Scene Archives

comes out of the Ziggurat looking–better than she had before, her brow is furrowed like she’s thinking very hard about something. She scans the area, like she’s looking for someone, and straightens notably when she sees Wolf. She heads towards him. “You made a friend?” she says, nodding at–Ember? Is that still the right name for them?

: “May I join you both?”

blinks up at Salme–he looks like he’s been somewhere between meditation and a very light doze, and it takes a couple of blinks before his eyes track properly. “Of course. I don’t think they’ll mind.”

takes off her cloak and folds it a couple times so she has a slightly softer spot to sit. She takes a moment to get comfortable on the hard ground–it was only a couple days, but she did get used to having beds and baths–and thinks about what she wants to say. “You said, before we left home, that you…had acted rashly. I was wondering exactly what you meant by that?”

chuckles softly, scrubbing a hand over his face and the light accumulation of stubble on his chin. “I had been debating with myself since we arrived back on Almachadta from the Sanctuary, as to whether or not to tell anyone else about what we had learned. About the worlds, about the fact that the world was dying.” A wry smile. “Whether or not it was prudent. And when we returned from the shrine, I decided that I did not care about prudent anymore. I told Izaak all I could.”

: “And how did your apprentice take such news?”

: “About as well as could be expected. Concern, of course. But also fortitude. I should have expected nothing less.” The smile fades, just a bit. “I admit, I had not made that decision when he and I first started speaking. It was regaining a memory that did it.”

: “Would you like to tell me? The memory? I could even–“ she gestures at the pouch on her belt that’s embroidered in thick, vining green where she keeps the mask when she is not wearing it.

laughs softly. “It is nothing so momentous as to require recording.” He looks at her openly, directly. “I remember that he was going to be my apprentice. A decision and announcement I deferred until you and I returned from our mission in the Tangle.” Regret tinges his expression briefly–it is not a look you have often seen on his face. “It was not a mistake I wished to make twice.”

: “It is not just momentous things that the mask records, you know. I often find more value in the small ones. But I understand.” She considers him. “I am sorry you lost that. That your life was interrupted in such a way. Did I…tell you, that Unua and I delved in the Mask’s memories about our mission, and we saw–him? The man who calls himself the Architect? He was waiting for us, in the shrine.” She had to have told him. She certainly told him.

goes very still, for a moment, and closes his eyes. “Ah.” It is, perhaps, a fascinating–or depending on your viewpoint, frightening–thing, to watch that much emotion roil beneath the surface of a face without ever quite breaking through into the open. When he opens his eyes, the only remaining sign of it is the sharpness of his gaze, and the pass of his tongue-tip over his canines. “I had guessed as much, but it is good to have confirmation.” There’s a soft, dangerous edge to his voice.

bites her lip. “I thought I had told you. I’m–well, you heard me tell the others. Slipping. Losing sight of my function, getting sidetracked by wants.” She is neither fascinated nor frightened. His reaction makes perfect sense. It reassures her, the emotion, the danger–that she is not the only who learned this and wanted to do great harm. She almost doesn’t say anything, but she does trust him, and the yeresh of Almachadta understand violence better than most, so she says, “I want hurt him for it. I want to kill him. For what he did–to all of us, really, but to you especially.”

he tilts his head, looks at her face–and his face softens, at those first words; to something kin to sadness. And, from there, to something else–watchful, waiting…patient. He draws himself more upright without even thinking about it. “And do you think it a wrongness? That desire?” His tone suggests the ambiguity of which desire you are talking about is not unintentional.

: “Yes,” she replies automatically. “It’s not. I don’t want to win at the Rite against him. I want to–“ and she mimes something violent and unpleasant with her hands, drawing up a few threads of burning gnosis to emphasize her point. “The cruelty of him taking of us, of taking our memories, of keeping other people as pets without names or memory or independent thoughts. The gall of acting like our worlds are lesser, like he knows anything about anything at all.” Her voice has been ratcheting higher with each word, and she realizes she’s almost yelling. “I’ve always wanted to hurt people for that sort of thing. I used to be better at ignoring it.”

: “Ahhh. I see the issue.” He nods, and smiles sagely. Then, very deliberately, and very gently…he reaches out…and flicks Salme on the forehead, right between the eyebrows. “You’re ignoring it. Stop that.”

scrunches up her nose at the flick. “Rude,” she says, before she realizes who she’s saying that too. “I mean. Are you suggesting I just. Indulge it?”

chuckle-sighs and shakes his head, shifting to draw himself up onto his knees, seiza-style. “Do you think those are your only two options, with your thoughts and feelings? To suppress them, or be controlled by them?”

*shrugs inelegantly. “Historically, yes,” she mutters, a little mulish.

laughs quietly. “And how well is that working?”

slouches a little lower. “Poorly. Obviously. You saw with–well, Aurelius’ bird but. Lots of things.” She looks in Ember’s direction, like help is going to be forthcoming from that angle.

: “Mm, yes.” He takes a breath, looking up at the blackness of the sky, marshalling his thoughts, then returning his gaze to Salme. “Salme, if you have a coeurl in your bed, how much good do you think ignoring it will do? You can ignore it all you want, but your bed is going to be increasingly crowded. Neither will it do to let have the run of your house, eating your food and shitting in your garden. You must first acknowledge that it is there, even if–especially if!–you do not want it there. And then, having acknowledged its presence, you can call a yeresh or a strong man and they will take it by the scruff and throw it out.” ⁂

: “I am no less angry than you are, at so much of this, Salme,” he says. “But you must not mistake suppression for mastery, nor acknowledgement for agreement. You must allow yourself to feel without becoming caught in the feeling. And then you may act as you choose.“ 🙧

: “I am perfectly capable of removing a coeurl from my bed without the help of a strong man, Wolf,” she says tartly. She almost adds something else, but that actually is a distraction, and so she tries to focus on his point. “I still want to hurt the Architect. Even when I’m not caught in the feeling. I want to hurt him in any way I can that doesn’t doom us all.”

gives her a dry look in response, and then a wry, acknowledging smile, before his expression turns serious once more. “Yes, you do. As do I. And? It is a desire. It stems from something real–he has done great harm, to that which you value greatly. If you did not wish him harm, I would worry about you.” He sighs. “And it is not a comfortable position, as I well know, to desire that which you may not be able to have, and might not be correct to have if you could have it. But the feeling is not a wrongness. The desire is not a wrongness. Right and wrong are not in thoughts, they are in actions.“ He glowers from beneath his brows at her. “And if you take that to mean that I am saying that you should not act on desires, I will flick you again and this time I will not be gentle.”

laughs, and says, “see, though, here is where the wrongness comes in–I almost want to say that just to see what you’ll do.” She enjoys the lighthearted mood another moment, and then grows serious again. “But that’s I guess what I wanted to ask about, really. How do you know when to allow thought to become action? I think you were -right- to tell Izaak. I also know I would have counseling you against it. For all your doubts, whenever you’ve acted they’ve seemed -right-. How do you do that?”

he snorts, then laughs, rubbing over his forehead with the heel of a hand. “Practice?” He shakes his head, laughing softly to himself. “It is…a balance, and one I have spent much time learning. You do not see all the errors, burned hands, and missteps that led to that confidence. You see the result, just as the swift strokes of a master carver’s chisel are the result of a dozen dozen ruined logs sent for firewood.” ⁂

He smiles a little at Salme, kindly. “But if there is any advice I can give, it is this: you must listen to all of you, not just parts.” He reaches out and taps her temple gently. “You must listen to your head…” A tap on the breastbone. “And also your heart. Already, your thoughts govern your desires–you would not harm the Architect if it doomed us all, yes?” His tone and voice turn serious. “But you must also listen to your desire, and let it inform your thoughts, for it is telling you something true: he is doing harm that must be stopped, harm enough that the blade’s bite is not unjustified. You must not keep that at arm’s length. You must acknowledge what it is–part of you. And from there, you can choose to let it go–or choose to let it bolster your determination to see this path through to the end. I cannot tell you which is right, and which is wrong, for both are valid. But, I will say…” And here he smiles, just a little, with teeth. “That I, for my part, choose to let it drive me. I will see his harm stopped and our world healed, or fall trying. If that means killing him, so be it, though I would prefer a lesser option–if for no other reason than it seems rather difficult, to kill a god.”

🙧

: “I will … consider those words. Perhaps, as the lightdrinkers says, rotate them. Though I have a hard time imagining you making so many missteps. Of course, I thought the same of Badri before I was able to -see- all his missteps.”

: “though, since you are such a wise yeresh, do you have any … advice for those … fumblingly pursuing … ah. More pleasant impulses?” She had been looking at him, but now she’s back to looking at Ember, because they are the easiest place to look.

blinks, furrows his brow–then the penny drops…and a few more besides. For a moment, he looks like he’s being absolutely pelted with coins. “I, uh…” His lips are flickering up at the corners–it spoils a bit of the yeresh-ly dignity to see him actively trying not to burst into laughter. “If you are, ah, looking for advice on technique, I would suggest you apply to your father, and not to myself.” His eyes are dancing with badly-suppressed humor. “If you are asking about the, ah, more relational aspect, I suspect I might be of some help…but you might need to be more specific with your, er, struggle.”

appears a crumb of their breakfast from seemingly nowhere and flicks that at Wolf’s forehead. “I cannot believe you just suggested I ask Badri for … technique.” She flicks a second, larger crumb at him. “First, I thought you didn’t want me to die, and second, it’s Badri. If you think I haven’t heard all he has to tell me, multiple times, you–“ she resists the urge to chuck the whole slice of bread at him. “Anyway. No. It’s the relational aspect. The–ugh, technique, is completely beside the point.” ⁂

takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “There are. Two people. Whose identities you most certainly couldn’t guess. And I. Am interested. In them both. And they seem interested in one another. But. The first–let’s call him bluejay–is open-hearted and interested in all, and the second–let’s call him … magpie? I suppose that works–is. Well. I perhaps kissed him. And he perhaps responded by saying ‘… ah’ and that he didn’t think my interest was unwanted? And neither of those is. Precisely. What I was hoping for. And maybe I–“ she has been growing increasingly more flushed, and at this point she buries her face in her hands and mutters, “or you could just execute me. That’s fine too.” 🙧

closes his eyes briefly against the minor hail of processed wheat, cracks an eye open to make sure the entire crust isn’t coming at his face, and then clears his throat and gives Salme an arch look, resuming his yeresh-ly dignity…only for the effect to once again be spoiled, this time by his eyebrows rising…and rising…and rising…until it seems quite plausible that they’ll leave his face and flap off into the aether. ⁂

: “And what, ah…” He’s definitely trying to keep to “level and dignified,” but his tone suggests that he’s doing some rather frantic processing in the background. “What response…did you want?”

🙧

: “I…I told Aurelius this, but. One of the reasons I dueled Badri for the Mask was because I wanted to be important to him. Before that I was … just another kid hanging on every word of the Sword-Saint. He liked me, certainly, but he likes everyone. I wanted to be important to him. And I guess I’m still that person. I want to be–more than just another conquest to bluejay. And I want magpie to. Say yes, and not just let me act upon him. And,” she circles her fingers around her wrist and squeezes, “Archie said that on Samudra you have. People who you tell your fears to. People who you trust. Someone who–waits for you to come back, who you fight to return to. Something like that? I don’t know.” 🙧

listens, his expression settling back into quiet patience. “I see.” A silent headtilt, eyes watching, but not…judging. “You wish to have meaning and value, and not just to yourself.” He pauses for a moment, chewing his lower lip, weighing his words. “Have you considered…telling them what you want?”

looks up at him, startled. “I’ve asked them both what they want and anything like this would be … a distraction, I think. And the one time I did try to tell them my fears it went badly. So. It’s better to have something than nothing, don’t you think?”

frowns quietly. “I would not always…say that, no.” He sighs. “It would help if I thought I could trust either of them to have, ah…” He rolls a couple of phrases around on his tongue and then settles for blunt. “…maturity? Hmm.” ⁂

: “It is possible that you are correct, and that neither is interested in what you truly seek–I am relying on your words, and have no other way to know. But neither would I trust either of those to…think, and weigh, before they speak. To question their own assumptions. I do not know.” A deep breath. “And I worry. That you will starve your heart, accepting less than you deserve, because you think it is all that you can get.” He shakes his head, wolf-green eyes dark with thought. “I also think that you worry too much about distractions. My friend…” He laughs quietly. “If our quest cannot survive human distraction and desire, then we are all doomed. The task we bear does not–cannot–make us less of who we are.” 🙧

considers him for a long moment–the care in his eyes, his thoughtful words, and yes, the barely restrained laughter from earlier. “That goes for you as well, you know, Wolf-Brother. You always seem surprised when someone reaches out to touch you.”

he looks surprised now, then smiles warmly. “Mm, I do, I suppose. It is not that I do not think that I deserve it, if that helps? But… The smile goes wry. “I suppose I am used to a certain sort of…distance. To be a yeresh is to be part of the whole, yet set apart from it in a very real way, as well.“ He slips from seiza with a soft grunt, stretching out his legs and rubbing his legs with a grimace. “One does not simply…hug…the Wolf-Who-Sings, I suppose.“ He snorts, then smiles again. “It is not unwelcome, please know that. Simply…uncommon.“

: “I understand. As the Sword-Saint I also tried to be careful of contact, especially because when you’re playing the Great Storyteller of Almachadta it’s … important, to not take what would not be freely given if one was simply oneself? But as Salme I’ve found I will simply hug the Wolf-Who-Sings, because he is a good friend. Perhaps the first friend I’ve ever had.” She watches him rub his legs, and then, after a moment, adds. “Would you like me to help work out the tension in your shoulders?”

blinks, then smiles. “Goodness, I would appreciate that. There’s just those muscles one can’t reach oneself, and stretching only does so much…” He starts to shift around, then stops partway. “Salme. May I say one last thing?”

: “Yes. Of course.”

hesitates, considering his words carefully–then, gently, reaches out to brush back a stray lock of Salme’s hair with a finger. “You are not your duty. It is part of you, a significant part, as being yeresh is to me. But you are greater than it, and must be, for it is those things that you deem distractions which will give you the strength to bear the burden you carry. You must not carve yourself down to fit the Mask you wear. You must shape the Mask to fit you. For all that you may think that you are not fit to hold its weight, you amongst all the Saints in all the cycles took the step the rest did not: to break the cycle, and allow the world to change.”

goes completely still, looking at Wolf. She absorbs his words, drinks them in, this thing she has always needed to be told but no one has ever told her, that she didn’t even know she was missing. She blinks, and a tear escapes, and then another, but she is smiling. “Thank you, Wolf-Brother,” she says solemnly, before pulling him into a hug. “I … will have to work on accepting that fully, but hearing it matters. Very much.”

hugs her tight, and holds her if she needs, and wipes the tear-track away with his thumb when she releases him. “It is not easy. This I know. But nothing which is good ever is. You are more than the role you play, my friend. And always have been.“ He says it with absolute conviction, because he absolutely believes it to be true.

: “Certainly. I am at the very least a woman with very bad taste in men in addition to being the Sword-Saint.” And she laughs, and adds, “and better taste in friends. Though it’s my turn to help you. Let me work on that tension. And, if you’re willing to humor me, ask you a question.”

looks amused, shifting to give Salme access to his back, unbinding his hair so he can brush it to the side, out of the way. “Ask away. You’ve listened to my preaching long enough…” He smiles, though.

has been the recipient of several very well-done backrubs recently, she’s given quite a few in her time. Her hands are strong and dextrous, and her touch is unselfconscious but also careful. She responds to muscle spasms where she feels them, and exerts just the right amount of pressure where needed. She works quietly and seriously and is some time into the process before she says, “The Awoken mentioned that everything will change if we break the cycle. I think we all know it. And you’re, of all of us, the most rooted. So I was wondering if you could tell me … who you want to be. Outside of being yeresh, or even the Wolf-Who-Sings, who do you want to be?”

relaxes deeply into the touch, though he keeps one ear open, waiting for the question to come…and when it does, he can’t help but laugh. “Ahhh, I thought you were going to ask something difficult. I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.” He tilts his head back to look at her, upside down, smiling openly. “Salme. I am who I want to be. I come to this place by a long string of choices, none made with regret–that I know of–save the one. And when the new world opens up before us, I shall listen to its song, and sing with it, and see what we become.” A pause. “That said, if you could teach me the secret of that particular resonance, I would be very interested indeed.”

grins at him. “That is a lovely answer, and a good one, I think.” She continues working the muscle spasms and tension out of his shoulders and neck. “As for the other–certainly.” She leans in and whispers a secret that Wolf already half-knows.

blinks, and laughs. “So easy. And yet so hard. Hmm.” He clears his throat, tempted to test it, but resists the urge…for the moment. “Thank you, Salme.” He’s about to relax back into the grip of her hands when something occurs to him, and he straightens up a bit. “There is a thing I have been…curious about, for a little while now. It’s something that you, and only you, might know the answer to.” ⁂

: “Salme, has Almachadta ever had a sea?” 🙧

: “No. Never. Just the rivers, pouring into the Tangle. Why do you ask?”

is silent for a long moment at that. “But we have the word.“ It’s almost to himself–he shakes his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts. “There are songs, some of the very oldest, that have words that…” He thinks for a long moment, chewing on his lower lip. “Words that I always thought simply archaic, whose meaning I could tease out of the Great Song. Winter. Mountain. Sea.” His brow is deeply furrowed. “I had wondered, after the revelations in the shrine, if they were memories of a different cycle, kept within the Song that continues even as the world dies and is reborn. But…” ⁂

: “Salme, how could we sing the word for ‘sea’ if we never had one? Why do I know that winter is a time of ice and cold?” 🙧

: “I think … and I’m not sure, this is just a guess, but I think there was maybe a time … before? When there was one world? Or maybe different worlds. The Omniclast talked about breaking the worlds into something new? A mosaic? And all I know is that the Beast and Samudra have things that Almachadta lacks. I think, maybe, we have vague memories of a time before?” She frowns, frustrated. “Aurelius’ stupid pamphlet talks about an Earth, like it’s an entirely different place. I don’t know what relation it has to us, but.” She stops to shrug helplessly. “Archie might have better theories, or Unua, or Aurelius. Maybe all of them. But Almachadta has always been almost exactly as it is, through every cycle.”

looks around, at the jade motes in the air, at the ziggurat now covered in verdant green despite no sun to speak of. “We’re connecting the whole…” It’s almost a whisper, a thought escaping along with breath.

: “I think so, yes. At least opening rivers or pathways between the worlds. More than that I’m not sure.”

lets his gaze drift down to Ember, looking pensive. Thoughtful. “No choice but to walk the road and see what comes of it. But…” Another thought, this one making him play his tongue along the sharp points of his teeth. “He wished to stop us. To stop this.” He looks at Salme. “He’ll move against us again, when he realizes what we’re doing.”

follows Wolf’s gaze, and notices the orb of tenebrous gnosis for the first time. “Certainly. Which is why I think it might be useful to know how to kill a god, even if it is difficult.” She frowns at the orb and then looks at Wolf, “where did our friend get that?”

: “Your bluejay, I think,” Wolf says, drily. “Full of surprises, that one.”

sings the four notes back. Her voice isn’t particularly suited for singing, but the idea comes across. She gives Wolf a chagrined glance. “Ah. The. Nicknames didn’t do much to obscure identities, did they?”

gives Salme a Look, albeit an amused one. “I am not entirely blind, you know.” He snorts. “And it was going to take rather more than a nickname to make the subjects less obvious.” He laughs quietly. “There’s also simply been some strong reactions you’ve had to certain people, and I didn’t quite understand why. You gave me the piece I was missing.”

: “If it helps,” she murmurs, “I didn’t quite understand why either. ‘Magpie’ is a horrible choice for Aurelius, but for some reason I thought ‘fox’ would give it away too clearly.” ⁂

lets that rest between them, and laughs. “I really am hopeless aren’t I?” but she doesn’t sound too upset about it. She sighs. “But yes. The Architect will probably come for us. And as appealing as I found the Omniclast’s message despite myself, I think he probably shouldn’t be trusted either.”

🙧

chuckles low in his throat. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t trust either as far as I would throw them–though I would more willingly work with our good Stranger than his counterpart.” Just a flash of fang at that. “We’re pawns on their board, but we do have a distinct advantage on that front.”

: “And that advantage is?”

grins at her, wolfishly, one might say. “It means they’ve underestimated us.”