Hope's Light

Chapter 20

by Erisian

Book 6

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty - Music

 

Twitch let my head rest against his chest, his close presence reassuring and solid just as it had been on all those wagon journeys taken together through the dark. Thoughts rampaged anyway behind closed eyelids like a herd of startled graxh tearing through sharp-ferned forest. Between the blurred collapsing leaves and trunks crashing aside from the mental onslaught hung a simple circlet of gold.

And all it represented.

I didn’t know if I could do this.

Those words must have slipped past my lips, as a woman’s voice responded.

“Do what, my Queen?”

I should have been surprised at her presence, but a part of myself had known she was there. One eye opened and sure enough, sitting before the table upon the floor with knees folded below a thin brown skirt, was Maddalena - the healing priestess who had helped save me from the darkest of spellwork woven from threads anathema to existence itself.

Lifting myself back to an upright position (with Twitch reluctantly letting go), I tried to put the inner confusion into words.

“Everything. All of it. I once lamented not knowing what I should do. Now a potential path has appeared, and yet I find myself more unsure than ever.”

Deep brown eyes weighed my statement. “There are always many possible paths. But not all have heart.”

I found myself managing a smile, as the advice of a sick-but-contented incarnate angel came back to mind. “So maybe if I’m hesitant it’s not quite what my spirit needs?”

“My Queen, only you can decide that. But I cannot see you committing to anything that wouldn’t be.”

I couldn’t help it and a light guffaw escaped before becoming a sigh. “I’m much better at acting in the heat of the moment than being deliberate about anything.”

“I would disagree.”

“Oh?”

She waved a hand at what lay beyond the courtyard’s wall. “What was constructed here was due to your deliberate acts.”

“You and the others built this; I wasn’t even here.”

Long brunette locks held back by a slender ribbon bounced side-to-side as she shook her head. “Your leadership was the required platform. Without that, Nathanael and everyone would have had no basis upon which to build.”

“I hardly did anything - just shouted orders.”

“Leadership is much more than that. Your example, your Light…” She paused, and then emitted a short laugh. “You do not see it, do you? Then again, how could you. One may as well ask the sun to find the night.” Those piercing eyes glinted with absolute conviction.

Not knowing how to respond, I hoped to shift the conversation elsewhere. “How are the twins and their father?”

Being likely far wiser than I, she went with it. “Physically, they are well. But they have all endured tremendous trauma.”

“Yaria and especially Ruyia were close with the reaper Barry. Can a message be sent to Epsilon? Nick Wright is also there, they both should get their butts up here.”

“Nick…you mean Barakiel?”

“Yeah, him.”

An unsculpted and wild-curled eyebrow raised. “We have means to signal, provided the realm’s shifts do not interfere. Though message content is limited to how much energy can be provided to the device.”

“Huh. If you need more juice, then uhm…just let me know.”

She hesitated. “Its inner workings require a certain amount of finesse, my Queen.”

I made a face. “I’ve gotten a lot better! And hey, how’d you know I’ve had issues with more subtle energy efforts??”

“I did not, though I am unsurprised. Being this close is like sitting before a roaring wildfire consuming a forest entire. My Queen, with your power you could overload the workings just by walking within a few arm’s lengths.”

“Really? I mean, I put away the wings!”

“Yes. Really.”

“Oh. I can try-”

The priestess held up a hand. “Please, relax and don’t constrain yourself.” Her eyes flicked towards Twitch, and she smiled a knowing smile.

The type of smile that instantly flushed both my cheeks with embarrassed warmth.

Politely ignoring the reaction, she spoke again. “Vance and his daughters have asked me to inform that Your Majesty possesses their full parole - in fact, they wonder if they should be constrained to quarters or no. Are they truly prisoners in custody?”

The more pressing topic restored distracted focus. “Yes, they are. At least for now. Please tell them that they may move freely within the bounds of this settlement without restriction. And if they need to send communiques beyond to their people they may do so.” Blinking, I considered. “As much as possible, let their presence here be as their previous visits. They too need to relax as best they can.”

Gracefully rising to sandaled feet, she inclined her head. “By your leave, I will tell them.”

“Thank you, Maddalena. It’s good seeing you again.”

“And you, my Queen.” After a formal curtsy, she strode purposefully from the room with eyes burning with a faith I wasn’t sure I deserved.

When she was safely away, I sighed and found my fingers entangling once again between Twitch’s. Raising them to lips, I brushed a kiss across the back of the rough and scarred hand. “I worry…” With a quick shake of my own hair, I didn’t say the rest of the thought.

Twitch squeezed gently, and I’m pretty sure he understood what I meant without it needing to be spoken aloud.

He, in his own way, was even better at doing that than I.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Horatio returned a few minutes later to tiptoe across his living room and lurk around the entrance’s corner, hoping to not disturb. Eventually I called to him.

“C’mon out, Horatio. I know you’re there.”

He instantly appeared in the doorway and bowed. “Milady.”

“So what shall we do now?”

“I was thinking perhaps milady would enjoy a tour.”

“Well, Mister Mayor, how could I rightly refuse?”

“Then, please, come see what we’ve accomplished in your absence.”

What followed was the requisite tour given to any general’s arrival at a base of operations. Though this included more than simple salutes by the denizens, what with many taking knees and even the spilling of tears from a number of souls I’d never met yet knew intimately. There were even a few that I’d never encountered either directly or indirectly, though some of those too had that look of worshipful adoration which continued to send uncomfortable awkward shivers across spine and shoulders. It was also clear that my original hellraisers bearing the mark of the star held privilege and rank over all the newcomers.

Or at least were given the most deference.

We walked through immaculately cleaned barracks unconventionally integrated between demons and souls, massive kitchens with many coal stoves and their dark chimneys leading to additional caverns above (overseen by a joyful Master Chef whose thin mustache still looked ridiculous and who had gained an impressive expansion around his waist), blacksmith forges all busy except for one appearing recently unused with celestial script swirling through the stacks of waiting metal, armories full of sharp pointy things and protective outer wear to defend against them, pens of graxh and other musty yet useful creatures, and wide training grounds bearing signs of constant geomancy utilized to fix damage from overpowered giants and other exuberant warriors. Beyond these were yet more buildings filled with souls endeavoring across numerous activities: tailors, carpenters, bookbinders, all sorts of things.

It was impressive.

Finally we emerged out into the cold to stand on a plateau overlooking the switchback trails needed to climb this high. Not that they were easily seen, what with the lack of light from the all-but-empty dark sky. While the new star shined brightly, the warmth it provided was to the spirit and not flesh - indeed the small group which had followed me and Horatio quickly pulled coats tighter to fend off the sudden chill.

Was it weird that the extreme cold carried by the breeze actually felt good? It reminded of all those circuits as a reaper sitting alongside Twitch, just the two of us huddled together against the fierce bite of the wind while bouncing about on the open graxh-driven cart - the only sounds the creaking of wood and metal, and the huffing grunts of the steady beasts pulling us along. Totally alone with but a single crystal of glowing blue to fend off the vast outer dark.

Nostalgia is a strange thing.

Twitch must have felt it too as he put a hand on my leather-covered shoulder, but then again he’d kept trying to touch me ever since I’d arrived. It was as if he was concerned I might otherwise disappear again without that contact, like say someone drifting off to other realms unless a certain kitty sat on their chest.

It was rather endearing, really.

Many coaches, covered with intricate carvings and decorations of flowers and vines, were parked in a rough wide circle upon the plateau. In the center willowy Lilim prepared to light a fresh bonfire, while smaller cooking fires already crackled under cauldrons ladened with aromatic meat and steaming Hell-vegetables. Cases of wine and barrels of ale had also been carried out, with stacks of mugs, bowls, and spoons standing ready.

Horatio nodded to the Lilim directing the activity, a man sharply dressed in an elegantly embroidered dark jade coat, lighter waistcoat, and deep brown breeches. The man acknowledged Horatio with a florid bow, then snapped fingers at his crew to hurry up and put out a line of luxuriously padded wooden chairs at the best spots where soon roaring flames would do battle with the crisp air’s chill.

“Milady, the Lilim desire to host a feast in your honor in gratitude for preventing their leaders’ imminent demise.”

I tensed. “Their fates remain uncertain, Horatio. You know this.”

“As does everyone. Yet they still live. Is this moment, here and now, by itself not worthy of celebration regardless?”

“I…I suppose it is.”

Having only been a few hours since dining with Outpost Epsilon, I wasn’t particularly hungry. But again, this was one of those situations where refusal would have been a dreadful insult - and thus I joined them and gratefully took bowl and cup.

The wine, unsurprising as it was likely taken from Vance’s private stash, was in truth absolutely amazing. Somehow it held the hint of fruit nonexistent in hell, such as pear or even apple, magically conjured from the blend by a master brewer. Resisting temptation to indulge beyond a couple cupfuls was hard, especially as it wasn’t just flavor that lent a soft warmth to tongue, stomach, and even the soles of one’s feet.

As before at the Lilim’s fire, after the first round of bowls had been devoured, musical instruments appeared in many hands. Their oud player introduced a hauntingly beautiful musical theme quickly taken up by hands clapping or tapping against cajóns, and feet stomped in rhythm upon a wooden platform, placed upon the dirt a safe distance from the fire’s occasional exuberant sparks. Flutes - one carved from wood and one of intricately crafted metal - piped counter-melodies to blend harmonies with just the right touch of dissonance and resolution. So entranced by wine and song was I that everything drifted, and only some time later during a pause did I finally notice that the empty chairs to my left had been filled.

Vance and his daughters had joined us, with Maddalena sitting nearby with attentive eyes. The now-bald and clean-shaven father stared distantly into the flames, his cheeks still pale while vest, ruffled shirt, and trousers hung loose upon a frame no longer sufficiently robust to properly fill its silk. Yaria’s fingers played angrily with a spoon, flipping it end over end before catching again, and was dressed not for celebration but for stealthy combat: the all-black leather and cloth covered every inch, including a zukin over her head - though the fukumen normally covering the face had been pulled down.

As for Ruyia, she slumped within a velvet robe of burnished red - more sleepwear than public attire - staring without seeing at a bowl of uneaten stew resting limply across a knee. She too was bald under a threaded cap, as the patchwork mess left by her captors had been carefully removed.

And whenever a man happened to walk past, she startled and drew herself tighter on the chair.

Even as the oud and flutes began anew, I stopped chewing a lip to lean closer to Horatio.

“Shouldn’t they be resting?”

He turned his head to whisper back. “They insisted on coming, milady. Against Maddalena’s wishes.”

“Maybe I should retire early. So they can too.”

He was about to respond, but Yaria suddenly growled and tossed the spoon like a knife, hard enough to stick handle-up in the dirt. Getting to her stealthily-padded feet she marched off towards one of the coaches, throwing the door open with a loud clang as it rebounded on the hinges.

The music died as all eyes had followed before turning to one another with uncertain awkwardness as she had not slammed the door shut behind her. Instead she emerged quickly thereafter, hands carrying two particular items as she strode back over to stand before father and sister.

Shoving a case each upon the laps of her sitting family, she snarled with disgust. “Open them. Open and play!”

Vance startled, but caught the case before it slid to the dirt. Ruyia shrank further in the chair, ignoring the dislodged stew spilling across the hem of her gown.

Shaking with fury, Yaria regrabbed the case threatening to follow the meal to the hard ground. Flicking the latches open, she pulled free the violin sitting within - and forced a sister’s hand to hold its neck before wedging the bowstring into the other. Ruyia let both fall to her lap, lifting neither instrument nor bow.

“We are alive!” Yaria shouted at the pair. “And we have suffered worse!”

Vance sighed. “I have no desire for this.”

“Oh? No desire?” she scoffed. “What did you tell us when Mother died? When our tears could reach no end?!”

“Yaria, please-”

“What did you tell us?! Say it! Or have you forgotten?!”

A dangerous spark lit behind his eyes. “I know full well what was said.”

“Then prove it, you old graxh! Get up and prove it!”

Fingers curled around fret and stick, and with deliberate slowness did Vance rise to booted feet. Looking over to Ruyia, he said, “Come daughter, your sister is insistent.”

Except Ruyia flinched and refused to meet the gaze.

Stepping between them, Yaria knelt before her sister. “Ruyia,” she said with surprising sudden gentleness. “It’s Dad. He won’t hurt you.” When she got no reaction, she added, “Close your eyes. Just close them, and listen.”

With a hesitant nod, Ruyia did so.

Not turning, Yaria addressed the man behind her. “Play, Father. Play.”

Setting chin to the provided rest, Vance breathed deeply, and after a slow exhale began to draw bow across strings. A single note pulled from the instrument, emitting a low hum which held for the longest of counts before finally shifting as other notes followed.

To my surprise, I recognized the theme: an Arabic lamentation.

With each note he summoned from the wood and strings a vibrating sorrow, haunting in its simplicity and beauty. With the tempo clear, palms began to come together from around the circle - quietly at first and then with rising rapidity as cajóns collaborated with the beat of the joining oud’s deep and repeating bassline. The sum built to a crescendo of sound to burst into new harmonies of emerging glory as if cast forth from the very sweat dripping from Vance’s hairless brow.

Then a second melody added itself to the first, reaching into hearts to tug forth the pains of life itself and blend with the rising passion of the main theme.

Ruyia, still seated with eyes closed, had begun to play.

As an intricate dance did their notes twirl, phrase after phrase spiraling about the other, his seeking heights of triumph while hers cautioned sorrows of consequences. Rapid strokes versus measured and slow, pouring sweat versus individually falling tears, the two filled the plateau with their combined song - and few were the hands and feet not participating in their rhythm.

Lifted as if by the music itself, Ruyia stood - and her sister, clapping in earnest along with the rest, stepped out of the way. A growing fury added itself to the daughter’s notes, casting them with clipped sharpness along with a burning gaze of hurt in accusation towards her father.

His crescendos softened in response, bending the melody as if to soothe the sudden aggression, as if to make amends.

The rest of us, transfixed, quieted our surrounding beats, and soon the two violins sang alone.

Within that duet Vance shifted tones, returning the instrument to the constant deep hum of his initial note - and Ruyia slowed to play again its first beautiful phrase before both finished their final stanza in perfect harmony.

In the following silence, daughter stepped into her father’s waiting arms.

Yaria, wiping away a single wetness upon her own undernourished cheek, then crossed arms in fierce satisfaction before speaking sharply to them both.

“Where existence remains,” she reminded with great insistence, “the music plays on!!”

 

~o~O~o~

 

The three did not linger long after that, their obvious exhaustion providing Maddalena the excuse to finally usher them off to much needed beds. This left me sitting with Horatio and Twitch while the rest of the Lilim’s revelries continued their dances and songs.

After noticing Horatio had been doing his best to avoid any serious topics, I finally laughed. “You still have a ton of questions you aren’t asking, don’t you?”

He had the kindness to appear chagrined. “I…naturally.”

Taking yet another sip of that fabulous wine, I gestured with the cup. “How much has Hank…sorry, Nathanael…actually told you? Dangit, when I think of him in context of our mercenary band’s great march the brain still thinks of him as ‘Hank’.”

“The issue of names is certainly a challenge at times.” He chuckled.

“Guess I’m no exception.”

“Yours are more challenging than all others.”

“Bleh.”

“Quite. But in all seriousness, both he and Camael were extremely forthright regarding your past and circumstances on Earth. I believe they wished to further impress upon us the challenges you have faced and conquered.”

My other hand froze where it’d been holding Twitch’s again. “Uh, exactly how forthright?”

He coughed. “Let us say that I would describe your experiences as rather uniquely transformative, even if one were to overlook the wings.”

Aghast I looked over to Twitch while the stomach did flips like an Olympic gymnast.

Eyes floating above the fabric keeping his mouth and nose warm twinkled merrily. Oh God, he knew.

I had to fight to find my voice. “Are you…are you okay with that?!” I asked him. “I mean, I used to be-”

Twitch’s chest shook. Dangit, he was silently laughing. He patted the back of my hand where it was kept locked in place.

“You sure?!”

Merriment focused within those irises. With a finger he pointed at my heart then at the floor before us, before spreading an upturned palm back towards me and finally placing it against his own chest.

And I understood.

You are you, you are here. As this, you are in my heart.

My face was suddenly warm, and not from the wine or still roaring fire.

But I didn’t pull my hand away.

Being perceptive, Horatio stretched and stood. “I believe my questions should wait, milady. As you, too, are in need of rest.”

“Uhm, I don’t need to sleep. Not really.”

“Who said anything about sleep?” He gave an amused smile. “By your leave…” He bowed.

Nodding, it was only after he’d started walking away that I realized what exactly he’d meant. Looking quickly back to Twitch, I found eyes that knew exactly what they truly wanted meeting mine.

But while I hesitated, he did not - pulling the cloth away from lips he leaned forward to kiss mine.

And then again.

Emotions and sensations surging, I broke off to pull away, clutching the wine mug in both hands. “Twitch…”

Gentle fingers found my cheek.

Leaning into the touch with eyes closing in spite of themselves, I spoke quietly so only he could hear. “I haven’t…I haven’t been with anyone that way since she…” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say, ‘since my wife died’. It just seemed too final, and also too weird at the same time.

We were in Hell. Technically both Twitch and I had died too.

It’s just…I wasn’t sure what death meant anymore.

I found myself babbling. “And I have no idea where I’ll need to be in the next moment. I can’t…I can’t commit to anything, you see? I mean, I’ll probably have to go back to Earth eventually somehow - even if that requires going back through the Chaos. Everything is in flux, I don’t know what I’m doing, everything is-”

He cut me off by lifting my chin and kissing once more. And with a tender smile and tilt of the head, he showed he understood.

And didn’t mind.

Not in this moment, not here and not now.

Getting to his feet, he pulled me to mine, and I followed back into the caves to a small earthen structure that was mostly empty except for desk, chair, simple wardrobe, and a remarkably soft blanketed bed.

Whereupon he let his guard down by allowing me to see in full measure the burns across his skin. And then touch them. In turn, I let his kiss, his caress, and his giving heart help heal ancient scars of my own.

When the inevitable release of tears followed after, he spooned gently in warmly held reassurance that in this place, and at this time, I was loved.

And was not alone.

Once sufficiently recovered, he bade me sing again. For while he remained silent except for the tenderness of need filling his beautiful eyes, I certainly did not.

In those moments, I hadn’t cared who heard.

 

~o~O~o~

 

We lay there for what must have been hours, him breathing deep of the irresistible call to slumber that afflicts men after such activities. Certainly I had once been no exception (much to Caroline’s amusement), whereas now I remained awake: content and at peace, not thinking of anything particular, yet aware in gently floating lassitude.

Which meant, of course, that eventually all the wine I had initially decided not to drink made its presence known to ye ol’ bladder. With a quiet groan I slipped out of the bed, intending to explore the row of outhouses where geomancy had been used to redirect an underground waterflow and allow for sanitary plumbing.

It wasn’t until I’d manifested clothing (reaper’s coat and cloth in the foolish hope to not stand out while making a run for the loo) and stepped outside that I realized the silliness of that entire action.

After all, I’d just made cloth appear out of nowhere, but hadn’t applied that trick to myself. I could have blipped out and back and removed any need to pee.

Guess it’s true, old habits do die hard. You’d think the whole incident with the swarm of bugs at a certain river would have taught the lesson, but nope! That had been an external mess, and this was decidedly not.

At least, not yet.

Suppressing a chuckle, I easily removed the pressing issue and turned to go back in - but then spotted a winter-robed man resting on the rocky floor with back propped against Twitch’s wall. A shepherd’s crook pressed against strands of white rustling against a slumped shoulder.

Two things stood out immediately. I hadn’t noticed him and had no idea how long he’d been there, and he also wasn’t someone I knew directly from my time on the Rock. Not while running around with the reapers and mercs, and not when keeping the realm from flying apart.

Yet he felt familiar.

I cleared my throat. “Can I help you?”

Deep eyes of yellow gold opened, and a quiet voice said slowly, “I do hold great hope that you may.”

Gazing into those shining irises was like falling into eternity, and recognition from another’s memory surfaced. “Holy heck, I’ve seen you!”

From behind bangs hanging like the lightest of clouds, he considered. “Have you?”

A scene replayed. Newly forged angels sent forward by Michael to make a last stand athwart the enemy that the terrible war might end, bolstered by one among them with strength enough to bar the path of the chief offender. Before all were swept aside by the mighty blast of Gabriel’s horn.

Before the arm of Elohim locked the passage’s doorway shut forever.

“Raguel,” I heard myself say. “You’re the angel Raguel. You stood against Samael, beyond the pincer-point to Hell.”

“Ah.” Strong-yet-old fingers curled about the wooden staff, and its looped end pointed towards me. “You and I…” He caught himself, again giving serious thought to the words before continuing, “…should discuss that which I have served since that day of Elohim’s Decree.” A gentle smile dawned across the wrinkled face, an expression peacefully beatific.

“Served?” I straightened with caution anyway. Could he have meant some other Fallen? “What exactly have you served?”

After another long considered pause, he answered:

“Sanctuary.”

 

End of Part Four

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian