Bough -- Logs

The night seems to pass in an ageless pace; there isn't even much talking between the group and Jatasura, who calls himself one of the oldest and most cunning of the rakshasa. He is at the site of the battle to commemorate the rakshasa slain by the angels there. The marble plinth the angels erected to memorialize the battle stands some distance away, but Jatasura keeps his back to it, even with the small fire that the group and he share in the dwindling hours of night before the Dawn. He talks, if they let him, simply talks; telling old stories of the wars between the gods of Mount Meru and the rakshasa -- he speaks of them without rancor or anger, remembering them as battles which simply were, memories of a time from before the Godswar.

Jareth listens hungrily to the stories told by the rakshasa.

Norris is mostly quiet himself, inside his head. More and more, as he is quiet, these random snippets of knowledge invade his consciousness. From some other life, clearly. And since they are talking to the rakshasa, it's knowledge of the rakshasa myth that comes to his mind. And his brow creases as he considers the few facts that bubble up out of the ether. He clears his throat into the silence, after a bit, and when it seems he has Jatasura's attention, he raises a hand. "Pardon me fer a moment...have a sorta random question, iffn ya doan mind."

Jatasura gestures, indicating for Norris to ask away.

Jareth turns to Norris, smiling encouragingly, glad to see his friend taking an interest after Norris's confession that he's felt detached.

Norris clears his throat again. "Well...now, ah aint a scholar, nossir. And aint nivver been a part of th' culture that yew came from. But from what ah heered... most folk kinda think o the rakshasa as baby-eating devil-monsters what are th' enemy of mortal an' god alike. But here yew are, saying yew served th' gods. An...well, the folk in town, they're a bit scared o' yew a bit, but not like as if yew were baby-eaters. So, ah guess ahm tryin' t' figger out why's the stories is so wrong."

Jatasura bares his teeth in what is probably a smile. "Ah, I see. You are not of this culture. Or if, in the Waking, you are, you are not remembering it now. Yes, rakshasa are demons. There are whole vedas written about the deeds we committed, the wars waged between us and the gods, the destruction we wrought upon mortals. But through it all we had our dharma, our... place in the universe. We had our role to play and we did it well. And in the end, Lord Krishna, who had defeated us so many times in the past, saw that what needed doing was best done by us. As so Lord Ravana agreed to undertake Lord Krishna's mission. It was our dharma, you see; besides, of what use would a raksasha be in a universe that was gone? No, we bowed kneed to Lord Krishna and fight the angels of the Architect now, because that is what we may do best."

Norris blinks. And then he looks at Jareth. "Hells bells, ah think ah actually understood alla that." He looks back at the tiger man. "Is yew th' same, then, as yew used to be? Or is yew different cause yuir role is different?" He then gets this look on his face. "Er mebbe th' Architect threw a buncha things outta whack, tryin' t' rule over all, and yew wuz just a...ripple in th' pond?"

Jareth strokes Mikal's back quietly as the story of the change in the rakshasa is told. His brow is slightly furrowed. "A lot of the stories have changed since the godswar from what I can tell."

Jatasura laughs, a deep rumbling half-roar. "I am unchanged, Bear. I would have still harrassed and bedeviled the gods and mortals if given the chance!" His laughter fades. "But... the task we were asked to do was important enough that it would be improper and distracting to sway from it."

Norris huhs. "Yer nature is ever th' same. But duty makes you deny that nature." He's talking to himself more than the rakshasa. And then he faces the warrior again. "Krishna's gone now. Aint nothin an no one that kin take back those orders. If there annehthing else that might make ya forsake that duty?"

Jareth murmurs, "Victory."

Jatasura points to Jareth. "Exactly," he says quietly. "Victory over the angels.

"And if you think about it, Bear, we are not denying our nature. We are destroying the angels to preserve the universe. Who better can you think of than rakshasa for such a task?" he asks in good humor.

Mikal murmurs softly and dreamily, from where she lies curled up next to Jareth with her head on his thigh, "The Rakshasa will be great and mighty warriors, cunning in both battle and majics. 'Tis true they battled the gods on occasion, but ever will some of them be remembered in sacred songs, as numbering amongst those who will fight for Vishnu and his hands on Earth: Arjuna."

Norris chuckles dryly. "Not sayin yew aint being put to a good task. Jus' reflecting on tha nature of duty. It's yer duty t' serve and carry out Krishna's last command, til' death. It's th' angels duty t' carry out the will o' th' Architect. It's that Duty that's makin' Azrael hunt down Raven. Guess Ahm just tryin t' figger out if there's a way t' make w edge in around that duty. Either turnin it on its head, r' makin it serve us, somehow."

Jatasura nods quietly to Mikal, arching a brow. "Yes. That is it exactly. Arjuna, the peerless archer. You sound as if you are reciting, Rabbit."

Mikal mms thoughtfully, then murmurs quietly, "Azrael's hunt is due to ego and greed, I think... not duty."

Norris Looks at Mikal. "What makes ya say that?"

Mikal blinks sleepily at Norris, "What?"

Norris says, "Ah mean...why ego? Why greed? What's an angel got t' be greedy about?"

Jareth says, "His role. He wants to be the only one. And I think he enjoys his role."

Mikal blinks again, clearly pulling herself together mentally. She reviews the conversation, trying to remember what was said -- then nods in relief at Jareth's comment, "Yes, that's it. He wants a Throne."

At Norris's chuckle, he scowls a little, and says unhappilly, "It is not the same. No, it is not. The Architect wants nothing but his religion to be known, mortals to pray only to him. The losses in the Godswar to fuel that mania were... incalculable. It is the Architect's desire that Azrael be the Throne of Death, but as beings like Armaros show, they do not have to follow his will. Azrael does so because it suits his own desire for power over mortals.

Norris steeples his fingers. "But aint angels all about duty? Aint that their MO? An didn't that all start, when he tried t' do his duty, and Raven stopped 'im? Ah mean, did he do this before? Try an get rid' o Raven somehow? R' was it only when Raven broke a rule that she dun have no duty t' follow anyway?"

Mikal blinks at the rakshasa, then looks faintly puzzled as she tries to remember precisely what she said -- and more perplexingly, where it came from.

Jareth shakes his head, "No, he tried to overstep his bounds and take Raven's duty from her."

Norris ohs, listening to Jatasura explain, his brow knitting.

Mikal is interrupted mid-thought by Norris's speculations, and she sits up in shock, "No! No, Bear, it's not like that!"

Norris quiets, then, as he's clearly speculating without all the fact, and waits to be filled in.

Mikal nods again, "Right, what Cat said." She scowls, adding, "The Desert King is like his namesake: jealous of joyous life, greedily consuming anything that does not bow to him -- and he even allows his chosen people to suffer at the hands of others any time they do not slavishly follow!" Unhappily she adds, "He was... softer, kinder, when he had his Asherah, his Sofia. But then greed and lust for power consumed him, and he denied her and demanded monotheistic worship. He is a death god."

Mikal pauses with a startled look on her face -- then she blushes hotly and gives a small squeak of embarrassment, abruptly ducking behind Jareth and whispering, "Sorry!"

Jareth smiles quietly and reaches behind himself to find Mikal's hand.

Norris is staring at Mikal, wondering what happened to...oh, there she is. He coughs into the uncomfortable moment. "So...th' angels is a reflection o' th' Architect, then?"

Mikal nervously squeezes Jareth's hand, and squeaks a small, "Uh... I think so?"

Norris scratches his chin..absently realizing he's still clean shaven. He hasn't needed to shave since he came here. He wonders if his hair is the same length, too. This place confuses him...he doesn't need to sleep or eat, and yet he still tries to do both on a regular basis. "Well, ah guess that would explain why Azrael an' th' other angels is th way they is. Only problem is, that means there's no common ground. No way t' deal wi' them except through force of arms."

Mikal is silent a moment... then murmurs quietly, "Or... giving them a new goddess to follow."

Jatasura is quiet for a moment, before he says, "He was more generous as Amon-Re, as well. Loving, and giving -- harsh, at times, as his people saw him, but he would never forsake them. I have heard it said that Set came into being simply because there needed to be an opposition, a shadow to show how important Re's light was." He looks up at Norris's comment, and nods, focussing a little bit more. "But angels also have the ability to decide upon their own what is right and what is wrong. Armaros is but one example, though the best-known to most mortals."

Norris spreads his hands. "Why would they? If they's exactly like yer Desert King, then 'is ends is their ends. They want it cause 'e wants it. An if Azrael is any indication, that dun make them pretty selfich, merciless, nasty pieces o' work."

Jatasura says, "I didn't say they all had the moral courage to decide for themselves their own paths."

Jareth says, "And some of them like the path they're on."

Norris shakes his head. "Yeah, but th fallen angels parted ways from th' Architect long ago. An how many o' them is still left? Ah doan think we's kin get th' angels t' rise up against th' architect. Not when A) it's against they's nature, B) they's winning, an C)..." He gestures at Jareth. "Yeah, that wuz gonna me my last point."

Mikal watches and listens as she peeks warily out from behind Jareth. She's silently puzzled; is giving to the angels so foreign? She checks with Jatsura, "E-excuse me, Lord J-jatsura, but are there any angels as old as you? Any that remember Sofia?"

Jareth is still absently petting Mikal, "Armaros probably does." Chewing his bottom lip, he thinks and then says, "I think the idea that some of them are simply overwhelmed... like some of Mordred's humans..."

Norris is tapping his chin. "Ah wunder where Lucifer is, in alla this. Seem t' me he's be right at th' top of the list, fightin th' angels." he ponders.

Mikal smiles faintly, "The Morningstar and leader of the Fallen? Likely slain by now."

Jatasura's expression softens a little as he addresses Mikal. "The three surviving archangels are surely almost as old as I. I know of a few who are also as old, who came into being around the time he became the Desert King. As to if Michael, Uriel, or Gabriel remember Sophia... I do not know." He nods to Jareth. "If anyone would, -- that is, anyone who would speak with you at great length -- it would be Armaros."

Jatasura nods, a touch amusedly. "Yes, Lucifer of the mazikin was slain early in the Godswar. Or banished to the Nether, depending upon your belief. But lost and not heard from again, at the very least.

Mikal is silent for a long moment again... then she whispers softly, "M-maybe... maybe they just need to be sung to once more, of Herself?"

Norris spreads his hands. "Dun look at me. Ah barely unnerstand what yew's talkin about, Rabbit. Ah barely unnderstand what ahm talkin about. Thank goodness that mah job is mostly jus keepin yew an Cat safe." He pauses. "Ah dun need to keep Wolf safe." he adds. "Cause he does a good enuff job O that on his own." Another pause. "Eccept that we've come here to ask the Rakshasa fer help trying to keep Raven safe, get Azzy-pants off her back, and we have no idea how to do this short of surrounding her with a regiment of rakshasa."

Norris is silent for a good half minute or so, and then mouths 'Azzy-pants' to himself. He clears his throat. "Uh. Yeah. So."

Jatasura's teeth show in a bit of a smile at the sobriquet for Azrael. "I have given you my emblem. Show it to Lord Ravana, and he will listen to what you have to say."

Norris looks wisfully at Jatasura. "Yew think he'll have an idee?"

Jatasura chuckles softly. "I believe he will. He is almost as cunning as I. But here: the Dawn comes. Time grows short."

Mikal giggles quietly at the sobriquet "Azzy-pants," and slips silently around to curl up against Jareth again.

Norris blinks. Has it really been that long? "Whut happens at Dawn? Yew turn into a little kitten, and have to go inside an sleep for twelve hours?" His eyes get wider. What the hell? When did he start becoming a smart-aleck?

Mikal gives Norris an almost awed look as he mock-pulls the rakshasa's tail!

Jareth snorts laughter before he can stop himself.

Jatasura blinks, then laughs. "No, I do not. At least not this dawn." The region Polaris-ward is already starting to take on the saffron hues of the Dawn. "I'm on a journey, you see. A personal journey, and I will be moving with the Dawn."

Norris inclines his head, looking relieved that no offense was taken. "Good luck t' yew an yuir journey, then."

Mikal is already looking around carefully. She's been trying to find a bit of awen every Dawn to add to her bow.

Jareth nods to the rakshasa, "May the wind be at your back. May the sun shine on your face."

Jatasura inclines his head gratefully to the group, and then the Dawn comes: a sweeping tide of light and energy that rushes out from the Mirror. In that moment, even if one is looking at Jatasura, the raksasha simply disappears.

Mikal glances over and smiles. She blinks startledly, "Whoa! I -- I didn't know they were night creatures!"

Then she frowns slowly, "Actually... they aren't."

Jareth looks down at the emblem in his hand, checking to see if it goes away. Quietly, he says, "I think he was a ghost."

Mikal says, "They... night only..." she blinks again, "Whoa! W-was that a ghost?!" She stares wide-eyed at Jareth and simply nods. She's too startled even to squeak.

Jareth shrugs and hugs Mikal close with one hand, "I don't know that for sure. It just feels right."

Mikal nods a bit dazedly, glancing around as she curls up against Jareth a touch nervously. That also feels right.

Norris shakes his head a little, absorbing Jair's words, his brow creased. "That dun exactly fill me with confidence." he murmurs.

Mikal glances over at the little token and whispers, "H-he d-did the best he could for us, Norr. The least we can do is go speak to his lord." She straightens suddenly, "Oh!" She looks around carefully, then rises so she can see the former battlefield a bit more clearly. She's searching for any sign that the rakshasa (not just the angels) have performed some commemorative ritual here. If not... if not, she decides, she will just have to do one herself.

Norris nods and sighs. "Ah hope that Ravena is as crafty as he say. Right naew, feelin th best I kin do is figger out how t' craft salt int' metal." He perks a little...the things that Wayland taught him should help, at least.

The only evidence of some sort of commemoration or memorial is the angelic plinth in the center of the battlefield.

Norris says, "That dun remind me...ah met a Throne at midnight." He sounds quite pleased about it.

Jareth's musing is thrown off by that and he blinks at his stolid friend, "A Throne? Of what?"

Mikal frowns, her head going up, "This... this is wrong." She thinks a moment longer, looking around carefully, then calls, "Guys, I'll be just a moment, okay?" She trots around, gathering up some flowers, a bit of awen if she can find it -- anything pretty that strikes her eye, like a shimmering mineral or a smooth and lovely grained piece of wood or anything from the battle.

Norris beams. "A Throne of Smiths. He's taken interest in me, an taught me stuff. He's an amazin fella. Ah could lissen to him talk fer hours. Ah just...nivver felt so understood before, yannow? it's like he's mah Master, onleh more so."

Jareth raises his head as Norris talks, squinting a little as he peers around the battlefield.

Norris is rattling on for a bit, talking about happened with Wayland, and Masune, and then he realizes that Jareth is looknig elsewhere. "Sommat wrong?"

The battlefield is quiet; morning birds are starting to come out, and nightbirds are beginning to nestle in for the daylight hours. The town is not terribly close, but the signs of the day's activity are starting to be seen. A few miles away, Jareth can spot a few caravans moving along a road; the caravan uses oxen and alpacas.

Mikal takes a moment to collect several things together, then uses a bit of awen to change her outfit, and washes her face and hands in a small creek a short distance from the battlefield. When she returns she looks... different somehow. Not her clothing, although that is change -- her demeanor.

Mikal's hair is braided back in multiple plaits, held back from her forehead with a snake-crowned headdress. Bracelets jingle on her wrists and lapis-encrusted gold glitters at her throat. Her dress is long, pleated, and sleeveless, form fitting around her torso and slit up to the hip so she can ride. Her bow and arrows are on her back, and she carries several objects to the center of the battlefield, to where the plinth is.

Mikal says firmly to the plinth, "We will be respectful of your remembrance for your dead, but you must also maintain respect. This is not your land." As she speaks she starts pouring a thin line of salt around the plinth.

Norris has no idea what Jareth is looking at...but maybe it's Mikal. And with good reason. His jaw hangs open like it's become unhinged.

Jareth blinks slowly, turning around in a circle as Mikal begins to speak. His face pales just a little, but he doesn't seem frightened, simply overawed. Eventually, he turns back to see Mikal and finds himself even more stunned at his normally extremely practically little mate's extraordinary garb. His eyes flicker to the figures he sees on the battlefield, checking for approval.

As Mikal begins to pour the circle of salt, Norris thinks -- only thinks, mind you -- that he can hear a distant peal of thunder in the otherwise cloudless sky. If he had to guess, the first thing that pops in his mind is that the thunder is from Mount Zion... but that's clear on the other side of the Mirror.

Norris is utterly quiet, trying to absorb this confusing confluence of data, but he does finally gather his jaw back up against his face as he watches Mikal perform ceremony in garb he doesn't have a hope of recognizing or understanding.

Mikal finishes encircling the plinth, then straightens with her back to it. She looks out over the battlefield, holding her arms out at shoulder height with the palms up, and intones musically, "Spirits of those fallen here in battle, I am not of your people, and for that I apologize. I would sing to you, though, if you will accept the song of Ninshubur, the warrior maid and vizier of Inanna. In the timeless tradition of bards and rishis, I would like to tell you of Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth, daughter of the Moon and sister of the Sun, the morning and evening star -- She who wrested from her father the laws and arts of civilization for her people, and who, by descending into the underworld and returning, assures us of the soul's immortality -- of your immortality. Will you accept this gift from me?"

The ghosts that Jareth sees remain standing there: quietly, serenely, patiently. At Mikal's invitation, the begin to step towards her, still silently. As they approach, they become more visible, though still just hazy images. And they keep coming. There must be a hundred raksasha ghosts who eventually stand facing Mikal.

Jareth's voice is slightly hoarse as he says, "I... think they're willing to listen." He's staying back away from Mikal and the ghosts, not out of fright, but out of respect. To Norris, he quietly says, "Are you seeing them?"

Mikal doesn't seem to see the ghosts, although that seems to be more because she's seeing something else entirely. Her face is alight with a near ecstatic joy as she continues singing to the gathered spirits, "The Bright Lady Inanna, the young woman who loves to laugh, is generous with her people! Her people sing with joy when she comes to them; they celebrate her with songs and feasting, with drum and tambourine. The holy me gathered by Inanna and shared with her people are many. They include the arts of the hero, the skills of power, the crafts of civilized society, truth, descent into the underworld, ascent from the underworld, the perceptive ear of wisdom, the rejoicing of the heart, the giving of judgment, and the making of decisions. Join with me as we welcome Inanna here; she will be your guide to your new homes."

Norris is starting to shake his head...no, wait, he does see them. And now this odd thunder sound in his head is starting to make sense. "This is a lil creepy." he mumbles. But he keeps watching.

Jareth shakes his head slowly, whispering, "This is... amazing, Norris." He reaches out to wrap his hand around his friend's sturdy wrist, "Look how they watch her."

Mikal stoops to the goods at her feet, then rises, holding them out before her. She tosses her head back, joy on her face and in her voice,

"When Inanna enters the holy shrine
Give her butter cake to eat.
Pour cold water to refresh her heart.
Offer her beer before the statue of the lion.
Treat her like a beloved sister or mother.
Greet Inanna at the holy table, the table of heaven."

As she names the items she crumbles a small bit of cake, or pours a small libation of cold water and, later, beer -- then gently tosses the leaf-wrapped cake, the stoppered earthen flask, and the goatskin waterbag to the silent, crowded, waiting ghosts.

The ghosts are silent and virtually unmoving... but they have no anger in their eyes. The items she casts to the ghosts... seem to disappear, in small glittering clouds of blue-red glimers of light that fade quickly... but to Norris and Jareth, those little flashs of color seem to cast brief, chromatic light upon the ghosts, casting them in their living colors briefly.

Norris swallows. "She dun got more than th' ghosts' attention, Cat. Ah think th' angels know what she dun, too. An they might not be happy."

Jareth's hand tightes on Norris' wrist briefly and he doesn't even realize it when tears start to roll down his face. If this helps the spirits of these creatures to move on to whatever version they have of the Shores to which Raven led him, it will be quite worth it.

Jareth shakes his head again at Norris' comment, "I think you're right. And I still think what she's doing is right."

Mikal's ecstatic song calms into quietly intoned words, "Thus can you seek her out and speak to her of your need; the Queen of Heaven will guide you safely to your rightful rewards, Sons of the Tiger. Sing to her; she will recognize you and you may rest safely in her arms. The poems of her people may serve you as a guidebook, as they serve her people: illustrating the value of living to benefit others; of discriminating and incorporating into our natures the goddess-given laws and virtues; of venturing forward forever, leaving our outgrown shells like a corpse hung on a wall; and of continually relying upon and expressing the love and wisdom of the mother/priestess/goddess that we are in our hearts. Like Inanna, we have but to open our 'ears for wisdom' to find truth." She spreads her arms again, and this time her voice thunders forth like the bright, true tone of a bell struck with a hammer, "Go forth, my brothers! Be well, be blessed, be at peace!"

The ghosts are silent for a moment. Then, one by one, they salute her: fists together before their bowed heads. And as they do so and hold it for a few moments, each one fades away in short order. Very soon, all but one remains. That one turns to look at Norris and Jareth with smouldering, ember-like eyes, and points to a spot on the ground five yards away from her. Then, that raksasha simply turns, walks away... and disappears from view.

Norris does not himself shed a tear. His expression is still one of befuddled bemusement and concern. The only thing he does feel is a strange, unearthly awe as Mikal becomes something totally trancendant, even if he doesn't understand how or why.

Jareth lets go of Norris' wrist and moves quickly toward the spot the rakshasa indicated.

In his mind Jareth is wrapping the awe-inspiring sight of Mikal calling to the ghosts and singing to them as the goddess' voice into a story, wanting to make it into something to inspire those beyond the dead on the battlefield and their small pack.

The joyous ecstasy slowly fades from Mikal's visage as the last ghost vanishes, and she sways slightly, rubbing her eyes and looking a bit confused. "Wh-what... who..." Then her eyes roll up and she slowly collapses, like a forgotten and dropped puppet.

Norris rushes forward, easily catching up with Jareth when MIkal collapses.

The rustle of fabric and Mikal's small and confused voice breaks through Jareth's intention to go where the rakshasa pointed and he turns toward Mikal, cursing quietly under his breath.

Norris is helping Mikal up, shaking her gently. "Mikal? Yew okay?" he queries urgently.

Jareth looks torn for a moment, but he thinks Mikal would want to know what the rakshasa with the ember-eyes wanted to show them. When Norris moves to make sure she's OK, Jareth heads for the spot that was indicated.

Mikal mumbles groggily, "G-gotta save th' ghosts, Norr... need t' sing t' 'em..."

Norris shakes his head. "The ghosts are fine, Rabbit. Ya did it. It's all okay." he reassures., resting her on one arm as he fumbles with a waterskin, and tilts it to her lips to drink.

Raphael stands careful guard nearby as Norris helps Mikal up. As the young man does so, the strange clothing fades and morphs into her current riding gear. Mikal drinks thirstily, then gasps, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand and glancing up worriedly at Norris, "Are they all right? We need to tell them how to be good folks, you know? That's what happened in the story, so they can rest -- we can't forget to tell them that!"

Norris uhs. "Ah think ya did just fine, Mikal. They all dun saluted you, an then left." he explains. "Yuh certainly got their attention."

It takes a little searching, but Jareth finds the area that the rakshasa-ghost was indicating. It was easy to overlook, it looks like any other patch of torn-up ground, but it clearly looks that the ground has been disturbed even more than that, that something has been put there under the dirt.

Mikal blinks, clinging a little unsteadily to Norris's ressuringly steady bulk, "I... I did? Oh..." she gives him a small, confused grin, "uh... so I d-did good? I helped?"

Jareth murmurs a hope that Norris will forgive him for using a knife this way, and starts to carefully dig at the disturbed area.

With a little digging, Jareth finds what was there: Thrust with great force, perhaps with the raksasha's last vestiges of strength, and then buried over with his dying breath, is a large, heavy, two-handed, bull-headed iron mace.

Norris nodnodnods. "What ever it wuz ya did, it did the trick. Nivver seen annything like it." He decides not to tell her about thunderclaps on Mount Zion, for now.

Jareth licks his lips and carefully lifts the mace out of the ground. After a moment, he pulls his shirt off and uses it to handle the mace as he moves to carry it over to his little pack. Without even realizing it, he's begun to use Mikal's word for this odd little gathering.

Mikal grins tiredly up at Norris, "Oh, good! I'm glad they were helped. Um..." she glances around, then adds, "I, uh... think I'm going to sit down for a bit, okay?"

Jareth carefully kneels by Mikal and says, "One of them wanted us to find something." He smiles down with love in his eyes at the amazing young woman, then lays the mace down.

Norris agrees. "Down is good. Down is fine. Or I kin carry you back to the town, or sommat. Where there's, like, a bed, or sommat."

Mikal abruptly sits down with a small whew! of relief. At Jareth's and Norris's words she blinks up at them... then gets a bit teary eyed, beaming up at them both. "Y-you guys are... I'm the luckiest girl I know!"

Norris considers. "That whole thing ya did, ah dun think that was luck." he says dubiously. "Yuh sure as hell looked like ya knew whut yew was doin th' whole time."

Mikal giggles through her tears, beaming up at Norris. She glances around, then turns her head to rub her cheek gently against Raphael's fang-filled face as he looms over her. Simultaneously she reaches out with both hands, taking Norris's bigger hand and resting the other one on Jareth's knee. She looks exhaustedly, glowingly, tearily happy.

Jareth strokes Mikal's hair back from her brow and then kisses the center of it, just over the bridge of her nose in a spot that may make her forehead tingle slightly, "I said it once. My golden goddess."

Mikal blushes, ducking her head, although she's also beaming in shy pleasure.

Suddenly, some distance from the marble plinth opposite from the group, there is a flare of light that takes a few moments to fade, accompanied by what sounds like a chorus of trumpets.

Norris blinks. "Oh no. Mikal, yew still got salt in that bag?"

Mikal looks up in curiosity, then smiles quietly, "You both have salt in your packs. Jareth, give the maul to Norris. Norris, give me your salt. Raphael, you know which is your bag in my pack."

Jareth stiffens and looks around for the salt.

Mikal pulls herself upright on Norris's arm, her back straightening. She calls out firmly, "If you are of Zion, come in peace or be named trespassers!"

Norris has salt? oh, yes, he has salt. Because Mikal is smart and all prepared and stuff. He hands over the bag, and then unslings his maul.

Mikal accepts the salt without qualm, then waits.

Jareth digs the salt out of his pack and starts to make a circle around the little pack.

Out of the blaze of light, and a fluttering of wings accompanying the trumpet, a tall, slender humanoid figure steps lightly onto the ground. Six wings emerge from the being: Two between their shoulders, two at the small of their back, and two upon their head. They are nude, so it's obvious that they aren't merely androgynous; they are sexless. The creature's skin is pale, their hair golden; the wings' feathers are a mixture of white and silver. And they carry a spear -- no, a lance, with a long, slender pennon upon it, white with gold trim and a scarlet cross.

Norris stands, hefting the big hammer as Mikal sits upright, and Jareth makes a circle of warding salt around them. While the salt will likely do more to protect them than he can, he will not do nothing. The hammer is his symbol, it is his arms and armor. And he will give it up only when death comes for him.

The wings flutter gently, and the angel's iris- and pupil-less golden eyes narrow a little at Mikal's challenge. "You've great bravery dictating who may tread this ground, Daughter of Eve. If I were not coming in peace? Why would you be calling the victors 'trespassers?'"

Mikal says firmly, "I am not Eve's daughter. Further, you have no reason to be disrespectful here. Do you refuse basic courtesy?"

Jareth looks up at Norris and carefully tugs on his friend's breeches-leg, whispering urgently, "Bear... take this..."

Norris eyes the speaker calmly. But under his breath he mutters, "Might does not make right. Victory does not make you heroes." When his pantleg is tugged, he looks confused. "Huh? Okay..." He lowers the hammer with his left hand, and takes the mace curiously with his right.

Beside Mikal, half supporting her, Raphael bristles. He's pawed through Mikal's pack and flipped a long loop of leather twine over his neck, and a small, soft leather bag hangs against his chest now.

The angel steps closer. "Have a care, mortal. You speak with a sceptre now, an angel of the Hosts. I come not for 'courtesy's' sake, but to seek the one who circled our memorial with salt-of-the-earth."

Norris blinks...that's a weapon. His maul is both tool and weapon, but the mace is nothing but. "Yer talkin to her, fella." he drawls casually, the hair on his arms feeling like it's standing on end as he takes the mace in both hands, having rested the maul on the earth.

Mikal is leaning on Raphael to stay upright, but she says steadily, "My care is for what is right, sceptre. You were the victors here, aye, and for that reason I made no gesture of disrespect against your plinth for your fallen-in-battle. But this land is not yours -- your home is Mount Zion, and so in order to help the fallen rakshasa here, I ringed it with salt." She smiles at Norris, then adds politely to the angel, "I was careful. No salt touched it."

Jareth pushes himself to his feet, trembling slightly. He's scared to death, but he can't just sit by.

Mikal adds gently, "No wrong has been done. Go home, please, and think on your lost Asherah. Would she condone continuous rage in her name?"

The angel scowls. "You speak blasphemy, mortal. All land is the Architect's, and I am the instrument of His will." She grasps the lance with both hands, and says low and levelly, "Remove the circle of salt from the plinth, and I will let you go in peace. This time."

Mikal tilts her head thoughtfully at the angel, then sings in joyous, calming tones, "All whose nature is to dance; dance. Amen! Those who dance not, know not what cometh to pass. Amen!"

Norris snorts. She puts salt on the ground, and you threaten her with your big pointy spear, huh Ken-doll? What happens if she works on the Sabbath? You whine and pout and then go nuke a city? Norris doesn't actually say that. But he - the he that is Dreaming - thinks it. For the rest, he just stands there with his mace, protecting his loved ones.

Jareth asks Mikal quietly, "Is it OK to remove the circle now, little love?"

The angel snaps. "Stop it! Are you delirious? Is that it? Do you not know what is going on around you? Fine, then." She plants the butt of the lance upon the ground, saying sternly. "You cannot stay in a circle of salt forever."

Jareth says, "Actually, we need no sleep. We need no food. We can stay here longer than you can, angel."

Mikal doesn't look away from the angel as she murmurs softly, "Wait a bit, please? I do not know if this angel... ah." She nods a bit disappointedly, "A young one."

Mikal says curiously to the angel, "What do you want? If you kill us, you still cannot remove the salt."

Norris looks evenly at the angel. "Yew caint stay here's ferever either. Rakshasa nearby. Mebbe they hear you're here, decide to come pay a visit. Yew won here once. Yew willing t' risk losing, over a circle of salt?" he adds.

The angel bares their teeth. "I am Janiel, mortal, and it is only fair I tell you that now. I may be young but I am still an angel, and you would do to remember that." They are about to bark something else at Jareth, when Norris points out the predicament. Janiel's fingers clench and unclench on the haft of the lance. "I will ask again, then," she says, tightly and clearly controlling herself. "Would you kindly, remove the circle of salt-of-the-earth from around the memorial?"

Mikal smiles at the angel -- a genuine smile, not a triumphant or mocking one, "Thank you! Will you tell us, please, what that will do? I mean... well, is the salt harming you or your people?"

Norris gets an idea, then. "Wait a minute, Mikal...seem like we got a bargaining position, here." He faces Janiel. "We'll remove the salt. You just tell Azrael t' stop chasin th Throne of Death."

Mikal puts a hand on Norris's arm, "Wait, please? We should check first. If removing it will harm the rakshasa, we can't in good conscience do so."

Norris glances at his friend. "Th' rakshasa's gone, Rabbit. Only think left here is us...an th' angel's triumphant victory." He manages to say it with a straight face.

Jareth tries not to mention the mace.

Janiel's jaw actually drops, then she laughs unpleasantly. "I think you misunderstand your position, mortal! The salt-of-the-earth around our plinth is an inconvenience, nothing more. If you would use it to bargain over the right of the angel of death to harvest the souls of the mortal dead, then you are not merely delusional or blasphemous -- you are touched in the head!"

Jareth says, "What makes it inconvenient? If this is simply a memorial, having it encircled should not be inconvenient."

Norris looks thoughtful. "Actually, ah prolly am. Some folks in Stanton said that when they thought ah wuzn't looking."

Mikal looks inquiringly at the angel -- then sighs softly at the rudeness. She thinks, then says politely, "Janiel of Mount Zion, we have maintained courtesy in the face of your unpleasantness. Speak truly, please, fire-wing: what will removing the salt do?"

Jareth reaches over and touches Norris' hand. For some reason, he finds he really wants to reassure Norris for those slights.

Mikal glances up at Norris and says quietly, "You're not, my brother. You are no more touched in the head than I and Raphael are monstrous."

Norris beams. "Thank yew fer that, Rabbit. That's right kind of yew to say." he drawls, warmed by the support of his friends even as they face the sneering, angry host of the Architect.

Mikal says softly, "It's true, Bear." She smiles up at him, then looks inquiringly back at the angel, wondering if it will speak any more.

Norris looks back at Janiel. "Iffn it's just 'inconven-ent', why you's even here? SHouldn't yew be goin back t' singing Hallelujahs or sommat?"

Janiel smirks a bit. "Very well. The memorial is ours. It comemoriates those of the Host slain here by these demons. To encircle it with salt-of-the-earth in such a way as to prevent one of the Host from approaching it and touching it, is an impudent and offensive gesture to the Host and to the Architect Himself." Her gaze flicks to Norris. "I do the will of the Architect in seeking why this was done to our memorial."

Jareth nods to Janiel's answer. That he can understand.

Mikal considers, then says, "Would you come here in peace, recognizing that yours were not the only fallen, and others may also wish to pay their respects?"

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Last modified: 2008-Oct-04 19:17:18

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