Birth

[Armande]

She seemed to explode at him, raw passion brought to life and suddenly any sense of loss or melancholy was violently shoved to the side. All there was was the here and now, pure animal sex.

As immediate and demanding as any fight to the death, he was swept away as back and forth they wrestled, vying for control, submitting and dominating from one second to the next.

It was a glorious eternity as they fought, bodies splayed against each other, felt her nails rake his neck and back sharply, felt her wince and hiss as he squeezed or bound her.

Life, in all its animal barbaric earth glory. Primal. And when she rolled on top of him, her skirts covering him, felt her inner thighs on his hip, his hand roaming to feel the heat coming off of her, he responded, ready to free himself, to claim her as his own, to stake her and to enter her and become one with this goddess, this true earth mother goddess from deep in the bowels of her throne room. He had brought a true queen to the surface of the earth as his consort. A real goddess, not some returned charlatan who relied on unearned magic to hold sway. Real power.

And then she was ripped from him and a switch went off. Passion became rage became death. In the time it took for her weight to leave him, he rolled and sprung to his feet, his telescoping blade flicked out to full length, ready to kill whoever deigned to defile their consummation.

And he held his ground and watched as Valeriya- he smiled at this dark queen- unleashed her fury on Illarion. Such rage.

And then his eyes noticed the smirk on Matvei's face. His brows darkened as his eyes turned to blue fire. Illarion whimpered, a pawn in a larger game. Weak, to be sure. But fiercly loyal.

Matvei. This was his work. It came together. Drive a wedge between Valeriya and Illarion. Her closest ally becomes her enemy.

There was a simple enough solution, of course. His blade out, he could take both heads in moments. But that would be a mistake. He could feel it.

Control had returned, the heavy iron cage dropping into place with a deep thud. And he felt a part of himself whimper at the loss of the moment. More than the moment. He had been on the verge, had felt his heart surging to life.

And now it was being denied to him, being whisked away. Instinctively, at his core, he said NO! He grabbed hold of it, refused to let it be gone even as it stretched taut. He held it. He would not lose it now.

But he could be patient. Fate had brought him to Valeriya, it was true. But not just her. The Khylsty had a purpose. He needed them whole and his. And so did she, he realized.

Minus the cancer in their midst. There needed to be a way.

He allowed Valeriya to draw him away as he thought. They headed into the building and to one of the rooms. This one had a cot and private wash and bathroom.

He shut the door and took Valeriya's hands firmly in his. He saw the anger and passion in her eyes. He understood. She had been denied, outside. He knew where this could go.

(You could let it. The idea whispered at him. He could. From deep down he still felt the hunger, the desire, the need.) It broke his heart to push it away. He felt a tearing inside him, but did it anyway.

He looked down at her, into her deep green eyes, holding her hands so they couldn't go around his neck. He wasn't certain he could resist her, not now, not so soon after.

He stared into her eyes trying to find the words. "Matvei is trying to steal them from you. I could kill him, but it would only make things worse." Killing a rebel only served to make them a martyr. He needed to be discredited. And replaced. "Your brother is young and foolish. But he is yours to the core. We cannot let him be lost to you."

He'd seen how much she leaned on Illarion. How often they spoke. They were closer than any two of the Khylsty. She could speak and act in her rage outside, but it would kill her to lose her brother and companion.

As it was killing Illarion, he understood now. He was losing his sister, he thought. It all made sense. A smile started to form. "But....if Illarion were Hand...and if he knew he wasn't losing you, your hold over the people would stand." And she would keep her brother.

He let go of her hand, more sure she wouldn't grab him. He touched her face. His voice was firm but soft. A whisper. "I said you were mine. Now and forever. And I am yours, now and forever. Nothing and no one will change that." His eyes were blue flames, burning these words into her. "We were chosen for each other before we were born. Nothing will deny us that future. Be patient my queen earth mother."

His ardor was still there, pacing in the background. On impulse he pulled her to him, felt her body against his. He reached around and firmly grabbed her under her buttocks to raise her up until their eyes met, her legs around him, and then he kissed her long and deep and hard. A kiss of promise, not ignition, though she could hardly ignore the feel of his iron firmness against her. Indeed, he wanted her to feel it, to know how much craved her.

She was his and he was hers. His kiss did get a bit frenzied- a growl escaped his throat- and he tasted blood as he realized he'd bit her lip a little too hard. He dropped her to the ground laughing even as he gently put a finger to her lips to wipe it away. After a moment he pressed a finger to the scratches on his neck and then smiled.

"We have marked each other." He relunctantly- it was reluctance he felt- stepped back, though he did take her hand. "I will go see Illarion. In the meantime..." he took her to the wash room and showed her the shower, how the water came on, how the temperature was controlled. He showed the soaps and shampoo and where some fresh clothing was.

"I will return soon. I promise." He left before she began undressing. He was not a teenager. Nudity was not the end all of life. But he was still a man. Though 61 he trained everyday, as well as took supplements to maintain his normal hormonal function. Testosterone therapy was routine, as was the maintenance level of HGH he took. His diet was high in protein so that he didn't lose muscle mass. He recovery time from injury or extertion was that of a man half his age. He might not look 35 but his skin was still taut and firm. And more importantly, his desires were still in tact.

Watching Valeriya undress would push him back over the edge. Instead, he grabbed a first aid kit and went to find Illarion.


Edited by Regus, Dec 26 2017, 01:47 AM.

[Valeriya]

Even as she stomped through the rooms and closeted themselves inside a private chamber, Valeriya felt the heat dissipate with her every step. She rushed inside so to contain it, but it drifted from her body just like it drifted from Armande's. The moment dripped away, and no matter how tight she gripped his hand, it poured out like droplets of water she could not hold.

His words were not reassuring. Valeriya never put much confidence in words. She poured her soul into what she could see and touch. With Armande, she peered deep into his eyes as though she was staring into blue crystals came to life. She believed him, but not for what he promised or the rapture in his voice as he promised it. She believed him because his eyes did not lie. His eyes drank hers as much as she drank his. They needed one another. The magical Rasputin reborn had claimed his queen after all, and while Valeriya never claimed the title for herself, she found the address fitting.

When he sealed the promise with another embrace, her hesitation melted. Her anger was forgotten, or more fittingly, was redirected, channeled into Armande. His strength and presence was overwhelming. His body was tight against hers. Her hands explored every inch of his chest, his shoulders, his waist. She found scars and old battle wounds. She hungered to know the story behind each. His hair tangled in her claws. His teeth bit her lip, but she only laughed at the taste of blood on her tongue. The Khylsty were not dainty, and their queen was hardly delicate.

She was aroused again, but Armande pushed her away. She flashed a dangerous dare, but his grip of her hand pulled her elsewhere before she could protest. Illarion, she growled his name under her breath. He would leave her to find her twin, perhaps he was right, though. Illarion and Matvei were conspiring against her. Regus needed to intercept them before they poisoned the Khylsty against her.

Regus would hear nothing of her protest, though. He led her elsewhere and summoned a waterfall. It was small, like a trickle at first, but as the power of the water increased, the hiss of it hitting cold walls grew, as well did Valeriya's ever-widening eyes. He showed her a few more things, explained what he wanted her to do, and Valeriya was left agape and shocked by the notion.

Alone, her brows furrowed low. The hiss of the waterfall overwhelmed all her senses, and she could hear nothing else. A warm mist grew up around her, and sweat touched her brow. She squat low to try and determine where the water flowed, but discerned nothing from the little hole in the floor. She realized then that she was thirsty, and thrust out her hand to cup a palmful of water. When she did, she hissed herself as the heat burned her skin. Armande wanted her to cleanse herself in burning water? She examined the red mark on her hand, looked at all the knobs, and carefully reached out to touch the one he indicated. When the water became cooler, she gasped in awe. It was like magic, only it was a mechanical magic. Intrigued by the notion, she did as she was told and stripped herself of the tsarina's ancient gown.

She laid her necklace of crystals carefully aside. She unwrapped her feet and stood still as the mist licked her naked body. She closed her eyes and stepped into the water puddle. Slowly at first, she reached a foot into the streaming water, then a hand, then her shoulder. The waterfall tickled, and she giggled a little despite herself. The temperature was not scalding any more. In fact, it was quite pleasant.

She picked up the bar that Regus called "soap" and took a big sniff. It smelled foul. It tasted worse, she thought, spitting some of it to the floor. She was suppose to rub it all over her body, an act that seemed heretical. She did it though, rubbing it all over her skin like she had seen oil rubbed across the bodies during Radenyi. The waterfall tickled little bubbles away. The mist closed her into her own tiny universe where nothing else existed except her. It was quite pleasant, despite the foul smell.

Her hair was a giant tangle of knots. The little bones that were sewn into her strands did not want to slip free even with big dollops of the gel that Regus called shampoo. The bones, the trophies of her kills, little toes or teeth or ribs that she carved symbols into, she wanted gone. The life Below was washing away as surely as the grime on her skin. She had never seen her body so white before. She was almost as pale as Illarion, she realized, and secretly hoped her twin was not hurt too badly by her brandishing the knife. The practically ripped the bones from the knots of her hair, taking chunks of black strands with them, but she threw them away. A queen of the Above would be like the Tsarina, Rasputin's secret lover, elegant and beautiful, not a warrioress. She wanted to decorate her body with jewels, not bones. Or at least, she would chose bones from the creatures of the Above. Maybe even the bones of her enemies. Yes, Matvei's bones would adorn her head like a crown someday. Yes indeed.

A long time later, she left the shower, cleansed of her old life and washed anew in the waters of the Above. She drank freely of water then, the clearest, prettiest water she had ever seen in her life. Everything Above was going to be better for the Khylsty. When they finally realized what she brought to them, they would love her for it. Those that yearned for the Below could perish, for all she cared, in trying to return.

She paused in front of a glass wall. The mist swirled around her naked body, obscuring a clear view of herself. But she could make out the whiteness of her skin. Her own pink scars puckered across her arms or her back, but they were not numerous. She would tell Armande their stories someday, when he shared his own. Her hair dripped like a black veil from her head. Her green eyes were sharp with determination. Armande showed her clothes he wanted her to wear, but when she picked up the soft cloth, bundled them in her arms, she looked longingly at the tattered dress on the floor. One hundred years of Eyes wore that dress, among others. It was patched and resewn so many times the original garment was barely recognizable.

She kicked it away with a chuckle. In its place she pulled a soft black garment over her head, and pulled a similarly soft garment and cinched it at the waist. She did arrange her crystals around her neck again, and set about combing her fingers through her glistening wet hair. She wished for clothing more befitting a queen, but perhaps wearing the garments of the Above was exactly that.

[Armande]

The door clicked shut and Armande paused. It was just a door. Just a single metal latch in a frame. Six inches separating him from her.

He tried not imagine what was happening behind the door.

Idiot!, he growled and strode away, shutting the door of the room behind him. He was bahaving like a child. He assumed Control. At least enough to focus.

Illarion and Matvei. There was no hope for Matvei. He chafed under Valeriya. Clearly, he always had. Armande"s coming had cemented her authority in one way. But it had created chaos too. And a wise man had said it best. Chaos is a ladder. It presented opportunity in the unpredictability.

He had to die. But only when his treachery was revealed. Illarion was key to that. And despite his own bond to Valeriya, he knew they shared a womb, a life, an experience no one could ever share. She was strong enough and ruthless enough to make the difficult decisions, if necessary.

But it did not mean it wouldn't hurt her. She was as strong as he had known anyone to be. But she, as he was discovering in himself, was still human. The loss would kill something in her.

And if it was in his power to prevent that, to spare her....wouldn't he? It would cost him but some moments of time. And some delay. But the wall was down. Even with Control, the wall had fallen. He no longer felt alone.

Illarion was with Matvei and the few Khylsty who were awake. The look he shot Armande would have earned a blow to the face, in normal times. But the others watched. A reveared and promised Messiah was always resented when he actually deigned to show up. He always upset the balance of power.

Armande had no desire to die a sacrificial death at the hand of a mob. He was not foolish enough to believe himself invincible. Fate did not mean armor to step into the lion's den clothed in meat. And he did not wish such a fate on Valeriya either.

He sat down on the cot opposite Illarion and held the kit consicuously in his hand. Many had felt his ministrations already. "Leave us", he said to Matvei. To the others it was implied. His conversation would not be secret, nor was it intended to be. But Illarion would get his attention. No one would accuse him of beguiling the boy.

They backed away, enough for the semblance of privacy. Armande removed the disinfectant and bottle of water. As he continued with the gauze and nuskin, it occurred to him that the Khylsty had been underground for 130 years. What new diseases and infections and viruses had developed or mutated since the early 1910s? So far, they had been exposed to him only.

The history of the European migration to the Americas had resulted in the death of 90% of the population. Modern estimates showed they had been as densely populated or more than Europe. Colonists marvelled at the empty pristine parklike New World, lush and verdant and teeming with great unnatural clouds and flocks and herds of wildlife...never realizing that the keystone species that kept the balance had been decimated.

The Khylsty were not as susceptible to that kind of decimation. Not even close. And 130 years was nothing on an evolutionary scale. But they were small in number. They could not afford that kind of death. Nor could their morale. He had to save them from this too. He knew what he needed to get. He just needed to figure out from where.

But for now, there was a boy to save. A boy who was losing his world. He sat down next to Illarion. To his credit, he did not move or look fearful. Armande felt pride in him. "You are your sister's brother. Fearless and loyal. She is lucky to have you."

A look of uncertainty and suspicion passed his face. Armande held out the disinfectant. "May I?" At the brief nod, he began to clean the slash. Who knew how many bacteria infected Valeriya's wicked stiletto. The slash was deep but the boy did not flinch at his ministrations. He laughed to himself on the inside. He that would be greatest must be the servant of all. It wasn't washing feet. But it was something.

As he worked, he spoke. "Your sister is passionate. As are all the Khylsty. You were brought below to safeguard that passion. Do you believe her to be the Eye?"

Illarion blinked at the non-sequitor. " Of course!"
he said defensively.

Armande looked down and busied himself with newskin packaging. "And you saw what she carved in the wall, yes?" And he looked Illarion in the eye. The boy's eyes widened, too late he had realized.

A wordless nod was all he got. It was enough for now. Again he smiled to himself. It seemed so easy.
The script had been written 2000 years ago, it seemed. "Who do you think I am?"

He could see the warring on Illarion's face. He knew. What he believed anyway. Armande didn't believe he was literally Rasputin reborn. He didn't even know how that would work. But he did believe he had a purpose, one that was foretold. Valeriya was his. She was necessary to him. Not just necessary, not a tool. She was his destiny, them together. In such a short period of time, his universe had changed and become greater. He was greater, with her

So to these people he could be their leader. They could call him Father Rasputin if they needed. He was what he was, to them. And who was to say that wasn't any less true.

The words seemed forced from his mouth. "You are Father Rasputin."


Armande nodded as he applied the salve, the nuskin, and then the bandage. The scar would be small. With a massive cross branded on his forehead and nose, it would be unnoticable.

"And you are Illarion, brother of the Eye. I claim my place among you." His voice was louder. "I claim my rights as Rasputin. I claim the Eye, not as a servant. Not as a tool. I claim her as my queen, as my consort. She is no longer just Eye of the Khylsty. She is Mother. Not just of the Khylsty. Of mankind."

He took a knife and cut a gash in his palm. Blood poured immediately. "I offer you, Illarion, brother of my Bride and the Mother, I offer you my blood. You do not lose a sister. You gain a brother." He held out the knife and his palm. Illarion was quick, he knew. They all were. He could seize the knife, could try to kill him. At least injure him. Matvei might.

But he thought he understood Illarion. He did not want to lose his closest friend and companion. So reassure him he wasn't. As simple as that. A calculated risk, but one he was confident in. He knew the others, those awake, watched.

Illarion took the knife and completed the ceremony. Their blood mingled. Yes, they would definitely need innoculations after tonight, as well as antibiotics. But he felt confident. They would be safe.

"You are my brother." Again he smiled to himself. The script. He stood and raised his hands, blood flowing down the one, cool as it fanned across his wrist and forearm. "Look! My brothers and sisters. My mothers and fathers!"

Matvei would not stop scheming. And he might find fertile soil still. But for now it was over. He had plans for Illarion.

He walked through the room, nodding at those few people who were awake, mouth friendly and face bright and hopeful. They had a purpose. They knew this. He had told them repeatedly. They had ascended from below.

It was dark in the barracks and many were still tired. The trip had been long and arduous.

They still had a few hours. He needed sleep. And he needed to change. And get clean. He had lived an entire life in these clothes. The scent of smokevfrom the fire still lingered. Valeriya was hopefully done with her own washing. The immediate danger had been dealt with.

He went to the room, knocked softly and then entered.


Edited by Regus, Dec 26 2017, 11:32 PM.

[Valeriya]

The soft clothing wrapped around her like a comfortable blanket. Warm and somewhat content, she eventually found an unoccupied corner and curled up in a ball to rest. Her hair frizzed as it dried, but she did not shiver. In fact, here was about the warmest and safest place she ever felt. She tried to tell herself not to become complacent, but the weariness of travel and drama took its toll. She drifted into a well-earned, dreamless sleep.

She was awakened by Illarion's presence. He hovered over her with a bandage covering one side of his face. He gently prodded her and fearlessly led her to someplace more comfortable - a cot. She would grow soft and dainty with all this pampering, she thought, but allowed herself the luxury of sleep anyway.

When next she woke, hunger pulled her to her feet. She rubbed her eyes and pushed frizzy mass of black hair from her face. She went in search of the others, and found most of the other Khylsty gathered in a central chamber dining out of little tins.

They all turned to face her simultaneously, but she dismissed their collective gasp for her appearance. "We will have to arrange ourselves like those of the Above,"
she explained and tugged at the cloth at her wrists. "There are more garments like these and I will show you how to purify your bodies as I have purified mine."
But first, she needed to eat.

"Where is Regus?"
She asked as a tin of meat submerged in some kind of oil was placed before her.