11-15-2016, 12:46 AM
His voice reverberating against the rock walls of the large chamber was greeted by a silence only broken by the crashing of the water from the fall. In the silence a worm of trepidation burrowed. His blue eyed gaze swept over the crowd with suspicion. For a moment he sensed the shadow of danger and he cursed himself for foolish weakness. Hubris, as they say. Violence always hovered at the edges of zealotry, the shadow made darker by the fiery light. Especially toward the source of devotion.
He studied the crowd again- at Valeriya's black clad form still only showing her back, communing with the falling water- and adjusted his stance. Very likely he would not walk out of here alive. But his soul would be dear. They would know what it was to invite an object of worship into their realm, only to turn him into sacrifice.
Valeriya turned, her green eyes glowing brightly in the turquoise glow of the firelight. For a moment- just a moment- recognition tugged at his memory. The ghost of a young voice arose from somewhere deep within. And again his emotions surged, a whipsaw back to something beyond any pain he'd known over the previous day- or every. The carefully laid walls quivered and behind the hidden door in his mind he saw a flash of light. His breath caught as the demon even now- Not now, not after so long!, he pleaded- tugged the hooks, the last gasp of her power.
He did not like this place. It was the air or the mist. Something was reaching its ghostly dead hand into his deepest places twisting and turning, opening. He breathed and blanked his mind, asserting the power of his will over himself, as he had with his physical pain earlier. Within a moment, calm had replaced whatever had been there before.
Now, it was just a crowd of expectant people. There seemed not malice. Indeed, they seemed to lean toward him. Their collective breath seemed to hold at once, as if waiting...waiting...waiting-
-and then Valeriya spoke, her voice piercing the silence, a knife cast out into the darkness. The crowd responded in antiphonal chant, the words formal and yet laden with hope and something else he could not put his finger on. His eyes were glued to hers across the chamber and he tore them away with more effort than he was comfortable admitting. He studied the rest, looked at their faces, sought their eyes. In some, as among the Atharim, he saw suspicion and fear. And in some, like Matvei, the cold embers of ambition smoldered. Others, though, in others he saw the fires burn. Hunger. Even Barovsky's zeal had been tempered with experience. Here, though, cloistered and indoctrinated without the distraction of the life above, here fanaticism could reach its peak.
It would be a deadly walk, the beast difficult to control. But there were forces at work. It was not accident that brought him here, even if they- if she- were wrong about who he was.
She turned and through the fabric he saw flashes of light. Cloth. Lace even. From somewhere she had found a dress. Her hair tinkled as ornamentation clicked together.
And then she was headed around the side of the pool the water poured into, onto a ledge that seemed to stretch back into the darkness. Suddenly she was gone. One of the men- he moved stiffly- beckoned to him, holding out the torch that burned its bluish flame. The flames lit his eyes, even as the rancid smell of fat told him where the fuel came from.
He could follow into their holiest place to find her. The Eye. She who saw. What had she seen? Surely not just his face. What was his purpose here? More to the point, who was behind it?
Oracular vision had never been the province of the gods of old, as far as he knew. The stories of old- the histories he had- proved the gods as blind and as helpless to future as most others. But there, in that secret cavern Dr. Daniat had uncovered, had lain the curse tablet, now safely tucked into his bag. Alongside it had been an ancient copper scroll that, as best as he could read, had been from his Atharim brethren across the millenia. Somehow, they had known of his need- of the world's need- and it had been placed in safekeeping until finally, it was his hand that held it, his voice that had awakened the Ijiraq. His will that had finally killed Apollyon.
What further knowledge was out there? The hunger to know burned inside him, gnawed at him. And deeper than that. The need to use that knowledge. The love of learning was tempered by what he could do with it, even as he reveled in the mental gymnastics themselves.
Now he had a place for answers. The memory of those green eyes came to him. Someone with answers. That was what was important. Settled, he was willing to proceed. He took the torch from the hooded man and followed, the shadowy light playing across the surface of the whirling pool. The rock path was narrow but he was sure footed. Still, the opening was not easy to find, nor, once he was inside, was it a straight path. smokey or steam from rents in the side of the walls mixed with water that must have come from above, from the source of the waterfall, running along side.
His instincts came to him and he slowed even as his heart began to beat faster. Valeriya. His hand went to his blade, ready. Cherufe would thrive in an environment like this. He could almost see the flash of the thin leathery form as it razor teethed jaws snapped at her legs, rending the white flesh until blood ran freely. She would be gone. All would be for not.
He moved faster even as he carefully stuck to the middle of the way, wary for any movement, wishing he had his flash-lamp instead of the flickering light casting moving shadows that could hide an attack.
And then he broke into a room, his blue light penetrating deep into the bowels of the chamber. And their she was, watching him, eyes shining in the light. For a moment, he stared. She appeared primal, her hair decorated clearly now, with bone and rocks and teeth. She was the queen mother of this group. Grendel's Mother. The deadliest of foes. And he was in her lair.
What did she want of him? His eyes ran over the rest of the room and took in chests and boxes, the dust that plainly covered them indicating great age.
And then it occurred to him? How had she seen to get here? How had she known the path, eluded the dangers? The green eyes recalled green eyes, but he suppressed the pain that tried to come with it. For a moment, suspicion cut through him. Was she a god? Or did her Oracular vision translate to this?
He would be wary. There did not appear another way out, though perhaps the shadows hid some narrow path. If it should be necessary, he would need a way out that would preferably avoid the waiting throng outside.
And yet, what he saw in her eyes did not seem to indicate fear or protectiveness. That curiosity warred with his concern.
"What is it you want of me? What is this place that you bring me here?"
He studied the crowd again- at Valeriya's black clad form still only showing her back, communing with the falling water- and adjusted his stance. Very likely he would not walk out of here alive. But his soul would be dear. They would know what it was to invite an object of worship into their realm, only to turn him into sacrifice.
Valeriya turned, her green eyes glowing brightly in the turquoise glow of the firelight. For a moment- just a moment- recognition tugged at his memory. The ghost of a young voice arose from somewhere deep within. And again his emotions surged, a whipsaw back to something beyond any pain he'd known over the previous day- or every. The carefully laid walls quivered and behind the hidden door in his mind he saw a flash of light. His breath caught as the demon even now- Not now, not after so long!, he pleaded- tugged the hooks, the last gasp of her power.
He did not like this place. It was the air or the mist. Something was reaching its ghostly dead hand into his deepest places twisting and turning, opening. He breathed and blanked his mind, asserting the power of his will over himself, as he had with his physical pain earlier. Within a moment, calm had replaced whatever had been there before.
Now, it was just a crowd of expectant people. There seemed not malice. Indeed, they seemed to lean toward him. Their collective breath seemed to hold at once, as if waiting...waiting...waiting-
-and then Valeriya spoke, her voice piercing the silence, a knife cast out into the darkness. The crowd responded in antiphonal chant, the words formal and yet laden with hope and something else he could not put his finger on. His eyes were glued to hers across the chamber and he tore them away with more effort than he was comfortable admitting. He studied the rest, looked at their faces, sought their eyes. In some, as among the Atharim, he saw suspicion and fear. And in some, like Matvei, the cold embers of ambition smoldered. Others, though, in others he saw the fires burn. Hunger. Even Barovsky's zeal had been tempered with experience. Here, though, cloistered and indoctrinated without the distraction of the life above, here fanaticism could reach its peak.
It would be a deadly walk, the beast difficult to control. But there were forces at work. It was not accident that brought him here, even if they- if she- were wrong about who he was.
She turned and through the fabric he saw flashes of light. Cloth. Lace even. From somewhere she had found a dress. Her hair tinkled as ornamentation clicked together.
And then she was headed around the side of the pool the water poured into, onto a ledge that seemed to stretch back into the darkness. Suddenly she was gone. One of the men- he moved stiffly- beckoned to him, holding out the torch that burned its bluish flame. The flames lit his eyes, even as the rancid smell of fat told him where the fuel came from.
He could follow into their holiest place to find her. The Eye. She who saw. What had she seen? Surely not just his face. What was his purpose here? More to the point, who was behind it?
Oracular vision had never been the province of the gods of old, as far as he knew. The stories of old- the histories he had- proved the gods as blind and as helpless to future as most others. But there, in that secret cavern Dr. Daniat had uncovered, had lain the curse tablet, now safely tucked into his bag. Alongside it had been an ancient copper scroll that, as best as he could read, had been from his Atharim brethren across the millenia. Somehow, they had known of his need- of the world's need- and it had been placed in safekeeping until finally, it was his hand that held it, his voice that had awakened the Ijiraq. His will that had finally killed Apollyon.
What further knowledge was out there? The hunger to know burned inside him, gnawed at him. And deeper than that. The need to use that knowledge. The love of learning was tempered by what he could do with it, even as he reveled in the mental gymnastics themselves.
Now he had a place for answers. The memory of those green eyes came to him. Someone with answers. That was what was important. Settled, he was willing to proceed. He took the torch from the hooded man and followed, the shadowy light playing across the surface of the whirling pool. The rock path was narrow but he was sure footed. Still, the opening was not easy to find, nor, once he was inside, was it a straight path. smokey or steam from rents in the side of the walls mixed with water that must have come from above, from the source of the waterfall, running along side.
His instincts came to him and he slowed even as his heart began to beat faster. Valeriya. His hand went to his blade, ready. Cherufe would thrive in an environment like this. He could almost see the flash of the thin leathery form as it razor teethed jaws snapped at her legs, rending the white flesh until blood ran freely. She would be gone. All would be for not.
He moved faster even as he carefully stuck to the middle of the way, wary for any movement, wishing he had his flash-lamp instead of the flickering light casting moving shadows that could hide an attack.
And then he broke into a room, his blue light penetrating deep into the bowels of the chamber. And their she was, watching him, eyes shining in the light. For a moment, he stared. She appeared primal, her hair decorated clearly now, with bone and rocks and teeth. She was the queen mother of this group. Grendel's Mother. The deadliest of foes. And he was in her lair.
What did she want of him? His eyes ran over the rest of the room and took in chests and boxes, the dust that plainly covered them indicating great age.
And then it occurred to him? How had she seen to get here? How had she known the path, eluded the dangers? The green eyes recalled green eyes, but he suppressed the pain that tried to come with it. For a moment, suspicion cut through him. Was she a god? Or did her Oracular vision translate to this?
He would be wary. There did not appear another way out, though perhaps the shadows hid some narrow path. If it should be necessary, he would need a way out that would preferably avoid the waiting throng outside.
And yet, what he saw in her eyes did not seem to indicate fear or protectiveness. That curiosity warred with his concern.
"What is it you want of me? What is this place that you bring me here?"