| Logs |
2009 December 28
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Bough Logs |
Fifth Movement, First Solo
Mikal listens silently to Papa Ghede, and within her a proud woman, a tall and strong one, a warrior and a lover, raises her head and listens as well. When Papa Ghede is done speaking, that woman speaks, her voice clear and calm and true, "Ghede Papa, I speak to you in the old ways of three and three, I honor you, I thank you for your kindness to the child before you. But if I cannot speak safely to one rude young loa, if I cannot defend myself from a malicious attack from an angry man, if I cannot ward myself against the cruelties of a frightened and lost child... then who am I to say, 'Follow me, for I and mine will bring down the cruel Desert King?'" Mikal/Inanna straightens, and her gray-eyes are stormy and fierce as she adds, "Am I not She Who rides dragons? Am I not She Who wields Papaios? Have I not faced Uriel, and seen him withdraw from the field of battle?" She turns her feral-eyed gaze to the loa and says courteously, "Ghede Papa, take me please to meet this Kriminel Baron, and if I do not survive, tell my friends so they can mourn me. But if I do survive, I will gift you with rum and cigars in thanks."
Papa Ghede looks at Mikal with some surprise, but clearly intrigued. Then his face breaks into a broad smile. "Ahhh," he says slowly. "I am thinking yours is an old and ancient soul, Rabbit, for you speak in the ways that have not been heard in the Waking in a very long time." He doffs his straw had, giving a bow to Mikal. "It shall be as you wish, childe. I shall accompany thee hence to the dwelling of my most unruliest kin." As he stands, there is some hint in his stature, his presence, of the proud African god which he once was. He holds out his hand, indicating the direction towards the base of Uluru. "He is this way, beneath Uluru where naught but prisoners might feel at home.
Mikal smiles and bows courteously in return, then adds, "I would ask one thing before we go: is Kriminel Baron a Trickster? -or is he a Hierophant? I would bring my half-brother Wolf with me, as he is..." she smiles almost mischievously, "well acquainted with Tricksters, I believe?" Raphael snorts amusedly, padding silently over to Mikal's side and sniffing interestedly at the loa.
Ghede makes a rumbling, thoughtful sound, as he reaches down to pet and scratch Raphael's ruff. "'Tis hard to say, child. He's not a traditional Trickster, no. Unless the fire he brings to mortals be the scouring fire of swift punishment, and as a reminder that fire burns as well as warms. No, he is -- we all are, of the Ghede Loa -- hierophants, psychopomps, though we be more concerned with the crossing-over, and how mortals deal with death, than the actual transmigration of souls. It was Baron Samedi who worked the most with the Thrones of Death, so much so that he was considered one of them."
Mikal nods consideringly, then smiles at Raphael's slightly impatient bump of his shoulder against her hip. "Very well. Nevertheless, I think Wolf Half-brother wishes to come with us regardless. Show me the way, please?" She walks with calm pride down towards the base of the ancient, silently slumbering rock, pacing next to the cheerfully chatty loa. As she walks, Mikal's demeanor and carriage slowly changes: Papaios is visible over one shoulder, and a quiver of arrows over the other, looking much like upstanding wings behind her. On her head is the mounded crown encircled by the curving horns of three bulls, and her hair falls in a profusion of braids that tumble over her shoulders and down her back, swaying with her slow gait. Her tiered dress drapes from two brooches at her shoulders all the way to her bare feet, and glittering bracelets and anklets chime musically as she walks.
She asks curiously as they go, "Do the Hierophants have a hierarchy in how they advance to Throne status? Why, for example, is Raven now Throne of Death for the mortals, instead of a Ghede?"
Papa Ghede leads the way, occasionally glancing back to Mikal, and so her transformation is not lost to him. "Loas are our own thing," he says simply. "Samedi, he was a Throne because he walked with the Thrones, because he took souls to the far shores. We jus' eased the passage from life to death, tried to make it less of a horror, you know? The Old Man in the Sky, he made death out to be this overwhelmin' horror. Wasn't what it is at all, childe, not at all.
"But it's hard doin' that kinda work, takin' the souls a' deceased mortals to the far shores. It ain't dreadful or frightenin', but it's heartbreakin'. So Samedi, he took it 'pon hisself to do the travellin' to the far shore, so's the dead have someone to lean on an' cry on during the trip. But for every dead one, there's a mess of folk tryin' to be strong, to find a reason for th' death. A tout le monde, a tout mes amis. Je vous aime. Je dois partir. And that's what the rest o' us did.
"That's why Samedi's the one Throne of the Ghede. They inducted him into their mysteries, so's he could go to the far shores and come back an' remember. S'why he always was the most vivacious of us, I think, always chasin' after anythin' with two legs, an' why Maman Brigitt tolerated that behavior from him. He saw th' joy and the heartbreak both, an' it made 'im drunk with life sometimes, I think."
By now, Papa Ghede has led Mikal down into one of the narrow, high crevices along the base of Uluru, and the narrow path is leading downward, deeper underground. The footing is not great, but it's bearable. "Does that answer your question, childe? None o' us Ghede loas are Thrones, because we didn't do th' hard work of goin' back-and-forth to th' far shores like Samedi did."
Mikal considers that as she walks, Raphael pacing silently behind her. Finally she says, "Would you translate the French for me please, Ghede Papa?"
He gives a soft chuckle. "Be glad to, childe.
To all the world:
To all my friends:
I love you all.
Now I must leave.
Short 'n sweet, an' to the point. But, Rabbit, childe... maybe you'd not be surprised at how many folk get broken up over death, includin' the deceased themselves. Even knowin' the transmigration of souls, an' the cycle of reincarnation... it's a hard burden mortals have. It's bad enough mortals got to go through with it; no need to be makin' it harder and more heartbreakin' than it is."
Mikal nods gravely, her small face thoughtful, "I think part of the reason El-Amon-Ra has made death terrifying is to instill more obedience into his followers. If he is the only Light after death, and may turn away those who pass into that realm... then all the more desperate need to appease and bow obsequiously to him while alive: so he will regard the deceased soul with favor." She smiles faintly at the man walking next to her, "Does that seem to make sense?"
As they descend, the light grows dimmer and dimmer, until only a few lanterns provide enough light to find footing on the gravelly path. "Aye, childe. That seems to be what the Old Man was wantin'. Greedy son of a gun." He pauses, then, in front of what looks like a door crudely set up barring a side-tunnel. "An' here we are," he says quietly. "Kriminel's... room... is just down that hall. Would you be wantin' me to go with you, childe? Or do you think you can handle him on your owns?"
Mikal smiles to Papa Ghede, and there is a calm light in her face, "You are welcome, Ghede Papa, to accompany myself and my half-brother." With that she turns and pushes open the door.
The corridor beyond is little more than a rough-hewn passage through rock, that leads about twenty yards to a wider area which is slightly better well-lit. As Mikal moves forward, she starts to see more of the room beyond. Pictures -- small, on thin yellowing paper, black-and-white and shades of grey but incredibly detailed -- are affixed to the walls; there must be hundreds of such pictures that she can see. A large lantern is set on a table, and from the shadows cast on the wall, there are other lanterns... and at least one person moving around.
As she nears the room proper, she can see better the pictures. They appear fairly nondescript, but seem to follow a common theme: Studies capturing a single instant of time, a family in abject grief, uniformed men escorting shackled prisoners, what Mikal somehow recognizes as formal courtroom scenes, pictures with chalk outlines or ominously-discolored sidewalks -- some part of Mikal recognizes these as simply photographs from newspapers.
Mikal nods thoughtfully after her gaze flicks assessingly over a few of the photos, straightening and turning to look further into the room. She wonders if Baron Kriminel's fascination with Azrael is a form of envy, or a projection of desire.
Behind Mikal, Raphael lets Papa Ghede go in before him; though Ghede remains close by, he is not crowding up against Mikal.
There is a man there, tall and almost emaciated but despite that looking like his muscles are tightly-coiled steel. He is scarred, his head shaven bald and discolored in places as if burned in the past, and broken shackles are on his wrists. He seems taken with his own thoughts, as he paces, reading a book and occasionally drinking from a rough tin cup. On one of his circuits, he finally notices the visitors. His dark, depthless eyes flick from one visitor to the other. Finally he says, "Papa... you're not th' type to be bringin' me gifts of tail."
Mikal waits silently, studying the restless, unhappy young man.
Ghede rumbles, sounding like he's trying to contain an angry furnace within him. Finally he takes a breath. "No, Kriminel, she's no gift. This is Rabbit, one a' the mortals who clipped Uriel's wings on Meru. Rabbit... Baron Kriminel."
Kriminel beams -- a mostly sarcastic expression. "Oh, well, in that case, I do abase myself before the great lady," he bows deepy, "an' offer her th' food an' drink I have, for surely th' days of the Old Man in the Sky are now numbered!"
Mikal nods politely, "Thank you; your praise is accepted, although I have no need to deprive you of sustenance." She moves to shift the sole chair so its back is to a wall, then seats herself almost regally. Raphael stalks forward to sit alertly on her left, and she rests a hand on his heavy mane while continuing without hesitation, "This is my half-brother Wolf. We have come to ask you what you know of Azrael, and in specific we search for his True Name."
Kriminel's brows go up, and he looks at Ghede almost with askance. "She's no witling, Papa, you'd not be that cruel to her." He looks at Mikal again, goes 'huh' and says flatly, "And Papa told you that's what I was lookin' for, yes?" Undaunted by Mikal taking the only chair, he stands in the middle of the room, scarred arms crossed.
Mikal nods once silently, waiting patiently. She smiles faintly as she adds, "The question is: do you know what to do with that Name once you've found it? Revenge, to you, would be worthless if you were slain in the process. You need a good summoner."
Kriminel's brows rise again. "An' I'm goin' to guess that the next words out of your mouth are 'I'm a good summoner.'"
Mikal smiles and shakes her head, "No. I was going to add, 'Or someone with a lot of what you most want, willing to trade it for the knowledge. But even that will avail you naught, if that person gives your name to Azrael."
Kriminel looks at Mikal for several long, appraising moments, then he says, "So. Is that you? Offerin' ta 'give me what I most want,' else give my name to th' Reaper? That'd be a fine way to get my help, I'm thinkin', eh? Tell me I might be sold out to th Reaper, lettin' him know there's someone lookin' to bring 'im low and who won't stop at not'ing. Never mind that I been doin' this for so long 'cause that sack of shit killed my brother. So... I got to ask again: Is that you?"
Mikal shakes her head, "I will not give your name to Azrael, and unless what you most want is Azrael humbled I will not be offering you what you most want either. But I am going to make Azrael stop hunting Raven. You may help if you wish, but I will be doing it either with or without you. You must choose."
Kriminel shifts his stance a little. "All right. All right, I'll play Papa's game here for a bit. I'll nibble at th' bait." He leans on the table, leaning close to Mikal. When he speaks, it's with harsh intensity. "What I be wantin' most is the Reaper-man to be destroyed an' scattered to th' winds. I want 'im shoved so far into th' Nether he forgets that he even was. I don't give a fuck about pretty words, I just want 'im dead, dead, DEAD." He pauses. "An' I don't care how many angels wings you clip, pretty bit. Azrael ain't goin' ta step into your arrow's flight, he ain't gonna listen to pretty words politely while you try to shiv him, an' he ain't gonna give a shit about you, which is less than I'm givin' right now." He jerks a thumb at Papa Ghede. "Ain't even told Papa here what I've weaseled out of white-winged, black-hearted angels. So convince me. All I'm hearin' is words like butterflies but you gotta do better than that an' pokin' a hole in Urilel's ass before you've got me on board."
Mikal studies the man before her calmly. Raphael, on the other hand, leans forward so he's in the loa's face, and snarls right back, baring his shark-like array of teeth.
Mikal's thoughtful gaze shifts to the book Baron Kriminel was reading. It has no title, and appears to be a journal of some kind, scrawled in messy handwriting.
Kriminel's face screws up in anger as Raphael gets in his face and sets him off. "Snarl it up, go on! You think this is bad? You think me gettin' in your sister's face about this is bad? You think I should be snarled at? You're way deluded, puppy, way fucking fou et fou. I don't give a fuck what you might be thinkin', the Wakin' and the Dreamin' be filled with shit, an' you think my mouthin' off is bad? Take a look around you!" His voice becomes a roar. "Look around you! Look at the pictures! Look at what a lack of justice has wrought for mortals!" Indeed, the pictures -- all of them -- have ceased being simply photos, and each one shows, in grainy, stuttering life, each of those moments -- the arrests of murderers, the families of victims, the remains of tragedy and mayhem, the heartbreak left behind when mortal commits evil upon another.
Kriminel is still speaking, though a little calmer now, as if his rush of fury was spent in animating the hundreds of newspaper photos he has surrounded himself with. "Every last one is a mockery, puppy. A mortal sticking his middle finger up to th' world and sayin' 'Screw you! I am not my brother's keeper! I'll take a life, I'll take ten, if it pleases me!" He actually crouches down then, so he's face-level with Raphael. "So you wanna growl at me for being a bit pissed off at hearin' teasin' words? At bein' pissed at seein' another verse of blowin' Azrael to fuck-all an' back bein' dangled in front of my face? If you t'ink I'm not goin' to be askin' to be shown proof that this time it's possible, then you really are fou et fou."
Mikal rises with a sigh, and murmurs, "Enough, loa. You are too focused on establishing pecking order... such that I do not believe you actually have the Name yet." She steps around the little tableau, adding wearily, "We will leave you in what peace you can find."
Mikal pauses by the table, picking up the journal and glancing curiously at it. It appears to be a rambling account of a dialogue between the author and someone who seems to know Azrael.
Mikal discreetly palms an arrow in her free hand as she does so.
Kriminel stands, and says harshly, "No. I don't have the True Name yet. Do you think I'd be here still if I had? I'd ha' been, 'slain in the process,' as you put it." He adds darkly. "But you don't have it, either. So good luck to you, gonna find Azrael's not like Uriel." He makes no move to remove the book from Mikal's hands, instead simply watching her with the air of someone waiting -- barely politely -- for a guest to take their leave.
Mikal murmurs absently, "You are not our only lead, loa, but thank you for the blessings."
Raphael looks vaguely amused at Baron Kriminel's posturing but, as always, he says nothing.
Kriminel snorts a little. "Worth 'xactly what you paid for it, pretty bit," he says.
It becomes clear to Mikal, after some reading, that the journal is Baron Kriminel's and this part is an account of his interrogation of an angel for information regarding Azrael. The Baron doesn't go into detail, but it appears he simply beat the angel until it talked. Unsurprisingly, there's no mention of the angel's name or what happened to it after the interrogation, which seemed to be mostly digging for clues to Azrael's True Name, or any other weakness the angel might have. The journal is apparently one of several filled with the loa's research. As Mikal reads, Raphael murmurs quietly to her, [He smells... hurt-angry more than infuriated- or prideful-angry, little sister.] Mikal puts the journal down and nods gravely to Raphael, then turns and walks over to Baron Kriminel. She reaches up one hand to the loa's cheek, murmuring quietly, "Blessings on you, wounded spirit. May you find wholeness in your time."
Raphael pads over to stand near Mikal.
Kriminel looks surprised for a moment, then angry, though it looks forced; but instead of pushing Mikal's hand away or striking her, he simply turns his head sharply away. "Don't be pityin' me, pretty bit," he says, gruffly but not without sympathy of his own. "Pity th' mortals who fear th' Reaper an' his master. Won't be findin' wholeness 'till th' last meet justice, anyways."
Mikal says quietly, "Compassion is limitless, loa. I have plenty; I will not run out." She turns and walks calmly away, Raphael following warily at her back.
Mikal pauses at the door, although she does not look around as she adds, "And yes... I am a good summoner." After that she leaves.
Kriminel calls out to her quietly as she leaves, "There compassion enough for Azrael, too? Samedi was the best of us; he had limitless compassion, limitless joi de vive. If you take away a source of that compassion, is the one taking it worthy of that compassion?"
Mikal smiles faintly, even though Kriminel cannot see her face. Again without turning she replies, "Give me his True Name, Kriminel Baron, and I will show you."
There is silence for several long moments, then a quiet, empained, "I will see what I can do."
Mikal smiles quietly again, passing through the rude wooden door. She pauses there, waiting for Raphael and Papa Ghede before she closes the door.
Mikal smiles over at Papa Ghede as the threesome progress up the path, "Thank you, Ghede Papa, for taking me to visit your relative. He's certainly deeply wounded... but I think, if he does find Azrael's True Name, and chooses to tell me it, that we can perhaps help him heal somewhat."
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