(Interaction of Antonio Sabatier and Marissa de Vie, also posted in "In The Silence of the Deep".)
He'd gotten Ella's first note, but not the second.
Not yet, anyway, for the first one had him tearing off to find her, to find all of them. This was his fight, and how strange he should feel that way, but he did. Unsure of the reason, there was no time to probe for it, there was only time to find Ella, and those who were going to make the stand with her. And he was one of them. He had tracked her to the docks, and there....all hell broke loose!
There is no chance. There is no happenstance.
There are only things that are meant to be, planned to be. Long ago she had learned to accept that and rarely did she question the scenes of her life now as they unfolded.
Blind faith' Not hardly. Call it experience. Seasoning. Live and learn. She looked no further than the moment. Had not for a long time. Content in her existence at the will of The Protectors, for it was at their hands that she had learned most and been given her gift in return, she did not question where she was or when she was there, for long ago they had taught her why. She had suspected, coming to know with assurance shortly after she could no longer feel the link with her brother Kaine, of what she was born to do, to accomplish, to be. Some things were as they always had been.
She knew she was supposed to be on this street corner, on this night, although she did not know why. She had felt the earth rumble as she walked to this section of the town, knew that some hard catastrophe had occurred here, but what she would be doing in the midst of it was not yet clear. Still, she was confident the reason would be presented to her, sooner or later. There was a slight moan of wind swirling the bight of her long white cloak around her ankles, that same breeze moving curled strands of dark auburn hair across her face like a veil. A slender hand lifted to wipe at that hair, as she tilted her head to give her ears advantage to the cacophony of sounds that would be her vision, that would let her imagine what a panoramic view of the area might look like, destruction and waste spread before her, smoke still plumming up silently from the explosions of the decrepid building, giving the area the resemblance of being covered by a sereen blanket of mist. But there was nothing sereen about this place. Men and women had fought here, had bled here, had died here. She knew all this, knowledge of past experience, knowledge of the scents upon the wind blown to her now. Had she not stood in such a place a hundred times in the past' Would she not stand there yet a hundred times in the future" Would there not always be a need, as long as there were those who quibbled over power — as long as there were others who could be hired to do the unconsionable work of those" There was a calmness in those softened moss-green yet unseeing eyes that shone through with the familiarity of it, but it was not a pleasant reckoning. Would it always be so' Woven into the very fabric of human existence, is there no choice but for it to be this way'
The stench of the explosion rose up from the rolling cloud of dust, the acrid odor of burning stretching out across the docks to gather her in in a welcoming embrace as she stepped forward into it, making her eyes instantly water and her throat constrict. She refused to let it win and choked down the dust that filled her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her throat, hands briefly at her neck, as she closed her eyes and tilted back her head, in a vain search for that wisp of fresh air that might push through on the grateful finger of a fickle wind. Only a short few days ago, maybe longer, men and women had worked here, lived here, breathed here, men and women who might have perished here tonight, men and women with families waiting for their safe return, with hopes of a future and a peaceful life. Had any survived" She listened hard for the sounds, moans of the injured, screams of the pained, but she heard none of that. Perhaps the building had collapsed with such quickness that any who might have been inside had been killed instantly. But, if that were so, then she would not have been called forth, to be here. Her gift as the protectress of life, something she had long referred to as LifeForce, was not effective if there was no pinprick of life remaining. If death had made its claim already, she was not able to reverse that process; only if a spark of life yet remained could she be useful.
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The Spaniard was lost. Adrift in that swarm of dust and dirt and he did not even know it. Blind to what was in front of him, numb to his feet, his arms. He knew he was moving, but his body seemed heavy, his legs too thick to obey his commands to move, he felt himself sway and pitch drunkenly from one place against the wall, to the next, and each step was harder to take than the last. His heart was racing, he could feel that, but he couldn't get a breath, at least not as much as his smoke-seared lungs needed, and he was soon panting with the effort of just....being. He still held the Dunbar, but had not the strength to hold it up, its tip dragged along the stones behind him now. He should let go of it, it was weighting him down, but he could not remove the hand that held onto its hilt, he could not unwind those fingers, they seemed frozen in their positioning. That hand, that arm, up into his chest was on fire and the snakes there that he kept safe for Ella were screaming in fury. It felt like they were biting razor-sharp fangs into his flesh, over and over. He saw no one, spoke to no one, all his effort concentrating on just moving.
She moved with a quiet calmness she didn't really feel....even now she could not walk among the result of man's inhumanity to man and not feel that tight knot of disgust in the pit of her stomach.....even after all this time. She felt the air about her disturbed as someone moved past, close enough for her to scent, but not close enough to touch. The urge to follow was strong, she knew better than to deny such urges in these situations. She followed at a short distance, listening closely for the way, hearing steps taken, listening to their cadence, noting as they became hesitant, and halting, then stopped altogether, but then another sound: a groan, that most human noise of distress, followed by something solid thudding against wood. She stopped and felt, as much as heard, the body slide down into unconsciousness, the collapse of man, or it could be woman, to the cobblestone, the ching of metal as she presumed his (or her) sword would hit the stones. The great exhale of breath as air left the body would be her sign to move forward, and quickly she did, hands practiced at being her eyes roaming over a man's body, as she determined by their touch, searching for injuries. She felt nothing amiss, no slick of sticky blood from wound did her fingers encounter, but her hands placed upon him to monitor his pulse, one at the side of his neck, one over his heart, would tell her he was in shock, the pulse weak and thready, the breathing shallow and erratic. He was dying.
He was dying. He knew that much. He had been witness to many men who had taken their last breaths, he knew the signs beforehand, and he recognized his plight. How did it come to this" He remembered raising the Dunbar and storming the inner room, intent upon slashing whatever lay in his path, for the others who would come after him, for the ones who had been taken and lay weak and wounded somewhere within. But had he slashed, had he stabbed, had he gored with the brunt of the great sword's blade" He could not remember. Had any of the others beside him succeeded in killing the hoarde they faced, moving further in a frantic search to find Anya and Gem alive" He did not know. Lighting, bolts hurled toward them all as they stormed the inner sanctum, and he thought he had escaped their fury, amazingly, for he held the Dunbar high to spearhead the attack. Then a flash....an explosion' A bolt ramming home from the great sword's tip down its length and into his hand, his arm, his body' The coming of holy of holies to begin jihad, Banu He'lah warriors riding hard on thundering hoof to claim their prize and raise the heinous dead back into obscene life" And he was blind, spinning, careening into another plane of existence, fighing to stay conscious, but confused, disoriented, blindly running. It was then the thunder of his own heart had shut everything else out of his hearing, then that he felt it pounding with a feriocity that only got stronger, and he couldn't breath, the dense smoke filled everywhere. Blind, deaf, mute. He knew one day he would die as a warrior, he just had not counted on this being that day.
It was the beginning edge of night moving to day - that undefined, in-between time of existence - that insecure time when light wavers between then and now, making figures distort and shadows congeal. What is seen is not real. What is real is not seen. Anyone glimpsing the scene would have seen only the movement of a form of white, seeming to glide forward, as if not quite tethered to the earth, in its forward progress. A spectral visitation of an earthy familiarity, or just a trick of the light, what little there was remaining"
The question would wait to be answered, for now, as she knelt by this one...she found what she sought. Hands lifted to quickly release the tie at her neck, allowing the cloak to drift down from around her shoulders, as she hastily pushed it on top of the man for the warmth it could yet provide to him. The flesh cool to her touch, and she knew it would appear pale, but not yet ashen, her fingers pressed to the artery just below the jawline told her nothing of why his life was leaving. She lowered her head to his chest, straining to hear the faint beat beneath the tattered remnants of his shirt. Was that a sound, or did she just want it so badly to be? Was that a thump, or was it the echoing of her own heart, hammering hard against her own ribcage, accelerating with an adrenalin rush born of possibility' She jerked her head away from his chest with a gasping intake of air, moving close her fingers over his face and suddenly felt the involuntary subtle jerk at the corner of his eye. His pupils, she knew would be dilated, but with her touch suddenly involuntarily constricted.....his lids twitched.
Dochas fhathast bi. Life yet remained.
On the brink he tottered and she knew it. A swift rake of her hand down his chest pushed her cloak off temporarily and removed the dregs of his clothing. She hunched over him, bending low, one palm flat against his chest, directly covering the organ that struggled faintly to persevere...the other palm pressed on top of that one, leaning forward, her weight on those hands pushed against his chest....her face in position to loom up over his, those gentle green eyes now glowing brightly with intent, as she pulled all of her concentration to a point to focus on him.
The danger would be now to them both...for so engaged, in the losing of her Self into his, in the sharing of her LifeForce with him, to strengthen and perserve what life he clung to, they would both be vulnerable, both unaware as to surroundings and both unable of self-defense. For from this point forward....they both would live...or they both would die. Fates intertwined. As it was meant to be.
He was no where. Or somewhere that he didn't know. There were no landmarks, no color, to aid him in determining where. White all around. White yet bright. A calmness, a peace, a serenity, and he wanted to go that way. He heard a voice, at last he could hear again, calling to him, beckoning him forth, and he was alright with the knowledge that he had died. This, did not hurt. It was almost an adventure that he was suddenly looking forward to, what would be the next' Forms in white all surrounding him now, reaching out, touching...and he knew them...Maria his first love and wife, their child...Benito and Raul....his own mother.....so much peace....so much serenity....he had never in his life felt so warm, cherished. A golden beam descending now, brighter than all the rest, and the voice...its tone something he could hold on to....coming to surround them all.
Deep breaths....she had to keep breathing, this she knew....inhale....exhale....repeat the process...again and again...for the both of them. She strained with the effort of it. She tried not to know him, intimately, as they joined....just as she tried each time....but when souls merge, when life moves back and forth from the living body into the dying in the exchange of LifeForce minds were shared, lives were shared, .....everything....was shared, the bond of giving and taking the life from one to save the other created and there was no help for it. She knew all of him immediately, past and present, as he would so know her. They knew each other's lives, as they shared the one LifeForce that flowed between them...the two becoming the One...for the time it would take to repair and restore his body, if it could be done....while it took and sapped strength from hers.
He was dreaming. Dreaming of the battle at Talles Pass. It was a fierce one, long and hard fought, and by the end of the day, most every Ashford man in the regiment lay either killed or gravely wounded. The Guilford fighters outnumbered them and they were seasoned veterans, skilled and quick to the kill. The last of them fell in the last wave of enemy warriors....and after that....there was not a man left that was whole and untouched. He fell under the last advance by Guilford soldiers....and was left as a casualty on the field....not quite dead, but soon to be, his life ebbing with the flow of his blood as it spilled slowly out onto the field. With such a inevitability, there was no need for the rear guard to spend the effort to slice his throat - time would take its toll and claim his life soon enough - as it would those around him — all fallen in the name of the Duchess of Ashford.
Even as he lay he could hear the sound of drums in a steady far-away cadence....but it was too late....and his eyelids fluttered as through his prone body traversed the droning of that drum's steady beat....again....and again....and again....the sound of the drum coming closer....the beats steady and controlled but getting slower and getting louder.....again...and again...closer....closer....blood pounding in his ears as the drum beat again...and again.....blood pound....drum beat....lub dub....boom boom....droning on...and on....but slower....and slower.....one.....beat.....and.........one........ ......more..................and..............
She opened her eyes with a jolt, head snapped back and hands jerked away from the man's chest as simultaneously his own eyes were wrenched open and he sucked in a great gasp of air with an emmision of something between a groan and a cry...the separation intense and sudden....as their souls parted, life returned each to his or her own form...as it should be, but this always the most dangerous passage. His hands lifted and reached out for her. Her own hands groped the air, she caught his hands in hers, holding to them tightly, as he pulled in breath after great sucking breath, chest rising and falling now with the effort. His color, if she could have seen it, would be slowly returning as the air entered his body and made its way through his bloodstream, pushed along by the renewed beating of his heart....lub dub....boom boom....droning on and steadily on.....her voice was gentle and soothing as she caressed him with it...."Welcome back...."
Not able to speak, not able to understand what had happened, he focused on her face as she bent over him, holding his hands, being his lifeline, bringing him back from the brink of extinction, his eyes widened as his senses gradually returned. All he could do was stare into her face, as the life rushed back into his body, a gift of her own Soul, to him....and suddenly he understood, as he reverently uttered words, no louder than a whisper...his face enraptured with the light from her own.....
"Aingeal de Sollise...."
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