Mission Log, Day 24, Sunday, September 26th, 1999
I quiver with excitement as I write this, for I have just met face to face with my maker, and received her blessed burn. I admit some trepidation when she placed her finger upon my forehead, but the pain...nothing compared to the joy blazing in my heart--
No, wait, too much left out, must review.
As you know, I returned from the Marches in a bit of a dark mood, dissonant and unhappy with my part in things, not feeling like anything was getting accomplished and determined to bring the punishment of Jackson White to a conclusion.
Naturally Giles met me when I returned to the tether. We'd all basically gone our separate ways, so I was left to answer his polite questions about where we'd been for the last four days. Huh. Funny thing, time in the Marches. Anyway, I kept my answers brief, partially because Giles would be best left to know as little as possible about our lawbreaking. More importantly, I was in a bit of a hurry to have someone paint my vessel to look like Death warmed over. He sent his Soldier Laura to purchase another dress like the one I "died" in; meanwhile, I told him about angels of Laurence at the tether to Animals and demons tracking us through the Marches and Tsayadim and old ethereals and Novalis saving the day. His response was typical; an arched eyebrow here and there, the offer of a cup of tea. When I finished, he volunteered some news of his own; some thirty-six hours ago he heard a distinct celestial racket, but was unable to determine it's source. Obviously, it wasn't us....
That gave me something to think about while I went to scout out White's fraternity house. What would the demons be up to in our absence? One assumed these were demons who weren't after the Tapestry (which was in the Marches) but were trying to accomplish something else. Interesting. The fraternity was pretty busy, preparing for another party that evening. Heh, heh, heh...racket or no racket, demonic business could wait until tomorrow.
Giles and Laura fixed me up, and while the last hint of light drained from the sky I entered my boy Jackson's room and climbed under the covers of his bed. Picture this:
Boy and girl enter room, making lovey-dovey giggling noises. Girl sits on bed, feels lump, peels back covers. There is vomit girl, dead. Girl screams, boy gapes. Body disappears from view; she screams more and flees. He urinates on himself, especially when he sees that horrible raven tapping on his window again.
He is joined by his co-conspirators in rape and cover-up who calm their panicked friend and eventually convince him that he imagined it. There is no dead girl, there is no raven on the windowsill. Finally his fears subside, and sleep beckons him to bed.
He awakens to a chill, and rolls over to stare eye to eye with a corpse, lips moving, whispering his name. An arm reaches for him, stiff and cold, and he falls to the floor trying to scrabble out of its reach and retreats against the door, screaming. The corpse shuffles toward him, arms extended, moaning, "Confess, confess, confess..." He is frozen in fear as icy arms embrace him and pull him into a passionless fish-like kiss. In moments his friends break the door down to find him alone, screaming, hysterical beyond rationality. On the windowsill outside, a raven's little black heart lightens, feeling at one with its purpose.
At least, that's how the movie script will go.
It couldn't have gone better if I'd planned it. Not that I knew for sure how I'd changed his life, only that his punishment had been served and my heart was free of him. I flew home a happy angel.
Only I didn't make it all the way home because of a sight on the street below: twins, big and burly fellows, walking hurriedly down the sidewalk looking into every doorway and shop window with an expression of frustration. Big bulky brutes, identical. Did I mention they were big? Could have been demons, but something about them struck a chord. Then as I circled overhead, I spied a tall dark-headed beauty peek around the corner behind them, and my raven heart leapt into my throat. Gabriel! I'd recognize my Soulforger anywhere. She'd apparently given her cherubic escorts the slip. But what would she be doing here, and why the secrecy? I knew the answer the moment her eyes locked with mine.
I swooped down, landed upon her outstretched arm breathlessly, shifted from foot to foot on her heated skin.
"The deed is done," she decreed, her human voice crackling to celestial ears with the snap of a thousand suns.
"Is the prophecy fulfilled?"
She cocked her head, as if in a moment assessing all of the universe, then mused, "The Seller of Souls is still free."
"What would you like me to do with him?"
She looked at me, through me, my question as foreign as a chill upon her skin, and answered simply, "Justice must be served."
Can a raven grin? I grinned. Daspit was as good as dead. Her absolute certainty burned within me, resonating in time with my own conviction.
"The boy is quite mad," she said distantly, a faint smile on her thin lips. The boy? Ah, Jackson White. Of course she would know about that. I'd just furthered the word of Fire, and of Fire she knows all things. I fluffed in pleasure at the compliment. We were of a feather, she and I, almost siblings in choir, word, and passions. I am unworthy of any such comparison, of course, a mere candle to her brilliance, but it made me deliriously happy to think so just the same.
She hardly noticed, grew more distant still, lost in that place I dreamed must be on the fringes of God. Her lips moved, but another's words issued forth. "Your worst enemy is not without! But until you believe it, you cannot win."
Arnu. Such a personal prophesy could refer to no one else. It was as if my thoughts and fears of the last few weeks became reality, my inability to face him, my inadequacy to take him down, my growing certainty that I would not be the one to bring my hated enemy to justice, at least until I found my faith. But faith in what? The frustration of it tore at me, old wounds made fresh as yesterday for a moment. But her words were no condemnation. She did not hold his continuing blight upon the world against me. They weren't even her words, just the inviolate truth of Heaven. I think Gabriel freed me from Arnu a long time ago. I just keep refusing to free myself.
Her eyes snapped away, focussed on something else for a moment, and when she gazed upon me again she was herself again, ofanite-quick and driven with purpose. One long thin finger reached out to press into my forehead, and with a quick and surgical tweak to the soul she graced me with Dance of the Atoms. Secrets of Fire filled my head, the ability to change the temperature to fiery heights and freezing depths. It was both a gift and a blessing, an affirmation of her faith in me and an expectation to do even better.
She pressed deeper. It is well known that ofanim of Fire are immune to the ravages of their word, but this was no ordinary heat. This was all the fiery potential of the universe focussed in one frail form, and that fingertip seared into my forehead with a pain I'd almost forgotten. Only three times before could I remember burning. Once, when as a young foolish reliever I flew into the depth's of Gabriel's volcano and came out black as a raven's feather. Again, in Gabriel's embrace when he fashioned that foolish reliever into a fully-fledged ofanite of Fire. And once more, in a dank French dungeon where a vessel lay dying, its shattered and outcast soul destined to an indefinite purgatory in Limbo before she came to reforge that ofanite into a passionate tool of retribution. None hurt so badly as the last, and this was only the merest taste of that pain, a bitter draught of deserved medicine. I remember falling, half-conscious but light as flame, my soul stripped of that last distracting bit of dissonance.
She swirled above me, free of human pretense, now unmistakeable fire radiating with the heat of a blast furnace, coiled into ring upon ring, too many for my limited mind to comprehend, dancing to all the rhythms of the world at once as she sped away from her thwarted twin keepers.
I lay in the alley cackling--no, guffawing--until my sides ached and tiny tears leaked from my black eyes. With supreme effort I dragged myself up to continue homeward, stopping every block or so to laugh again and restrain my trembling joy. I didn't hurry, languished in the moment so that by the time I reached the library, I was almost myself again, scorch mark on my forehead notwithstanding.
No one was around when I flew in the window. Immediately something didn't seem right. Objects lay on the floor, knocked from their perches. A small table lay on its side and there were clothes scattered about. I started to call out to Giles when I heard shuffling footsteps on the stairs and hid myself.
It was Giles, looking rumpled and quite un-Giles-like. I was certain he'd been attacked, but he reassured me that he was fine. Color this raven unconvinced, but I dropped the matter and trusted patience to bring me answers while Giles produced the "cold cream" to clean up my vessel.
I told him about Jackson White, of which he seemed to neither approve nor disapprove. I suppose so long as White didn't meet his worst fate, Giles had little to object to. If he felt Gabriel's presence he said nothing, and I volunteered nothing. The meeting was mine and mine alone to treasure. Besides, if Dinhabbah caught wind of it he'd have to report it to his Superior, and I don't care much for what Dominic might say about her visit.
Once clean I asked about Dinhabbah and Adrienne; curiously Giles had not heard from either of them lately.
Arashiel came down from the upstairs then, half-clothed and looking pleasantly exhausted. I was no spring chicken; I suppose Giles was attacked, in a sense. I suspect he never knew what hit him. Creationers! She inquired after my evening. I remained mum about the punishment and Gabriel, but she remained insistent and nosy, said she wanted to "hang out" with me. I did my best to delicately dissuade her, pleaded efficiency and the excuse that I ought to check up on the missing duo.
Only neither of them seemed to be at home or at work. I wonder what they could be up to?
Previous . . Home . . Vox Tertia . . Next