Chapel Orahamm's Blog, page 11

Subgalaxia: Ch 19

Lights played across the fogged-up back windows of the car.  It smelled of cheap spirits and cigarette smoke. He was curled up under a thin blanket.  He had kicked off his shoes, and his toes were cold from the holes in his crusty socks. Melody had finally relented and let him use her as a cushion.  Da was driving. Mum was asleep in the passenger seat, her antique book of prayers lying open under her hand. It was late. They had been in the car all day.  Everything they owned was in the boot. They were heading for the channel crossing.

He was not sure why they had left all of a sudden.  All he knew was that his parents had promised curry out if he didn’t complain.  He’d guzzled his portion down quick enough. Now though, in the dark back seat, he was left thinking.  School had been all right. He was keeping up with lessons. His folks had something good going for once.  He thought they had finally settled down. They had said their new employer was letting them construct a new act they had dreamed of doing for years.  There had been enough money to put up the act and even got them in a nice apartment. He didn’t even share a room with his sister now. Or at least, did.  They’d probably be heading out to caravan with a bunch of other drifters in Romalga or Greko-Italia. It was mum and da’s tendency to jump ship and just carouse with a bunch of other free-spirited entertainers during the warm months and find brick and mortar housing in the winter months.

He watched flecks of ice slowly curl up in spirals on his window.  He did not want to move again. It was hard enough finding instructors who knew where to place him in dance and gymnastics classes from all his moving around.  They had been in the same school for more than five months. He had actually had pocket change in the last couple months to buy a chocolate or crisps every couple weeks.  It was a record. Could they have just stayed?

The anger drove at him.  Baited him. Bit into him and gnawed away at his gut.  He wanted to be a normal kid, with a normal family, and a normal education.  The night grew darker. The panel lights on the dash flickered. How could they move him again?  Kira shared her peanut butter sandwich with him yesterday. They had talked about reading the Hardy Boys.

Melody had cried herself to sleep against her window.  Her boyfriend of two months had asked her out to winter formal two days ago.  She had been saving up all her pocket money to pick up a white dress at the thrift store she had been eyeing since school started.  Did his parents not get it?

They lurched as the engine clanked.  Da peeled out, fighting the dead power steering, trying to get them to the side of the road safely.  Lights swamped the outside of the opaque windows, and the world suddenly slowed to finite detail. Glass shattered around him, and he went airborne as ice built up under the tires.  A semi came through the front and crunched the car until it was half its original size against the pile-on. It left Fane and Melody stuck in a coffin-sized space in the back seat, the metal warped around them.  Melody was unconscious, and he was left to watch blood drip down on him from overhead.

Fane released Dietrik and sank to the dull blue floor as he pulled them out of his memory.  His hands shook, and his body grew numb. Tears burned his eyes, and his stomach heaved. He stared up at Dietrik, horror and realization colliding.  He remembered. He hadn’t understood it then, but he could see every trigger with crystal clear clarity.

“I killed them,” he whispered in the dead silence as his stomach tried to come through his throat.  Corbin slid a bin to him as his empty gut produced too much bile. The smell of gasoline, motor oil, windshield wiper fluid and blood settled into the nooks and crannies of the space. His skin exuded the substance, leaving him smeared in black and red.  “Oh my god…” he slurred between heaves as the noxious odour tried to suffocate him from the inside out. “The road had been icy when there had been no storm. The theatre would go dark. The stage’s lights would blow. Half the time we had an electrician out fixing the fuzes.

“Days where the sewers flooded into the house because the rain was so heavy.  The rads never kept up. It was all there. Mum and da are gone because of me.” He swayed back and forth, his eyes losing focus.  

Ishan sank down behind him, gently holding on to his sides.  “Easy, easy, Fane. You’re right here. Stay with me,” he murmured.  He brushed back Fane’s hair from his clammy skin.

“How could I not know?” Fane shook.  He pulled his knees up to his chest, fighting to still the terror that flooded his system. The bulbs in the bridge burst, raining down thin shards of glass around the room. He buried his head in his hands, broken.

Ishan pulled his back to him, encircling his smaller frame protectively. Ishan glared up at Deitrik. “Fuck you, wolf. Happy now?”

Dietrik stood back, stunned.  He had not meant to drive the Shaman so hard.  He glanced at Bern who was confused at the variety of emotions that had transpired in the course of minutes.  “One of his earliest memories of his abilities,” Dietrik gulped as Bern eased out from behind the console and approached Fane.

“Let’s get him outside, Ishan.  The soil will let him root some of what he’s feeling, remember?  All right?” Bern soothed. “Meet us out there in a minute, Dietrik.  I need for you to tell me about the coming-of-age ceremonies for Red Hares.  Bring Cashia. He seems to have helped the white-haired boy during tragedy. He may be able to help.”  The orb was no grounding rod, no soil in which to absorb Fane’s emotions. Ishan pulled Fane up and followed Bern out of the bridge and down the cargo ramp to the shop floor.  The machinists looked up in surprise from their tasks.

“Anson all right?” Marsella called out from behind her welding rig.  Ishan nodded mutely to the woman as others noticed the commotion.

Bern hurried them through the hangar doors before a crowd trailed after them.  He guided Ishan past the field at the edge of the facility into the denser Florgia Everglades.  He pointed him to a soft, damp spot of earth under a palm tree. Ishan knelt down and carefully deposited Fane, who had gone listless.

“Memories can be incredibly intense and painful for us, Ishan.  Reliving them isn’t softened by time. It’s there and you’re there like it’s happening to you in the moment it happened.  Emotions from them can infiltrate and wind about the emotions you’re experiencing now. Corbin explained it to me like this: Red Hare are like two-way streets.  Where as you and I, we are more similar to a one way street with permissions for direction change. We can take in and put out across skin. Red Hare can take in and put out through skin contact and through the environment around them.  That produces and consumes an incredible amount of energy. He has overloaded. You will most likely learn more of this in time. You show the White Horse talent at a very small degree. He needs to be led through his memories, soon, before he becomes completely undone.” Bern took one of Fane’s limp hands and buried it beneath the wet soil, pressing firmly until water oozed around the prints.

Ishan mimicked Bern with Fane’s other hand.  Fane instinctively burrowed his hands further into the cool damp ground.  His hair fell around him to curtain him from the world. He breathed in the scent of rich decay and allowed the cold to run up his fingers and forearms to wash across his triceps and shoulders.  It slammed into the back of his skull like an icepick and all his emotions dulled.

“White Horses can absorb and pass emotions.  During our coming of age ceremonies, we introduce the components of what makes up a White Horse’s void.  Freshly tilled ground in early spring under a clear sky near frozen water has always been prescribed for that transition.  Legends of Red Hares tell of similar issues, that Red Hares needed the touch of the trees and the sea to take the brunt of it.  It gives them somewhere to put too much when they can’t store any more.

“This is the closest I know to helping him.  He’s swung between sorrow, interest to lust and trust to terror and anger. I don’t know what he’s capable of right now,” Bern admitted as they sat back to watch and wait.

“What happens during a coming-of-age ceremony, Bern?” Ishan asked as they watched Fane tunnel his fingers through the dirt.  The redhead fixated on the blades of grass and rotting leaves that littered the soil around him. His trembling was coming down, but he wasn’t quite there with them in that moment.

Bern pulled his hair back in a nervous tick.  He tilted his head and studied Fane, sighing. “My first wife’s mother and I conducted my son’s.  It doesn’t feel like that long ago now. I left him when he was expecting his first child,” Bern turned to smile sadly at Ishan.  “He’s dead now, and you’re one of his many times great-grandchildren. It doesn’t feel right.” He brushed a tear from his eye, leaving behind a trace of mud on his cheek.

“Son?” Ishan blinked at the man in surprise.  Bern nodded with a wistful smile. “I’m sorry, Bernard.  I didn’t know.”

Bern shrugged.  “It is what it is.  Now I’m here, and I know he made something of himself.  Anyway. Coming of age ceremony,” Bern shifted into a more comfortable position to watch Fane.  He hoped this discussion would not distress the man further. He had clearly been through enough.  “When White Horses start showing signs that their abilities are developing, we set them down for their markings.  Long sessions of tapping red ochre into their skin. It’s sacred to us for encouraging the memory walk. We begin with the low bar at the back.  It’s to introduce the concept of fear. White Horses are often marked around their tenth or eleventh year. That first year is the mark of pain, the mark of anger, and the mark of fear.  The following year is the void, which is a shorter line from the midribs on the left to the right upper shoulder. After that year is memory, from the lower rib on the left to the mid rib on the right.  Lastly is emotion, the long one that wraps from the front of the left hip up to under the lower rib on the right.

It’s significantly easier to do this with children.  They have so few memories to traverse, so few painful and angry moments of consequence that it is easy to bear the brunt of their rovings.” Bern laid the back of his hand against Fane’s arm.  “Still too hot,” the Fyskar muttered.

Ishan followed his example. Fane’s skin was burning to the touch. “Does he have a fever?”

Bern shook his head.  “In a way. He’ll be fine in a couple hours, hopefully.  I remember Eoin doing this shortly before his ceremony. He was playing with Bercilak and Osla.  Magaidh was supposed to be keeping an eye on them while they were down at the shore searching for cockles.  Cathal, Eoin’s cousin, joined in with them. Don’t know what they were doing, but he opened to them and ended up drowning in too many emotions.  He had a breakdown similar to this and ended up sitting on the beach well into the late evening. That’s when Magaidh told me it was time to mark him.  My own mother and grandfather had marked me, but I didn’t have many memories about when it started,” Bern reassured.

“What does marking do, though?  He’s been practically flayed already,” Ishan murmured quietly.

“Because of how rare White Horses are, and because they occur within families, it is the family’s responsibility to help guide the young ones through dealing with their memories, emotions, their void.  The marking causes us to enter a trance-like state where we can encounter our life and all it has been up to that point. This lays our life out like a tapestry, extensive and encompassing. It gives us the full picture of our life.  Seeing it spread out in front of us gives us focus, defines our void’s shape and provides boundary walls for our emotions.  

“Usually the oldest of the lineage, the one with the most life experience, holds onto the initiate as they work through their life tapestry and the other family member taps.”

“But he’s not White Horse,” Cashia greeted them.

“No, he’s not.  I’ve never met a Red Hare before Fane.” Bern looked up at Dietrik and Cashia coming into the forested nook they had found.

“The girls got the mechanics to leave back to the warehouse.” Dietrik sat down quietly next to Bern.  “Glad to see he’s siphoning just fine.” He nodded to Fane.

“Siphoning?” Bern asked.  He had not heard of that term before.  “We call it grounding,” he offered.

“Different concept.  He’s taking in the cold of the earth and letting it numb him from the inside out.  Glaciers work best, honestly. Deep freeze. White Horses are a spring creature. Red Hare are winter for coming of age. White Horses ground. They push their emotions out until they are hollow and empty.  He hasn’t let go of his emotions; he’s just masking them, covering them in something to make them bearable right now. He will come back to them when he can process them.  He may or may not remember much of today.” Dietrik glanced at Ishan then looked away.

“He’s drowning out the pain?  Like getting drunk or high?” Ishan hissed.

Dietrik shrugged and nodded.  “Less destructive on the body, but yeah, pretty much.”

Ishan let out a low his of frustration and anger.  Fane glanced up, his vision unfocused. “I’m still here, Ishan,” he reassured, though his words were slurred.

“He looks and smells like a machine shop.  What did you do to him, Dietrik? The Shaman is brittle as it is,” Cashia bristled.

“Had him confront a bit of his past after a volley.  He brought some of it with him. Wasn’t my best move.” Dietrik ducked the concession. 

Cashia dragged in a disdainful lungful of earth-drenched air and let Yeller take over “Leave you alone for half a minute, and you go sticking your foot in your mouth all over again!  Swear the next time, I’ll sew that trap shut. Should have let Nat break your ribs in Dallas. Maybe you’d remember after that,” Yeller muttered at Dietrik.  He squatted down next to Fane, who had returned to staring at the ground. He eased a hand on Fane’s back, keeping the touch gentle. The Shaman’s skin was burning to the touch.  He let out another exasperated sigh. “Fane?” he asked gently, trying to direct the man’s attention.

“Hmm?” Fane shifted, pulling his hands from the mud.

“You all right?” Yeller checked Fane’s eyes.  They had dilated to massive black orbs.

“I don’t think I could ever be.  My parents, my sister, Zephyr, Chief…” His fingers trembled, muddy water dripping from the tips.

“You are here and in the now, Fane.  Come back to the now,” Yeller persisted in an even, neutral tone.

“Why didn’t I remember until now?” Fane asked him, tears crowding, pouring down his cheeks.  A fine hiss of rain pattered the canopy overhead.

“I want you to breathe with me, Fane.  You need to centre yourself in the here.  Can you do that with me? Look around and find me five things you can see.” Yeller eased down next to Fane and took his hands.  He pulled in a breath as example, never letting Fane waver from his eyes. He let it out and encouraged Fane to slowly release his breath.

“The tree, the sky,” Fane breathed out in mimic of Yeller as he glanced about the grove, “butterfly, grass, mud.”

“Good.  Four things you can touch.”

“Your hand.  My hands are muddy; I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“Three more things that you can touch, Fane,” Yeller refocused him.  They continued the countdown with three things he could hear. Slowly, through this process, the oil disappeared from his skin.  Two things he could smell. His breathing and heart rate had steadied. What the inside of his mouth tasted like. The heat dissipated. 

“Your memories will come back to you in time, and you will have to walk through them like you are right now.  I won’t say it’ll be okay. It hurts like hell, and it’s not gonna be pleasant,” Yeller motioned for Ishan’s hand.  Ishan extended it, taking Fane’s muddy hand in his. “When you need to talk, we are here. Tell us when you need help and when you just need to let everything out.  Sometimes having a safe place to rant is a good thing. When you find these memories, you need to work through them and have someone with you.” Yeller eased Fane’s other hand into Ishan’s.

“You have not been put through your coming-of-age, by at least twenty years now,” Cashia took over for Yeller.  Ishan glanced at the wheat-haired blonde, nervous that this would set Fane off again.

“Tattooing, like Bern’s to cause me to go into a trance,” Fane replied back in monotone.  Ishan swallowed hard in the silence.

Dietrik and Cashia glanced at each other and then to Bern.  The white-haired man looked between the two pensively. “You didn’t mark them with red ochre,” Bern accused.  Cashia shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting across Fane’s shoulders. Ishan followed that nervous draw and turned to Dietrik for his own reaction.  He was trying to avoid looking at everything but a fuzzy unnamed spot in the distance. His skin had sallowed. “Dietrik?” Bern pressed after an uncharacteristically long silence from the two glendwellers.

“Glendwellers were slaves to the Bai.  It’s not like I knew all the intimate details of their lives.  I’d rather…” he swallowed hard, reaching for one of Fane’s hands.  Bern stilled it before he could touch. The man looked up at him in horror.  “Take it, Healer. I cannot say it.” Dietrik held his hand out to Bern. Ishan glanced at them uneasily as Bern took Dietrik’s hand and pulled him into the void.

They were silent for many minutes as they waited for the two.  Fane’s trembling had stilled as he waited for the two to come back to them.  “Would you even want a coming-of-age ceremony? You might share the lineage, but…”Ishan drew out.

“Would it help me control this?” Fane turned the question to Cashia.  A muscle twitched across Cashia’s cheek when he nodded as answer. “I’d rather not injure someone unconsciously with these abilities.  Especially you, Ishan. I know I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I froze you or shocked you or something. I need to get this tamed.”

Cashia had turned a pale shade of green as he listened to Fane.  He shifted uncomfortably at the admission and glanced back at Dietrik and Bern pointedly.  He ground his teeth.

Bern let out a long tirade of Scottish-Gaelic as he came to.  He dropped Dietrik’s hand and got up to pace. Ishan followed the restless man’s movement through the woods as he stomped and kicked his way through the leaf-litter.  Fane turned to Dietrik, pinning him under a contemptuous gaze. “Do I wanna know?”

Dietrik grimaced and stood.  Fane snaked a hand out and grabbed Dietrik’s forearm.  He dived in uninvited and took what he wanted. He clearly wasn’t getting the answered he needed, and he wanted an end to this quandary now.  He wanted at least one day back to a predictable normal. He was done with the ups and the downs.

He landed hard in a thicket of briars against a massive pine.  The earth smelled of cedar spice and fern. He peeled his eyes open and glanced around at ground level, taking in the detail of dried pine needles and a microcosm of ants making their way through the thorns.  He glanced around silently, trying to spot Dietrik in the gloom. There was no sign of him. He waited quietly for any tell. He laid down as flat as he could and made to wiggle his way out from under the thorns.  On the opposite side of the briar he shook himself off, only then realizing that he occupied the wolf’s body.

This was not where he was meant to be.  He was supposed to be in some far-off spot in China if memory served.  Instead, if he was going to take a flying guess, he would place the woods somewhere in a cooler region of Europe.

“You are not entirely wrong,” Dietrik responded to him.  Fane turned quickly in an effort to place the voice resonating through him.

“Where are you, Dietrik?” Fane demanded as he started trotting down a game path.  His sense of smell was driving him mad. He picked up rabbits and ravens, frogs and salamanders.  The rot of a tree held a nest of termites. He couldn’t even begin to define the number of pollen sources just within ten feet of himself.

“In a way, in you.  Your capacity to thought-steal has back fired on you.  You are strung too thin to direct the demand. Release the wolf body and try again,” Dietrik offered.

“Crud.” Fane shook himself once more.  He tried to relax. He circled. He sighed.  He scratched at a spot under his ear and closed his eyes.  The forest was dazzling. He was distracted. A weight settled across his shoulder and he found himself being dragged through suffocating layers of thick darkness to be deposited on Bern’s shores.

He gasped for air, coming to in his own body.  He looked up at Bern towering over him, a frown creasing the white-haired man’s brows.  “Bern?” Fane dragged in another breath.

“Never had to pull an entire being out of another man’s thought’s before.” Bern stared down at Fane.

“Hopefully, never again. That was terrifying,” Fane admitted.

“Felt weird.  Wouldn’t suggest trying it,” Bern supplied as he made his way over to his beloved log seat overlooking the ocean.  Fane rolled over in the sand and pulled himself to his feet. He sat down next to Bern and watched the waves.

“What did the Bai do to the Red Hare?” Fane finally asked.

“Extensive branding.  They looked like they wore hard leather.  It was crude. They would brush charcoal into the wounds to color in the stripes,” Bern gulped, trying to fight off the lump of fire sitting at the base of his throat.  The shoreline fell into silence as the two men sat staring at the waves, wrapped in their own thoughts.

“When?” Fane dragged out the question from the depth of his soul.  Bern glanced at the man, startled.

“About six years of age.  I couldn’t watch for long.  Dietrik had helped hold the boy down.” Bern twisted his fingers together as a shudder ran up his spine.

“I meant…” Fane couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.  He was having a hard enough time imagining committing himself to such an outlandish practice.  To have it performed on a child?

“You would go through with it?” Bern flung a stone out into the waves.  It skipped a beat before sinking.

Fane shrugged.  What was another row of scars.  He was already covered. “Have Sophia do it in the infirmary where it can be done in a sterile environment.  She’s a doc, after all. Dietrik can cough up the pattern. Then I can get over this thing and get some control.  Goal, right?” Fane’s smile wobbled on his lips. His heart pattered in his chest and his skin was going clammy at his false bravado.  “It’ll – it’ll let her set up her sensors and all that jazz.” The redhead left to pace to the water’s edge.

“They did it all in the course of a day.  You sure about this, Fane? There’s gotta be other ways,” Bern offered.  Fane turned to him, seeing the fear in the man’s eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned back to the lapping waves.  “It’s torture!” Bern shouted. Fane flinched at the statement, all too aware of the memories that begged to be released at the edge of his own mind.

“Same as the tattoos, Bern,” Fane countered.

Bern came up short, rising from his log.  “It’s tradition!”

Fane turned to flash a dismissive glance at the White Horse.  “As was it for the Red Hare,” he played devil’s advocate.

“I’ve seen your scars, Fane Anson.  I’ve seen how you came about them,” Bern hissed.  

Fane watched him pensively.  “I thought that was the point here; make me bleed out all my fucked-up memories and get to the root of my problem?”

“I won’t be the one to put you back in chains!” Bern hissed and gained on the bodyguard.

“What is your problem with me, Bern?  You walk around me half the time on egg shells.  The other half of the time you tell me things you know will break me.  Outside of almost freezing your ass once, what have I done to you to get so under your skin?  Is it ‘cause Corbin and Sophia pulled you out of your own timeline, and you didn’t get to watch your son grow up?  Now you have to babysit some half-loon with hoodoo voodoo powers that can’t get a simple grasp on his own emotions?” Fane threw back at Bern.

Bern came up to look him in the eye, their noses almost touching.  Fire smoldered in the green depths. Fane didn’t dare look away. Heat and a burning desire pushed at him, wrapped up his spine and made him suck in his breath.  It wasn’t his. “You look the spitting image of my first husband. Your very void is shaped similar to his. I’m not sure how, but you are related to him in someway.  There is no other explanation.  

“That goddamn call of yours is practically blasphemous.  I feel him under my skin every time you do it. For my own sanity, I want you to get control of yourself more than any other creature in that warehouse.  I’ve been trying damn hard here to not get my personal feelings mixed into this, but the thought of seeing you laying there, going through with this, is like watching Rory dying of plague all over again.” Bern breathed hard as tears threatened at the corners of his eyes.

Fane took a step back in surprise.  “Jeez, Bern, I’m – I’m sorry, man. I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

Bern waved him off and made his way back to his log.  Fane stood quietly on the beach, unsure of what to do for the man.  He sank into the damp sand and watched the tide roll in the quiet dusk of Bern’s void.

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Subgalaxia: Ch 18

“Labrat!  Grab you’re sticky dots and your laptop.” Fane leaned into Sophia’s office.  Sophia, as usual, was buried up to her shoulders in charts and reports. Fane figured she was the reason for deforestation.  Corbin popped his head out from beneath a different desk in the room. Fane raised a confused eyebrow at him. “I don’t care if you’re there, Corbin, unless you can find me a strap, cup and a mouthguard – make that double.  Whoever’s on the receiving end probably doesn’t want to deal with a dentist today. Just wanted Bern to help me with an experiment and didn’t want for you to miss out on it and start throwing charts at me later.” Fane grabbed up the canvas bag that contained Sophia’s sensor material.  Sophia scrambled at the prospect of Fane willingly doing an experiment of any kind. Fane muttered under his breath at her excitement as she dashed out after him. Corbin’s footsteps followed them shortly after their exited.

“What are you doing, Fane?” she asked.

Fane shrugged and twitched his jaw.  “Need Bern,” he grouched as he walked down to the infirmary where the White Horse had been recently.  Aside from Sven and Yeller, no one else was in the rooms.  

“Need something, Fane?” Sven asked, curious as to why the Red Hare had come in.  

“Looking for Bern.” He waved as he left the door.  Corbin motioned to Fane. He was rather surprised that Corbin had found him what he needed.  

“He left with Ishan out to the bridge!” Yeller called back through the closing door.  Fane gave him a thumbs up and headed out of the living area to the spaceship side of the warehouse after dropping into the bathroom for a minute with Corbin’s proffered materials.  He clambered up the ladder into the main bay area of the ship and trampled through the choriddors and up several flights of stairs to the bridge. Sophia and Corbin trailed after him, more and more curious by the moment.

They were greeted by the glendwellers, Bern, and Ishan mingling in the bridge.  They all glanced up, wondering what Fane wanted them for. Fane waved over Bern and set the canvas bag down on a console.  He drew in a breath and set his jaw. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his pants as Sophia pulled out her materials.  Corbin started layering him with sticky-dots, and Sophia started typing on her computer.  

Bern walked over. “That was an awful nice rain storm back there.  Kids told me they haven’t seen that kinda downpour in almost a year?” Bern tilted his head to regard Fane.  

Fane helped with the sticky dots on his chest.  He was getting better about remembering where they all went. “Tell me about these legends, Bern,” Fane dismissed the hidden question.  So the rain was his.

Bern regarded Fane quietly for a minute.  He had wondered how long it would take before Fane would come to him asking.  Bern flicked a glance to Deck and cocked an eyebrow. “You lived through them.  I just heard legends. I know them as warriors of Macha, Badb, and Nemain,” the Fyskar conceded to Dietrik.

“Red Hare, shaman, storm-bringer, thought-stealer, beasts of the inferno, peng niao, rwa-dun, carnyx, bowman, sacred priests and priestesses of the Mor-Rioghain,” Dietrik supplied more phrases.  Bern raised an inquiring eyebrow. Dietrik smiled, all fangs showing. “At one point, Healer, there were mares just as powerful as stallions if not more so. Your clan was coming to an end long before they vanished in the 17th century.  

“Nat is only partially able to command a few of his abilities.  I’m making an assumption here, but I feel he never would have discovered these if not for our occupation.  He will never be able to do what Fane can do, but he already shows the ability to thought-steal. He told us of Raphael’s death that he only discovered through it.

“I see no reason that Fane will be unable to also do this with practice.  As it is, Ishan has a drop or two of Bai blood, and has shown an ability to direct Fane’s void at least once. Signs of a Healer.” Dietrik turned to survey Ishan.  The prince looked at him in surprise. Fane nodded, following along with his own suspicions.

“So, what could the Red Hare do then?” Fane pressed as Sophia began the intensive process of syncing up all the transmitters on his skin.

“Dietrik’s gonna give you some kind of Ghandi crap.  From what I’m getting from his interpretation you’re essentially an elementalist and a telepath with a broadcasting ability. Hydrokinesis, aerokinesis, pyrokinesis, fulgurkinesis, dark and light, space and time.  You got the whole D&D package deal.” Deck smiled amiably before Dietrik took over for him, a bit disgruntled. “Your emotions connect you to the elements, and with that, you are connected to the world. As you are already aware, ice associates with your anger.  Water is your sorrow. Heat is your joy. Fire is your carnal passion. Electricity is your fixation. Shadow is suspicion. Darkness is trust. Light is calm. Your void is your centre, though, unlike the White Horse, you can turn your void inside out, broadcast it out to everyone around you.  I remember a few of the great Red Hare were capable of calling for miles. Because of this, you can trespass into those you connect to in that space. As it is, you’ve been calling to everyone in the warehouse since you woke up this morning. We only got a break at about the time there was the deluge of Noah outside,” Dietrik pointed out.

Fane dry swallowed and glanced at Ishan. “Sorry.” 

Ishan shrugged and tried not to smirk. Fane buried his head in his hand and shuddered.

“You are untrained. It’s bound to happen,” Dietrik mimicked Ishan’s shrug.

“All right.  We have ice down pat.  We also have sorrow. That was earlier.” Fane ticked off his fingers.

“Joy, you heated the space up yesterday morning when you rediscovered you’re rope,” Ishan provided.

“You were also glowing about that same time, so we’ve got light,” Sun Hee added.

“I’ve seen Nat do shadows when he whooped Dietrik’s butt back in Dallas,” Zola murmured to Sun Hee.  The woman nodded at the comment and turned a thoughtful glance on Fane. “I don’t think I’ve seen him do it yet.  Maybe if we hadn’t all been in the void? Sophia, do you remember the bridge going dark or anything other than ice yesterday?” Sun Hee called over to the woman working on the terminals.

Sophia quieted her typing for a moment to think.  “Maybe? I mean, there was something like a power surge last night, but that could have been the electricity in the ship still being spotty.”

“I didn’t see fire when I told Fane to take Ishan out somewhere that didn’t burn,” Bern supplied.  Dietrik raised an eyebrow.

“No fire,” Ishan deflected.  Dietrik’s lips thinned in thought.

“Looks like you brought some equipment.  You wanting to learn what you can actually do?” Hana asked, curious.  Corbin had set the spare strap, cup, and mouthguard up on top of the console.

“Didn’t feel like diving back into my void.  That was dangerous last night. I wanted to be more present for the ice, or whatever I might end up doing this time.  Maybe figure out what sets it off out here rather than in there. Might come up with a more viable method for instigating the portal jumps if we can narrow this down.  Also, I’d rather not be telling the whole warehouse what I’m up to…or burning it down,” his cheeks burned at the admission. “Thoughts?” he asked, trying to drive the conversation past this embarrassing speed bump.

“Sounds like a bit of fun.  Wish Cashia could play. He’s our heavy-hitter and would have enjoyed a good bit of rough housing about this time,” Heinrich smiled eagerly.

“Cashia’s got a broken hand, and Sven is out.  So, who’s the next best hand-to-hand here?” Fane turned to the glendwellers.  Every finger pointed to Hana. Fane raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Hana?”

“No, Sylvi’s better than Sven,” Heinrich answered.  Fane hadn’t taken the time to figure out which one of the girls had which wolf.  So Hana was the one with the Norse warrior for a wolf. He had figured out the guys at least.  He still hadn’t expected them all to point at the raven-haired girl who looked like her bones were hollow.

“For the love -!” Fane cleared his throat.  “Let’s try that again, you imbecilic mutts. Someone who is not pregnant, shall we?” he rasped.  The glendwellers looked surprised at this comment.

“All due respect, Shaman.  I’ve fought before when expecting,” Sylvi growled, put off.

“Oh, no doubt.  You think quick.  And I’ll let you hand me my butt on a silver platter after they are born for being a chauvinistic asshole.  I’m not tempting fate and your mate and his host’s boyfriend right now. All right?” Fane bartered. He had seen how she moved in his void.  She was fast. He would admit that. He wasn’t about to have an entire pack of wolves breathing down his throat if he flubbed something and injured her or the children, though.  

“So that throws out Anastasia and Sibor then.” Sylvi shrugged.  Fane tilted his head in a way to say of course that goes without saying.

“Go with Heinrich.  His host actual does something with his body, so they can harmonize well enough.” Sylvi motioned to Benj, who bowed low.

“Harmonize?” Fane dodged a glance at Hana as she sidled up to him.  She was looking particularly round as her white t-shirt strained.

“Yeller figured it out first.  We can meet our host’s wavelength sometimes.  Cashia and him helped Nat. Nat harmonized with Sven and Tereza when he got pissed off at Dietrik for being a pig.  It’s how he got his own colourings. Not all of us have figured out how to do it yet. I’d bet you, if you give Benj and Heinrich an outlet for some pent-up energy they’ve had since Michael’s men, he could probably harmonize.  They’d be a good challenge together,” she smiled at the lean man across from her. Benj smiled back shyly. He wasn’t used to being praised for his martial arts ability by someone who wasn’t ringside.

Fane shrugged and nodded, appraising the man.  Sophia eyed Benj, suddenly curious. Benj returned that look with a glare.  “Not happening, Sophia. I am not turning into one of your science experiments,” Heinrich growled.  

Sophia threw up her hands in mock surrender.  “Whatever. I’ll come back to you later. All right, Fane.  We’ve got everything up and running!” She gave him a thumbs up.

Ishan walked up to him and set a hand on his shoulder.  “Know what you’re doing?” Fane shrugged, not really sure.  He slipped the mouthguard in around his teeth. “The grey monster?” Ishan lowered his voice, searching Fane’s eyes. 

Fane drew in a steadying breath. “I’m out here, not in there. We’ll find out,” he grumbled around the mouthguard.

“Tell me if you need me to get you out.” Ishan patted him once more before leaning up against the console.  Fane folded to the floor to stretch out.

Corbin handed Benj the other equipment he had brought along.  Benj nodded his thanks and left out of the bridge for a moment of privacy.  He returned back and pulled his shirt off. He jammed the mouthguard in against his teeth and worked the plastic against his molars.  He yanked his socks off and tested the surface of the blue orb.

Fane watched him, wary.  The kid flowed as he stretched.  He had seen him in the cafeteria.  Fane hadn’t gained a good appraisal of what he could do, though.  They walked over to the blue circle that marked Fane’s working area.  It wasn’t necessary that they had to do it there, but it felt like a decent designated area.

“No weapons,” Corbin called.  Benj held out his clenched fists.  “All right, hand-to-hand. Fane, you got anything else sharp hanging around?” Corbin asked.  Benj rolled the cuffs of his pants before squatting wide to check the stretch in the crotch and inseam. He tugged the cuffs up after his assessment.

“My wit?” Fane patted down his chest and his thighs like there would be something on his exposed skin and looked up at Corbin and shrugged.  

“Har har, jester.  What are we calling this?  Five minutes? Till someone’s down?  No killing the glendweller. We still want to know more.” Corbin pointed a warning finger at Fane.  

“You wound me, Corbin.” Fane smiled, exposing the black mouthguard.

“Benj?” Corbin turned to the man. 

“’Til one of us is on the ground,” one of his eyes was glowing.  Fane eyed him warily. That was probably a sign.

“Blue ring is field.  Don’t leave it or you’re out,” Corbin warned, taking on the challenge of playing ref happily.  Ishan shifted against the console, chewing on his bottom lip. Sylvi joined him. Dietrik, Sibor, and Anastasia sat down in the folding chairs behind the console.

Benj and Fane entered the designated ring.  They bumped fists and bowed to each other before backing up.  Benj dropped into a high guard, his hands up blocking and his arms a little flared out.  Fane watched, noting the marching stance and squared hips, the somewhat widened legs with feet almost perpendicular to each other.  His ribs and chest were open targets, bait. Fane narrowed his eyes. Muay Thai fighter with experience.

Fane swept his leg back and under him into a dancing ginga, keeping the corresponding arm parallel at his chin and shifted through cadeira to sweep his other leg as he gained a touch of distance.  He wasn’t eager to get an elbow to the kidney today, but Benj was going to prove entertaining at the very least. Benj pressed him with a false start. Fane eased out of the press with a quick twist and a macaco em pe that sent him out from Benj’s path.  He flowed, his movement never stopping as Benj kept his guard up. Fane chewed into the mouthguard, contemplating his opponent.

Benj shifted back to wait for Fane to throw out a kick or a hit.  He had seen a couple other people with similar moves to Fane at his underground ring before.  He hadn’t ever gone up against them. He was aware, though, after watching one guy get carried out on a stretcher for a batch of cracked ribs that his opponent was going to throw out just as powerful of kicks as he’d throw out knees and elbows.

Ishan glanced at Sophia’s screens.  Spikes were registering wildly. He returned his attention to Fane.  This was different from what Fane had done in the void. This wasn’t the stiffer dodging and throwing he had done with the glendwellers.  How many types of fighting styles did he know?

Benj decided to shift his press, leaning more weight into his front leg as he stepped into Fane’s space.  He landed a grazing knee, startled to almost lose his footing when Fane wrapped him up in a banda de costa.  Fane had felt that knee and knew his bicep was going to have a nice black line across it later. Benj pulled back to regain his footing.  Fane dropped into the rotating spin of a corta capin, driving Benj farther back.

Fane might be eager for hand-to-hand, but he appreciated the subtle build of the game over brute strength.  He wasn’t out to flatten Benj in a single cut, but rather drive his emotions until they could pin one of them down.  They entered the blue ring and found themselves on a board of chess. Calculation and intension flowed.

Another step in as Fane stepped out of the corta capin forced Benj onto his back after a swift underkick of a rasteira de costa took his ankle out from under him.  Fane stood up and offered a hand, pulling Benj back up off the floor.

“Who taught you capoeira?” Benj asked while Fane gave him a moment to regain his breath.

“Metre Luiz Machado was a brigadier on base.  He taught classes in the evenings and weekends,” Fane supplied.  “He practiced for twenty-eight years.” Benj nodded, sucking on his mouthguard as he replaced it.  “Where’d you learn Muay Thai? Your stance is superb, but your intuition needs help,” Fane asked.

“Learned from a patchwork of guys at an underground ring I’d contend in on weekends.  One of the guys took me under his wing and taught me a couple of things. I was more the opener than the lead, but I made a bit of money, so there’s that.  Practised at home and tried to figure the whole thing out,” Benj acknowledged his failings.

“That was you without Heinrich, then?” Fane asked.  Benj nodded, once again replacing his mouthguard. “Hmph,” Fane shoved his mouthpiece against his teeth and grunted non-commitally.  “Continue?” he mumbled around the plastic.

“Sure,” Heinrich smiled, flashing his mouthpiece in white.

They bumped fists again and returned to their starting positions.  Fane was surprised at the difference he could see between Heinrich and Benj.  His stance improved leaps and bounds.

Heinrich’s eyes tracked Fane’s sweeps intimately.  He was less willing to bluff, instead waiting patiently for Fane to enter his space.

The jerky movements from before stabilized.  Fane found the man to be much more competent, more brutal.  He caught a solid knee to the shoulder. It hadn’t been what Heinrich was aiming for, but Fane had dropped fast enough to block his ribs.

Fane’s skin tingled under this new development.  His eyes flashed silver on black as he watched and waited with anticipation.  He didn’t notice Sophia at the monitor eagerly pointing out more information to Ishan as the battle raged.  Ozone permeated the room. Sensors flickered and died on Sophia’s screen one at a time, racing up from the feet and hands.  Heinrich and Benj had become one with the challenge of a decent opponent, and with that came the teeth and claws. Benj spat out the mouthguard, the wolf teeth miss-shaping the plastic.  Fane checked himself, foregoing the headkicks he had been baiting with to open up Heinrich’s stance.

Bern and Dietrik shifted over to an unaware Ishan, ready to toss him at Fane.  The crackle in the room was building. The blue connection orb glowed and hummed underfoot as the electricity from Fane shot through it.  He rolled and span, legs looping in the air, electricity arcing with each movement as he dodged and lured Heinrich. The wolf sprang back from a front-hand spring to an ax kick that arced up to the ceiling beams, causing the lights to flicker.  

“Hold!” Dietrik bellowed before the last five sensors were about to go.  Heinrich bounced out of the ring as a burst of sizzling ozone punched through the space when Fane tried to root himself to the blue orb at the command.  His skin crackled audibly in the space. He swung his eyes to the lead glendweller. He was barely breathing heavy at the exertion. His eyes flickered excitedly.

“Need a new batch of sensors!” Corbin motioned Fane toward the console.  Fane looked down at himself and the peeling sensors. He went to touch a node, and electricity arched from it to his fingers and raced across the hair on his arms. He arched an eyebrow at Dietrik.

“Do you not notice that you’re doing that in the moment?” Bern asked from across the ring, wary of the smell of lightning.

Fane raised his arms up to look at his skin more closely.  He glanced down the length of his chest as the peach fuzz slowly continued to ripple with static.  He shrugged and yanked the ill-fitting mouthguard out. “How long was I all super-saiyan for?” He looked up, slightly amused at the situation.

Ishan approached Fane curiously and reached a hand out to touch his arm, “about half a minute”.  

Fane scooted away from the fingers.  “Have a feeling you probably don’t want to do that.” Fane smiled up at him, his eyes still set in their silver-on-black.  Ishan returned the smile and reached in regardless. A long blue arch laced from Fane to Ishan. The snap was painful to hear.  Ishan grunted, but pressed as the electricity spread and writhed between the two.

“That’s trippy but cool.” Ishan was amused with the skittering, visible electricity as he traced sparks across Fane’s skin.

Fane watched with rapt fascination as Ishan’s eyes shifted from their smooth amber to warm honey.  The bodyguard’s focus had swung with a predator’s fixation from calculated battle to desire, and Ishan was his new mark.  The world dissolved around him as they fell through a blue ring of light into Fane’s void.

Ishan glanced around at the dimmed room, not recognizing the location from Fane’s regular stage.  It took him half a second to realize it was the hallway outside of the ballroom in the palace. He turned to find Fane watching him steadily, hungrily.  The blood red and heavily embroidered gold kurta from the night of the party clung to defined muscle.

Gold bangles clinked at his wrist as he reached up to tunnel fingers into platinum blonde hair.  Ishan melted at the heat of the fierce kiss Fane returned to him from that one night.

Fane pressed Ishan up against the wall of the marble hallway, his hands finding every sensitive place and defined muscle.  Ishan’s skin was the texture of cream beneath his lips. Fabric scratched and slipped under his finger-pads as he traced and teased.  The high hit his system like a flamethrower.

“Tell me something I’ve wanted to know since that night,” Fane’s voice echoed rough and low in the quiet space.  Ishan’s reply strangled with need. “I looked into the colours, the jewellery, the embroidery that night when I left you.” He slipped buttons loose on Ishan’s kurta, exposing soft milk-tea skin to the dim light.  Ishan inhaled sharply, his eyes flashing open as his heart fluttered in his chest. Fane nipped at his collarbone, ever aware of Ishan’s reactions in the space.

“I don’t remember there ever being a question, and I don’t remember giving an answer, but it seems you were making a statement.” Fane eased the hem of Ishan’s kurta, skirting the edge of his draw-string churidars to play across tight skin.  “Does it still hold?” He glanced up at Ishan’s half-lidded eyes.

“You’re more to me than a passing fancy, or a bodyguard.” Ishan nipped at Fane’s ear as the redhead’s fingers travelled down to cup him gently.  

Ishan trembled in his arms, and Fane couldn’t help but smile knowing he could do that to this man.  “I’m drawn to you in a way I’ve never known. I want more time with you than I could ever have.” Fane brushed at the hardening length in his hand, pleased with the broken groan from his prince.

“Marry me, Fane Anson,” Ishan demanded, leaving no room for a question at his intention.

“If you’ll have a hood rat, gladly, Ishan Orlov.” Fane slipped the knot loose on Ishan’s churidars. The hallway spun away to leave them floating in darkness.  Fingers dances across skin, pressing and pushing as heat barreled around them, searing their hearts. They lost themselves to sensation as they became one with each other.  Soon they could no longer tell where one started and the other ended. Clothing fell away, leaving them revelling in the texture of each other. Ishan arched as Fane’s nails trailed down his chest as he pressed in.

A nagging sensation tripped across his nerve endings as Ishan wrapped tighter around him.  He couldn’t place it as silken heat encompassed him, and a heavy weight settled into the heels of his feet.  The numbing tingle of ecstacy ran across the webbing of his fingers. He was close, and the driving beat of Ishan’s heart and heat was calling to him, driving his craving to a scorching high.  A slash ran across his brain just as he hit the edge. They were in his void, not on the outside. What was this in here? It was with great difficulty that he extracted himself from Ishan’s mewling groans.

He dropped them out of his void.  They found their footing on the blue connector, Ishan’s caressing finger still trailing its path down his arm. The machine below their feet whirred frenetically.  Fane drew in a ragged breath as his eyes found Ishan’s. Fire licked across their skin where electricity had just been. It coated them in a soft wave of white and blue.  “How long were we out?” Fane whispered in the pitch-black room. He turned to search out Bern. As his gaze swept the dark room he took in the state of the glendwellers, Corbin, Sophia, before he locked onto the White Horse.  

“Bingo!  The door hit an activation sequence!  Wait…it’s not…it’s not holding, crap.” Sophia returned to her furious typing after her excited outburst.

The White Horse looked worse for wear.  He turned to plant himself behind the console before regarding Fane with barely concealed need.  “Not more than a couple of seconds.” Bern ran trembling fingers through his hair and tried to gain his breathing.

“Dietrik?” Bern turned to the quivering leader who was holding onto his mate like his life depended on it.  Feral glowing eyes met Bern’s question.

“I haven’t felt a call like that in centuries.  I almost wondered if I had been imagining it,” Dietrik growled between sharp teeth.

Fane glanced between the two with growing concern.  “Call?” Fane knotted his fingers with Ishan’s nervously.  The flames slowly receded with his sudden concern. The lighting lifted in the space back to the regular bright intensity.  He blinked up at the fluorescent lights, confused.

“I’m amazed at how much you are capable of doing in such a short period of time.  Let alone your complete inability before now,” Dietrik eyed Fane warily. Fane shifted uncomfortably at that accusation.  The destruction at Sanguis came to mind. “You would have shown potential at the age of ten or eleven, something, any one of these would have triggered then in short inconsistent bursts.  You can’t tell me you don’t remember ever being able to do this before. Your control is sloppy but incredibly strong for an unknown Red Hare lineage.” Dietrik came around Sibor and approached Fane with a line of frustration running through his shoulders.

Fane’s heart was in his throat.  The wolf’s eyes glowed brilliantly like headlights on a wet road at night, and he could feel the crawl of that gaze sweep down his skin like razor blades.  Fane subtly tugged Ishan behind him, the hairs on his arms rising at the approach of the leader. “What was it? What pushed you? Think to damn it!” Dietrik reached for Fane’s shoulder.  Fane’s fingers wrapped around the leader’s throat so fast no one registered what had happened. Shadows flared out and danced across the room as the room pitched and groaned under a sudden encompassing layer of ice.  Ishan and Dietrik plunged into Fane’s void.

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Subgalaxia: Ch 17

It was still dark out when Fane roused from a dead sleep.  He stretched and blinked. He had woken up two minutes before his morning alarm.  He had slept. He had really and truly slept solidly for once since before Melody had died.  No nightmares, no creatures, no interruptions. He glanced at the slowly lightening sky of pre-dawn through the slats of the blinds.  He turned to drink his fill of Ishan who was still sound asleep, his heart constricting. Ishan’s hair was falling around his face in waves.  He brushed at the strands gently and leaned in, tasting his lips. Ishan shifted restlessly, entering into semi-sleep.

Fane pulled him closer, nibbling along his chin and down his throat.  How had he ever been lucky enough to find this guy? He eased a hand up under the hem of Ishan’s shirt to trace along smooth lines.  Ishan finally opened his eyes just a slit, still groggy. “Morning?” he partially greeted, partially asked.  

“Good morning.” Fane kissed him gently.  

Ishan returned the kiss, beginning to warm to the invitation.  He groaned low in his throat. “It’s still night,” he protested.

“It’s 04:00.” Fane thought that was a legit excuse.

“It’s midnight.” Ishan pulled Fane in under his arm.  “Go back to sleep.” He laid his head back on the pillow.  Fane pulled his body closer to him and rubbed his head against Ishan’s shoulder before releasing his grip on the man.  He scootched himself out of the bed and pulled the covers up over Ishan’s shoulders. Ishan curled up under them, pulling them up to his ears.  Fane bent and kissed his head one last time before getting dressed for his run.

Fane eased out the door and made his way to the hall.  He felt light, like a plasma ball looking for somewhere to burn off its energy.  He hopped down the stairs and out the door to breathe in the crisp chill of the predawn air barely laced with humidity.  The smell of the earth was heady. He smiled and stretched his shoulders and back. This was peace.

Starting with an easy five-minute warm-up that took him from the compound and out to the highway, he  The three-miler turned into a five-miler before he knew it. The vacant houses kept moving past him, and the sun kept taking its time coming up.  His legs warmed to the rhythm, and his heart steadied to the beat of his body.

Sweaty, he returned back to the compound as the sun started glowing against low clouds on the horizon.  The sky dazzled a fantastic shade of orange and pink against the tree line.

Fane let himself into the warehouse.  Only one of the machinists had started at her bench already.  The warehouse was otherwise empty for the next half an hour or so.  He smiled. This was perfect.  

Heading out to the far end of the warehouse, where his rope was still strung up, he tossed his shirt in the corner and kicked off his shoes and socks before dusting his hands and feet.  A story, a line of thought, a concept brushed against his nerves. His senses were restless, and he just wanted to wear them out.  He flung the rope out wide, enjoying the sensation of flying, only supported by that single line. He rolled, hanging for a circuit before pulling his shape out into a crescent.  He could almost imagine wrapping himself around Ishan; the rope turned into his arms, his legs. He closed his eyes and let his body do the talking for his mind. He eased into the stretch of muscles and tendons with every contortion, the bite of the rope rubbing against inflamed skin.  The space warmed around him.

In frustration, he came down off of his line to pull off the bandaging from the day before.  Most had slipped and were getting in his way. A footstep caught his attention. Two other machinists had already joined the morning crew.  He recognized this footstep, though. As his feet touched down on hot cement, hands circled around his waist and drew along his abs, pulling his back against a warm chest. “Morning,” Ishan whispered in his ear hungrily, “you’re emoting all over the compound.  I could feel you from our room.”

Fane looked up, smiling.  “Finally awake?” he turned in Ishan’s arms.  

Ishan cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Now that it’s actually morning.” He pressed his forehead against Fane’s.  “Looked like you were having fun up there,” Ishan couldn’t keep from tracing Fane’s muscles along his back and hips.  

Ishan had come fully awake to the distinct sensation of fingers tracing over his legs and up his arms, lips trailing fire down his chest, hair sweeping across his stomach and hips, to be greeted by an empty room.  He had followed the trailing sensation down to the warehouse floor where he had found Fane suspending himself from the ceiling.  

The dance was slower than the modified version of Pan he had done before.  This one was much more free-thought, developing as Fane went. Ishan had watched the contortion, the twist of the back as it bent almost in half.  The chest had opened wide and lean, accentuating curvature. A dropped leg pulled the form again as the other foot came up to touch the back of the head.  He marvelled as Fane exposed his stretch, owned it, dreamed in it. He watched the shudder run through Fane’s body as the stretch deepened, elongated, curved, bent, folded, pushed and pulled.

Fane smiled slyly.  “Could show you what I was thinking?” he offered.

Ishan returned that sly smile.  He had felt at least half of what Fane was coming up with from way across the warehouse.  He wasn’t entirely sure that Fane was aware of what he was doing. His talents were developing rapidly.  Bern could connect two people through direct contact as a White Horse. Fane was a Red Hare though – the polar opposite.  He was broadcasting loud and clear to the whole building.

His emotions were wrapping around every heartstring beating, brushing, burning, inflaming, arousing.  The poor crew was going to come to a rude awakening and an awkward wet dream most likely. “Do we need to find our room first?” Ishan whispered, aware that more people were coming in to the warehouse now, and some were not the regular machinists.

Fane nipped at his jaw just below his ear.  “Only if you’re not an exhibitionist,” he untangled himself from his boyfriend and went to collect his shirt and shoes before pulling away his bandages and tossing them in the bin.  The gashes had healed to simple scabs.  

Ishan groaned and smirked.  He pulled Fane to his chest once more to whisper, “only when there’s rope involved.”  His boyfriend was the one being the exhibitionist at the moment. Fane was turning into a right tease.  

Fane trailed a finger up Ishan’s leg before detaching himself, his eyes laughing.  “I think that’s all I’ve been playing with this morning.”

“What’s got you in such an exceptional mood this morning?” Bern interrupted them from the shadows as they walked back to the middle area of the warehouse.  He had been much more keen on the intrusion in his sleep and had been watching the dance a while longer than Ishan had. Red Hares were amazing creatures, but this one was still young and untrained.  He was projecting everything. Bern’d have to find a way to point the predicament out and even more challenging, help Fane stop broadcasting.

  Fane snorted, and Ishan groaned again, leaning his head back in frustration to look Bern up and down.  Fane cocked an eyebrow at Ishan, who returned the movement. They approached Bern as they made their way to the door.  Fane tapped a hand against Bern’s arm. Slept well enough.  Corbin comes ‘round, tell him he better duck and cover if he interrupts my morning.  I’m in a good mood, and it better not change.  Fane eased just a touch of burning pressure and heat that had been wrapping his body up in knots that morning through the connection.  Bern felt the numbing blow to his lower gut and had to keep from buckling under the weight. His eyes went round at the feeling as air escaped his lungs.

There was a level of difference between Fane’s projection and Fane’s touch, and Bern had not realized it until that moment.  It was the difference between a needle and a claymore. What had the Fyskar clan lost when the Red Hares had died out? He turned his glance away from Fane and nodded his head, more than aptly getting the hint.  The snowman had flipped a switch from his exit the night before.

Fane walked a step behind Ishan, just far enough that the prince didn’t notice his boyfriend nabbing a bundle of rope from the supply shelf as they passed on their way to the stairs.  He tucked it into his back cargo pocket as they walked back to their room.

“Fane!” Bern called after him.  Fane dropped his head with a frustrated sigh and turned to glare back at Bern.  Bern jogged up to him and Ishan.  

“Bernard?” Fane hissed.  What was so important?  

Bern leaned down to Fane’s ear, his hair hiding his lips from Ishan.  “Take him somewhere that won’t burn,” Bern cautioned. Fane glanced up at his green eyes in confusion, furrowing his brow in a question.  “Red Hare possibility…just…legends. Won’t hurt him none, but would rather keep the warehouse intact.” Bern shrugged and pulled back from Fane, glancing at Ishan.  Ishan looked between the two of them, curious.  

Fane raised an eyebrow at Bern and shrugged.  His runs had produced enough possible locations that it wasn’t entirely impossible to find a good non-combustible spot.  He was well aware of his ice, so he wasn’t about to dismiss Bern’s comment out of hand. Bern waived and left them after that.  Fane furrowed his brow at the man’s back before turning to Ishan to look at him appraisingly. “What do you say to a private white sand beach?” he asked.

Ishan gave him a look of confusion.  “No room?” he asked.

“There are a few vacant gazebos?” Fane offered.

“All right, take me on a tropical vacation, lover boy,” Ishan smiled.  Fane walked forward to let him out the door on the side of the warehouse, having forgotten about his rope.

“What’s this?” Ishan ran a finger up the back of his thigh to prod at the bundle of line.  

Fane raised an eyebrow at him in return.  “Keep you from running off when it starts getting too good,” he replied back slyly.  Even for the scare the day before, he had been aware of Ishan’s reaction to Cashia’s ropes and wasn’t about to throw away an opportunity.  

“Cocky, aren’t you?” Ishan nipped at his earlobe before following Fane north out of the compound to an asphalt road that overlooked a manmade pond flanked by red roofed houses.  West of the pond were a set of tall condos that looked out to the ocean. The warm salt air hung low around them. He followed the blacktop until a road jogged them left. Ishan spotted the gazebo Fane had mentioned, and beyond it was a man-made squared-off white sand beach that looked out over the ocean.

They made their way out to the sands where Ishan pulled off his shoes and let his toes sink into the warming sand happily.  He tossed his shoes and stepped out a few more steps, amused with the feeling. His loose hair glistened as it picked up in a light breeze.  He tucked a strand behind his ear. “Nice place you found here.” He turned to Fane. The redhead was watching him through contented, half-closed eyes.  Ishan blushed, not having realized he was being watched. Why did he feel like this was his first crush all over again? Ishan reached for Fane’s fingers, twining them together shyly.

Fane followed Ishan out to the edge of the beach where the waves lapped at the sand.  He sank into the sand and watched as Ishan dipped his toes in the water, the hem of his red churidar getting soaked to the mid calf from the spatter of the waves.  Ishan pulled off his kurta and tossed it up to his boyfriend. Fane caught it and folded it, setting it beside him and the shoes as he watched Ishan enjoy the beach. Seagulls were floating out over the water, setting the sky to sparkle with glints of white and grey.  He watched him wander the length of the man-made beach, collecting seashells and beach glass to accumulate in a small pile at the edge of the tide.

Ishan eventually returned from the tide line to approach the redhead sitting in the dry sand.  Fane looked up, content, as Ishan walked up to put his feet on either side of his legs. He slowly knelt down to straddle him.  Fane reached up, a little surprised at Ishan, to run his hands up his prince’s back. Ishan leaned down, tucking a strand of hair behind Fane’s ear, kissing him.  “This is beautiful,” Ishan murmured behind closed eyes. Fane’s skin was hot to the touch and the sand was just a shade cooler.  

Fane crept his hands down to pull Ishan’s lower back and butt more closely to him, interested in the hard heat that pressed between him and Ishan.  “Yes, you are,” he whispered against his prince’s lips. He watched Ishan’s face turn a light shade of pink and smiled at the reaction. Fane was guessing that Ishan wasn’t used to that type of compliment.  He leaned back, flopping into the sand, pulling Ishan down on top of him along the way. Ishan rubbed along his stomach, savouring his lips. Fane returned the kiss with more fire. Their tongues tasted, tangoed with each other.

With a quick flip, he had Ishan pinned under him, his hair spreading out on the sand.  He looked up at Fane in surprise. Fane leaned down, keeping eye contact as he nibbled along a pec and out to swirl his tongue around a nipple, encouraging it to go taught.  His hands dragged down Ishan’s sides to push fully against him restlessly. He elicited a moan from Ishan who couldn’t keep his eyes from closing at the pressure and heat that was beginning to play along his skin.

Fane’s connection was providing him with some interesting feedback he wasn’t aware he’d get.  What he hadn’t anticipated in all of this was losing control and tumbling into Ishan’s void by accident.  Clearly, this was going to take practice.

He landed in the midst of what he could only call a rotunda, but that didn’t quite seem correct.  He stood up to take in the space. The room was circular. Halls jutted away from it radially. From the ceiling hung a massive drop style crystal chandelier that looked to be much newer than the tilework that sored up in the pendentive dome.  The tiles were mirror finished, reflecting light back and forth within the space. He glanced around until his eyes fell on Ishan who was staring back at him in confusion.

Fane raised a questioning eyebrow and turned in the space once more, taking in the vast detail that this void contained.  “You’re awake?” He could have sworn that Bern said that most everyone else slept in their voids. Nat was part Red Hare and so wasn’t completely asleep.  He wasn’t completely awake either, but that had been due to the coma apparently. Yeller had been asleep when he had gone rummaging for music. Ishan though was very much up and about in his space.

“Looks like.” Ishan was staring at the reflective tiles with uncertainty.

“Where are we, Prince?” he asked, feeling a bit out of place.

“A movie set for a location called Sheesh Maha.” Ishan turned to look around him, surprised to be in a different location then he was expecting.  This was his first time encountering his own void, and it wasn’t something he wanted to face at that exact moment.

“Movie set?” Fane asked, confused.

“The real room from the Sheesh Mahal was in quite a state of disrepair.  This is a replica they used for a few movies in Bollywood. I was given a private tour when I expressed an interest.  I wanted to meet the space designers.” Ishan crossed his arms and shifting his feet just a touch. Memories were gnawing at his gut.

“It’s glamorous,” Fane touched one of the struts appreciatively.  The tile was cool to the touch. It felt as solid as his own void. “Were you a fan of the movies?” He turned back to his prince.  Ishan was frowning up at the chandelier in contemplation. He shrugged and shook his head.

“This was something you enjoyed, though?” Curious, Fane walked up to Ishan and gently rested a hand at his back.  Ishan stepped away to walk around the outer edge of the rotunda. Fane waited and watched. This was not something Ishan had expected and Fane realized he was intruding.  Eventually Ishan had made a complete circuit and came back to him. Fane watched the mask come up. The cool, aloof one he would carry around with him, when he had to be a prince and not a man.

Ishan clenched his jaw momentarily.  His eyes dashed about the space under furrowed brows.  He ground his molars in thought and opened his mouth, but thought better of it as his cheeks washed red and his lips began to tremble.  He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh. Fane could only wish at that moment that the wall wasn’t coming up, but he could feel the distance driving him away.  He stepped back, away from Ishan and dropped, falling out of the void. 

He came to, hovering above Ishan, who couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.  Fane backed up quickly, his lust abating, fearing he had killed the mood. He stood up and offered Ishan a hand.  Ishan took it, letting Fane drag him up to his feet. Fane began brushing off his skin and his pants as Ishan did the same.  “I’m sorry about that, Ishan. I didn’t mean to intrude…I didn’t mean to – “ Fane went to apologize.

“It’s all right, Aashiq,” Ishan pulled him in under his arms, burying his face in Fane’s neck.  He hadn’t anticipated this. This was the second time in as many days Fane was distinctly aware of hot tears on his skin.  Ishan’s arms trembled around him. Fane settled his hands on Ishan’s back once he realized that Ishan was not angry about the intrusion.  He soothed his prince, gently rubbing his hands up his back. “I left myself open and didn’t realize that was a two-way street. I thought I’d end up in yours,” Ishan admitted through sniffles. 

 “It’s all right.  It’ll be okay,” Fane sank them to the sand, pulling Ishan’s much longer frame into his lap and waited patiently.  Fane guessed the man still had limits, lines he wasn’t quite ready to touch yet. He hadn’t meant to distress his prince like this.  

Sometimes it wasn’t a matter of fixing everything, though.  Sometimes it was just listening and waiting. Sometimes it was being the sounding board.

“They’re dead.  They’re all dead, Fane.  Mataji, Papaji, Nanaji, Bhenji, Veerji, Ajay.  All of my nieces and nephews.  They’re all gone,” Ishan collapsed into him and wailed and wailed.  Time stood still as pain and anguish finally broke. Ishan’s heart was torn to pieces, only held together by thread.  Grief and reality had put him in a chokehold.  

Fane held him and rocked as his heart shattered for his prince, ever aware that he was the catalyst that had brought Ishan to this point.  The sky darkened around them, sapping the heat off their skin. He held tighter and allowed his own tears to fall. He allowed it all to come to the surface.  Both his family and Ishan’s family were gone. All of their colleagues, everyone they had known had been wiped off the face of the planet two years ago, but to them, it had only been days.  They had not had the opportunity yet to let the shock settle in from those raw wounds. They had ran out of time. The boiling point bubbled and roiled over.

“I’m sorry, Ishan.  I’m so sorry,” he murmured around tears as rain began to pour around them.  Their connection shifted and waivered, only building the current that was threatening to drown them.  The storm intensified. Thunder rumbled underfoot as lightning flashed around them, lighting up the beach in chaos.  Yet, they didn’t notice as their own world became each other’s arms and radiating sorrow pushed at both of them.

“They never knew.  I never told them. I never gave them the chance to know who I was or the people I liked.  They were my family, and I never let them be the family I needed,” Ishan mumbled into Fane’s chest.  Fane listened quietly as Ishan turned himself inside out through stuttering, gulping breaths, laying his fears and trepidations at his bodyguard’s feet.  “I figured it out when I was young. I couldn’t have been older than seven or eight when I realized it. Boarding school was utter hell. 

“Abhi wanted to go see Bollywood one summer while I was in high school.  We all went out to do the tour. I wanted to see the prop from the Sheesh Mahal while we were there.  I was able to meet with some of the set designers while my parents went with Abhi to a different studio set.  I – I don’t know. I clicked with these guys. They all got it, without even having to point it out to me. They knew what I was, and I felt valid.  I felt valid for who I was for once in my damn life. I didn’t have to hide me. They weren’t just seeing me as a prince. They saw me for my interests and didn’t run away from me in revulsion or confusion.  They didn’t call me names or torment me.

“My parents never realized it.  I never gave them that option. I hid it as hard as I could,” Ishan hiccuped, burying his face farther into Fane’s shoulder.  “I never told them that I wanted out of electrical engineering. I never told them I didn’t want to be in charge of the nobility’s land rights and the taxes.  I never told them I was in the theatre group in college, the plays, or about my boyfriends, or anything. Now, I will never have that chance. I don’t know if they would have hated me for it or not.  I was too scared to find out,” he struggled around sobs that threatened to close off his voice.

“I just wanted them to love me, but it always felt safer to me for them to accept the me they had created and not the me they didn’t know.” He wiped at the tears on his cheeks and looked up at Fane who was wrapped over him, protecting him from the storm that raged around them.

“I’m so sorry, Ishan. You should have been given your chance. You should have had your time.  I’m sorry I took it all away.  I’m sorry for all of this,” Fane mumbled, tears mixing with the rain that was creating rivers down his face.  

Ishan curled into Fane’s embrace and shook his head.  “You should never feel guilty about this, Fane. It wasn’t you that put that chip in your head.  Someone made a decision for you and never gave you a choice or an explanation. I had so many chances, so many missed opportunities to come out to my parents, to stand up for who I was and what I wanted and to let them know.  I took that option off the table. I’m already in my thirties and I couldn’t do it. I wanted for them to know about us so badly that morning we woke up in the armoury. You’re the first of all of them that I really wanted for them to know about,” Ishan rested against Fane’s chest, his energy dissipating with the rain.

“Why me, Ishan?  You had so many options before me.  One of them had to be better. I’ve never been anything special, anything to write home about.  I don’t have anything that would benefit you now. I’m sorry it’s me and not someone better.” Fane folded, laying his head against Ishan’s shoulder as more tears escaped and the rain poured down in a deluge.

“You’re the first one to even cry in front of me, let alone for me, get angry for me, protect me and mine.  You’re warm and loving and I can only hope to ever be half the man you are. You gave me your heart with so few questions and I never want to break it.” Ishan pulled his face up to kiss him as they fought past tears.

The rain eased from its torrential downpour to a light spray as they desperately tried to live off of each other. Lips touched, and heat bloomed once more deep in Fane’s core.  He wanted to never let go of the man in his lap. He wanted to protect him with every inch of his being.  He wanted to be everything his man perceived him to be, but he knew he could never live up to that ideal. Instead he turned to what he could do in the here and now.

“Come on, Beithe.  Let’s get you back to the warehouse.  You’re cold and wet.” He picked Ishan up in his arms.  Ishan held tight, amused and disconcerted at the same time.  No one had done this to him since he was a child. Fane walked over to where Ishan’s now-drenched kurta and jutti were trying to become one with the sand.  Ishan reached down and snagged them and let Fane be a romantic.

Fane got him back out to the grass near the asphalt road before he had to set him down for a minute.  “I can walk, Fane.” Ishan smiled sheepishly as he tried to drain his hair of more water.

“Not in those.” Fane pointed at the jutti in Ishan’s hands.  “They’re completely water-logged, and you’ll end up with blisters.”

“It’s not like I didn’t go walking around the palace grounds with shoes on all the time.  The road won’t kill me.” Ishan began walking back in the direction of the warehouse. He was startled for Fane to sweep him up once more and returned him to the grass. 

“My biggest worry is hookworm and broken glass. The grass isn’t any better, and we’ll have to watch your feet from the sand.” Fane scooped him up once more after having gotten the initial kinks out of his shoulders.  He started on his way back to the warehouse, a nagging question bubbling up in his brain. He needed Bern. He hated admitting it, but it’d also be more convenient to have Sophia there for the initial question rather than doing it all a second time.

“You just like my feet being pretty.” Ishan teased.

“Well,” Fane smirked.

“You keep pampering me like this; I’ll never learn what a callus is.” Ishan didn’t fight getting down, though.

Fane kissed the side of his neck. “Calluses are overrated. Got enough for both of us.”

“You’re not gonna ask me who told me I was a pampered brat?”

“If you’re a pampered brat, I’m a gym instructor.”

“Gods, I love you.”

“I love you too, Beithe.

Ishan watched Fane think as he got them down the road and through the wetlands area to the compound.  “What’s up?” Ishan asked, curious at what had Fane so quiet. Fane eased Ishan’s jutti from his hands to hold them gently.

He raised an eyebrow at Ishan, a bit confused.  He blew out a sigh. “Bern said something before I brought you out here.  You know I can do ice?” Fane glanced at Ishan, his fingers tightening slightly around Ishan’s arms.  Ishan nodded. “I suspect that storm wasn’t just a Florgia thing. He told me to get you out of the warehouse for…” Fane’s eyes travelled everywhere but to Ishan’s eyes as his face turned a brilliant shade of crimson.  He cleared his throat. “Some Red Hare legend and burning things. He said you’d be safe with me but that they’d rather not have the warehouse burn down,” he admitted, biting his lip, unable to meet Ishan’s eyes.

“You want to see just what you can do?” Ishan guessed.  Fane nodded as they came to the side door of the warehouse.  The machinist shop had opened up the hangar doors to let in a breeze.  Seemed the shower had cooled the hot, humid air.

Fane let him down on the linoleum stairs.  “Need me to do anything?” Ishan asked. Fane glanced out to the machinist’s floor and over to the ship’s floor, grinding the gears in his head.  He wasn’t even sure what he needed. “I’m gonna get Sophia and Bern. Mind gathering up the kids? Make sure Sven stays in bed. He shouldn’t be getting up and down like yesterday.  Been there, done that, it sucks. I’ll meet you back in the ships’ bridge?” he asked. Ishan pursed his lips with a furrowed brow and nodded slowly. Hopefully, this wasn’t going to be a repeat of yesterday.

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Subgalaxia: Ch 16

Fane trapsed out of the ship and through the dark machinists field into the middle section of the warehouse.  He made his way down to the infirmary where he peeled off the electrodes speckling his skin and tossed them in the bin.  He dug around in the first aid kit and found antiseptic spray, gauze, and a roll of wrap. He took his time washing off the cuts that striped his skin and muttering to himself at the familiar sting of fresh wounds.  Minutes passed as his heartrate came back to it’s regular rhythm. He wanted to yell, he wanted to curse, but instead he collapsed back onto one of the chairs in the room and lifted up one leg and put gauze on a long thin gash and began wrapping it down.  None of those desires would help him. He cut the strip carefully.

A knock at the door interrupted him.  Cashia and Ishan stood in the door frame.  Fane glanced up at them. Ishan looked away abashed and more timid than Fane could ever remember seeing him.  Fane quirked an eyebrow as he turned back to another laceration. Cashia stepped into the room and Ishan followed him in.  His prince sat down on the chair next to Fane while Cashia knelt down in front of Fane and took the wrap from his hand gently.

“I wanted to apologize for overstepping my boundaries, Shaman.” Cashia laid out gauze along a garish cut that was running the length of Fane’s shin. 

 “Same, Fane.  I – I didn’t know that was a line, but I am sorry for causing you that kind of pain.” Ishan bowed over his hands. 

Fane gently touched Ishan’s hair, brushing a strand behind his ear. Fane flinched as the gauze pulled at his skin uncomfortably. “I never told you there was one to begin with.  I didn’t even think there was one.” Fane looked up at the drop ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights as Cashia turned to the other ankle.  “I was terrified for you, not because of Cashia. He’s a good fighter. He knows better than to hurt someone outright with his knots,” Fane conceded.  Cashia glanced up at him, furrowing his brows in suspicion.

“Talked to Nat and Yeller back in the void before pulling you in,” Fane explained.  Cashia shrugged and nodded, continuing with the bandaging. “I can feel every action, every thought of every person in there.  It was that moment of realizing that I had to push an extreme envelope to get to that emotion that Sophia needed, and it’s scary when I have to get there, and it seems when I get to those emotions that stupid creature comes out of the woodwork.  That creature. I can’t predict it, not like you all. It comes up and chases me around like a cat and a mouse. For a minute there, I forgot I could just cast you all out of my void. My reality became keeping you safe. In that moment I knew there was a line that I…I got angry.  I’m sorry that I scared you, Ishan,” Fane turned his wrist over to Cashia. Ishan brushed at his eyes, trying to hide the tears that were blotching his face.

“What was that back there?” nervously Cashia quietly asked.

Fane shrugged.  “Supposedly, it’s the Grey Monster that wiped out the European and Asian continents two years ago.  Scientists back on the base I ended up at put a chip in my brain to call it through some kind of interdimensional portal,” Fane leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. 

Cashia took up the other wrist. “I meant the images.”

“Images?” Fane asked.  He didn’t remember images.  He was preoccupied with not getting acid slimed by an interstellar squid.

“You’re memories were leaking out into the void…and not the pleasant ones,” Ishan mumbled quietly.  Fane furrowed a brow. “Saw your torture and your sister’s eyes. Saw the people I think you killed.” Ishan swallowed hard, fighting rising nausea again.  Fane leaned back quietly in surprise. Cashia’s lips flattened at the statement. He was beginning to understand a bit more of the scarred Red Hare they reverently called Shaman.

“Might just call that my personal hell,” Fane sighed.  With the one hand free, he reached over and took up Ishan’s hand, squeezing gently.

“Do you want to tell me who it is that hit you?” Fane’s voice was barely a thread on the wind.  He didn’t want to push a topic that Ishan might still have as off-limits. Ishan stilled, horrified.  He glanced up at his boyfriend. Fane straitened and opened his eyes to look at Ishan without judgement. Cashia glanced between the Shaman and his lover, not sure where that question had come from.

Ishan looked like a terrified fawn.  “How did you…?”

“You flinched when I came to in the bridge.  I didn’t mean to scare you, but I did, and I apologize,” he answered softly.  

Ishan glanced away and shifted in his chair but didn’t let go of Fane’s hand.  “Ajay got him put away on abuse and battery charges for a few years,” Ishan mumbled, hanging his head.  

“He’s dead then, most likely if he is overseas from here?” Fane guessed.  Ishan shrugged, unsure. “Prior boyfriend?” Fane pressed.

“Here, stand up.  Let’s get your back.  You’re bleeding all over the chair.” Cashia pulled Fane up.  Fane turned for Cashia to start working on the stripes and sucker marks on his back.  Cashia pulled a rolling stool out from under the little side desk near the medicine cabinet and forced Fane to sit down on it.  Fane laid his hands on Ishan’s knees, taking up his hands gingerly. Ishan rubbed a thumb across his nails for a minute in thought.

Ishan looked up at Fane, his face pale and eyes too wide.  He shifted his gaze uncomfortably. “First boyfriend. First year of college away from my folks.  Ajay ran a background check, and it came up clean. He didn’t tell my parents. I had never been in a relationship before, and my parents were an arranged marriage.  They never knew I was gay. They didn’t really interact with each other much other than at meal time. They weren’t the greatest example of how that was all supposed to work in reality.

“It was little things at first.  Manipulation. Gas lighting when Ajay wasn’t around.  I only learned that term during a class in psychology after the fact.  It was when I came home from summer break about six months after we started dating.  He got worse, more blatant. He had lost a lot of weight and was being evasive. He started getting really paranoid about every little move I made.  Wanting to see my phone every time he was home. Checking contacts and text messages. I hadn’t told my parents – they still had me betrothed to some girl I’d never met, and they didn’t…” Ishan looked out the window, realizing that his parents were dead. He drew a steadying breath at the realization and tried to fight the tears that threatened to burst. “He didn’t know I was a prince. He thought Ajay was my brother and I was just some poor ass foreign kid there on a pity scholarship. Figured I’d be easy prey, and I was.  He was a couple years older than me.  

“I had hoped it was just me having been gone, that he had been worried or something, that it would get better.  We were in a rough patch. I know I was beginning to figure out something wasn’t right, that I didn’t like where I was at in the relationship.  I was coming out of my delusion. He came back to the flat one night. I was working through midterms, and Ajay had stepped out to the market to grab stuff for dinner.  

“He was strung out on something and angry as hell.  I don’t know what he was on. I don’t remember how it happened, but one minute he’s in the door yelling at me for flirting with some bartender I had never heard of while I’m fighting with a paper on Ellen Ochoa.  The next, I’m on the ground with a horrendous stomach ache and nasty headache waking up to Ajay and a pair of EMTs and police and an interpreter clearing the flat and taking him into custody.” Tears dripped unnoticed.  “Ended up at the ER for several hours checking for internal bleeding and a cracked cheekbone and almost failing my midterm because I didn’t get that paper finished. Doctor’s note let me get an extra few days to turn it in.” Ishan rubbed at his arm and shifted his feet uncomfortably.  “I begged Ajay not to breathe a word to my parents.

“I’m amazed he didn’t.  They would have brought me home, and I really didn’t want to get my degree there.  I would have been married off before the month was out.”

Fane wrapped his arms around Ishan’s shoulders.  Though he meant to pull the prince to him, the rolling stool pulled him to his prince instead.  Ishan leaned into Fane’s shoulder and let that pent-up hurt flow. His shoulders trembled under Fane’s arms.  Ishan held onto Fane’s sides, his fingers biting into muscle like he would never let him go.

“Did this happen with any of your other boyfriends?” Fane asked gently, not wanting to push on Ishan’s hurt more.  Cashia pulled him away carefully to wrap another pass of gauze around his upper shoulder. Ishan straightened up, brushing at his cheeks. He hesitated before nodding his head slightly. “Something you want to talk about?” Fane wiped a missed tear from Ishan’s skin. 

Ishan shrugged. “I have a bad habit of finding rough around the edges types.” his smile wobbled at the admission. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes on Fane as his face fell miserably.

“Rough around the edges doesn’t give someone permission to disrespect or hurt someone else.” Fane brought Ishan’s palm up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss into it before resting his cheek in the warmth.

“Think I found all the cuts,” Cashia grumbled as he headed for the door.

“Speaking of, Cashia?” Fane turned to the man who had seen to his cuts.

“Shaman?” the man asked respectfully.

“Sorry about the jaw.” Fane motioned along his face.

“Doesn’t hurt out here.  Probably deserved it, but thank you.  He’s yours again. Tell us if you need us.” Cashia waived as he closed the door behind him. 

Ishan stared at the door quietly.  He finally turned back to Fane, pleading in his amber eyes.  “How do you do it, Fane?” he asked quietly, pulling Fane back to him so he could lay his head on his shoulder.

“Do what, Beithe?” Fane asked.  Ishan pushed his hand from Fane’s cheek up to tunnel in his hair.  Fane’s hand skimmed down to rest in the crook of his elbow. He felt hot liquid crawl across his shoulder to cool on his chest.  They sat there quietly in the infirmary, only interrupted with Ishan’s sniffles.

Eventually, Ishan ran out of tears and sat up again.  He gathered himself together, his eyes puffy and red.  “I’ve needed to talk about that for a long time,” Ishan mumbled.  Fane wasn’t sure if it was to him or just Ishan musing out loud. “How is it…”Ishan tried to formulate his question carefully.  “How did…do…Ajay told me about the time you almost beat him down for disrespecting Shelly. How do you have such a hard moral backbone, and yet, you can go and take out an entire compound of people, like flipping a switch?” Ishan asked, trying to rationalize Fane’s existence in his head.

Fane smiled softly at the question.  It wasn’t worded quite that well, but he understood the other questions wrapped up in it.  “Melody drilled equality and sympathy into my head from the day my parents died until she died.  I love her for that trait she gave me. ‘And it harm none, do as thy will’ she used to say to me.  I prefer my own golden rule: ‘don’t be a jack-ass, but don’t let the jack-asses beat your ass either.’  Melody learned to quit washing my mouth out with soap at some point. My parents probably provided me with a decent moral foundation, but I still don’t have a lot of memories of them.  I was, I think in my tweenage area when they passed, but I don’t really remember too much of that. I have to live with what I did to that mob over my sister. The baron’s men and your nieces will always be etched on my brain. I can’t say that I wish I had taken a different route.

“When the justice system fell apart, and the police were corrupt and taking bribes from the mob,” Fane shrugged.  “I probably could have ditched town and started new somewhere else, but I had no money or car. I let those problems be an excuse.  I didn’t really have a way out that I knew of back then. Should I have killed off the mob? No. Probably not. Do I feel guilty about it?  Sometimes yes, now that I can access those memories again. Those people probably had family hurt from what I did. Ending up in Sanguis was probably what I deserved.  Taking out the last of the mob when they switched out the regular guards for their own people, who proceeded to torture me…I honestly can tell you I don’t regret that.  Not for one second. The Baron and his cronies? Never going to question it for what they did to Tam and your brother’s family, you.

“I would never hit you or purposefully hurt you.  I may have come of age as an acrobatic gigolo for the mob, wiping it out and being trained by the military, but that doesn’t give me the excuse, motivation, or desire to lash out at you ever.  Never hesitate to talk to me if I’ve stepped over a boundary. I expect that of you, and you should expect it of me,” Fane pushed that demand. Ishan nodded, relief settling finely over his heart like silk threads.

“Mind if we head back for our room?  I’m exhausted.” Fane stood up and offered Ishan a hand.

“Need to grab anything to eat?” he asked, aware that though their time in Fane’s void had been short, Fane was left ravenous when handling too many people.  Fane shrugged and shook his head. He was more tired than he was hungry, honestly enough.

They made their way back to their room.  Fane flopped on the bed and was asleep before Ishan was even dressed in his night clothes.  He pushed and pulled at Fane enough to get some of the blankets back for himself but figured it would be better to leave Fane on top of the sheets this time.  He suspected that the monster in the void and being trapped in night clothes and sheets had something to do with each other when Fane was asleep.

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How My Mind Works

I want to share this sidebar image with you. It discusses the blue curtain phenomena in writing. The concept that sometimes the author writes symbolism, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes color is important, or what looks like an off handed comment becomes the lynch pin to a story.

I write this way. I write with heavy handed symbolism. Fyskar is my magnum opus in symbolism. And I know that most people will never notice, or even care to make an effort to notice it. This is probably why I’ve been told by the select few who have read it that my writing style is slipstream literature. You have to be in a delving mood to deal with the angst in it.

The red cloak, the brooch, the color of the tartan, Marduk and Fearchar as names. Fyskar as a name itself. Egrets. The bracers. The flowers on the hillside. The eagles. The whole damn thing is a history class and a thick sea of symbolism.

Some days I just want a bit of kudos for that thing. An English teacher who loves history to read it and go ‘that was impressive.’

I did the same with Roman Jewels and The Fire in My Blood. It’s a habit I can’t break. Polaris Skies isn’t so heavy handed in history, but the symbolism still reigns supreme in it.

Honestly, I’d get a kick out if it if someone went and read through the first chapter of Fyskar and pulled out all kinds of symbols and just found it interesting. Or someone to read all four books and realize that the whole thing was designed to be read twice, because so many throw away lines are actually circular and made to have a harder impact on your emotions the second time you read it.

I can dream.

And I dream in symbols.

Subgalaxia: Ch 15

“Aggressive fear and anger, followed by meditation, and then – let’s just call it joy shall we?  You need a graph similar to that,” Fane pointed at the paper in disdain as the group stood around him on the jump deck in the ship.  He was stripped down to little more than a pair of spandex shorts, his feet cold on the slick surface of the brilliantly blue, round, half-orb centered at the head of the bridge.  Dinner had been just as hurried as lunch.

Preparations were made. It was nearly midnight and he had not had the luxury of rest. He felt drained and wanted to go lie down. But Sophia had gotten it in her head after reviewing her tablet and running calculations on the scan she had ran earlier in the day that Fane was in good enough shape to test out the portal.  His skin was dotted with a myriad of metal electrodes. The domed portion of the orb was tied into a massive ring fit snugly to the nose of the craft. By some magic Sophia and her machinists had conjured up what she said was a replica of the portal ring from the base. The orb was supposed to be some kind of massive transponder that would filter Fane’s ability and activate the ring.  He was still having a hard time believing it, but there was no denying the fact that most of the European and Asian continents were completely wiped from the map from an interdimensional creature.

He looked up and sighed.  Above him, the two story space had been retrofitted from the original plan.  A rig was being bolted in to give him space to work. Along one wall was a myriad of equipment spots for aerial work already.  Silks, ropes, straps, trapeze swing, and even a hoop were being secured by a rather avid machinist fan of Fane who had claimed dibs on seeing any more performances in exchange for material sourcing.  Fane narrowed his eyes at the equipment spots. Those had been machined aweful fast. The machinist was in the midst of turning a proper flange that would integrate with the portal floor and not damage it for a removable pole.  The man was even working out the rig system with one of the ships engineers to be lightweight enough to meet the weight requirements.  

The machinist had pulled Yeller aside when he found out he was a music major and arranged to take him on his sourcing trips into St. Petersburg to collect a few more precious pieces of equipment. Yeller had shut himself up with the machinist while Fane was getting speckle dotted with electrodes.  The rig was going to have a series of spot lights hung into it that all flowed down to a rather extensive dj system – provided the music store in town hadn’t been looted yet. It appeared that Yeller and Fane were turning into the ship’s main form of entertainment.  Fane wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that at the moment – just from one performance that morning.

Nat glanced at Bern who shrugged his shoulders.  He had only been given a quick explanation by Corbin that all hands needed to be on deck for a flight drill.  They were giving the portal a test run to see if it was possible to open and close it. Yeller returned from the machinist with Sven between them on a stretcher. They eased Sven to the floor. Fane hissed, aware that Sven probably shouldn’t even be up. He was still attached to an IV and a portable monitor.  Fane glanced at Sophia, not amused. He was beginning to wonder if she understood that people outside of herself were living, breathing, pain-feeling creatures too.

“That would be ideal.  As we’ve noticed, we can’t dope your system with conventional drugs, so I can’t just synthetically force your system to do the thing we need it to do.  I think I’m lucky I stuck you with the double dose of the elephant tranc when we first brought you over…and for the scan,” muttered Sophia. “So, we can either try this with you out here or in your head.” She went over to her main terminal and tapped at the keys.  Fane couldn’t help the sinking slide of his gut at the whole idea of trying to activate the portal. It was already well into the evening hours. Couldn’t they just do this in the morning? What if another of the Grey Monsters came through? With the portal located where it was, it would become one with the ship.

“Let’s go with the less physically destructive option.” Fane sat down on the floor in front of Sven, trying to be deferential to the wounded member of the group and not make him do too much.  The others settled around him. Ishan sat between Bern and Dietrik so that Fane sat dead center in the blue ring. He turned to raise a mischievous eyebrow at Sophia. “Fear and Anger. I take it death is off the table?” he asked.  The group glared at him.

“Don’t kill anyone; the cleaning bill is too high as it is!” Sophia shot back as she hurriedly pulled on a thermal jumper and a pair of snowpants and boots.

“How about maiming?” he badgered.  Ishan flicked his knee. Fane stuck a tongue out at him. 

“Not the time,” Ishan returned the gesture.  

“Oye, children,” Dietrik reprimanded.  Corbin had stepped Dietrik, Bern, and Ishan aside when the group had been called up to the terminal.  They had been given an extensive explanation of what was needed versus the rest of the group. Deck had filled Nat in on some of the details through their private connection when Yeller had gone to pick up Nat.  Nat had wrapped Yeller into the conversation, pulling on Cashia’s help. As long as everything was handled carefully, with some luck, the portal would open.

“Ye’r  host is about eight years younger then me, kid,” Fane’s teeth gleamed.  Ishan shook his head at the teasing note in his boyfriend’s voice, but he could see how the man was leading the glendweller along.  Until getting him unsnarled in his void, Ishan would have never placed Fane as much of joker.

“Got you by a couple thousand years, boy,” Dietrik snickered, luring in Fane.

“Really, mutt? Show me.” Fane’s eyes glowed silver as the space began to smell heavily of honey.  Sophia dragged on a heavy parka and touch sensitive thermal gloves. Fane held out a hand to Dietrik. “Everyone better hop on,” he smiled as he clasped onto Dietrik’s hand and pulled him into the void.

The group found themselves inside Fane’s chamber.  Fane held on to his beloved golden rope, swaying gently with it as he watched the group carefully.  Dietrik and Fane stood in the center of the mirror black pool, the water tension keeping them aloft.

Deck and Benj pulled the girls away to the far side of the ring as Cashia and Yeller descended on Ishan and Bern.  Nat perched himself up on the brass railing at the edge of the pool to watch while the rest of the glendwellers disbursed themselves evenly around the ring.  Dietrik nabbed Fane’s attention.

Dietrik was dressed out in his regalia.  He pulled a sword out of its sheath and leveled it at Fane. 

Fane smiled wickedly. “Thunderdome much?” he raised an eyebrow and snapped a finger at his thigh and pulled down on his rope.  House lights came up to pitch the space into high noon. The rope fell away from the ceiling to shorten into a small handgun that Ishan was unfamiliar with.  The space shifted to the surprise of the glendwellers. The space widened and elongated to fit a couple concrete fire practice buildings. The black pool shifted it’s texture for the first time from it’s glossy liquid or frozen state to black sand and cracked asphalt.  Rusted fire escapes perched precariously to the building. Fane’s normal tight leggings and shoulder crop top he maintained in his void shifted. He stood ready in the field in urban combat military fatigues. He peeled his overshirt off, leaving him in a tucked in white t-shirt, his cargos, and his boots.  He pulled his hair up into a high bun, slipping a pencil in to hold it in place.  

“Done preaning, pretty boy?” Dietrik snarled, edging for a fight.

Fane regarded him with half interest as he patted down his pockets, accounting for all of his tools of trade.  He shrugged and pursed his lips. “Ready when you are, oh king,” Fane joked with a light bow toward’s Dietrik’s red cape.  Dietrik leveled a steely gaze at the jester. Fane glanced up and smiled maliciously, his eyes going black and silver as he sprang backward into a back hand spring and dropped a red hot knife from one of his pockets into his waiting hand. With the movement a distraction, Dietrik almost missed the knife sailing toward him. Sylvi stepped in front of him, her blade clipping the edge of the knife, sending it spinning on the asphalt where it embedded itself with a melting hiss.

Fane landed on his feet and span out with his left foot, his body hiding his hand, a set of stars whistled toward Sylvi and Dietrik.  Sven pushed Dietrik back, coming up to block with his wife. Their eyes glowed, pinning down Fane. “Might wanna give the Shaman room, ‘oh king’,” Sven hissed at Dietrik, keeping his eyes ever present on Fane.

Dietrik sniffed and took a couple steps back.  Fane raised an eyebrow at the two warriors in front of him.  He could smell blood on the glendwellers now. He turned and ducked as a blade flew past his ear.  He glanced behind him. Heinrich was standing a distance behind him. He had been quieter then the others.  As Fane twisted, he tried to pin down the rest of the group outside the ring. Sibor, Tereza, and Anastasia sat up in a set of seats happily.  Cashia stood next to Yeller, Bern, and Ishan on the other side of the ring. “Is that all of you?” he asked, standing up to his full height, which he was still the shortest of the group save for Zola and Sun Hee.

“Four glendwellers against one Shaman should be enough,” Dietrik called back as he unclasped his cloak and tossed it out to the sands.  

“Never enough glendwellers before,” Cashia muttered, unimpressed with the display.

Fane pursed his lips for a second in thought and nodded.  He pushed a hand into one of his pockets on his cargos. The others rushed him.  He threw what was in his hand down into the sand. A burst of noxious smoke overtook the area as the wolves dove in.  Ishan almost missed Fane’s shadow as he jump climbed the window ledges of one of the fire buildings and slid readily into one of the rooms, going belly flat to the floor and ducking down.  The other four turned to the cardinal points as the smoke cleared. Fane tossed another smoke grenade out of the window along with a flash bang that went off above the wolves heads, momentarily blinding them.  Fane jumped into the midst of blind wolves and slashed out with a pair of knives, nicking Heinrich and Sven in the back before sliding between Sylvi’s legs. He tucked and rolled away, throwing another knife that hit her in the shoulder.  He gained his feet and made a low run for the side of the building where he mounted the fire escape to the roof before the wolves even knew what had happened.

This was the first time Ishan got to watch his bodyguard in true action.  With the shot tests and when he went after the baron, for the most part, Fane had kept out of sight.  Ishan was finding it remarkable to watch him work, though he could sense a level of frustration as Fane put a handicap on himself.  There was no bloodlust. He moved about the field quietly, springing from shadow to shadow as knives thunked and sputtered at asphalt and sand.  Predicting the glendweller’s movements was too easy. They were competent, but something was amiss.

Cashia bent his head down to catch Ishan’s eye.  Nat glanced backward at Ishan and winked. Ishan returned the gesture, trying to keep his heart and his emotions evenly neutral.  Bern sat down on the step near the railing. Nat got up from the bar and walked behind Bern and sat down so that they were leaning back to back.  Yeller squatted down behind Bern and hid himself behind his bulk as best as he could.

Fane looked down from his perch as the wolves scattered amongst the building’s ground floors.  They didn’t have much in the way of long range weaponry, but they were good at dodging and hiding.  He was enjoying a rather amusing game of tag for all intents and purposes. They would be good to train with.

He cleared his jump and tumbled into a third story window, one floor above Dietrik.  He muffled his landing to the best of his ability and dodged through the room to the outer fire escape where he slid through the back window.  Dietrik was peeking out of the front window, trying to spot his prey. Fane crept up to him and jumped, full body tackling him, wrapping him in a headlock.  “Do you yield?” Fane hissed quietly in Dietrik’s ear, low enough that he knew the others wouldn’t hear him. Dietrik struggled momentarily. A muffled cry, deep from below the sands and asphalt echoed in the void.  A chill crept down Fane’s spine and the space turned humid and misty. “Shit.” He pulled Dietrik up with him as he peered out the window.

His heart stuttered hard in his chest as his vision tunneled.  Ishan knelt on the steps of the theater. His kurta and shawl were tossed haphazardly on a chair.  His juti were missing. His arms were bound dragonfly style behind his back, the ropes laced in intricate diamonds from his wrists to his shoulders.  His hair fell over his shoulder and chest, glistening under the stage lights. His ankles were bound up into the dragonfly knots, securing his position.  Yeller and Cashia stood behind him, smiling up at Fane maliciously. Cashia had a hand over Ishan’s mouth, muffling him. Nat had disappeared up to the edge of the auditorium and was laying quietly out of sight, all of his ropes now being used on Ishan.  It was the only way Yeller had let them go along with this hairbrained idea. This was playing with fire.

Fane’s blood ran cold and fire burned beneath his skin as the bellow built.  The glendwellers looked up, startled, when the buildings crumbled around them.  The sand bubbled and foamed. Fane hadn’t let go of Dietrik yet as they found balance on the roiling black ring.  Sven, Sylvi, and Heinrich scrambled for the seating. The lights dimmed out and the seating slowly evaporate as a hard beat echoed in the chamber disturbingly. All that was left was a ghost light that barely illuminated the space in pale uneven greys.  The banners fell away with a twange. “You’d better be lettin’ my leannan go,” Fane demanded quietly, his voice no louder than a whisper. Cold frost pushed out of his pores as his clothing shifted. He was left in a pair of threadbare boxer briefs that were rust stained in splotches.  His skin was lacerated and burned and gouged freshly where his scars had healed. He was unhealthily gaunt in appearance. His hair was shorn short and ragged. The scent of hollow death and rotten foulbrood permeated the chamber. The humidity in the air began to freeze into floating ice crystals.

Dietrik pushed his shift as his heart raced and his chest constricted. He pressed sharp claws into Fane’s forearm.  It had been a very long time since he had felt bloodlust like this. He tried to get the man to unhand him, his grip atrociously tight at his jugular.  Dietrik drew blood, but Fane didn’t even notice the wounds. His gaze was flat and still on Ishan and Cashia.  

A sharp cry from below the water had everyone’s attention save Fane’s turning down to look into the black depth.  Short bursts of images flashed in greyscale around the cavern, the only spots of color red. Iron nails in skin, butcher knives slicing,  blood across an open palm, nails pulled from finger beds. Translucent images of men and women in varying states of terror and death ghosted under the torture.  Ishan was close to puking when an envelope flashed up in the cavern, a pair of eyeballs the same shade as Fane’s looking up into the void. Fane didn’t take his gaze off of Ishan for a second as he released Dietrik, spinning him out violently to the edge of the ring where Sven and Sylvi were waiting.  He started walking toward Cashia, his footsteps freezing on the pool’s surface. Dietrik scrambled for the edge of the quickly disappearing ring. Ants and maggots roiled across the images in waves of whitish grey and dark grey. “You wanted Fear and Anger, Sophia?” Fane seethed at the cavern. The others ducked at the intense promise of death in it.  His voice echoed off the walls and dripped into the pool like acid.  

Cashia released Ishan hurriedly as the waves broke and whiplike tentacles protruded from the inky surface.  Images continued to flash across the cavern, almost too fast to process, all gruesome and painful. Ishan caught his niece’s bodyguard Zahar in the fire, part of his head missing.  He watched the death masks of almost forty men and the bloodied and bruised face of the baron flash through the overlay of torture.  

The glendwellers had not met Fane’s monsters yet.  A deep bellow and sharp cracking howl reverberated down their spines.  Cashia bent down behind Ishan as Fane continued walking toward them and quickly pulled the ropes free.  Fane was unaware of the memories flashing around them or the thick, heavy beat of his heart rushing through the chamber.  Cashia caught Fane’s slug sharp on the jaw and went sprawling back on the steps as Ishan pulled the slack out of the rope and freed his wrists of the starting knot.

“Don’t fucking use him as bait in my space.  I want instructions on shibari, I’ll ask you out in the real world, damn it,” Fane spat as he pulled the last knot off of Ishan’s wrist.  The crying and screeching was flaying all of their nerves raw.

“We were trying-”Ishan began to apologize.

“I love you, Prince.  Right now I am not happy.  I can feel every person’s emotion in here.  Only reason the glendwellers were too easy. I know you were in on this.  This place may be safe at a certain level, but what you did in here went over a line.  That thing,” Fane pointed at the tentacles that were growing in number and size, “I don’t control here and it will eat you,” Fane whispered as he bound up the ball of rope and tossed it up over the last few seats that were hiding Nat.  

Fane turned to Yeller and Bern with barely contained seething rage.  “Get the group together and either get out or keep them safe. Keep them the fuck out of my way,” his eyes glowed black and silver.  He stepped down from the last remaining stair into the expanding black void toward the monster. His brands were angry red and incised white with brown crisped edges like they had just been set.   Blood dropped from his finger tips slowly with every step into the pool, while blood from other lacerations pooled and balled out to float around his skin like Dietrik’s cloak. Ishan sat back, terrified.  He knew now though that the beast was just barely contained under that black pool. Having freed Fane of the hooks and wires hadn’t freed him of the monster. He still had demons he was fighting. Fane could play above and on the pool as long as his emotions were in a good place, but this had opened up too many raw wounds.

Fane reached out from either side of him and drew in the crystalline snowflakes, mixing them with the orbs of blood floating around him, directing their sharp edges toward the creature.  The creature cried out at the millions of microscopic cuts. It lashed out, snaring one of Fane’s legs. Fane flung the handgun out from his hand. A thin rusted wire slipped out of the darkness where the gun had gone off to snarl around his arm.

He pulled on it until he knew he was secured to it.  He pulled from the void the knife Ishan had given him.  He shifted his feet into a low spread and up with a spin, the blade and the wire flashing in the ghost light.  His shadow played within those of the tentacles as the beat of Fane’s heart slowed in the space and the temperature plummeted.  Ishan watched in quiet awe as Fane ducked and dodged the movement of the creature, keeping the creature’s full attention. He rolled and pulled, looping the wire around a tentacle and pulling tight to sever the appendage, the wire burning and cutting into his own flesh.  The creature cried out and reached for him, acid splashing on his skin as he barely missed a grasping tentacle, the reversed barbs tearing at his chest. He slashed up and opened the appendage. The monster pulled the injury back into the abyss. Fane pulled himself out of the rat’s nest of wiggling toxicity and took a running leap to invert himself on the wire above the creature.  He bit down on his blade and fought to unwrap his wrist with the circular movement of the wire. He took in a series of climbing beats to take up the slack of the line, the wire cutting with ever new turn he made. He secured his ankles as he tightened his spin over the pool.

At the top of the climb he took the blade from his mouth and lept, letting the rope spin him down into the depth of the pool.  Ishan’s heart stopped as Fane disappeared into the black. He moved to rush to the ring, but Cashia held him back. “Think he’s angry now, you go near that thing and he will annihilate every one of us without mercy for not keeping you safe,” cautioned Cashia.

They waited as the screaming in the cavern continued to beat at their senses.  The tentacles flicked and splashed great showers of foul smelling liquid as it struggled with Fane.  Acid and blood bubbled up to the surface, coating the tension in swirling eddies of red and grey rainbows.  It’s thrashing became more fierce and the sound built in pitch. When they thought they couldn’t take the tension and Ishan was beginning to worry that Fane was running out of air, a pressure bubble burst from under the pool’s water tension.

The group fell back in the bridge of the ship.  The glowing blue ring was frozen over with a thick sheet of ice.  A fine pink mist floated a foot off the ground around them. The connection orb hummed eagerly underneath them.  They looked around in surprise. Fane stayed bowed over his crossed legs, his arms pulled up tight to his chest, his skin and hair freezing under a thin layer of slowly pinkening ice as the temperature continued to fall.  Finally, when the cold was enough to burn the lungs the temperature stopped plummeting and the fog settled to the floor and surfaces softly in a fine layer.  

Fane took in a deep breath; his sigh-out smoked in the frost.  The area smelled heavily of copper, honey, and brood. The cracking of the ice on his back as he stretched up to stand startled the group back a scant inch.  Ishan flinched, ducking his head. Fane looked down at him, at his reaction with horror and pity lacing his burning silver-on-black eyes. He bent down over Ishan and kissed his forehead lightly.  “I can be angry at the situation and everyone’s actions, love, but I will never hurt you. Give me time to warm up. They’ll keep you safe,” he reassured quietly, his eyes flashing to Dietrik.  

Dietrik nodded once, gulping.  After seeing what the Shaman faced, he was going to more then readily bow to him as leader.  For the many wars and dead bodies he had come across in his lifetime, the Shaman had him beat.  

Ishan caught the flash of bruising sucker marks and many lines of bleeding cuts wrapped around Fane’s wrist and across his legs and ankles in that second that he had been trying to hide.  Fane straightened up and walked away, aware that he was going to have a very long drawn out conversation with his prince later. He left behind bloody footprints.

He turned at the door of the bridge, all eyes on him as his skin began to thaw.  “Find a different way, Sophia. That was too damn close, and I’m not risking their lives or mine like that again,” he defined his boundary and left.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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What is the Author up to?

I know.

I know.

I haven’t been writing recently. Not for a lack of interest.

However, I’ve been playing with fiber. And that is proving to be really fun for me. Wren built me an Irish spinning wheel from a 3D print file. I’ve gotten a couple handfuls of wool spun up on it. I’ve made a bunch of cross-stitch patterns and am deep into knitting a wool scarf.

And then I ran into an idea…

Share the cross-stitch patterns from some of my old art. I originally had them listed as plain art on Zazzle, but it really wasn’t something people wanted. However, I figured they might sell better over on Etsy as cross-stitch patterns. So, I’ve been slowly converting my art into patterns and listing them.

I will come back to writing. Just not sure if people are actually interested in the stories. I get maybe one or two likes on one out of ten story post and have had all of 2 comments across some 200 posts…so, my motivation to share is kinda lacking right now.

Maybe leave a nice comment or a like on some of the stories to let me know where I need to focus my attention.

DNA Jetsam and flotsam

Another day, another realization that my writing muse has decided to lock herself away somewhere and refuses to talk to me. So, I haven’t done much in the way of developing literature.

Instead, I’ve watched way too many hours on the History of Knitting. I found it rather interesting that it could be traced back to Egyptian Cotton stockings and that when Europeans finally decided to catch on with African and the Middle East in learning the technique, that guys took it over, hid it behind guild walls, and pretty much told women for a couple centuries that it was too difficult for them to learn. Same with regard to embroidery and weaving. Those I’ve known about, the knitting was new information.

Also been looking at tattoo ideas, now that I have my DNA results. Celtic, Danish, French, some of those ideas. But, Celtic Knots originated in the US in the 60s. And a lot of the Danish/Norse and some of the Celtic symbols are being taken over by neo-nazi, white supremecist, alt-right creepoids. No thanks.

Regardless of the tattoo issue, this is leaving me with a sense of floating, being a bit lost in finding myself. It’s a funny little bit of a quandry. African Americans, Asian Americans, and so on who have very distinctive features know that their ancestors either immigrated here or were forceably brought here. White folk do to, but a lot (especially rural) have been raised with a mentality in a somewhat homogenous community that they are the majority and therefore have the most say. But there is a fascinating level of desire to find out you have Native American blood in your genes. I was hoping I had some, just due to the family origin stories. I think I stumbled into why the family origin stories have it and it’s got me feeling lost.

White folk know that their families immigrated and there is a lot of background history of oppression. There’s the folk who go with that alt-right crap and get off on knowing they owned people way back. Then there’s the folk who really hope that their families weren’t those people and that they came from abolitionists and such.

There’s also a knowing that the US wasn’t white people country and that the land was stolen from the nations.

I had hopes of having a tether here, saying I had a reason for belonging. It was only ever myth for me.

Looking though at the countries I am genetically related to, they say I am just American. Quite a lot of them go “yeah, you might be genetic, but that doesn’t mean you’re ‘from’ here, so you can’t just come back, we won’t take you, you aren’t ‘Irish’, ‘Scottish’, ‘British’, ‘French’, ‘Danish’, etc.”

So I’m facing that nagging in the back of my mind that I was born and raised here, but I don’t really belong, but I won’t be claimed elsewhere.

It’s…interesting, and depressing. It’s something I had only ever tangentially wondered about, but always clung to the “no, I have background that helps me feel like it’s okay that I’m here.”

I don’t think there’s much to do with this feeling other than acknowledge it, use it to reflect, and better understand others who experience the same sensation of nebulous weightlessness, like a balloon caught in the convergence of two winds.

So, that might be one odd caution to those of you looking at getting one of those DNA tests done. It’s very informative. It’s impacting my health choices – eating better, exercise, etc. But it’s also made me realize that other than being born here, I don’t have the background. I’m just kinda living here, in land that was stolen from other people, that due to social and political structure is too expensive to leave, and the countries of my background don’t want to claim me because of a ‘you’re on your own there’ mentality.

Should countries accept back people who find out that is where their genetics is from? A repatriation of sorts? I don’t know. I think there would be quite a lot of people who would use that to their advantage to escape the conditions here. I know I would. I hate being associated with a government that is moving more and more to a fascist thematic. I want to live somewhere that is accepting of various races, sexual orientations, gender orientations, and so much more. Here. Here it’s depressing.

Anyways, thought that might be something to think about if you’re looking at getting tested and you’re whiter than milk paste mixed with titanium powder and have myths in your background.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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DNA test results

A post from the author.

I’ve been having some medical issues that have been bothering me in the past few months. They’ve been around for a while, but it’s in that level where I’m done being irritated with it. So, a couple months ago I did the cheap version of a genetics test and got one of those 23 and me things. I know. I know, it doesn’t show all the genetic veriabilities, but it would narrow down a handful of things for me and make it so I could look in a possible direction.

Amazingly, I got my results back in time for my birthday. Not sure if most people would see this as a great birthday present, but I’ve been on pins and needs in anticipation of what it would say. Turns out, the genetics that are tested didn’t have the issues I was checking for. Means I’ll need a regular *expensive* test if I’m still worried.

I grew up being told that I was Polish on one side of my family and that I was Native American (Blackfoot) and Scottish on the other side.

Come to find out, there is no Native American ancestory in my DNA, only a touch of Eastern European where the Polish might be if the test gets more refined, and there is, in fact, Scottish in there.

Mainly I’m from London, Manchester, Glasgow and Edinburgh and some areas in Western England. Then a whole nice chunk of Irish – Dublin and Cork more than the rest. That covers the UK area. Next up is Normandy, Lower Saxony, Denmark and then “Broadly Northwestern European” and that little bit of “Eastern European”.

Looks like my family didn’t get out much and preferred colder, wetter regions.

In a funny way, I was holding my breath because of the stories I’ve written. I’ve never been to Europe, I’m just an American mutt, but I wanted for Eoin, Fane, Bernard, Fearchar, Seonaid, Nat, and Yeller – my connections to learning and studying Irish and Scottish culture and language to be a bit more connected to me than just a flight of fancy.

I hope that as the years go on, I find out more in that “broadly” category. I want to know if some of my family can be traced to the Picts. That one, to me, would be really cool to learn about. Maybe find out more about the Normans and Saxons. I feel like, in a way, that I hit those ‘stereotypical European’ markers for any 18th century English person. Looks like my family, for so many people having moved over to America over the years, really didn’t get out and explore other cultures. They kinda kept to themselves I guess.

Oh, also that I have the markers for a power athlete. I had been told by my cardiologist that I have a certain type of arythmia scene in elite athletes that is supposed to make exercise easier. So, I guess I should stop making excuses and go find myself a gym somewhere. It’d at least make my gen-prac happier to see me taking better care of myself.

Might *might* have a slight gluten intolerance, but dairy is supposed to be A-OK.

I think, for today, I’m going to go see if I can find an easy dessert to make from one of these places. I’ve never really explored much in regards to Denmark, Saxony, or Normandy. That might be interesting.

I’ll be getting back into writing soon. I’ve been doing physical therapy work on my wrist (had surgery on both carpel tunnel and de quarvaine back in July) by taking up drop-spinning wool and a bit of knitting. That’s been eating up a lot of my time. Not sure why it took me so long, but I realized I could listen to audio books while doing that and I’ve been enjoying that thoroughly.

Well, I’m off to go work on my Duolingo and Drops Irish some more. Mango and Duolingo have Scottish Gaelic, but Drops doesn’t sadly. I hope they get it soon.

Do you have any good recipes from these places? I’d be interested to hear about them.

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Life of a Librarian: Ch 13

“You doing any better?” Sylwyn asked from the kitchen where he was putting away a couple bags of groceries.

I was laid out on the couch, curled around a hot water bottle in a teddy bear cover, the blanket pulled up over my head so that all that peaked out was my nose. “Been better. Been worse.”

“Brought some ibuprofen if you think that’ll help?” He offered.

“Meh. Just sore and cold.” I pulled myself out from my cocoon and sat up, the blanket pooling around me. I was not letting go of that hot waterbottle for anything, though. The knit texture of the teddy bear cover reassured me after the day I had gone through.

Sylwyn popped the door to the microwave. The clink of platewear meeting glass reminded me of my mother making soup when I was sick. Not sure why that memory decided to make an unannounced visit. Probably because I’d been surviving for too many months on my own and hadn’t heard someone else do that in a while. I missed them, mom and Uncle Tad both, so much.

Last I had seen of them was when I had dropped by for Sunday roast. Uncle Tad’s sepia pale complexion had gotten worse with the second round of chemo. His hair had not lasted through the first round. Mom had on her chunky rainbow cardigan she had bought the day after I’d come out to them. The one thing I was always thankful for was the coroner deciding that it was okay for me not to have to identify the bodies. There hadn’t been much left after the truck pushed their ambulance into the train. Uncle Tad had symptoms of a heart attack and mom had called for an EMT because with her bum back, she couldn’t get him into the car with him not being able to help. She’d said it’d be alright, that she’d keep taking care of him because it was just too expensive to put him in a home. How I wished in that moment that it had not been so expensive as to cost her her life.

“Was that a yes or no?” Sylwyn was standing over me, a crease in his eyebrow, pizza rolls steaming on a plate at my eye level.

“Sorry, I spaced. What?” I blinked against the dusk making everything fuzzy around the edges. I grabbed for my glasses, realizing the fuzziness was me and not the lighting.

“Ranch, want some?”

“Ranch?”

“Yeah, with your pizza rolls?” He offered.

I raised and eyebrow at him before squinting with concern. He returned the look with mischief and handed me the plate. I set it on a pillow on my lap and tested the heat. Sylwyn came back with a rice bowl with a decent sized blob of Ranch dressing in it. “You’ll thank me.”

There was no good reason to destroy a perfectly good pizza roll. But curiosity had the better of me. The combination gave me the weirdest level of nostalgia.

“See, told you,” Sylwyn chuckled, pleased as he brought his own plate over and sat down on the floor across from me.

“Do I even want to know how you figured that out?” The distraction was nice from where my mind was trying to drown in.

“Ranch was my comfort food for a solid six months and I will not admit to what all I put it on. The pizza rolls was one experiment that I decided I could retain from the great Ranch-seige of Sophomore year.” He plopped a white sauce drenched roll in his mouth, cocky pride spread across his chipmunk face.

“So, we can get ranch and pizza rolls, but not internet?”

“Bogus, I know, but it’s because there are just enough people down here that can’t actually be trusted with what they can find on line.”

“Seems sus.”

“In a ‘if we restrict information we can rule you’ cult-ish type of way?” Sylwyn asked around another roll. I nodded, realizing I had already wolfed down half my plate. “I mean, you can request print offs of Wiki and Ao3 and Wattpad if you’re really motivated to keep up with a story. Not like it’s fully restricted, just less so.”

“I feel bad for the guys inclined to being programmers. There’d be enough kids who would be into it these days.”

“Those with the talent are sent over to the British branch. They have more access to the web and the digital information side.”

I set my plate on the side table. “British branch?”

Sylwyn took my plate and set his empty one and the bowl of sauce on the counter to come back to later. “Each continent has at least one branch, including Antarctica. Most countries have at least one branch. Some have several. London’s one of the older branches. It was expanded back in the 1970s and retrofit to integrate web access back when it was more for professional papers being shared. Anyways, they have more access than we do over here.”

“Why? Seems kinda stupid.”

“I mean-“

“No, I got it. Really,” I stopped him from describing whatever horror occurred.

“Ever seen Avenue Q?”

“The Internet is For…”

Sylwyn nodded.

I face palmed. “Right, Rule 34.”

“That or Rule 49.”

“Remind me which one that’s from.” I sighed at the plight of humanity.

“Southpark ‘Profit’. Want chocolate?”

“What?” I looked up to find Sylwyn off rumaging in the freezer.

“I didn’t wait long enough for them to freeze, but whatever, they were selling them on discount.” He came back to the floor with a giant bag of pumpkin shaped Reeses.

“Yes, chocolate.” I slid off the couch to sit on the floor with him.

“Alright, I forgot cookies, but I fed you. Now, what do we do with the rest of the day? It’s not even evening. I kinda cut out on work, but the Chair can go roll over.”

“You said no video games. That sucks. I still need access to an internet connection at some point. Need to order some stuff. Not like I know where to get that delivered. Need to find out about my stuff from my apartment. Not like I want to lose everything in my life. I’m assuming I can get that all back.  Alright, mental note made. Help me summon a god.”

Sylwyn coughed on his chocolate. “Do what?”

“What? Help me summon a god.”

Sylwyn started a pile of orange colored packing on the carpet next to him. “I thought you said that. Two questions. Who and why?”

“Scare the crap out of the Chair?” I shrugged. He squinted at me. “Alright, more like I know they’re wanting me to join up with you in catching whats-her-name and that mystical text about the four direction animals.” I grabbed up a pumpkin chocolate and enjoyed the texture.

“You think you can Read a god into existence?”

I hummed I-don’t-know as I added the wrapper to Sylwyn’s pile.

“Right. Right,” he took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling for a minute. “You haven’t been taught jack. Let’s start from somewhere simpler and see exactly what your summoning limit is. Not everyone can do magic and metaphysics. Cheryl was someone who could, but she didn’t have the talent to become a Dewey. Possibly a Chair member, but those are lifelong positions and only seven of them at a time.”

“I’ve summoned wizards already.” I pointed out.

He rubbed his chin in thought. Laying down, he reached back to his shelf and pulled out a book. Curling up, he handed me the book.

“A Curation of the Fae and Celtic Mythology?” I read off the title of the chunky paperback.

“Let’s try a Brownie. Small, easily contained, not liable to malevolent destruction like a Boggart.”

“How about not a Brownie. My understanding of the little guys leads me to not want it disappearing into the shadows of the apartment and me feeling like it’s watching me for the rest of my life.”

“A Gean-Canach might be an easy option,” Sylwyn mused.

I flipped through the index to try to find this thing. “What does it do?”

“Think Celtic Incubus.”

I glared at him. “Brownie sounds safer. Don’t even think Dullahan, not happening.”

“Oh, come on. You’re over here saying ‘help me summon a god’, but a Brownie and a Boggart are giving you the heebies.”

“Well, Fae tend to have a trickster side to them, a bit of mischieviousness and a sour personality if they get hungry or don’t get what they want. There’s a double play on Snickers in there somewhere. Hmmm, cut up a bunch of snickers into brownie batter. I don’t exactly want to piss one of these things off.”

“Now I have a different definition for Brownie batter, thanks,” Sylwyn bemoaned the innuendo he stumbled on. “Then you just unRead them.”

“Oh, right. And you’re welcome.”

“So, Brownie?”

“I guess we’re building up from a Brownie to what? A Leanan Sidhe, Undine, Nymphs, Banshees?” I skimmed the different names in the index.

“Probably a decent set to work up to Danu.”

“Why her?”

“She’s a mother goddess, so a little less likely to smite the inside of the apartment with a lightning bolt or flood it.”

“I mean, Hestia might be safer?” I offered the hearth goddess.

“Maybe, but I don’t have any books in here with her in it right now. Circling back, who are you wanting to Read to scare the Chair with?”

“Not quite sure yet. I was thinking Coyote or the Bears from Bear’s Lodge, if I can find the written story for that. Then again, I haven’t exactly been direct quoting things,, so maybe I can get away with Uncle Tad’s old stories” I mused.

“Second time this evening. What?”

“Well, some of the stuff I did the other day when I got pissed off and went to the testing grounds, I was just summoning scenes and characters that I remembered, but I didn’t really have lines memorized for them.”

Sylwyn laid his head in his hands. “You were Reading a vague mood?” He pulled the vowels out in indignation.

“Ehhh.” I wiggled my fingers in a give-and-take way.

“Oh My,” he stalled on that and muttered a scramble of words that edged on cussing. He flicked a hand toward the book. “Just Read the things and work your way through. Let’s see what all you can manage and we’ll revisit the fact that you might be a freaking bard. Lord, I hope not. That’s all we need is a Mnemosyne right now. You are a main character, so of course you’d be able to just…gah”

I snorted. The evening lay before us and I was going to chew through Sylwyn’s collection of English literature to see where my limit lay in conjuring truly powerful beings.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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