Dragon S Layers Ch 42

Interlude II

The Bloodstained Blonde

"What resplendence, what beauty! Poetry in motion is to die and walk among the star flowers for a mere glimpse at divinity, to toil in a god's name for years to hear the voice of your patron? The things we do in the name of connecting to our gods are nearly limitless and in the end we can only but glimpse at the power of the divine pillars that hold up our world.

Even so, to those who take this path, life has a unique and powerful meaning- it isn't the first thought of the common man to question why his disease suddenly breaks any more than he would the first or last breath in his lungs. The common man never questions the source of miracles, nor how they are paid for."

-Unknown

Letters From the Gods Volume 114

The Cherub

The world could be thought of as a sea of specific and occasionally non-specific places, wrapped tightly in the threads of mundane existence were the means to access them if properly trained. Yamma was too 'young' to really understand the ins and outs of how such things worked, and realistically she shouldn't have been allowed to access this travel at all- the Collective had assigned her to a charge; she was meant to be with Amaranth, not wandering the world.

But the goddess Isira had pulled her aside for a moment after Amaranth touched her and consigned their agreement. That moment was a specific moment in the world of non-specific ones that mortals existed within. It wouldn't hurt Amaranth, but still- it had been a show of defiance, a failure of duty. Yamma would surely be punished if the Collective found out. Or, dare she think it, the Holy Elisandra Herself.

Yet, for all her concern for her charge and herself, she couldn't help but be fascinated by Isira's presence. Even outside of this dingy little plaster and wood home, She lit up the area around Her like a beacon. Amaranth by comparison cast off a candle's glow in her mind. Yamma still hadn't composed herself into a physical body yet- no sense in scaring the locals, but she was getting ready to when Isira knocked on the door to the house. Strange. Why would She?

The answer came a moment later when an attractive looking older woman opened the door with a walking stick in one hand and a basket of gardening tools in the other. Her brown hair was bound loosely behind her head and long strands hung down either side of her age-rounded features, almost concealing the spots where her eyes should have been. Yamma could tell instantly that her eyelids concealed no bulge like most of the humanoids she'd encountered. Even so, the woman's eyes remained closed as if she was going out of her way not to scare people but she was too proud to wear a mask.

The way she wore her field dress and blouse marked her as a worker of some sort, but she still carried herself as if she was the best worker. . . .person she could be. Maybe it was Amaranth's abiding respect for inner strength or her own growing awareness of her own tastes, but Yamma liked her instantly.

Even as the brown haired woman opened the door she was starting into some rehearsed speech with a gentle lilt. "Don't get many visitors unless their looking for alms or trying to make me 'see the light,' so lemmie warn you up front, I'm broke and the last thing I saw got me so hot and bothered I never wanted to see again, so the bar is set pretty high if you're trying to surprise me."

Isira actually stalled for a second before she chuckled. "In more polite circles that might be considered rude to rebuff a visitor, Leslie."

Yamma tuned out their conversation to her peripheral senses. Something was off here. This Leslie woman radiated an aura, not quite divine in nature but there was a faint touch of natural magic to her. It glowed vines up her spinal column and in the back of her brain, a soft purple radiance that the cherub felt a certain pull from. Like a long lost connection to a world that had long since ceased to exist. In the world of mortals, this woman, this farmer? She was a specific place. How was that possible?

Isira was mid-sentence when Yamma turned her attention to the two again. "-I am willing to imagine things for you and you're ready to throw them away already?" She tutted. "Hardly fair."

"I have a great imagination," Leslie said casually. "Like right now I imagine you meandering down the road to the Kettle and getting drunk before you go around pretending to be a goddess. At least then people will write you off as being sloshed instead of insane. Won't that be fun?" The woman turned back into her house. "And tell your friend that leering over your shoulder isn't doing your case any good."

Yamma startled for the first time in her comparably short existence.

The door slammed.

Isira looked at the door for a moment and then spared Yamma a glance. Her angular features turned a little sour, mildly irritated and somehow proud. She spoke with a faint bemusement. "Little Keiter, what have you brought me this time, hm?"

"She's different." Yamma dared express. "She can see me. . ."

"Indeed she can, and somehow not me."

"Maybe you should demonstrate to her? I- forgive me, goddess, I ha-"

"We've talked about this, dear. Call me Isira if you must call me anything." The goddess eyed the woman's home thoughtfully, smiling a touch as She did so. "I like her, she's going to be fun. Do you know how long its been since I had fun with someone?"

For some reason that stung and Yamma couldn't figure out why. "I should get back to my charge-"

"Before you go," no sooner did the words leave Her finely sculpted lips than both She and Yamma were in the mortal's home. A tired looking place coated in a thin layer of dust and decorated by clothing hanging on the walls- and a jar of ashes spilled on the floor. The ashes had a human tint to them. . . Odd.

Leslie stiffened and wheeled on the new visitors with her walking stick raised in a pathetic show of defense. Her posture was sloppy and loose, she was about as threatening as a blade of grass but Isira stayed out of her swing range all the same. "I am not easily offended, you know. Every once in a while I find someone that can push that boundary, though-"

"How'd you-"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Leslie, you can relax."

The mortal 'watched' the two intruders warily, somehow tracking Yamma as she shifted her presence side to side. A very strange mortal indeed. "Your friend looks kindda jumpy- let's keep things friendly, huh?"

"Yes, cherubs always have been a little disconnected and curious. If not, they'd not be able to fulfill their function! But rather than bore you with the details, I'd like to talk to you about that necklace you're wearing. . ."

Leslie clutched her staff a little tighter. "This is where I say something like I don't know what you're talking about, or how about 'get the hell out of my home'? That sounds pretty appropriate, too."

Isira shifted Her presence towards Yamma. In a stage voice She murmured. "I think she fears I'll do her harm, what say you, little one, would I-"

"Not helping your case! Listen, you had a joke at the blind woman's expense, har har now for your sanity and my sake, kindly piss off, yeah?"

"Tch," Isira tutted. "Let's try this again; Keiter brought you to me- quite agreeably- and I'm here to make a proposition. . ."

That stopped Leslie momentarily, eventually she settled her attention on Isira and pouted her lips. "I. . . .don't tell me. This was all some kind of con game, right? Boo hoo, I'm a helpless little elf in a big human world who-"

"Keiter is anything but an elf! For one, no pointy ears and a rather substantial endowment- some of my better work, I must say." When Leslie opened her mouth to retort Isira cut her off with a playful chuckle. "But then you'd know that better than most, hm?"

The woman blushed.

Not only did she blush, she went completely red.

Isira rocked back on Her sandal clad feet with a smug grin. "Yes, he can be rather persuasive when he wants to be. It's a shame I never could convince the woman who trained him to join me, but Sarah was always a bit. . . .damaged." She paused for effect. "So then, can we be friends?"

"I- I'm warming to it. . . .but if someone claiming to be a goddess showed up at your door, you'd be a little suspicious too."

The goddess chuckled ruefully. "I would be very, very suspicious indeed, but let's dispense with the pleasantries! I'm going to approach you slowly, and then you'll see what I'm trying to show you. Sound good?"

Leslie stiffened a little, easing her weight back. "I reserve the right to smack you in the shin if you try to hurt me."

"You would not be the first to do so, sadly!" In two feline strides She eased into Leslie's space and took the mortal's cheeks gingerly. Her presence swelled to encompass the room in warmth and that subtle kind of power She exuded. Isira let the room fill with Her presence until Leslie finally let go of the 'weapon'.

It clattered to the ground.

Yamma angled herself to a better position to watch. Leslie grabbed Isira's hands, opening eyes the purest silver grey the world had ever known. The little mortal stared up at Isira's face utterly lost in Her magnificence. In this slice of non-specific time the two women lost one another and became one spirit, Yamma could feel the shift of the woman from passive observer to active and willing participant in the exchange. The power they shared was just that- shared- with neither taking more than was freely offered and Isira, for Her part in it ensured the older woman had all she could handle.

It wasn't just a transfer of energies but a bonding of acceptance and new connections. They were having some private conversation that would never be spoken of in any language or by any tongue but within that conversation they shared a lifetime of stories, ideals, hopes and dreams.

But like anything, it too came to an end. Isira's presence shrunk to her physical being and She held the mortal. "I need a paladin. I like your application, so here I am! What do you say, hm? Up for the job?"

Leslie gaped, moments later she began to weep. . .

Yamma didn't understand why but Isira seemed to. She enfolded the woman in a hug as they sunk to the ground together. Awkwardness was a new sensation to the young Cherub, but she immediately disliked it; watching someone cry- itself an irksome, abstract concept to her- and not understanding why wasn't fair to anyone involved.

Not knowing how else she could handle the situation, she resorted to her first impulse: checking up on Amaranth. If Isira wanted help raising a paladin, She knew where to find Yamma. . .

Strangely, and not for the first time, the little cherub hoped She knew that, too.

#

Back within the specific world of mortal places- and at the specific place where Amaranth was expiring, Yamma reached through, manifesting her physical form with a soft crunch of gravel and muck being the only announcement of her presence. No fanfare, no grand statements of divinity. . . Just the quiet, woefully mundane grinding of rocks and bloody dirt.

It was almost sacrilegious in some non-specific way: she was the herald of a new cleric, an agent of the Holy Elisandra and not a single horn was blown for her.

"Hmph."

A pull at her divine senses dragged her attention to a prone, broken form splattered with blood and muck from the road-side ditch that served as its grave. The familiar, the candle that she'd been assigned, languishing like a dancer with broken limbs. Forgotten. Alone.

That thought bothered Yamma. She'd died alone, doing her duty to her lord and to her goddess. That much Amaranth had been prepared for, but the thought that she'd lost her unborn child to that duty- that an innocent, the life she had a hand in bringing up-

No.

Yamma stopped the swirling mass of thoughts exuded by the shell of Amaranth. The anguish and pain she could comprehend, but the complex torrent roiling around her from the dead woman was too much to handle. The cherub forced herself to center as she'd been trained to- she had a job to do and her time to do it was running out.

Dame Amaranth, the half-elven knight that couldn't have the one thing she wanted the most. Not yet, anyway. Judging by the gaping hole in her stomach- the one that had welled up and filled with coagulating blood even now, there wasn't much Yamma would need to reconstruct. Just enough to seal her up and get her body going again. The cherub communicated it to her Collective, receiving a light admonishment for being so tardy. She didn't dare explain why, even as they asked in unison.

Instead, Yamma touched the only muck-free spot she found on the dead woman's face. Her black glove flared briefly with blue energy that rippled through her entire core- the Collective's combined energies, each taken from their respective charge- flickered and swelled. Some of the Collective reported that their charge died but with so many clerics, the transfer was easy.

The bonding, however was anything but.

Amaranth's natural inclination, even now, was to protect. Her duke and lover, her child, her other lover. . . .all of these things she'd failed, all she wanted to do was protect herself now. As her body was forcefully restarted, as wounds mended with the collections of a hundred thousand other clerics and cherubs and as her final memories burned themselves into Yamma's own mind, the woman began screaming.

Yamma panicked. This wasn't supposed to happen. Mortals weren't supposed to be able to control themselves until the bonding was complete! Gods, was Yamma destroying her? Already?! Her first charge and she was going to destroy it already-

She almost stopped. She almost let the woman drop back down to the dirt. But Isira was beside her. The goddess touched her hand and without a word, held it to Amaranth's forehead as the Collective's power surged through the conduit within her. The screaming stopped a few moments after and an incredibly cold sensation blasted Yamma's hair back.

The cold was refreshing, it cooled her sweaty skin and froze the tingling in her extremities. The drain on her physical form was incredible but with this new sensation she felt as though she could go forever- she felt better than good. She felt safe. Was this what the Collective had meant when they'd spoke of a cleric's 'channel?'

It was common for Cherubs to be the first to experience a new cleric's ability to channel their divine gifts, sometimes it was pleasant- most often, it was horrifying. There were tales of cherub's physical bodies being reduced to a pile of sludge and still being forced to maintain contact to finalize the transfer.

It seemed Yamma had gotten off easy. Days burned themselves one after another in the forest- creatures came to claim pieces of the dead soldiers rotting on the path, giving Yamma and Isira plenty of breadth, when the flow of energy finally subsided and Yamma's white blouse was stained with sweat, Isira let her pull away.

The moment she was released she dissolved her clothing and replaced it with something clean, her hair and skin following suit quickly thereafter. Amaranth's traits were already asserting themselves and Yamma did not want to make a bad first impression on her first charge.

But then she looked at the broken half-elf laying there, looking up at the sky with unblinking eyes. The horror of her last moments replayed endlessly in her mind but there was something off, something wrong. Yamma didn't understand the significance of the child swirling about Amaranth's mind. Protecting the duke, protecting the other man she slept with? Understandable. The child. . .

That was probably irrelevant. She'd failed her duty in her mind, but that didn't make any sense. "I don't understand. . ."

"Hm?" Isira cooed as combed the dead woman's hair back. Even with the mud and viscera, She stroked Amaranth's hair back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"A child was involved. She held a child close to her body, above failing the men she loved, she feels she failed her the most." Yamma eyed the goddess warily. "The thing you spoke of through me when I met her. Her daughter."

Isira sighed, "She would have been such a wonderful mother." After a moment She added. "She had dreams of becoming a member of the elven council, to build relations between the races- fitting, really."

"I don't understand what a child has to do with that. She's meant to guide and educate," Yamma paused momentarily. "It was her daughter who was going to become the council member, wasn't it?"

"Who knows?" Isira stood with a flippant smile. "Even I can't see the future- but don't tell anyone that."

"It's unnecessary, then." Yamma approached her charge, reaching for the woman's forehead.

"No."

"No?"

"No." Isira said firmly. "Don't rob her of her memories- don't compel to be silent about this. . ."

"But-"

"I know your collective will say it's necessary, but there are benefits to leaving her as pure as she can be- the girl's spirit is strong, if you give her a purpose worth fighting for, she will give you everything she can and then find more." For a goddess of pleasure, Isira's straightforwardness surprised Yamma a fair bit. But She wasn't done. She strolled to the little cherub and cupped her cheeks.

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret. . . No one will punish you if you break the rules a little. You need to experiment and try new things if either of you are going to be satisfied." The goddess glanced up briefly, a sly smile crossing her pouted lips. She leaned in, purring in Yamma's ear. "I'll show you something you can only have if you leave her soul as it is."

"W- I don't-"

"One day. . . One day when you're both comfortable, you will experience passion through her skin. You'll know what it's really like, and you will cry my name with her voice."

"A- Are you- are you trying to bribe me?"

"Mmm, food for thought." She pulled back, winked, and then vanished.

Yamma frowned in the chill left by the absence of Her presence. Not because she was upset by the 'offer' but rather because she was tempted by it.

#

Experiment. . .

Experiment?

Why not?

Yamma stood over her charge calmly. Her pupilless white eyes scanned over the bloodied knight while she rifled through the woman's thoughts in kind, trying to understand the choices she'd made in her life, the triumphs and the regrets. Most of it was irrelevant garbage to her ordered mind; snippets of time loosely organized in some deference to the world around her. After all, she was only an elf-blooded woman. She couldn't possibly effect change except by leading by example. Both human and elves would come to respect someone that didn't beg for or demand equality-

Yamma quickly got bored of the diatribe. The opinions of mortal races were anything but relevant to the goings on of the larger world- obviously, or Amaranth would have been able to talk down the dragon's agent instead of dying at the monster's hands.

No, this was going to have to change. But before that, there was something else that nagged at Yamma as it had Amaranth in life. The unruly mane of red hair splayed around her head like a halo of blood. It was an affront to a well ordered life and it was- had been- so damn unmanageable. It couldn't even be braided properly!

Experimentation, then, would start there; with something that bugged them both. So long as no one saw what happened. . . Yamma cut her link to the collective, citing 'training purposes' and crouched over the woman.

She was careful not to muddy her boots or her suit, lifting a strand of hair experimentally. She drew from Amaranth's natural energy to shape it into all manner of different things, tugging one way and another trying different styles. Once infused, it melded smoothly as wet noodle while conserving as much of the woman's soul as possible. Yamma turned it black, brown, white, gold- then started cycling through every color Amaranth had ever encountered. In the space of a moment she settled upon a flaxen color that framed the side of the woman's face in a gentle light.