes. Her voice is soft, "He was afraid."
Mimir says, "Yes. With luck and determination, their now-mortal souls will find their way together and back here again. And they will set things right."
Odinn nods. "We can hope. We can hope. For that, at least, may yet happen. We shall not see it, thought."
"Mayhap not, no. At least, the moment of their triumph. What will you do, Grey-Whiskered Odinn?"
"What can I do? We are too weak to oppose El-Amon-Re directly. But I am not one to surrender myself."
Mimir smirks a little. "I would join you, Odinn... but as much as I would want to gnaw off an angel's limb or two, getting my teeth onto him would be... difficult."
Hephaestus leans into Inanna's touch at her urging. "So was I." he admits. "I doubted the plan, and I'd rather I died with my family than outlive them. You changed that. You gave me hope."
Inanna looks gravely up at Hephaestus, her weary gaze seeming oddly at peace now. She is silent for a moment; then she does for Hephaestus what so comforted her from Jareth: she reaches up and draws his head down so she can give him a gentle kiss.
Odinn laughs quietly, leaning against the well; his laughter has a bit of an edge to it. "Would that I could simply throw you at one, old friend," he says fondly. "You'd find some way, I'm certain." He sighs. "As much as it pains me to say, I wish I could see him once again."
"Who? Loki? The one you just called 'poison-tongued?'"
"Poison-tongued, mischievous, wicked, cunning... and once-lover. And half-brother. But...."
Mimir says carefully. "Odinn... You have been self-centered, selfish, and virtually uncaring of almost anyone around you in all the time I have known you. But you have, always, called me 'friend.' I know you came to me for counsel, but instead, I will give you this: Comfort."
Odinn snorts. "Comfort? How so?"
"Comfort to bring you through the coming battle." Mimir's head looks up at the ravens. "And if those two rats-with-wings that are your preeminent spies are still alive when the four return to the Dreamtime, perhaps this might be of comfort to them, as well."
Jareth leans forward, not even breathing for fear of missing what comes next.
Inanna glances up at the ravens, then looks back at the scene unfolding before them.
The smith god kisses back, feeling at peace again, united with his pack leader...and in a way, with his mother as well. WOndering if the souls of the dead live on, somehow, in them.
Odinn frowns. "Well? Say on, Mimir."
"We have always known that gods and aethyrs who are killed disappear. But have you never wondered why that is, and why something remains of mortals, their soul which the Thrones of Death take to the Far Shores of Hades?
"Odinn... listen to me well and true, that you might fight all the harder in the coming battle. As you have told those warriors who fight in your name that there will be a place for them, so too do I tell you now that death is not the end of a god or aethyr. IF we are remembered... IF we are worshipped... IF none bar our return... IF we can claw our way back to the consciousness of mortals... then may we again some time know our own consciousness in the Dreamtime again."
Inanna blinks... then frowns thoughtfully, still listening intently.
Jareth is almost afraid to breathe and reaches out, touching whoever is closes on each side of himself.
Inanna's hand gently closes around Jareth's again.
Hephaestus's breath catches in his throat.
Odinn frowns thoughtfully. "That... is more 'if's than I've ever heard you speak of, Mimir."
"I never said it would be easy. But if the four are successful, and defeat or subdue El-Amon-Re....."
Odinn nods, a distant light in his eyes, bringing a faint smile to his lips. "Then let us hope against that, then, old friend. You are right; it gives me comfort. And strength. Today, let the angels of Uriel, and Raphael, and Michael, and Gabriel know what it is like to face the warriors of the North! Let them taste Mjolnir and Gungnir! Let them taste the swords of Heimdall and Frigg, of Sif and Freyja! Let their angels be felled upon the lances of the Valkyr! For today, old friend... today, for once, I will go into battle without fear in my heart, but hope! For I know that Inanna, Lilith, Hephaestus, and Loki will not forsake us, nor shall they fail."
As Memory stops speaking, the images fade, and the chamber is once again silent.
Inanna breathes a long, soft sigh, still staring at the now decrepit looking well. Finally she looks up at the ravens, her voice dry with unshed tears, "Who worships the Fenrir? What of the Valkyries... or the nymphs and dryads? Whose memory will recall the sacred serpents, my galla?
"Will we be able to re-embody them? Do you know?"
Hephaestus looks at Inanna solemnly. "Wouldn't telling the old stories be enough? To bring them to life in the minds of the people?"
Jareth says, "The stories would have to be spread wide and far."
She looks back at her packmates, silent worry in her face... then turns her stormy-eyed gaze back to the ravens, waiting for their answer.
Thought squawks faint laughter. "Could one remember Odinn or Freyja without remembering the rest? Could one remember Tyr without also remembering who it was who took his hand? Or Sif and the fey who gave her the gift of her golden hair? Or Loki without remembering Nidhoggr?"
Raphael remarks silently to Mikal that he for one would gladly forget the bit about Nidhoggr, though Sygin he would gladly remember.
Inanna gently and reassuringly squeezes Raphael's hand again before she replies coolly to the ravens, "You tell me."
Hephaestus grins at Jareth. "Sounds like the job of a storyteller." he suggests.
Jareth grins fiercely.
"I know in at least one life I, Inanna, was remembered only through the disinterred writings of my pope, the princess Enheduanna... but they mistranslated so much, and didn't know many of the entities who lived with me. What of them?
The smith god looks solemnly at Inanna. "Then you'll just have to make sure they tell the stories right, wouldn't you? Or tell new ones. You think I'm going to let people tell the stories of how I trapped my mother in a throne, or my wife and Ares in a net?"
Thought continues, "If I must spell it out for you, then no, it is not possible. Tyr cannot be Tyr without having lost his hand to the Fenrir. A pantheon is not a set of chess pieces. It is not a Chinese buffet you can pick and choose particular dishes from. It is a web of stories and tales and lore, all interconnected, all entwined. It is a smorgasbord from which everything is tasted, all food is supped and all wine is sipped. It is a tapestry, not a few threads.
"You are here, according to Mimir, because you hid in the Wheel of Life as mortals. And as mortals you are here now. But make their way unbarred, let mortals remember them, let mortals worship them again, and it will all return. All of it."
Memory adds, "Mimir was not known to be wrong in his wisdom. Which is why he did not wish to be captured by the god of Mount Zion."
Inanna studies Hephaestus silently for several long moments... then smiles slowly and wraps her arms around the smith god. She hugs him, leaning her head against his chest and drawing comfort from his strength... and she adds absently, "Shut up, Thought, if you cannot be courteous."
The raven rolls its eyes, but obeys.
Jareth smiles, "And we know at least one being that knows all the stories to tell." He turns his eyes toward Memory.
Memory cocks its head to the side as Jareth turns his attention to it.
She's silent for a while... then adds thoughtfully, "We must figure out where the cycle was imbalanced first -- before we bring it back. That way we can make sure we do not set this round of genocidal destruction and pain permanently into the cycle of life and death and rebirth as well."
Heaphestus is happy to offer what simple wisdom he can. Even if, in a way, he merely took what she reminded of him in regards to his legs, and offered it back to her in a different way. He is also happy to hug. Hugging is good.
Norris looks at Jareth. "I'm not sure I understand? You're thinking we might somehow recreate the Godswar?"
Mikal nods slowly, "If we bring back everything... will that include what started the Godswar? I'd rather not."
It's very odd...somewhere in the hug, he changed back to Norris, and Inanna to Mikal. Must have been a magical hug. "The whole matter sounds like a tremendous undertaking...but I think we can do it. It's what needs to be done, to help bring things back into balance." the young smith says firmly. "Shouldn't be any harder than bringing the Metatron to heel, anyway." And he grins.
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