| Logs |
2009 December 13
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Bough Logs |
Fifth Movement, Third Duet
Shortly after the arrest and detention of the suspect, who went neither quietly nor peacefully, Vhbishana, looking a little shaken, asks if Jareth would like to attend to the wounded as he had asked to do, and thence the group could address Marchorius.
Jareth nods, taking several deep breaths to settle himself. This was a painful thing to have to do. Finding a traitor in your midst is alwayas deeply unpleasant.
Norris puts a protective hand on Jareth's shoulder. "Are you well?" Jareth himself, thankfully, was in no danger, but he notices Jareth's discomfiture.
Vhibshana leads Jareth to the tent where the remaining hundred or so rakshasa who are injured from the fight only two days before are still recouperating. At this point, the worst of the injured have either passed away or have pulled through, but there are some who are still in rather precariously condition, and the rakshasa doctors can only wait and hope.
Jareth shakes his head and then says, "Yes. Yes. I'll be OK. His heart was just so much in turmoil." He walks with Vhibishana, carefully holding his shoulders level. Letting himself be led to one of the dangerously injured rakshasa.
Jareth settles to his knees by the cot of the injured rakshasa and takes the wounded warrior's hand, looking into they pain-filled eyes and letting his natural compassion swell up.
Norris watches in fascination, wondering what he will see in Jareth, if anything. WOndering what he, himself, will experience. He rather understands the essence of Inanna. But Lilith is more of a mystery to him. He knows of her, but mostly ugly tales told. And he does not see any ugliness in Jareth. He cannot remember any encounters Hephaestus had, so it's entirely possible they never met before their journey was decided on at Polaris. So naturally, he's curious.
The look that comes over Jareth's face is of someone waking up after a long, fevered sleep. One delicate hand reaches to cup the rakshasa's muzzle gently, moving with a dreamy slowness, as if the being there isn't quite sure how to make this body work properly. The fingertips of the other hand reach out, searching out the direst wounds. Words in a language that Norris does not recognize rise to Jareth's lips, sounding both liquid and guttural at the same time.
Mikal watches in silent fascination. Part of her is still rather bemused by how... someone else can come over them; another part of her is relievedly noting Lilith has not forgotten how to return.
Jareth's hands rest over the wound as he leans over and brushes a kiss over the rakshasa's forehead, whispering gently, urging the warrior to hang on. The goddess that is half-awake in this young male body reaches out, drawing the pain and damage out of the body of the patient.
The rakshasa's eyes, previously clearly in pain from internal injuries muted by the simple expedient of mild inebriation from plum wines, clear, blinking in wonder then in amazement as the pain evaporates, the grievous internal wounds and ruptures being healed, and the visible wounds closing, leaving little more than harsh bruises, dried blood, and severe bruising. And even they are starting to fade. The rakshasa takes in a sharp breath, the first in some time that was not laced with pain, and breathes, "How...?"
Mikal smiles at the miraculously healed rakshasa, then studies Jareth carefully. She doesn't know how many of those miracles her packmate has in him, and she doesn't want him falling over unconscious.
Jareth smiles and leans over, kissing the rakshasa on the muzzle without even thinking of it, murmuring in Sumerian "Bless you, child. Thak you for your efforts." The goddess in his body doesn't seem to realize the rakshasa cannot understand her. Her eyes are bright and shining as she unfolds herself from the kneeling position and turns to Vhibishana, "Are there others?" The language is still Sumerian and she is still moving as if the body doesn't quite fit the soul.
Mikal murmurs quietly to Vibhishana, "She's asking if there are others. He's goddess-ridden right now, so lead him to your next most wounded -- we don't know how long this will last."
Vhibishana blinks, looking confused for a moment. "I... yes, yes of course. Right here." He gestures to the rakshasa in a coma beside the first one's, who still looks like he could be knocked over with a feather. He asks quietly of Mikal, "How much... how many can he.. I mean, she, heal?"
Mikal smiles faintly, "As I said, we don't know. Would you be so kind as to send someone for hot, sweet tea, though? That might help Cat keep up his energy a bit longer."
Lilith seems to be getting a little better control over the body. She smiles wryly as she realizes that part of the strangeness is that the hips are hinged differently. The natural sway is a little different as she settles herself dreamily by the next cot. The hands move again, reaching out and seeking for the injuries again, whispering another prayer in Hebrew, the language of El-Amon-Re's people.
Shortly, as Jareth-Lilith takes the hands of the rakshasa in a coma, the unconscious warrior's eyes flicker, and slowly, a touch painfully in even the dim light, open. She gives a quiet groan, starting to reach up to touch her head where she took a glancing blow from a lance... and finds her hands held by Jareth, but not Jareth. Her eyes widen, and she opens her mouth, croaking out a faint question that has more sounds than actual words.
Jareth kisses the warrior's hands and murmurs, again in Sumerian, "You wake from the sleep of the dead, warrior. Welcome back." The smile on Jareth-Lilith's face is radiant and still a little sleepy, as if she's not actually sure she's awake.
The warrior looks confused for a moment, but then understanding dawns in her eyes, and she manages to croak out what sounds like sincerest gratitude, weakly squeezing Jareth-Lilith's hands; being in a coma for three days did a great deal of harm to her, but she will recover quickly from the relatively minor side-effects.
Mikal can tell, after the tenth healing, that Jareth's body seems to be flagging a bit even as the spirit inside is starting to glow ever more brightly. She steps forward to catch one of her packmate's hands, reaching up with her other hand to lightly touch Jareth's lips. Her voice is soft as she says in Akkadian to Jareth/Lilith, "Beloved, do you remember me? I must warn you, the body you ride is starting to run out of energy." She wonders a bit bemusedly why Vibhishana never had the tea she requested, to help Jareth, brought.
Lilith moves from bedside to bedside, and as she does, she comes further and further forward, the young man that is Jareth sliding further under the surface until it's nothing but the goddess there, even though the body is male. She turns as Mikal takes her hand and smiles with the glow of healing all around her. She leans to brush a kiss over Mikal's lips, speaking in Akkadian, "I know you, my lady, my love. I can feel the flesh tiring..." She frowns in worry, "Can you let them know that I cannot go on today?"
Mikal smiles in relief and pleasure as she realizes Lilith is growing stronger, and hugs Jareth warmly. "Of course, dear one. Can you stay a while? Try melding with the spirit of the young man you ride. He is a willing disciple of your skills, after all." She turns to Vibhishana and says with the slightest hint of sternness, "The hot, sweet tea I requested for Cat would be quite helpful now, actually. I do not think he can go on with the healings."
Mikal takes Jareth/Lilith's hand, and slides an arm about hir waist, shifting back into Akkadian, "Come sit for a bit, dear one. Will you talk with me? Have you met Loki yet? Hephaestus is not currently present, I fear, but he is here also."
Raphael sniffs curiously at Jareth, padding along next to them both.
Vhibishana nods, "It is at the table by the entrance. I will get it for you." He moves to the table, then returns carrying the tea, already pouring it into a large cup for Jareth-Lilith.
Mikal settles her companion on a spare pallet, sitting next to her and watching closely for signs of exhaustion or collapse. She quietly thanks the rakshasa when he finally arrives with the tea.
Lilith takes the cup from Vhibishana's hand and reaches up to touch the rakshasa's face. Unexpectedly, zie goes on tiptoes to brush a kiss over the scholar-sceptre's lips. She's still speaking in Akkadian, "Thank you for letting me aid these poor wounded ones."
Mikal smiles at that, translating for Vibhishana. She looks back at Lilith, adding gently, "Eastern Star, if you let your spirit meld with your... your mortal horse, you will be able to speak this language. Don't hold back so, please? We need you here more... and more easily."
Lilith takes a deep breath and smiles at Mikal, closing her eyes, and seeing if she can do so. She can feel herself slipping away.
Mikal frowns, taking Jareth's hands and calling quietly, "Lilith? Dear one, you feel as if you are fading? What is wrong?"
Lilith smiles and takes Mikal's other hand, raising them to her hands to kiss them, "Oh, dear one. I have missed this plane and these people." She lets go of one hand and rests a warm palm against Mikal's face, "And you. And I feel this link inside this man to you. He loves you, you know."
Mikal's face glows with happiness as for a moment there's more Mikal than Inanna. She blushes hotly, her gaze dropping shyly as she nods. She whispers, "I know. I l-love him too... like life itself."
Lilith smiles and kisses Mikal's forehead, "Such a sweet girl. He glows with love for you." She turns to Vhibishana, "Thank you for the tea and for the chance to help these brave ones."
Vhibishana bows deeply before the two goddesses. "It is we who thank you, Ladies," he says quietly and a touch in awe.
Lilith smiles at the rakshasa and says, "I will try to return, my child." She turns to Mikal, "I should let the body rest. Is there a quiet place?"
Mikal says, "Yes, of course. I'll take you to our tent."
A young rakshasa slips into the tent, whispering a hurried message to Vhibishnana. The elder rakshasa acknowledges it, nodding to the runner; the runner for his part is about to scamper off, when he spots the two goddess-mortals, looking for a moment like he is in awe. Gently, Vhibishana nudges the runner off to his other duties, and he goes, albeit somewhat reluctantly, constantly glancing back to the two clear through to the door. He nods to Mikal and Jareth. "Of course. Do you require an escort? Shall I have lhassa sent?"
Mikal says, "Lhassa, yes, please. An escort is not necessary, thank you."
Vhibishana nods quietly, and goes to make the arrangements. By the time the two reach their tent, a pitcher of lhassa and cups are there waiting for them
After a time resting, and recovering from the taxing manifestation of the goddesses within them, an extremely polite and quiet messenger comes to them to inform them that Marchorius is conscious and is ready to be interrogated by them.
Mikal thanks the messenger, glancing back at Jareth/Lilith. "How are you feeling, Lady of the East?"
During the time of rest, Lilith has slipped away, leaving an awe-struck and extremely tired Jareth in the tent with his mate.
Jareth smiles and strokes Mikal's hair, "I feel as if I have been working all day, but the sun tells me that barely any time has passed, my love."
Mikal sighs happily and leans against Jareth, "Hallo again, Jair! I take it Lilith isn't there any more? She was healing rakshasa before, which is why you're tired."
Jareth smiles and kisses Mikal's temple, "I can still feel here here..." He lays his hand beneath his heart, almost the way a woman indicating pregnancy would do. "But she is not as aware. She rests."
Mikal looks faintly bemused, "I wonder why she has such trouble combining with you, mon beau chat." She blinks, sitting up, "Oh! I'm sorry, I almost forgot! They asked us if we'd come talk to Marchorius." She glances around, adding confusedly, "Did... did the messenger leave the list of questions the rakshasa brothers want us to ask him?"
Jareth smiles faintly, "I have the feeling that she's not quite sure what to do with a male body."
Mikal finds the list, murmuring, "Oh! That's right, Vibhishana gave it to me earlier today." She grins at Jareth, "Sorry! I'm ready whenever you are, now." She tilts her head thoughtfully, mischief sparkling in her eyes as she murmurs, "She doesn't know what to do with a male? Huh, not what I heard!"
Jareth laughs and reaches up to stroke Mikal's hair, "Inside a male body." His own eyes are lighted up with humour.
Mikal grins, scrambling to her feet and tugging on Jareth's hands, "C'mon, mon chat! Let's go see what the Mazikim has to say, okay?"
Jareth smiles adn lets his mate pull him to his feet. There's a tiredness in his muscles, but a feeling of warmth, of having done something worth doing.
As the two approach the Mazikim section of the encampment, they can spot easily the tent within which Marchorius is being held; there are two stony-faced, burly rakshasa standing in front. As they draw near to the tent, though, what must be one of the Mazikim emerge, though they do not recognize him: He is extremely tall and quite burly -- he might be a match for Norris, actually -- with a loose, faded white tunic and sandals. His skin is a sort of faded ruddy hue, and his hair looks somewhat like the color of unpolished bronze. As he spots them, he looks unsurprised, and hails them silently with an upraised hand in greeting, starting to pick up a long traveller's cloak, walking-staff, and bedroll/satchel.
To Mikal, he looks remarkably familiar, but she can't put a finger on it... until she notices the eyes. This is Andramalech.
Mikal tilts her head curiously, "You look different. Dressed to travel, too?"
Andramalech inclines his head. "Mayhap," he says, his voice the same deep timbre. "I am returning to how I once was, and no longer fighting to remain angry and bitter and enraged. I was once a god of the sun, however, a portfolio that El-Amon-Re has himself held when he first rose out of ancient Kemet. I am a god no longer and El-Amon-Re will remember me, and his jealousy is legendary. I have spoken with Lord Tawhaki, and he suggested going to Uluru, to meditate and find what role I might play in the coming storm." He pauses, then says, seriously. "I was going to seek you out before I left, though, to ask you what your advice may be."
Jareth reaches for Andramalech's arm, "You will play the role of one wounded and healed."
Mikal watches in silent interest, blurting out without thinking, "Will you be the newest Summer sacrifice deity?'
He seems surprised at the words from Jareth and Mikal in turn, then looks very thoughtful. "That... might be a good thing," he says thoughtfully. "If so, then the place I must go would be the Summer Palace."
Mikal smiles uncertainly, not sure if she's given good advice or not. Finally she simply says, "Blessings on you, sun deity, and more, for shedding a role imposed on you by El-Amon-Re's anger and jealousy."
Andramalech inclines his head in a deep bow. "Blessings on you both, great ladies. I was but a minor deity once. You, however... you have regained that which the Architect would have denied the entire Dreamtime, and it is that which has led me back from the pit of bitterness and vengeance I wallowed in for eons."
Mikal's mouth opens in a small 'oh!' of surprise -- then she smiles and steps forward next to Jareth, giving the former Mazikim an impulsive hug. "Good for you! I hope you're but the first of many."
The goddess that sleeps in Jareth's body stirs and the young man says, "May you find yourself again, Andramalech. And may you find that you had forgotten a true hero."
Andramalech looks surprised, but smiles shyly -- a strange expression on one so tall -- to Mikal. "No, Lady. It was you who were first, and you and Lilith who showed me, and will show all of us the way, those of us who once walked within Polaris and still survived the Godswar."
He steps back a bit only after Mikal releases him, bowing and saluting both of them. "My deepest, sincerest thanks to you both. If you have need of me before the storm strikes, you will find me in the Summer Palace."
Mikal smiles and waves as the tall former deity departs, silently praying he'll be all right and do well. She glances at Jareth once Andramalech is out of sight, murmuring softly, "That... was surprising! Well then... shall we go see Marchorius now?"
Jareth smiles after the tall man, "But pleasant." He smiles down at Mikal, eyes crinkling, "Let's."
Mikal nods happily, turning to head for the tent. She nods politely to the two rakshasa guards, then scratches lightly on the tent post at the opening, "Hello? May we enter?"
Within the tent, it is a little dim; the tent is a dark color, though there are lanterns hung from the supports, well out of reach of the center of the area. Within, a large circle of salt has been laid down, within a complex interlacing of similar salt-lines; to Mikal, it appears similar to the binding circle of a summoning, probably established by Asmodeus himself.
Within the circle, with his back to the door-flap, sits cross-legged the lean, wiry, wolf-like Mazikim, holding his head in his hands. At Mikal's words he half lifts up his head, and in a growly, faint voice says, "I cannot stop you. Enter as you wish."
Mikal looks a bit surprised, "Of course you can stop us! Just say you'd rather we not enter."
Mikal stands there, absently scritching Raphael's ears as she watches the weary-seeming Mazikim with some pity.
He manages to turn his head all the way around without turning his body around, looking at Mikal and Jareth curiously. "You are... you are the one who struck Uriel, yes? and her lover, and her brother, yes? Why would you wish to see me? You strike me not as the type to mock an enemy, so this must be to question me."
Mikal nods and smiles, "Yes, please? And half-brother, actually."
Jareth slides an arm almsot diffidently around Mikal's shoulders, "Questions, yes, though not of the torturous sort."
Mikal blinks, then nods more firmly, "Definitely not."
Marchorius blinks, then turns his body around to face them, without turning his head; it would be unsettling for anyone not used to an owl-like neck. "I... see," he says at last. "I may guess at the questions, but... it would be better to do this properly, yes? All according to Hoyle's and Robert's. So... I am ready to answer."
Mikal looks puzzled, "To whose?"
He tilts his head to the side. "Hoyle. And Robert's. Don't you -- oh. Of course, you are wearing masques. You do not clearly remember your Waking lives. I see. Hoyle wrote a book filled with the rules of various games. Robert wrote a book on how mortals -- and some aethyrs -- may hold forum together to govern.
"And so... to say that something is according to Hoyle's or Robert's, is to say that something is going as it should be.”
Jareth smiles, "I have very rarely done things as they should be done."
Mikal nods slowly, looking a bit bemused as she leans against Jareth -- then she grins up at him when the young man speaks. She curiously and softly asks, "What's a masque, please? And... so are you mortal too, then?"
Marchorius looks oddly at them, as if he can't quite understand why he is being asked these particular questions. "No, no, I am not a mortal. I am an aethyr, as you can tell. But as a Mazikim we need to know the ways and wiles of mortals. It is what Asmodeus taught us and trained us, and our own observations of mortals.
"A masque is what a soul wears, it is personality and emotions and memories and persona, animus and anima and shadow, id and ego and superego. A soul may wear many masques; your Waking lives are a masque, and over the Waking masque you are wearing another one, the one that you will wear in the Dreamtime until you remember who you are or were in the Waking. Your Waking masque, though, you will not shed until you reach the far shores of Hades, where you will remember all the masques you have worn.
Mikal murmurs uncertainly, "...wiles?" She nods in slow uncertainty again, looking somewhat bemused... then suddenly remembers the list of questions, "Ah... um, right. So, um... shall we do the questions now?" She studies the list.
Marchorius inclines his head, folding his hands in his lap.
Jareth smiles sadly and reaches for the aethyr's hand, stroking the back of his knuckles gently, "You will regain your home, one day. But treachery is not the way there."
Mikal looks quite shocked, then startled as Jareth reaches across the wards -- and yet, they stay up! They don't even waver... she blinks bemusedly, watching carefully and trying to figure out how Lilith is accomplishing this effect. What a useful thing to know how to do!
Machorius answers the questions forthrightly, managing to keep a somewhat passive face and a stiff upper lip throughout most of it. Before they came to Mount Meru, during the dying days of the Godswar, he was ambushed and nearly killed by an archangel -- Michael, in fact. Using Marchorius's True Name -- though it wasn't truly needed -- he exacted a promise form the Mazikim to perform a great service to the angelic hosts at some future date; in return, Marchorius would be allowed to reclaim his place and name amongst the Hosts.
Since then, Marchorius has often been the 'scout' of the Mazikim, and he has been particularly alert for a number of small, subtle signs that Michael and, later, Gabriel arranged for him. Mostly they were to maintain contact, to ensure Marchorius that the Host had not forgotten him. It was when the Mazikim reached Mount Meru that maintaining contact with the Angelic Host became more routine.
He never sent on much information to the angels, though of course there was information about troop numbers, and the occasional visitor, though he did not take much notice at first about the four mortals. He did not get a chance to pass on a message about them before he received word of the impending attack and what he was to do.
He had an arrangement with one of the guards at the exit to the encampment; in exchange for his help in slipping out unnoticed, Marchorius crossed the rakshasa's palm with gold and the occasional small item of moderate power, or bit of useful knowledge or magic. Usually it was gold. The Mazik's contact changed often, but most often it was a highly-placed angel subordinate to Gabriel named Lionel.
And the goal, the price that Marchorius asked for in return for his treachery? Reinstatement as an angel. To walk again the marble and silver halls of Zion, to sit beneath the acacia trees, to stand at the bulwarks and hear the eternal chorus within the Tabernacle sing "Holy, holy, holy!" now and forever, and know that he was again where he was born and meant to be. The sadness Jareth sensed within him comes forth in a flood now, the Mazik weeping as he goes on about the sublime peace and joy he felt once upon a time as an angel of pearl-gated Zion. And yet, out of pride he fell, he knows. And perhaps it is still pride that made him continue to think that the Most High thought him worthy of reclamation someday.
Mikal shakes her head tiredly once they're done questioning the poor Mazik, and thinks with a hint of anger that El-Amon-Re has a damn-lot to answer for!
Jareth continues to hold Marchorious' hand and shakes his head in great sadness at the use the aethyr was put to.
Finally Marchorius winds down, his crying subsiding, though he keeps his head down, his angst spent as he takes in slow breaths.
Mikal quietly hands Jareth a soft rag she uses as a hankie, "Here, give him this, Cat."
Jareth silently hands the handkerchief across to the fallen angel, murmuring, "Help us recover Zion and you will walk there again."
Marchorius gingerly takes the handcerchief, carefully wiping his eyes and nose with it. "I.. I shouldn't let myself be tempted by thoughts of seeing it again," he says hesitantly. "It... no, it doesn't matter if I see it again. I was used by them, the promise of flying amongst Zion's clouds being offered and taken away...." He adds, "They're never going to let me back, are they?"
Lilith's own sadness shows in Jareth's eyes for a moment, "Not while El-Amon-Re remains mad."
Marchorius's shoulders sag, and he nods, once. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, that is true...."
Mikal watches silently, wondering internally. For all the horrible cruelties and madness she's heard of... there really hasn't been anyone who has been able to effectively resist them yet. She wonders if that has to do with their being deity-ridden mortals, or if it's something else. At this rate, she's starting to wonder bemusedly if even the spider-wasps could be reasoned with! She shakes her head. This is too easy, she thinks.
Mikal murmurs quietly to Jareth, "So... what now?"
Jareth turns to his mate and says softly, "I don't know that we have much more we can do here, aside from healing. And most of those left will heal on their own."
Mikal nods slowly, "We should talk to the angels whose True Names we know, before we go... figure out how to summon well and easily, and figure out how they can help the rakshasa, or how to encourage them to join. We want to find Papa Ghede too, wherever he is."
[Previous Log] [Index] [Next Log]