An Angel's Death; or, How Daveney's Birds Lost Their Wings; or, Twice the Thirteen.

An Angel's Death; or, How Daveney's Birds Lost Their Wings; or, Twice the Thirteen.

Postby Kylerryth » Tue Sep 08, 2009 1:17 pm

My will shall shape the future.
Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own.
I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze.
My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.


* * * * *


He had killed a man.

[indent]Tell me this thing instead, Ariane said to him, the wind eliciting susurrant music from the kolts in her multitude of dark braids. Have you a knack for knives beyond toying with them? Such things you would do well to determine sooner than later, I think -- lest you find one in your hand and put to bloody use. Best to learn these things before instinct teach you them roughly.[/indent]

He had killed a man he did not even know. That was not entirely the truth, though -- the man's black coat, with its offset single row of buttons and high collar, was evidence enough of his identity. His allegiance.

[indent]He had just murdered one of the channelers of the Ducal Aegis, and had not felt the slightest bit of hesitation in performing the act. He had spun, drawn and thrown the knife in one fluid motion, as if born to such mellifluous celerity; had already envisioned the outcome of the action in five different ways ere even releasing the blade.[/indent]

When the knife found its mark in his throat, Angel Baptiste's deep-set, kohl-touched eyes had opened wide and white as dinner plates; they had rolled down to stare at the hilt and grip protruding from his neck at an obscene angle. And then there had been blood; a copious, incredible amount of blood bubbled from the sundered throat of the channeler, hot and stygian and free, in a wheezing sigh, and the black-coated man sank to the floor as if he were lying down for an unexpected nap of sorts, giving a wet exhale of contentment before falling asleep for the rest of time to the tiny music of the silver bells woven into his thin braids.

[indent]Daveney, is there someone here who can help us? he asked her, smoothing the errant hair from her pale brow, his blue-gray eyes wide but focused. He was calm, almost strangely so, but could feel the spiders' legs of panic creeping in at the edges of his consciousness.

I can, said a voice from the doorway behind him. A somehow familiar voice.

His reaction was instantaneous, a reflex, like it had been crafted from pure instinct.

Like Ariane had warned him it might be.
[/indent]

The body of Angel Baptiste had been removed from Daveney's apartments and, in the bed of a covered haywain and after night had fallen for true, transported to the inn where the Duke of Thessilane's representatives resided for the time being, due to the official Thesil embassy having been destroyed by a recent attack. Then, while Daveney and Coran were en route to the Rememdium, every inch of the former's apartment was cleaned so as to eliminate any and all trace of the dead man, of the blood that had been shed by Daveney and Coran themselves, and of the shattered birds, which had not been shaped from glass so much as hope and dreams.

* * * * *


As was the case in many stories, there was another, altogether different side to this one.

[indent]I already know I have a capacity for violence, Coran said, rubbing the back of his neck. I was a soldier, wasn't I?

You have such a capacity, Ariane replied, nodding. Other things temper it, mn? Perhaps you were a soldier, but that you'd had
training was always clear; that you were diligent with what you practiced. With everything that you practiced, yes?[/indent]

Such as tenderness and honesty.

* * * * *


[indent]All of my birds are gone, Daveney whispered, her voice faraway, unfocused, floating on the soft warm waves of poppymilk lapping at the shores of her brain.

He sat on a stubby and sturdy three-legged stool, an exact duplicate of the one in his own room here at the Rememdium, for once made small by his bent posture and the oppressive weight of his guilt. He held a cane upright between his knees -- it was a temporary thing, the cane; or so the physician promised -- and gripped it with hands invisibly stained by a murder committed some days previous, hands clenched so tight their knuckles were the bloodless white of some cave-dwelling worm-thing, and rubbed his forehead against the polished knurled knot of the cane's head. His eyes had been shut awhile, but opened at the faint sound of Daveney's voice; they did not, however, look up from the floor.

They're gone, he said to her. He came and took away their wings, Daveney. And I killed him for it. Your birds are gone, and they will never fly -- but he will never live again, either. Of that I made sure.

I killed him for it, Daveney echoed in her quiet drug-drawl, in a voice that was so like unto a bird itself: fine-boned and delicate, dwindling into the distance, soon to be lost.

She turned her head to face him, but her eyes were dull sapphires, lightless -- they saw through him, not him at her beside.

I can't get out, Daveney said, her eyes suddenly wet and filled with hot, burning tears that, as he watched, spilled over onto the soft curve of her upturned cheek, onto the goosefeather pillow beneath her head. I can't get out, she repeated, fading. Fading away, crushed by the loss of those thirteen glass birds forever frozen in flight. Crushed in much the same way they had been.

I will let you out, Daveney, he said as he lifted her from the bed, carried her toward the door. We'll go out together. Together, we'll fly from here.

We'll fly from here, he said as he bore her down the hallway to the foyer. And I promise you, Daveney, I will make them pay for what they did. I will make them pay. For every bird they took away, I will take away one of them.

Together, Daveney. Together, he said as he stood outside with her in his arms, bathed in the molten gold of the afternoon sun and breathing in the cool breath of the wind, we'll fly higher and farther than anyone ever dreamed.
[/indent]

* * * * *


On that day by the lake, when they sat by its placid shore:

[indent]I will tell you this, Coran D'zir, Ariane said to him, her eyes like pale steel raised to the storm-clouded sky of his own gaze. The man that you were would speak sometimes in this way; of such things, warm and simple things, mn? And those ... were fine moments; most fine.[/indent]

The night before he left for Darkenhold, when there emerged a moment of quiet promise:

[indent]Daveney crawled across the bed, pausing behind him to lay her hands and then her lips on his shoulders. I would see you safe, she said against his skin. I would see you come to terms with the man you were, with the man you are.

You've helped me learn about who I am, he said. For that, I can't thank you enough. But, by the same token, that's why I have to go. I have to know. But Daveney -- I give you my word, Daveney, that I'll come back. No matter what, I'll find a way to come back to you.[/indent]

And he had. And if the present were any sort of indication, it had quite possibly been the worst thing he could have done to Daveney Sauveterre.

* * * * *


For the second time in recent memory, Coran D'zir found himself relishing the relatively simple anatomical feat of curling his toes. A little over a week after their arrival in the night; after hours of intense, precise surgery on Coran's feet and Daveney's hands and feet; after every detectable speck, sliver, and shard of glass had been removed from their bodies, the physicians and nurses of the Rememdium had deemed Daveney and Coran fit and well enough to go to their respective homes. They sent a nurse to accompany Daveney to the teahouse, as her injuries allowed her only limited use of her left hand and basically none with her right; Coran, on the other hand, was just given instructions on how to care for his wounds and the best way to expedite his ultimate recovery. There were no instructions, however, on the best way to alleviate a growing sense of regret, or the easiest manner in which to shoulder the burden of guilt.

From the saddle of his mount Coran watched the nurse aid Daveney in climbing into a coach; watched as the door was shut behind them and the driver, after receiving a knock of confirmation from the inside, cracked his whip, setting the horses to an easy trot for the journey back to town. Coran watched as the coach, bearing its precious and convalescent cargo, made its way down the firmly packed dirt road leading away from the Rememdium. Away from him. Coran curled his toes again, and his mount stamped an eager hoof.

[indent]You and me, together, we'll fly from here.[/indent]

He was her guardian. He was her ruin.

His fingers tightening on the reins, Coran dug his heels into the stallion's flanks and made to follow the coach.

[indent]And I promise you, Daveney, I will make them pay for what they did. I will make them pay.

For every bird they took away, I will take away one of them.
[/indent]
I'll either find a way or make one.
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Kylerryth
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