ꙮ Evensong, again, at the Temple of the God. Ravhi’s leading the song, having recovered from the ordeal of the Festival with a most remarkable performance. Wolf is in the song-hall, again - but this time, Ravhi’s eyes met his through the conclusion of his first cadence, almost daring him to respond.
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#yazhn ravhi
arches an eyebrow from the back–a clear ‘you sure about that?’–but then he smiles, only a little smugly…and responds with a canon-perfect response…albeit with a cheeky little run on the tail end of it, and a tilt of his head that seems to dare right back.
ꙮ A quiet ripple through the hall, a quick, but distinct, and pleased, glance back from Ravhi, and the next response goes to someone else, and then again, to someone else - it would not do to have the same person respond, over and over again. That is not the way of evensong. And yet, on the fourth cadence, Ravhi meets his gaze, again.
waits just long enough before responding that it’s almost a beat too long…and his response this time is not canon-perfect–if his response before was ‘baroque with flair’, this is jazz; the rules not so much thrown out the window as used as a jungle gym, joyfully playing with the theme, pulling it apart and reconstructing it in a form that is both audibly the original, and something unapologetically new.
ꙮ And that ripples through the song-hall like wildfire joy; Ravhi smiles, because evensong ought to be a joy. And his response in turn to that is precisely as it should be, but it is light, and happy, and when the next person sings the cadence, they– they are not as daring as Wolf was, because how could they be? But they are daring. And then the next person after that, daring in their own little way. And so on for evensong - twice more does Ravhi meet Wolf’s gaze halfway into his cadence, and twice Wolf responds, and there is an energy in the room, when evensong concludes, that you feel is wholly new for all those present. Ravhi waits at the far end of the hall, corners of his mouth curved up into a smile.
gives the Kin a very amused look, chuckling softly. “You know, you’re either going to go down in history as the greatest Yazhn of Yazhn who ever lived…or they’re going to chuck you out on your ear and send you to live with the apostates.”
snorts, softly, out of his nose, mock-haughty. “I’d have to toss myself out on the ear. Although, I suppose if Dyu returns from abroad having learned faster than I could have taught him it would make for a fine retirement.” He chuckles. “I did spend time in the sietch, as an acolyte.”
: “There’s precedent for that, too, where I’m from.” Wolf grins, though, and bumps his shoulder against Ravhi’s. “I’m surprised you’re letting your successor hare off across the worlds, you know. There’s no guarantee you’ll get him back again.” His tone is light…his expression less so.
: “Well, if I didn’t think your people had wisdom we could learn, I wouldn’t be encouraging Dyu to follow you.” His response is soft, smiling but serious. “I know that you will keep him safe. His choices are his own, but…” Another wry look. “He’s always taken the jar, in the Jar Game. Never once hesitated. I know his heart and I trust it like my own.”
nods, once–looks like he’s going to say something else, but decides against it. “I will teach him as best as I’m able. I am honored to be entrusted with his care.” He shoots a sideways glance at Ravhi. “Didn’t tell me you were sending him with us when you did it, I noticed.”
arches an eye-ridge at Wolf, and gestures for him to follow him into the sacristy, so he can put his stole away. “I take it the suggestions I made to the persons to whom I offered suggestions had the outcome I expected, then?” It’s his turn to be very slightly smug.
: “You’re remarkably sneaky for a Yazhn, you know.” Wolf snorts. “I’m impressed. A nudge here, a nudge there, and everything falls into place, precisely as planned.”
snorts out of his nose again. “You’ve only properly known two. How do you know Dyu just hasn’t grown into it, yet? Who knows what you might find yourself having to deal with.” He folds his stole with profound care, and places it in a shelf dedicated for the purpose.
: “I wasn’t complaining, mind you. That was a compliment.” Wolf smirks. “My Teacher was like that. It was one of the things that really caught my attention, after I started listening, and not just complaining. She could have four seemingly unrelated conversations, none of which were about anything seemingly related to anything significant, and solve six major conflicts in the process.” He chuckles softly. “It’s a knack I’m still learning, I admit.”
lets Wolf briefly see a very bright, toothy grin before attending to some things that needed to be put away, and he listens. “A knack you’re better at than you suppose, I would guess. Although we all do the Work in our own ways, and none of them are lesser.” And then he’s done, and he turns around, and– perilously close to shyly, asks. “Could we see your Garden, again?”
makes a show of thinking about it…then grins. “I thought you’d never ask.” And leads the way.
follows along, close, with a few nods and polite waves as they leave the Temple. He does not pretend to be On Yazhn Business, he is simply on his own business, and if that is strange and unusual for him, if he does not seem to have had much business that is not Yazhn business, well. People can adjust to the circumstances, he’s sure.
stays close, as he usually does when Ravhi’s less in ‘Yazhn of Yazhn’ mode–close enough to bump shoulders, to be aware of the other’s physicality and presence. Nothing too ostentatious, but…familiar. And then they’re at Emberlight’s lodgings, and from there inside the Library, under the light of the Loving Sun.
stalls, again, although this time he already moved forward enough that Wolf could enter and stand by his side, to look up at it, to soak in that light for a few moments. It’s not why he’s here, though. He does look around, briefly and curiously, for the presence of any lavender ravens to say good evening to, but that’s not why he’s here, either.
looks up at the Sun for perhaps longer than he might usually–remembering, perhaps, an echo of that same love from the Crystal Heart–then shakes himself from his reverie and makes for his Room…and this time, he leads Ravhi by the hand.
ꙮ There is something similar about the sensation, isn’t there? Anyways.
takes Wolf’s hand, and doesn’t let go. “(Shall I close my eyes for you again, as we enter?)”
flushes, faintly, around his cheekbones and eartips. “Well, you can if you’d like, but it’s hardly a surprise anymore…”
does, in fact, close his eyes, and is slightly closer to Wolf as they enter than he strictly speaking would have to be, the scales around his horns and eyes gone dark.
does not, strictly speaking, have to usher Ravhi in with an arm around his waist, but he does so anyway. Wouldn’t want the Yazhn of Yazhn to trip and fall on his face. He nudges the door closed with his foot, then: “You can open your eyes now, if you want.”
takes a deep breath, first– did that as soon as the door was open, really, and it’s so unfamiliar to him, the -smell- of a place with water and wet dirt. And then he opens his eyes. “In the breadth of my waking, I could see this every day, and I do not think I would ever be used to its beauty.” He’s looking in Wolf’s direction, with Wolf in his line of sight, when he says it.
flushes deeply, ducking his head briefly–but he’s smiling, shyly. “I have walked the Long Road for many years now–I am comfortable following the wind. But it is an unexpected gift, to have this feeling of…home.” And he’s looking at Ravhi as he says it.
blinks, then, slow and deliberate, his actual eyelids. And smiles a smile unburdened by the weight of decades of having been the Yazhn of Yazhn, unburdened by– most, but not all, of the performance of himself. “It is, isn’t it?” And then, “Some day, -I- will follow you when you leave, and make poor Dyu stay behind for the sake of the Work. And then, I believe, we’ll find a harvest dance.”
blushes, and laughs, and catches Ravhi by the hands, and presses his forehead to the Kin’s. “Yes, I think we will.” He leans back–but not by much–and smiles a little. “I was afraid, you know. Of how you would feel, reading that letter. I was not, precisely…delicate.”
presses his forehead against Wolf’s, just long enough, and not long enough at all. And raises an eyebrow. “Is the Yazhn of Yazhn carved of soapstone, then? Your companion Salme near as challenged me to a Rite one day and then brought me to tears in front of the God and my City the next, I believe I can manage a letter.” And you realise that it’s– it’s still tucked against his heart in a fold of his robes; he’s kept it there, on purpose, day by day.
grimaces, chagrined, opens his mouth–then notices that, and can hardly say anything at all…save to tug open his own coat, where, in the breast pocket, Ravhi’s letter can be seen peeking out.
snorts, very softly, and smiles. “Kind, and never cruel. To be counted and known– it’s a gift, Wolf. I–“ -he pauses, loses whatever he was about to say.
presses his forehead back to Ravhi’s, for a long moment. “You deserved nothing less,” he says, quietly. “How could I answer your courage with anything less than forthrightness?”
says, forehead pressed against Wolf’s, “May I tell you something I’ve only ever told my own Teacher?”
: “Yes,” Wolf says, simply.
: “When I first woke. When we wake, when the Kin wake. We wake with a charge from the God. A task ours to accomplish before we Rest.” Softly. Almost whispering. “When I woke, the God told me that I was… to shorten the way. That the way was long, longer than any who walk it. That I would walk ahead, that others need not walk as far. That what would take ten thousand generations, I could– not would, but could– do in a heartbeat. That I would spend that which I must, and that, when the Day did come– it would not be by, but nevertheless, it would be through, my hands.” And he raises one of them up; his palm is so soft. So much softer than you would have expected, to look at it at first; he flexes his fingers, extends and retracts bright black claws. “I ask myself if that Work is still ahead of me, or not. I ask it every day.”
listens in silence, then remains silent for a long moment once Ravhi is done, clearly mulling that over in his mind. Then, very mildly, with a wry and affectionate smile: “You would think that God would give clearer instructions.”
can’t help a snort that becomes a laugh that becomes – nearly bracing himself against Wolf as the laughter seizes him until he can recover. “Ah, would that signs and portents were as clear as evensong cadence.”
chuckles, then laughs, happily letting himself be braced against. Then, as they recover: “That is a heavy charge to bear. Not least of which because you must wonder how that is to be done. No wonder that you reached for that which you could–even at great cost. Hope and terror all in one.” His brow furrows, and he thinks in silence for a long moment. “Ravhi…there is something I have wished to ask of you. But I am not sure if I should.”
gives Wolf a Look, with one of his eye-ridges raised, and he does not -say- ‘not you, too’, but he thinks it, very loudly. What he does say is: “You should ask it, if you wish to.”
grumbles under his breath. “Yes, well.” He sighs. “Come. Let us sit beneath the Tree, then, and I will screw my courage to the sticking place, and ask.”
follows, again, by Wolf’s side, and his soft hand finds Wolf’s. “Borrow mine, if you must. I’ve it to spare, lately, for some reason.”
twines his fingers with Ravhi’s, arm hooked around the other’s as well. “Such is the way of it, I think,” he says, and smiles reflectively, eyes going a little distant. “I think of how shattered we all were, waking up in the Sanctuary–six of us, yes, but all of us very much alone.” He hums a little, softly. “There’s a song from my world…I should sing it for Salme, she’d like it, I think…” ⁂
sings, softly, as they walk down the winding path towards the sound of chiming crystal. “Strands may break alone, but twisted make a braid…together on their own, the journey shall be made…”
ꙮ Leaves like grey glass that let the light through, and chime like the song; you hear it as you spiral in along the path, long before you see it.
leads Ravhi to the comfortable nook in the Tree’s roots from before, this time taking off his coat and carefully setting it aside before he does so. It’s cool but not cold, with a gentle breeze to ruffle the fabric of his shirt. “You know…below the apostate sietch, there’s a whole cavern filled with this same crystal? Stunningly beautiful…and I have no idea what it means.“
settles down with Wolf in the hollow against the tree, and presses the back of his head against the bark. “I should like to see it, sometime. So many corners of my own world I’ve never laid eyes on.”
: “Too many responsibilities at home to just be taking jaunts, I suppose.” Wolf tangles gently with Ravhi, and just stays there, basking in the light and the gentle chiming for a long moment. “So. I asked you before, if you had ever heard or read of a man named Zosimos. I should now explain why.“
almost loses track, right then and there, of where he ends and Wolf starts. It feels so easy to, in the hollow of the Tree. “I went and dug through all the Fathom the Zvahr scowl at you if you wish to dig through, you know, after you asked that.”
blushes, faintly. “I…did not know. But I am grateful for it.” He clears his throat and recovers some of his composure. “We believe he was a survivor of the World-That-Was; somehow surviving what might be called ‘the Moment’ of its destruction and sundering. We first learned of him on Almachadta, when Salme made contact with the shade of the being who first bore her Mask, who told her about its creator: Zosimos.” ⁂
: “A mystery, yes–how did he survive?–but not of much import…we thought.” Wolf grimaces. “And then we journeyed to Samudra, and discovered that they also had legend of a man named Zosimos. From there, it gets…stranger.” Wolf glances at Ravhi, both to see if he’s following, and to gauge his reaction. 🙧
has one eye-ridge raised, and is listening intently (although, perhaps, you have the impression that Yazhn Ravhi might listen to Wolf read the rolls from a Grasp-of-Grasps in the Fathom intently, but– he’s definitely listening. “Strange…”
: “Strange–especially since, to our knowledge, Zosimos died on Almachadta, before the first time it ‘cycled’–but not impossible; perhaps he had journeyed from world to world, and simply came to Almachadta last.” He exhales with a bit of a dramatic flair–he’s been learning from Salme, perhaps. “And then I did something rather rash, and plumbed some of Samudra’s depths, and learned that Zosimos still existed on Samudra…having transformed himself into a nooplankton.” Wolf pauses, clearly realizing that Ravhi can’t have any clue what a nooplankton is…and realizing equally clearly that he’s not up to the task of describing them. “Uh…strange little beings that are probably as old as Mu is.” A short pause. “They’re not fish, but one of them thinks it is.”
increasingly knows less and less what to do with that statement as it continues, but he goes with Wolf on this journey. “Let me guess, he was on the Beast, as well?”
: “For a time. The Scorpion Queen–the ‘Jae’ you may hear Salme speak fondly of–defeated him and took his place, after objecting to his…attitude? Philosophy? It’s…hard to tell.” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “What it seems like is that, on all three worlds, he is somehow involved in a system of what you could call…continuity. The Mask, which lets Almachadta recover more quickly than it should from a cycle. The nooplankton, which we theorize help restabilize Samudra after a cycle. Whatever he wished to do do on the Beast is less clear, but I suspect it was something similar–the Queen objected to his desire to ‘live with’ the cycles, instead of fighting them. But here…he’s nowhere to be found.” He pauses, chewing on his lower lip, considering how to approach the next, more delicate point.
scrunches up his face in thought, which is, as it turns out, a remarkably silly-looking expression on a Kin.
struggles, for a moment, to resist the twin urges to laugh and kiss the Kin on the nose. Dignity. Difficult questions. He clears his throat. “Except there is a system of continuity here. Something that keeps everything on track.”
nods. “The articles of faith. Our City, its culture. Rules we’ve followed for hundreds of thousands of years.” Or not followed, as the case may be, but he doesn’t say that.
grimaces, sighs. “Perhaps. But that’s not quite what I am thinking of.” He looks up into the Tree’s leaves for a moment, then seemingly changes the subject. “Salme and I created–or more accurately, rediscovered–a power of Eld. We call it ‘methexis.’ It…blurs the lines between two people, allows the sharing of self, of experience, of memory.”
glances Wolfwards, and the scales around his eyes darken, slightly. “Rediscovered? But–“ -he shakes his head. “Keep going.”
blinks. “No…what?”
: “It just– that the world before had this capacity, that it was– a thing to rediscover in the first place. I’ve- wondered what it would be like to be able to do that, is all.” And then a pause, and a frown. “Wondered, because the God gives us our charge in a voice heard by our heart, and not our ears. Wondered what it would be like, to be able to communicate thus.” He frowns.
gives a weak smile. “And thus we get to my question.”
takes a slow, deep breath. “Ravhi…would you share the voice of God with me?”
exhales, softly. Presses himself closer to Wolf, briefly. Closes his eyes. “I would share anything which is mine that you– that would help you with your task. Anything.”
: “You can…say no, you know. This is…” He sighs, and pushes his hair out of his face–it’s starting to get quite shaggy. “This might be a wild goose chase. It probably is. If I am right…” Wolf looks distinctly unhappy. “I don’t want to be right. I don’t want what you heard to be…part of…”
: “I don’t want to destroy your purpose. And I do not wish to invade what is sacred. And yet, I am…driven…by the desire to know. But you should not have to bear that, not even for my sake.”
growls, very slightly. It’s not unpleasant. “If it is true, it will have been true my whole life; it will mean that I have learned another true thing about what is, what I believe. Perhaps the God has, or had, a name. What then? Would He be any less the God? Salme showed me the image of His Sacrifice, the Sun that scours me every day when I walk along the City’s streets. The God’s Sacrifice had wings, it had talons like mine. If the God has a name…” Dangerously: “I would learn it.”
looks at Ravhi for a long moment, then–sounding very much like he’s quoting someone: “What is will set you free.” He smiles, slowly, warmly. “Very well, then.” And he holds out his hand to Rahvi.
- The Wolf-Priest used their techné Methexis (Wolf has recreated the Ancient technique by which they can link their mind and experiences with that of another person and can do so effortlessly with a willing participant.)
slips his soft hand, with its rough scales along the back, into Wolf’s, and exhales, very softly– and tries to focus, tries to remember his Charge. ⁂
ꙮ And it’s a whirlwind, at first. The unbidden certainty that Ravhi would have said yes, just to experience this, for one thing. The wry chagrin that, definitionally, he could not hide that thought, if he wanted to. The way the light of the song-hall fell on Wolf’s face– a pulse of clarity, undergirding that, not dismissing that which whirls in his mind, but sinking deep into the past. His Charge, always present. ⁂
ꙮ When you hear it, your ears discern its peculiar nature. It is not one voice. It is one that is many, overlapping truths, overlapping messages, finding a coherent and stable compromise, words which satisfy all the meanings. Words spoken, finally, from heart to heart, through a voice that resonates with a gnosis that is familiar to Wolf. An echo of a voice which he has heard before, in the depths of the sea, like an intricate mechanism shaped like a throat and mouth and made to speak with a particular voice – except gnosis-resonance, not tongue and throat and meat and bone. But, yes, familiar. ⁂
ꙮ And underlying everything else, a quiet and mastered terror. That the Work could fail. That the Work could not be done. That the circle could be broken, that the God would see sand slipping from between his fingers, that those he swore to lead would not see the God’s Day. Terror, Yazhn Ravhi’s constant companion. But that part is quiet, right now, for a mercy; tucked, as nothing else is tucked, in a corner of his mind, while he shares all else that he can. 🙧
cannot hide his feelings, not here, not like this–cannot hide the word he has not yet spoken. The way Ravhi’s forthright bravery fills his heart. His naked admiration for Ravhi’s willingness to face his own fears, his own sins, his own weakness. The terror he felt, stepping out of the shadow into the light of embers, not knowing how the man he’d journeyed across worlds for would receive him. His joy in a moment of rest, silently observed. The way his heart leapt and cried out at the sight of Ravhi’s weeping. Love, unexpected and unlooked for, and all the more ferocious for it. ⁂
And on the heels of love, anger–not at Ravhi, but at the shattered world, at Zosimos–how dare he masquerade as God? How dare he lay these burdens of suffering on shoulders that should not have to bear them? For a moment, he is fire, he is rage, fueled by aching memories–resignation in Salme’s eyes, the charred ruin of Bahamut’s beauty, the terrible bend in Ravhi’s shoulders– ⁂
–and then the fire fades, not so much gone as carefully banked and hoarded, wrapped in cool layers of discipline, until it’s nothing but a gently pulsing ember in his chest. The engine at the core of him, no less than Lucxja’s own heart-fire–the determination to stand, and walk, and fight, so that these cycles might be shattered, so that these burdens might be laid down, so that the suffering might be eased. It beats, and beats, and beats– ⁂
–and then he lets it go, lets it be; with a flicker of memory…of white hair and a kind smile and a strange song in a liminal Space. Lets himself be here, entangled, with the beloved-other, the one so different and so much the same…both striving for unknowable futures, both so terrified to fail…and both moving forwards, anyway. His heart beats, and it beats, and it beats, and the word it beats is…love.. 🙧
ꙮ And here is a thing that you also know, having heard, however briefly, the voice of the one that is many, speaking in this way, the way that breath sometimes speaks through a flute: among this susurrus is the voice and the melody of love, to match that rhythm of your and Ravhi’s beating hearts. Love, and everything else in the worlds besides, but also love.