When an Ǻngël Debates the Future

50th Day of Sere in the First Month of Life’s Warmth

4381 A.G.G. (252 Years Ago; Mundus Reckoning)

The City of Hisra, West of the Yavan Mountains

The Continent of Kazakoto

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It should be understood that some of the following passages may not be entirely accurate as they weren’t transcribed as they were spoken. They’ve been translated here for ease of reading. Because of this, unfortunately, some things may be lost in the translation from the original Ångëlįc to common.

Translated passages will be indicated by the use of bold print.

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Samahdemn

My two hundred, ten and ninth name day came and went in the weeks that followed my recovery and eventual release from the hospital. And I couldn’t honestly say that I felt any wiser with another year being behind me. I was lost. In fact, I’d become as a child again; following Zåkÿntħos, Ëlzįëį and Tå’Sånnun about in a sort of daze not knowing if I was coming or going. All the while, being told about my supposed role in the universe’s grand scheme. I’d tried to absorb it all, but everything seemed to just fall flat. I felt numbed.

A month prior, I was a man who tore down other people’s lives. I had no belief whatsoever in any greater powers in the universe nor did I subscribe to any grand scheme driving the lives of mortals. A month ago the Goddess and the Ångëls were figments of the overactive imaginations of the lonely. And the last of the Drågons were over thirteen hundred years dead and gone.

Over two hundred years of belief in the “knowledge” in my head. All scattered to the wind like so much dust.

Now I was on a first name basis with three beings of myth and legend. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Goddess was real. And I knew that I was apparently the crutch that all the world hinged upon.

Fear and loathing became me.

All the weight of existence was weighing down on my shoulders and I found myself in such a depression that I could scarcely concentrate on anything. Let alone the eternal fate of Men and Mer.

I started keeping to myself.

I started ignoring Jeruian and Waimund’s calls and I refused to revisit the Claire contract with them. Not out of fear, but out of disinterest and weariness. The coin simply no longer mattered to me.

Zåkÿntħos would constantly try to assuage me as I wallowed in my restlessness. But oft times I found myself pushing both him and his council away; in much the same manner that a child may shirk off the wisdom of a parent.

I’d seen too much. I’d felt too much. Eidetic memory can be a horrible burden. Even without being as prone as I was to falling uncontrollably in and out of it. More so still when the memories I was forced to relive weren’t my own. Experiencing strange events from an alien past first hand with a second-hand perspective was…disconcerting. Disturbing. Yet also…strangely alluring.

But it wasn’t otherworldly death, mythic wars or Ångëlic philosophy that continued to draw my mind to these melded memories again and again. Much to my shame, it was thoughts of both Ëszëri and Tå’Sånnun.

Especially Ëszëri. The ghost of Zåkÿntħos’ long departed lover weighed on me so heavily that it wore on the already tenuous “relationship” I had with Jannett. She’d, in fact, come to see me while I was in the hospital with Jeruian’s assistance under the guise of being my handmaid. This was much to my surprise given what I thought to be the lackadaisical nature of our association, our differences in race and how much hatred and violence we’d fall victim to if we were to publicly escalate things.

I remember the concern that flooded her features as she tried to tell me that she wanted more out of us; not knowing what reaction to expect from me from the confession. Unfortunately for her, I was in no state of mind for it. My response was always silence. And although she never said so, I knew that my noncommittal to her was driving her to misery.

The most damning part of it was that I don’t think I cared.

Over and over again did she offer herself up to me unconditionally in the hopes that it would bring me around to her emotionally. It was all she knew to do; the one tool she’d spent her life honing. But being intimate with her in the weeks after the Drågon’s ritual did little for me save to make me think of how much I resented her for not being Ëszërį or Tå’.

This was compounded by the fact that I was long since predisposed to sometimes resent her for not being Ñä’ as well. A resentment that was freshly fueled by the knowledge that Ñä’ had held a secret torch for us ever since my departure from the mountains.

I’d brush my hands over Jannett’s skin and wish it was darker; covered with Ëszëri’s cream-blotted imperfections. I’d run my fingers through her hair and wish it was Tå’s kinky curls. I didn’t want to keep looking into her pale green eyes; I wanted to see Ñä’s giant onyx orbs.

Every time I went to sleep, all I could see was Tå’. All I could smell was Ëszëri. All I could feel was Ñä’.

The slickness of the coca butter that covered the roots of Ñä’s locs and the taste of her full lips from the moment we’d shared in Euuil.

My hands… Zåkÿntħos’ hands, planted on the ground firmly at Ëzërį’s sides as I lifted my chest off of hers; all the while continuing to slowly slide myself in and out of her.

I could still feel the need to have a Drågonling with his old lover. A need they both shared. I could feel that desire driving me forward as I continued to move within her until all that I was flowed into the center of her when I climaxed…

The smell of the scented oils on Tå’Sånnun’s fur and the love that I was feeling for her.

Had I been a younger, brasher man, I may have tried to take advantage and use my newfound knowledge of her to reach out to her. To try and take her. But on the other hand, what would I have had to offer to a bona-fide Ångëlįc? What could I possibly give to an immortal who sat at the foot of Åmbrosįå as was beloved of the very Drågon for whom two books within the Afua Maisha were named?

And what would Zåkÿntħos have done to me for such a trespass?

My thoughts and feelings were a whirlwind of emptiness and confusion.

It was unfair to Jannett that I should have found her so insufferable for not being other women. No one should have to compete with ghosts.

Needless to say, mine and Jannett’s relationship didn’t last much beyond all of that. She became increasingly depressed by my loss of interest in her. More and more I’d find reasons to spend less and less time with her. Until one morning, she climbed out of my bed, cleaned up, drank the coffee I’d prepared for her as per usual and left, just as she always had. Unlike usual however, she didn’t come back. No letter. No good bye. Nothing. And I never blamed her for it.

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I found myself sitting alone in my office. The gas lamps about the room were cold and the metal blinds behind me were drawn against the outside world; golden midday light cutting between each shade and casting strips of lumination wide across the area.

It had been a difficult morning for me in physical therapy and my mind had been everywhere else except on the range-of-motion and hand exorcises I should have been focusing on. Even with my Amalgamate working constantly to assist with my recovery, it was still taking far too long for me to get back onto my feet for my liking…and it was still very painful.

A glass of eighteen-year-old whiskey was in my good hand. The bottle it had been poured from was half empty. Double malt. Smooth stuff. Didn’t even feel it going down. My opposing arm was still bound to my chest by a sling which was doing its best to ensure that the plate currently taking up residency in my elbow stayed in place. It’s hand was wrapped in fresh surgical mesh.

Next to the dwindling bottle of drink sat a burning, hand rolled cigarette, filled with a tart smelling weed; something I’d procured from one of my lesser sources. I didn’t care for the harshness of it…likely past it’s prime. But there are times when beggars can’t be choosers and I was trying my best not to dip into the very last of my Tuskan leaf; to inhale the last of my living memory of Ñä’.

My old habits were hammering me with a vengeance. Bad to worse.

Even when it was working at its best, the Amalgamate inside of me could only metabolize so many toxins. And being split between trying to heal my wounds and keep me coherent was stretching it to its limit.

I can’t remember a time where I’d gotten so blunted so quickly as I had during this stretch. So much so in point-of-fact that, through the narcotic induced haze in my head between rotations, I absentmindedly attempted to reach for my cigarillo with my injured limb to draw a toke.

Needless to say, I quickly found it to be a self-correcting, immediately sobering error as I cursed to myself over the stinging pain.

“Samahdemn?”

The feminine voice that hit me through the temporary lucidity brought on by my painful mistake belonged to none other than Tå’Sånnun; recently arrived from one of her regular meetings with the Choirs I assumed. I didn’t notice that she’d walked into the room. And I immediately wished that she hadn’t. It was hard for me to think around her, and I’d been actively avoiding her since Zåkÿntħos’ impromptu oneiromancy.

Before the melding of the Great Drågon’s memories with mine, I’d never felt an attraction to the fox-kin. I simply wasn’t the type. But now? Well, I struggled to keep my eyes off Tå’Sånnun. She looked intoxicating today with newly styled braids done up in their bee hive-like do. And it was all I could do not to reach out and touch her.

“Fallen off the wagon I see.”

“You know a better way to dull unwanted thoughts Tå’?”

Her face seemed to stiffen when I spoke her name, slurring it slightly as I did so. But she brushed it off quickly. “Are all of the drink and smoke really necessary? Is magick not a thing on Mundus anymore?”

The comment left a heavy weight in the air over me. “No more heka.” I tapped my head clumsily with the nearly empty glass. “It…changes things. It doesn’t help fix. It never does. It never has. Not for me.”

Shaking her head, the ma’jong Ångëlic walked behind me. Lifting the blinds and bracing the room’s heavy window open, she allowed the suns’ golden light to irritate my natural eye and the cool air to evacuate my smoke filled lungs; leaving me to cough in a nearly uncontrollable fit.

“That poison will kill you if you keep it up.” said she. “You can’t run from what you are; from what you’re becoming.”

I remember attempting to waive her off; not really wishing to talk to her. Not about this. “You really need to leave me be right now.” I said; forgetting who I was addressing.

“What did you say to me?” she challenged. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Don’t know when to quit, do you? Fucking dog ea-” I stopped myself before the racial slur completely escaped my lips, but it was too little, too late. I’d fully disremembered my station.

Once again, I saw liquid flame flow down the length of her hair as her eyes hardened in anger. Unlike when I was in the alley, or in the hospital, I now knew that this was no illusion or hallucination. But, luckily for me, the expression on her face shifted quickly from anger to pity. And just as quickly as the fire threatened to come, it vanished altogether.

“Like I said…these habits of yours will kill you if you keep them up.”

I didn’t deign it smart to answer an Ångël with a quippy observation. Not that I’d wished to anyway. Regardless of my xenophobic remark, the part of me that had touched Zåkÿntħos’ heart cared about this woman. Yet here I was, acting the part of an incorrigible fool. An addict, a drunkard and a racist.

“I’m…I’m sorry.” I said lamely as I shifted my eyes from her to the window. The view of the city outside serving to waylay my initial annoyance, subsequent ignorance and stupidity. With it opened, the sounds of life filled my ears and I began to sober slightly.

The food vendors yelling for customers; the delicious smells of their wares filling the air.

Convoys of steam busses, carriages and rickshaws of every kind loudly sharing space with auto-mobiles running along imposing, stone crafted inner-city highways suspended overhead of the cobblestone streets on the ground.

Underneath, people, smartly dressed, walked and talked about Goddess-only-knows what as they went in and out of shops, boutiques, brick-and-mortar diners, and miscellaneous buildings. Periodically, the sound of honking horns could be heard as a driver blew at other conveyances or random pedestrians who just so happened to cut out into the boulevards in front of them on bike or foot.

All the while, like a sad audience before the play of life, numerous homeless displaying cardboard signs pleading for food or playing sadly upbeat tunes on old, worn instruments in the hopes of receiving a few coin, sat or lay about sporadically on the street corners. Some of them even had emaciated pets or children in tow.

There was much in this bustling bedlam that I loved. I adored all of the sights and sounds of big cities. Their smells and feels. Walking the streets and wading through the organic chaos of it all had always been calming to me in a way.

But not now. I could feel nothing as I gazed out the window. I was emotionally drained. Confusion and leaf clouded my judgment. Drink dulled my wits. I could dįvįnë no answers to my problems or my anger.

The thought flashed in my head ever so briefly that I should just go away. Leave. Run…

“Your…family owned slaves?” Tå’Sånnun asked softly. Patiently.

“What?”

“From what we understand of your past, from what Zåkÿntħos has told us, you’re wealthy enough for this to be true. No? It’s socially acceptable here, yes?”

I didn’t answer. But I remember allowing my head to drop and my eyes to fall into my glass. It was the only answer she really needed to confirm her knowledge of me. Or, what I think she thought she knew of me.

“That’s a lot of shame for someone so…comfortable with slipping into bigotry when the mood suits. Is that real?”

“Think what you like. You will anyway.”

I remember quite clearly her staring at me; not knowing what to believe as her features contorted in contemplation. Then, she shook her head and started pacing.

“It’s…problematic, to say the least.” she said. “Against my beliefs and wishes, it seems that you and I are destined to only get closer in the future. And if that’s to be the case, you’ll need to fix yourself.”

“Closer?” I asked with far too much hope in my voice.

She chastised me with her eyes. Then, she proceeded to laugh in my face. “You flatter yourself human!” she said; the softness in her voice abruptly gone. “Small mind, small thoughts. Keep your lust to yourself. We’ll become closer insomuch that, as much as I despise it, we’ll soon be family. I’ll call you brother. And you’ll call me sister. Zåkÿntħos believes this is the way it should be. And the All-Mother has given it Her blessing, should you prove worthy. A tall order indeed, it seems. So, I’d know these things about you before I allow myself to welcome you as one of us. I’ll ask you again. Did your family really keep slaves? Did you? Are you remorseful about any of it?”

I pushed back my melancholy and her insults with another shot of liquor. “Yes. My family owns slaves. But don’t tell them that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They have indentured servants. Not the same thing at all to let them tell it.” I stated with all of the mockery I could muster. “They’re treated well enough. Fed well enough. Clothed well enough. They’re not beaten as much as others who belong to families of similar status. But not out of some moral conflict on my family’s behalf. It’s mostly because my father never liked getting his hands dirty. If one of them caused too many problems, then they were just sold off; usually for more coin than my father paid for them due to their good condition over the average slave. Some are even given a modicum of education so that they can be utilized for a wider range of things than the average.”

I nearly laughed at the asinine nature of the situation.

“To let them tell it, you’d think they were nearly abolitionists! At least I never pretended that I was anything other than what I was; both before and after the ties to my family were strained to the point of breaking. But I long since parted from that type of life. I don’t deal in skin any more. I don’t purposefully hurt people who don’t deserve it. Haven’t for years. And yes, I feel remorse for it every single day. But I’ve done the best I can to be better since.

“And just to be clear, my family’s rich. Noble to be exact. But me? Not so much anymore. The Baron and Baroness Astaroth they are. And I was once the Honourable Samahdemn Astaroth. Third of the name. Though I am no longer.”

“You say ‘was’ as if wealth no longer applies to you. You want to wear a cloak of poverty for pity? Do it with one of your own kind. Don’t speak to me, an Ångëlic, while hiding behind a poor mouth. Didn’t my lover bequeath you a rather substantial tract of land and a sizable property?”

“Dead land that’s all but useless right now that will either need to be completely tilled and seeded for crops, prepped for landscaping or cleared for future utilization. Even if I just wanted it to be forested growth, all that’s dead there would need to be properly cleared first. Either way, a costly endeavor. And the estate is little more than a gilded ruin. More inhabitable than habitable.”

“Dead land and a ruin that you’ve had no problem sinking a great deal of coin into.”

“All of my coin Tå’Sånnun. Everything that I am is wrapped up in that…hole. I have nothing left but hunting to keep the work going.”

“But you were all too keen to accept it when Lady Brigid, at the very real risk of her own life, hid you, sent you away and asked Zåkÿntħos to gift the land to you. No problems with the cost then…but then again, that was the plan you agreed to, wasn’t it? Everything they’ve done has been to keep you solvent and keep you safe. And yet here you sit. Drunk. High. And pissing on their gifts. You’re ungrateful.

“You’re not a pauper, fool. You’re wealthy, and lucky, beyond the dreams of any living mortal. You’re just too blind and too silly to see it.”

“And here I thought Ångëls were above insults.”

“We aren’t above the truth.”

I forced out a smile. She’d cut deep, but she was right.

“I can’t understand you. None of us do.”

I felt myself blink in confusion. “How can Åmbrosįå’s own-”

“You’re a dark spot in the Flow. More than that, I can’t really say. But you feel as though you exist as a part of creation, yet also apart from it. It’s an odd thing. And that coupled with your anger…well…that concerns me. Greatly.”

“You and me both Tå’.” I sighed and sank into my seat. “Look. I am, and have always been, a hot-tempered person. And I’ve no real idea where it all comes from either. To say that I was rebellious in my youth would be an understatement. I had the money and the position to act any way that I pleased. So I did. I was a boy protected by a station I did nothing to earn, save be born. And when my family finally pushed me away and petitioned for the revocation of my title, I left and stayed gone for a long time before returning and pledging my service to Sovereign.”

“Surprising you’d be allowed to be Knighted. Did the revocation not happen?”

“Oh it did. But my title was returned to me under the stipulation that I serve the Crown until such time as my services were no longer required. And given what I learned from the Knight of the Drågon before I killed him, there were ulterior motives at play that allowed such a deal to be struck. Something that I should have realized a long time ago.”

“And how long was your service to be?”

“I don’t know. Never found out. I wasn’t given a term. I was only told to serve until directed otherwise.”

Tå’Sånnun scratched lightly under the base of her braids as she shook her head. “You must have been quite the Brŭmal raiser indeed if your parents wanted you buried so badly.”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“That would be an understatement. The Astaroth’s have never been shy about being in the spotlight. But as part of the Hesijuan nobility, the type of light that was being shown on them due to my exploits was of the wholly unwanted kind. Many avenues were taken to help rein me in, both medicinal and spiritual. Meditation helped sometimes, but I constantly found myself falling back into unwarranted anger and my attentions were constantly drawn back to the allure of opiates or the science of prostrating the disenfranchised. It wasn’t long before I started to engage in the practice of physically beating the servants when they displeased me.

“To be short…as Ray would put it, I was a piece of shit. Maybe I still am.”

“I see. And after you went into self-exile? Before your return when you were abroad?”

“Fun and stupidity in equal measure. I heightened my senses with any number of illegal substances to keep my unnatural anger at bay. Coin lent me the capability to travel quite far, which afforded me the ability to exercise many exotic forms of vice in many exotic lands.”

“And through these travels of yours was when you found yourself as a slaver?”

I nodded somberly. “Somewhere along the way. I just…well, it seemed to suit me at the time. And looking back on it now, I couldn’t tell you what’s sadder; the fact that I proved to be very proficient at the job, or the fact that, despite my best efforts, a part of me still misses it.”

“Well aren’t you just a rose in a bed of thorns?” she stated with much sarcasm.

“Regardless,” I continued; ignoring the snide comment, “it wasn’t until I met Lady Brigid that I found myself becoming a better person. It was Brigid who first told me of the heka that flowed through me; made me aware of my affinity for it. It was she who curved me into the studies that were long protested by the Oratory. And long forgotten by others. Over the decades that I furthered my understanding of nature and the talents it granted via the Goddess to the Magi under Lady Brigid’s tutelage, I learned to control my temperament to some degree.

“Before long, I was spirited away to attend Ardour University; the center of magickal and religious learning on the Link where I became very well read and accomplished within the realms of heka. Despite my disbelief in the Dįvįnë.”

“I’m aware of the school.” she stated. “I conducted a seminar there for a time. Under the guise of being mortal, of course.”

“Really?”

She waved it away. “It was long before your time. Of no consequence.”

I nodded and looked away.

“I’ve always wondered how Brigid sensed the heka within me.” I continued. “Buried so deep under the technology in my body that neither I nor my family ever knew it existed. I was never registered. Never tested. Never proved. Ignorant of myself. Maybe this was the reason for her taking me under her wing the way she did.

“I still remember the first time I met her. The heavily jeweled necklace which was her focus, shining in the gold tented light of the suns. Her kinky hair floating proudly about her head. Her dark, sable coloured skin. I was awed by her knowledge, kindness, and command of the Flow. It was almost as if she could see my torment and depression over the wrongs I’d committed. She loved and taught me though I didn’t deserve it. She saved me from myself. At least, for a while.

“A mistake I’m certain she now regrets since…”

The Ångëlic she-fox stared at me as I lost my words. “The Grand Spire?”

I nodded. “Please don’t ask me about it. That’s one memory I’d rather not fall into any more than I already do. I won’t tell you any more about it than you likely already know. It’s not a story for you. Not today.”

She stared into my eyes for a moment. I could practically feel her ferreting for the key that would get me to open up more, but it was a vain search. So, she nodded. Seemingly understanding my refusal to speak further. Or maybe just accepting it.

I sighed; wiping a tear from my face that seemingly materialized of its own accord. I took a pull from my hand rolled cigarillo in response. “That’s the short version of it.” I stated somberly. “You want more? Ask your boyfriend. He dug around in my head enough to know everything I assume.”

My mind lapsed back to Tå’Sånnun’s words from not a few moments ago.

“Well aren’t you just a rose in a bed of thorns?”

“A rose by any other name-”

“-Kblįį koħįįk įlzħ kxlb.” the black furred fem-fox spat at my whispers.

I swallowed the lump that was trying to develop in my throat as I forced out a thought. “Sorry if I’m being…me. I didn’t mean for any of that to sound as combative as it did. You must think me a truly presumptuous ass hole. I can’t say that I blame you. I haven’t exactly put my best foot forward with you Tå’.”

“Do you ever?”

“Probably not.” I admitted under a snort.

Tå’Sånnun stood back from the desk and took another long, hard look at me. Sizing me up maybe. I was too far gone at the time to think on it. Too wrapped up in my own self-pity. Something that was becoming far too common with me.

“Ucj mcjįs qħ kc ojmx ncwħ.” she said with some measure of earnestness.

“I don’t think so. I’ll never be more than I am right now.”

“Wait, you understood me? Did you understand what I said before when you were whispering to yourself?”

I glanced at her sideways as I finished the last of my glass and started to refill it. “Of course I did. I may be a little, out of sorts right now, but I still understand common. And I can hear just fine.”

She laughed oddly. Somewhere between joy and sadness. “I wasn’t speaking common Sam. I was talking in the Goddess’ tongue.”

“What?”

“Whether you realize it or not, you’ve picked up an understanding of Ångëlic speak.” she said in her native tongue. “Zåkÿntħos’ knowledge and memories have rubbed off on you more than you realize.”

I was sincerely confused. I hadn’t realized that I translated anything in my mind. I started to dig around in my head to find the words to say, only to have them fly to me without effort. “…Apparently so.” I said as I looked at her in awe of myself.

“Even your accent sounds passable. You almost sound like one of us.”

I didn’t know whether I should’ve laughed or sighed; spoken or stayed silent. So I reached for my leaf. But I was interrupted by the pouring of my dwindling bottle of alcohol over the cigarette. Tå’Sånnun had moved so swiftly I could scarcely even register it in my mind. I had to look down into the flooded ash tray for verification of what I thought I saw. Even then, it took time to process.

“It’s time for you to wake up Samahdemn. You’re in a very dangerous place. Very dangerous. I’ve already told you that my kin don’t quite know what we should do with you. And Åmbrosįå and Sånįgron seem to be of two minds on you.”

“Does all that really matter? What Ångëls think of me?”

Tå’Sånnun looked puzzled. “You’re kidding. I’m certain you’ve seen as much for yourself. How could you think otherwise?”

“I’ve seen glimpses of conversations with Åmbrosįå and the Choirs. Not much more.”

“If you’ve seen glimpses of meetings with the Choirs, then you’ve seen quite a bit. The Choirs don’t exist simply for the sake of existing. We’re the watchers. Especially those of the Kolumbkį Order. We are Her eyes and ears. Ëmpÿrë’s Choirs hold assembly on every decision that could have a lasting impact on the living and ethereal worlds. Matters are debated, voted upon and our thoughts are then weighed heavily by the Goddess and God. Usually with Zåkÿntħos and Mįssħåël speaking as our combined voice. And while none among us are under any illusions that They, particularly the most holy Åmbrosįå, can choose to ignore our words or refuse to allow us as a voice and exorcise Their own will in any matter they see fit, we’re blessed that They have rarely deemed it wise to do so.”

“So these Choirs of yours function kind of like a senate.” I exclaimed with genuine interest. “Who would’ve guessed? Ëmpÿrë’s a democracy.”

The fem-fox seemed to mull over the word; the bright marble-esque pupils in her eyes darting this way and that, searching for its meaning. “Yes. A democracy. I’d say that’s accurate.”

“Is it the same in Brŭmal?”

“I couldn’t say for certain. We know that there exists a council of sorts among Lumå’įl’s ilk. But whether they speak for their masses or whether they make decisions based on Lumå’įl’s singular motivations is unknown to us. However, He’s always favored trying to mirror the world from which He fell. They all do.”

“How many times has the Goddess vetoed the Choirs’ vote?”

“‘Veto?’”

“….For lack of better words…She disagreed with the Choir’s will and told you ‘no’.”

Tå’ thought on the question intently for a moment. “Only once in our history.” she stated in a very matter-of-fact fashion. “The vote calling for Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ’s deaths following the Great Rebellion was unanimous. And She overturned it.”

Wow. I remember thinking. If that’s the case, She must’ve felt very strongly about them. “The abbey has always taught that the Goddess’ will is absolute and that Dįvįnë rule is Hers and Hers alone.” I stated. “The very idea of voting in the heavens…or that you actually voted against the Goddess for the deaths of-”

“I’m sure that you could fill entire volumes of texts with the mis-teachings of your orthodox religions and your sciences. For example, what you call elements, the very powers that fuel your heka-induced gifts, are facets of existence that you don’t really understand. Tell me, how many elements drive nature?”

I found myself reflecting on Ëlzįëį’s chants during my circle casting, and the numerous aspects that he called to for each corner to which I’d never entreated. But I nonetheless fell back to my human logic when I answered her.

“Four, of course, if you talk to any self-respecting Magi. Although many religions say there are five, with the spirit being recognized among them as the fifth. How many does your kind recognize?”

“None, in so far as you understand them. Carbon is an element. Iron is an element. Air is not an element.” The she-fox sighed. “Regardless of all the years I spent at the university on the Link, I could never understand how you all got things so fundamentally wrong over the centuries.”

“But it’s in the Afua Maisha.”

“Which was pinned by mortals."

"And the Oratory's Vade Mecum."

"Which was also pinned by mortals. None of it was written by the Dįvįnë. None of it by us. It was written by people grasping at knowledge while lacking understanding in a time after we ceased walking the earth. Besides, since when have you put any faith in religious texts?”

“And yet weaving still works.”

“Aren’t you the one who said when we met that you weave with intent not faith? With all of the impudence you could muster, I recall. In your pride and ignorance, you actually stumbled upon a bit of wisdom. Which, I shall admit, surprised me when it crossed your lips.

“But I suppose the suns shine their golden light on every dog’s hind quarters at least once a day.” she whispered to herself in her native tongue.

“What you call elements are actually called principals; as they are the principal building blocks of reality. It’s the stuff of existence. And there are twelve by Dįvonësë reckoning. Casting works for you not because of how you do it, but why you do it. It works because you have faith that it will. However, it’s effectiveness is greatly reduced because of your ignorance of the art. Intent absolutely matters more than proper wording. But that improper wording is why heka slowly kills you. Meditation, washing with intent and all of the other things you do to prep for the shock of tapping into the Flow is mostly unnecessary. The Goddess wants life in the living world to be close to Her. Closeness to the Dįvįnë is not in of itself taboo regardless of what your religions and Magisters tell you. Her gifts are not meant to destroy you but to elevate you. You simply don’t know how to interact with Her.

“Except for necromancy. A practice that’s unnatural, obscene and repulsive in Her eyes. And the death that such practitioners court and twist to their devices should rightly drag them down.

My entire understanding of the universe was turning upside down. “This is…a lot to take in. To know that everything I’ve ever known or believed was a fallacy. The existence of Goddesses and Gods. Ångëls and Dæmöns. The fundamentals of heka and the universe… I can’t quite wrap my mind around it.”

“Don’t worry about it overmuch. You’ll learn. Much to my dismay.”

“Well Goddess be damned Tå’. How about you just tell me how you really feel!”

The fox-woman’s lupine eyes squinted angrily at my apparent arrogance and, thinking back on it, I think she may have liked to kill me in that moment. But she restrained the anger I saw in her countenance.

“Ignoring for the time being your cursing of the Goddess, no. I don’t believe in the slightest that we should do anything to expand your magickal knowledge or increase your already worrying level of affinity for heka. But the decision has already been made by my dearest and She who rules over us all. So, like it or not, Zåkÿntħos will be granting you a gift you do not deserve. It is what it is as you mortals say.”

“And what is it exactly that he’s supposedly gifting me with? I’ve heard precious little about it, yet all of your ilk treat even the mentioning of the entire affair with overwhelming gravitas.”

She wore her emotions so clearly on her sleeve at all times that the sadness that engulphed the once-anger of her gaze was noticeable by even the blind. But she refused to allow herself to answer my question. And simply hung her head. “That is not something that’s meant for me to share with you. When the time comes, he’ll tell you himself.”

My thoughts suddenly shifted inexplicably to Zåkÿntħos’ former lover. No idea why. I saw her smile in my mind. I saw her pushing a loc of her hair behind her white-splotched ear as she talked to me. Almost shyly. We held hands and played with each other’s fingers. We laughed.

I miss her laugh.

My abrupt grief was piling up in my throat before I remembered that it wasn’t my memory. Clearing my windpipe, I choked the sorrow back down which gave rise to a question that had been rolling around in my head since the meld.

“Can I ask you a…personal question? Not necessarily personal to you, but to Zåkÿntħos. I haven’t the heart to ask him.”

“Yes?” she asked; also eagerly pushing aside her shared sadness in light of her piqued interest.

“Is vitiligo a common occurrence among Drågons and Ångëls?”

“Viti-what?”

“Vitiligo. It’s a kind of disfigurement or disease. Where people with dark skin develop white spots on their bodies.”

Tå’Sånnun nodded as her mouth formed a silent ‘ah’.

“I’d thought that was either just a human ailment or a Fae racial trait.” I continued. “I mean it’s always been believed that your kind, at least by all religious accounts, were supposed to be ‘perfect’…or that you could at least appear to be if you liked.”

“I see. You’re speaking of Ëszërį.” the she-fox exclaimed. “Not surprising you’d have thoughts of her. She’s never far from Zåkÿntħos’ mind. But what makes you say she wasn’t perfect; beautiful as she was?”

“I didn’t say that. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just…curious is all.”

“I know you didn’t.” Tå’Sånnun sighed. Whether out of exasperation at my ignorance or sadly at the memories of her sister I don’t know. “She was perfect. Or, at least, as perfect as any of us can be next to the Queen of Queens. The ‘affliction’ you mortals call…vitiligo, we don’t see as a defect. We are all equal in the Goddess’ sight and we all share many of the same physical quarks as mortals. Many things that are common for your kind stand to be common for us as well.”

“Really? I never would have considered that Ångëlįcs could appear to be anything other than flawless.” I laughed.

“Flawless as compared to what?” she countered seriously.

“Once again, no offence meant. I’m just saying, flawless insofar as human reckoning or understanding goes.”

“I’ll say this only once. Ëszërį was both my sister, and my friend. Her complexion was flawless and she was beautiful. Full stop. And I’ll suffer no further discussion on the matter. She was especially dear. Not only to Zåkÿntħos, but to all of us. She was the sweetest and kindest of all of our kind. And it was hard not to love her.”

“What happened to her?” I didn’t mean to probe so much, but I had to know.

“She was murdered. During the Fifteen Year War.”

“Murdered?”

I shook my head. Befuddled by the implications of what she said. “Murdered? In war? Are you telling me that the Fallen are guilty of the Dįvįnë versions of…war crimes?”

“Once again, that’s a story that isn’t mine to tell. You’ll find out soon enough from Zåkÿntħos. One way or another, you’ll learn everything.”

I wasn’t going to get any more from her. And I wasn’t going to push as it seemed that melancholy was starting to overtake her. Besides, there were other things on my mind as well.

“How exactly do the Ångëls view me, since we’re on the subjects of them and me?”

The ma’jong jumped to answer my question eagerly; seemingly more than happy to move away from the subject of her lost friend. “I’d almost venture to say that the Ångëlįcs and other Dįvonësë of the Choirs wouldn’t be emotionally moved one way or another regardless of whether you were conscripted to join us or separated from your mortal coil. On the other hand, Lumå’įl and Sin, or Så’Ħdënåħ as you know the Dark Queen, seem to want you rather desperately. And they’ve sent some very important people to that end to collect you. The only thing all agree on is that both sides would rather see you dead than see you coupled to the opposition.”

My mind immediately flashed back to the mystery woman I saw in the hookah flop the day I was shot. I don’t know how I hadn’t thought of her before. Too focused on the wrong things I suppose. Or maybe it was the drugs and drink I had dissolved into over the last few weeks.

Her dark skin, her sharp teeth, her…eyes. That’s why her eyes looked like that. And then there were the mysterious people who joined her at the table… That was Tå’Sånnun and Zåkÿntħos!

The woman’s hair seeming to turn white…

“She wasn’t an adze was she? The woman I saw you talking to on the day my friends and I was attacked?”

Tå’Sånnun gave me a knowing half-smile. A smile that wasn’t reflected in the rest of her aspect. “No. No, she wasn’t.”

“Who was she? Was she some sort of…dæmon?”

Tå’Sånnun seemed to be genuinely amused at the question, if even for a moment. “She’d be very cross to hear you call her such. In fact, now that I think upon it, the next time you encounter her, please call her a dæmon. It would tickle me to no end.”

“That sounds like that be bad for me.”

“I’d hope that if Zåkÿntħos is right, when you see her again, that it would be bad for her. But...you’re not wrong. I tell you now, she’s no dæmon. She’s something far more dangerous. That was Tįlåtħ. One of the first among the Fallen and arguably the most powerful of His legion. You’d do well to come to grips with the truth that no one’s interest in you is purely cursory. And for better or for worse, you’ve now touched the mind of an eternal being. You can no longer feign ignorance.”

If I hadn’t already gleaned the memories of a living, breathing Drågon, I’d have left the room. My mind could handle only so much ridiculousness at one time. It was almost too laughable to be real.

“Well aren’t I special.”

Tå’Sånnun failed to see the humor in the statement.

“Sadly, yes. More than you realize. And as much as I wish it weren’t so, things are what they are.”

As much as I wanted to pretend that I wasn’t affected by the lackadaisical nature of her words, I was. And the part of me that harbored Zåkÿntħos’ love for her broke under the weight of it.

“I’m not perfect. I know. But I’m trying. Doesn’t that count for anything with you? Can you find no kindness for me at all? Even if it’s just for Zåkÿntħos’ sake?”

“Kindness? Have you seen yourself?! Do you even realize exactly how much of a mess you are? How many have you hurt or killed selfishly or thoughtlessly? Do you even know?”

“Do I know?!” I argued. “I live with the memory of every person whose life I’ve taken. I see them all in excruciating detail every day!”

“Hind sight changes nothing and counts for naught.” she countered vigorously. “Not when you continue to obscure your senses with drink and fill your body with poison. All the while having the nerve to wonder why your soul is so damaged.”

“Don’t talk like you know me Tå’! I’m trying the best way I know how to cope with-”

“Excuses! Excuses for the blood on your hands. Excuses for the poisons you pour into yourself. Excuses for your lusts. All you spew are excuses! But know you this Astaroth, there’s no room for excuses when you’re as charmed as you are. Blessed to be fated for a higher calling. No room!”

“‘Charmed’? Well that’s one way to look at it I suppose. Cursed would be more like.”

Tå’Sånnun’s ears slumped. She was obviously, and understandably, tired of what had long since become a circular argument between us. This wasn’t the first time we had found ourselves at such an impasse.

For several long moments, we simply stewed in silence. Nothing else existed save for the heavy ticking of an antiquated clock on the wall; the hissing of the multitudes of steam works outside and the bustle of the crowds.

Tå’Sånnun and I both eventually found ourselves focused thoughtfully on the nearly empty bottle of spirits on my desk; sparkling and glowing seductively in the suns’ golden light.

“I’m sorry that I’m not what you’d like me to be.” I offered. “If it’s worth anything, I agree with you. Zåkÿntħos has the wrong person. I don’t understand your politics. I can’t comprehend your world. I don’t want your man to give up his seat so that I can sit on your council, or whatever it is. Nor do I want to be in league with dæmons. I don’t want any of this shit. I just want to be left alone.” I released an agitated sigh. “Few are those who are more ill-suited than I to lead or likewise give council to anyone.” I said as I lapsed into Ångëlic.

“I’ll never understand the self-destructive nature of mortals.” she said softly without removing her eyes from the bottle. “Even when you’re given all you need, your choice is always to take whatever you want. If it’s beautiful, you choose to tear it down. If it’s different, you choose to destroy it. If it lives, you choose to kill it.” Her gaze suddenly affixed itself to me. “And then there’s you. I don’t know where you honestly stand in your heart of hearts. I’m not our Mother. But on what you just said, we agree. You are ill-suited to be Åmbrosįå’s instrument. Yet, here my family and I stand united in faith in our Goddess; on the edge of the abyss. And so, into the darkness of Fate we leap. And you? You’ve a decision to make. Either be a man, or stay a child.”

“I am a man Tå’.”

“Then prove it. Get yourself together; purge yourself of the drugs and drink. Soon. All of our fates depend on it.” The ma’jong’s muscles tightened slightly and her ears took on an annoyed posture. “And as soon as you’re healed enough, you’ll start your training.”

I scoffed. “Training? I’ve been training most of my adult life. Among some of the most elite Soldierly forces in the world. For decades. I hunt and kill creatures that plague the very fucking world; things that constitute the nightmares of the common man. I can manipulate the very fabric of reality and command flame. What exactly do any of you have to teach me?”

“Humility among other things apparently. And tell me again about how you recently got your ass handed to you by a woman of no more than seven stone?” she asked sharply. “Exactly how many times has my Zåkÿntħos had to save you from the brink of death? Deaths that you were confronted with because of other humans and not your supposed ‘creatures of nightmares’? In fact, how many of these fiends of yours would you put on par with a Dįvonësë exactly, since we’re on the subject? How many Fallen Ångëls have you come face-to-face with in your life on the field of battle? Because make no mistake, you will be fighting Fallen Ångëls.”

“Fine.” I answered curtly. “I don’t suppose that I disagree with you on any particular point.”

“As I thought. For all of your physical capability, scientific advancement and magickal tricks, you’re still just a man. And without proper training, you’ll be little more than a fly to be swatted before even the lowliest of dæmöns. An insect under foot. A leaf carried helplessly on the wind. Not to mention that a certain amount of spiritual preparation is required for you to undertake the Ċwjv Bwhvő.”

“Life…given?” I translated questionably.

“Yes. Truer words were never spoken. Soon, you will experience it with Zåkÿntħos and afterwards, you’ll fulfill your purpose. But before then, you’ll focus on your physical conditioning and you’ll learn to fight…as one of us.”

“With Zåkÿntħos or Ëlzįëį?”

She laughed at my question. And despite everything, all I could see in that moment was her smile.

I loved her smile so much.

“Neither.” she answered. “You’ll start your education with me. And trust me when I tell you that I will not be a lenient teacher. Zåkÿntħos is placing a lot on your shoulders. It’s my charge to ensure that you can carry it all. And in this, I will not fail. So I warn you, steel yourself for what’s to come. And swallow that shallow pride of yours. It will do you no favors from here on out. In fact, it may serve only to get you hurt more than you already will be.”

The Ångël began to exit the room; to leave me alone with my thoughts. But then suddenly she stopped and looked at me one last time. “By-the-way Samahdemn, it hasn’t escaped my notice that you seem to have latched onto the habit of referring to me as Tå’ since the scry.”

“Yeah?” I asked; the part of me that was still mixed up with the man she loved waiting hopefully. Although waiting hopefully for what, I’ve no idea.

“My Zåkÿntħos told me about your woman. The one from the mountains to the north and east.”

“I figured as much from your body language in the hospital when I told you about the leaf in my claro case.”

“I want you to know that, as you perceived, even though I hold no great amount of love for you, I’m sorry that relationship faulted for you. The All-Mother put a second half on this world for everyone. A soul who completes them. Makes them better and vice versa. Yet precious few ever find theirs. For what it’s worth, from what I can tell from the hurt I could see in you, she was yours. It’s a unique type of pain, that. A wound that never completely heals.”

As she spoke, I watched as her eyes softened more than I’d known them to since we first met. No anger. No hatred. Only hurt and pity. And maybe it had something to do with some of what had rubbed off on me from Zåkÿntħos, but I could almost feel something of a kinship in her at that moment. I felt compelled to ask her to open up; to be comforting to her. Not in the way of a lover, but in that of family.

“Who did you lose?”

I don’t think she was expecting me to care about her past. Let alone ask. And the question seemed to freeze her in place.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked you something so personal. Something in me just…I don’t know.”

My apology seemed to draw some warmth out of her. And she blessed me with a small affectionate, but sad smile.

“Maybe there is something salvageable in you after all. You’ve nothing to apologize for. We lack many of the social barriers that mortals have. We are a very open people. And that part of us, is simply a part of you now.

“Zurįël was the name of my man. A fellow Choir member. I lost him during the war, of course. Tħos lost Ëszërį, as you know. And many of our family lost partners as well. Either during the Ten and Five Year Wars, The Great Rebellion or The War of the Drågons. Some even lost their children; as horrific as that is. Tears are something Åmbrosįå’s rarely known to shed. Yet She cried for every Dįvonësë child that we lost. Every. Single. One.”

“I didn’t know that Ångëls could have children together.”

“That’s not surprising. There’s quite a bit about our kind that neither Man nor Mer know.

“Or that they get wrong alltogether.

“We don’t have offspring easily. And none have ever been birthed in the living world as far as I’m aware. A carrying among the Dįvonësë is rare; never an expected happenstance of bonding. Only a handful or two are welcomed into our family a millennium. So when it does happen, the birth of a Bëåtįfįc is always a cause of great celebration in Ëmpÿrë.”

“Bëåtįfįc?”

“It means joyful. Rapturous.”

Something in her voice when she told me what the word meant made my eyes widen. And I was suddenly struck with a moment of clarity. “You’re one aren’t you? A Bëåtįfįc?”

She nodded with a hint of timid pride.

“Who were your parents?”

That was a query too far.

“No more questions today.” she said with a soft authority mixed with a hint of melancholy. “The point I wanted to make was that I saw the wound of a true lost love reflected in you when you told me where you’d gotten your leaf. It was a strong sadness. It practically bled out of you. As if it weren’t from years past, but as if you’d just lost her.”

“You’re not far off.”

Tå’Sånnun gazed at me; her eyes heavy with curiosity. But parroting her earlier statement, I simply responded- “No more questions today, I think.”

“Fair enough.” the Bëåtįfįc responded as I felt the warmth leave her and she once again turned cold. “Regardless, I need you to know that I understand that parsing your feelings and emotions from those of Zåkÿntħos isn’t easy. It’s a struggle that’ll only get worse in the future and you’re going to have to learn to live as a man of two minds. It’s an education that I feel I need to give you your first lesson in right now. But know that it’s not one I’ll necessarily enjoy teaching you, because it’s going to hurt you in a way that I don’t want to.

“Samahdemn, I’m not your lost Ñä’.

“I know.”

“Nor am I my sister, Ëszërį.”

“I know, Tå’.”

“But that’s my point. I’m also, and most importantly, not your Tå’. So don’t call me that anymore. It’s a level of familiarity that was never meant for you. A familiarity that will never be meant for you. I’m sorry. But I belong to a far better man.”

And with that, before I could bring myself to respond to her, she forced herself to turn away from me. And she was gone.