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sparkindarknessI've found listening to music can kill creativity - usually I'm too concentrated to the music to think about anything else. But it can be really useful way to write fic as well - made writing far faster by choosing songs that have the right emotional reaction in me, and mader me ahrder to distract *thwaps b/f* even when people are trying to be very distracting.
Anyway, time to see how this works, or whether it's the music high talking. - If it keeps working I should be ready to post some more on different fics tomorrow as well - maybe.
Getting back to our flat was an adventure in itself, with Darren walking like a lobotomy victim and a jingling shaman - when will these guys start updating? - on my back. Thankfully it was the middle of the night, and besides, most people were probably heading to the park, that’s where the police were certainly heading, i so don't want to be the one organising this cover up.
Still, a few miles of staggering and a few more flights of stairs later, we’re back at our flat. I was kinda hoping Darren would recognise the place. But, no, nothing. Didn’t even blink. he did sit in the most stylish chair though (he’s slowly transforming my flat into some interior designer’s wet dream, He may be an evil creature of pure malevolent power, but you have to admit, Darren does have stunning good taste) which I took as a good sign. He didn’t hear me when I spoke to him though.
I dumped the unconscious Shaman on the couch, which seems to have been replaced by some exotic black thing with gold and red patterns on it. It’s cool though. I take a minutes to ask a few of my ever present spirits to keep an eye on him, I’m not overly worried though, this is my home after all. The only person whose ever managed to take me down in my own place was Darren, and that mainly because I wasn't ready for him. I got some severely nasty surprises waiting for anyone tries to take me on here. Just in case I search the older man for any fetishes or talens, pulling out anything that feels even vaguely spiritual. He couldn’t match me without these earlier on fairly neutral ground. No way he’s taking me down without them.
I give him a quick check over while searching him, but he seems to be Ok, looks like he had a couple of healing fetishes slung about him that’ve healed any damage. Anyway, shouldn’t be all that much, I don't have much to do with lethal spirits, not my style. I’m beginning to recognise the signs of Darren’s family now. This guy’s short as well, alright not as short as Darren, but he’s still only about 5’ 8”. His eyes are closed, but I know they're the same deep blue as Darren’s and his sister’s. I’ve always thought of his eyes as some deep pool in the depth of a cave somewhere, with just a touch of light to make the depths visible. It’s eerie seeing someone else with Darren’s eyes. He wasn’t alabaster pale like Darren, i always thought it freakily unnatural how pale my lover is, I mean he’s literally white as a sheet. A corpse isn't as pale as he is. but then his sister had been pale too, not as pale, but still close. This man was much darker, I’m not sure if it’s genetics or a tan though - he has no tan lines, but shamans are known to do the naked out door ritual thing. What? I checked the waistband of his trousers, honest!
He has Darren’s hair though. Every one of his relatives I’ve ever seen have always had this rich black hair, and I mean REALLY black. It’s so black it manages to shine and eat the light at the same time. Soft and thick and long. I can close my eyes and touch this man’s hair and nothing tells me it isn’t Darren. It even smells the same, rich, slightly earthy and amazingly fresh. Like a cold wind through a th
thick, ancient forest. There are other differences though. Darren is almost painfully thin, but it’s natural not some stupid dieting fad. He’s close to scrawny actually, his chest and stomach look defined, you can see the muscles, but it’s less due to weight lifting and work outs and more to do with there just not being al, that much fat over the top. This guy’s a lot older than Darren, but he’s pretty ripped. Not the huge, weird overdone look of body-builders (can we say “Yuck!”) no, that perfect strong look, all muscles bulging. Something about them gives me the idea of hard work and an active life more than some expensive gym or something. Either way they're nice to look at even if the guy’s over 50.
Still I’ve done what I can for both of them, for a second anyway. I can leave them long enough to stagger to the coffee machine. After a night like tonight I am in serious need of some thick black coffee that makes the spoon practically stand on end. I run thought to my kitchen, noticing in passing the several patches of fresh paint adding a green theme to my previously ice white kitchen. Darren has been busy lately. I’d get mad, I mean it is technically my flat, but I’m too busy being happy that he considers the flat enough of a home to re-decorate, that he's that comfortable here. From the little he’s told me, and he’s told me practically nothing, he’s not been very comfortable anywhere before. Besides, it looked good.
I grab some coffee beans from the freezer, not even checking what type they were - unusual for me, since I like to get the blend just right and am willing to mix and match different beans until I get what i want. Still, even without looking I can sense their origin and flavour, their potency and characteristics - no, it's not some weird caffeine fiend’s sense, the beans have had their spirits awakened, like just about everything else in my flat. I am a techno-shaman after all, what’s the point of something that can't talk back to you?
Speaking of which, I send my senses out through the flat, searching for Ghost. Generally an easy thing with my personal spirit guide. He’s lurking in his palm top on the kitchen counter, a little weaker than usual, but fine. I would’ve known long since if he were having any trouble. Not bad, cuts through Dark magic spells and keeps it’s edge. I should put that on a little label on the back.
I put the beans into the spiritually awakened grinder, letting their soothing chatter ease the tension in my head as the spirits confer to make sure the coffee is as perfect as it can be. They seem to sense my tiredness though, and don't bring me into the complex debate of smoothness, richness, strength, texture and flavour that we’ve repeated day after day for years. No, I needed someone who could give me a few answers.
“Ghost? Ghost, you up for a talk, or too wasted?”
You sound worried. Hell, you feel worried. I’m up to playing agony aunt. Spill, Rick.
I poured the ground coffee into the coffee maker (awakened) and paused, listening to the gurgling of the machine and the muted babbling of the spirits (I think Ghost has passed the word to keep it down. Heh, he may be snarky, but he's not bad my spirit guide). “You know what’s happened? Been keeping up?”
As best I can. Short version, Darren had a major domestic with the rest of his family. One missing presumed squished really unpleasantly. Another definitely dead, and the last you went mano-y-mano on and, to everyone’s great surprise, managed to bring down. And for some reason he’s now zonked out on the couch. What’re you doing, collecting pretty magic users who might kill you? I’d stick to stamps or something, personally.
“Well, that’s most of it. Darren’s hurt though...”
His brain’s fried. How bad is it?
You know it’s bad when Ghost doesn’t make fun of a situation. “I don’t know. Bad I think. But Ahrimadan isn’t worried, he’s sure Darren will be fine in a little while. He should know right? He is Darren’s familiar.”
What do you think?
“I really don’t know. Everything in me’s screaming it’s bad, though. But...”
You trust the cat? He is a daemon remember, not exactly the best source for info. Slightly ahead of Fox news for reliability but still far from perfect.
“Yeah, but why would he lie about Darren? Surely he doesn;t want Darren hurt either.
No... but he's also less likely to want to face the truth. He’s a daemon and mega-arrogant about Darren’s abilities. Can't say I blame him, the kid can lay down some serious smack down, but he ain’t a god and he has his limits. I don’t think Ahrimadan realises that. I don’t think he can. I also don’t think he knows Darren very well.
“He must know him! He’s his bloody familiar, it’s be like you not knowing me.”
Well, you’re not exactly overly complex to figure out. I’m thinking about hiring you out to preschoolers to practice on. No, Ahrimadan doesn’t understand Darren, because he’s a daemon. There are some things daemons can’t understand.
“Like what? In thought there were daemon summoning rituals that could tell you just about anything?”
Just the facts, yeah. But there’s a difference between knowing and understanding, you should know that shaman-boi. How many morons run around chanting ‘e=MC squared’ and think they understand physics? No, I’ll lay odds that Ahrimadan doesn't understand love, or mercy, or light, or compassion. And these are things Darren has in spades.
Now that’s just weird. A sorcerer compassionate? That’s like saying a model’s modest! “Darren? We talking the same guy here? Y’know, short, beautiful, really good in bed. Used dark magic to rot off a man’s arm in the most agonising way possible because the guy tried to pick his pocket? Not exactly merciful.”
That's the guy, yeah. The guy who voluntarily tortures himself with red hot fucking metal rather than give in to the darkness. Would you do that? Or just say screw it and take over a small, hell, with his power, a large country and rule it as brutal dictator?
Damn, he had a point. I hate it when Ghost’s right, he’s the world’s worst fucking gloater. Thankfully I was spared having to answer the smug spirit when I heard a groan from the couch. The shaman was getting up. I waited, looking over the kitchen cabinet into the living room, while he rubbed his head and collected his thoughts. His head must be throbbing after the sound blast he was hit with, but he sat up far faster than I would’ve done. They breed them tough these Camaalis folk.
“Can we start without you going all psycho on me? This is my flat, my home. I’m a shaman. You’re a shaman, you’re pretty smart, do the math.”
He stretched painfully, taking several deep breaths. “You took my talens. Yes, i can do the math, boy. Only a fool challenges a shaman in his own home. I underestimated you once, I will not do it again. You are very good and very powerful. I am impressed.” He stopped, kinda chewing on his words, looking bitter. “I have to admit, you are better than me. Even if we were on neutral ground, I think. At shamanism anyway. Do you know how rare you are?”
I didn’t actually. I’d always kept away from the wider magical community, didn’t really want to get involved, besides I knew next to nothing about it. Darren said there were these massive families and magical organisations all over the place, well, I didn't know much about them, and the few I’d met, and were technically part of, I was happy to leave well alone.
“You want coffee? It’s awakened, just about everything here is, though I imagine you already guessed that. I got some awakened aspirin as well... uh, kinda like awakened willowbark? Or are you Camaalis guys more open to techno-spirits than most shamans?”
He smiled at me, thoughtfully. “We are more open to most magic, it has been the key to our success over the centuries, a willingness to change, a willingness to accept new and different customs and methods. Though technomagics in their various forms are still sadly rare.” He frowned, looking even more thoughtful if possible as I poured out the coffee and fished out a couple of spiritual aspirin. I was nearly to the couch before he spoke again. “You know a fair amount about us, our practices, our openness... and you knew I was Camaalis. I suppose we are famous among magical communities, but I think it is more. I take it you are a friend of Darren’s?”
I stopped mid-step, nearly spilling coffee on the carpet. I heard the spirits scream in outrage at the near sacrilege of spilling caffeine. I glared at the other shaman, mega-defiant like. “Yeah, I know Darren. Well. We’re lovers, have been for nearly a year now, been living together from nearly square one too.”
He looked surprised, “and he’s safe? He hasn’t hurt you? Harmed you? Does he... does he love you? he said he had found love, but I never believed it possible.”
I blinked. I was surprised now... “What? It’s impossible for Darren to love, or impossible for someone to love another guy?”
He laughed then, and it was good laugh, rich and jolly. I got a flash of a jovial, wise man who gave advice with a grin, the face he showed when he wasn't in near death situations. It was sad really, I wanted to see that man, not the suspicious, tired, so desperately sad figure in front of me. “Don’t be so defensive, child. I am not homophobic, far from it, you’ll have to look hard to find any such prejudice among the Camaalis clan. We’re pagans remember, unless Darren hasn't maintained his faith? When it comes to love and lust we are free and unfettered, the better to let it flourish and thrive, regardless of gender. We always have been and always will be. No, my surprise is Darren can love - he’s a sorcerer. Every source we have says they are incapable of gentle human emotion.”
I was actually a little stunned. He was a good guy, a kind guy, someone wise and fatherly, I could feel it coming off him like waves. The Camaalis clan was free and liberal and loving, willing to tolerate centuries ago what even now is attacked by bigots. And even now, with my shaman senses, heightened by the presence of another shaman, heightened by the allied, awakened spirits in my home, all I could feel from the other man was sadness, massive grief. No anger, no rage, no hate... just like Darren’s sister. In that moment it hit me - for all they were trying to kill my lover, clan Camaalis was not evil.
I put the coffee on the table, and the pills and sat down next to Darren’s unresponsive form, feeling a little crazy. It was far easier to get through all this believing Darren’s family were evil.
“You look surprised... surely he’s told you about the dangers of loving a sorcerer? Surely you know he could turn on you at any time?”
Ok, that knocked me out of it. “I am surprised, but that you guys seem to be decent people, given your psychotic crusade. Glad to see you’re returning to form there. Yeah, Darren’s fed me that whole load of shit when we first met, tried to drive me away, all that crap.” I leaned forward, and the air crackled as the spirit’s charged it with their power and my emotions. “So I’ll tell you what I told him. I don’t care, and I don’t believe it. He won’t kill me, i see it every night in his eyes, I see his love, I feel it! There IS light in his shadows, there is a, what did he call it? A spark in the darkness. And I swear it can fight back the worst that’s in Darren, it can give him what little life and happiness it can claim, no matter how small that will be. And fuck you all, I’m going to make sure he enjoys as much of it as he can, to make every shining moment beautiful for as long as I can. I won’t let you take that from him for the sake of history. I won’t let you take that from us.”
He fell back into his chair, looking at me with some weird expression I couldn’t describe on his face. The he smiled. No, he fucking grinned! “It’s true! It is love... astounding... could we have been wrong all this time? But... after Kat’s...” his face crumpled with grief.
I felt a pang hit me too, I’d been there when Darren killed his sister, i remember how much it hurt him to do it, how he felt his hand forced. How his family had forced him to step into the darkness he’d fought for so long. Anger was there again, quick and hot. “You have no idea how much you hurt him then! His sister, his own sister! You gave him no choice, you fucking forced him into the darkness. Forced him to become even more of what he hates. Don’t you see it you bastard?! He doesn't want this! He didn't choose this! He fights it, he runs from it! He stands such pain that I can't even imagine it just to avoid becoming the thing you’re trying to kill him for, and even with every fucking sacrifice he makes you still hound him! You make everything he's done, everything he’s suffered useless by forcing him to take another fucking step into the darkness, do something else to damn his soul, do something else to kill the light and let the darkness rule! Bastards!” I hit him, I was so angry, for a moment there I hated him. For the first time in my life, I hated something...
My voice was squeezed down and tight, ‘cos I just wanted to hit him again, and again, wanted to scream and break something. They made him hurt so much. “You made him hate himself. From childhood you taught him to hate himself. Taught him there was no hope, taught him he was vile. He never talks about his past life but I can feel it, I can feel the pain and the anger! I can feel the rejection. To a child, a fucking child!“ A year’s worth of rage against Darren’s family was just spilling out of me. A year’s worth of fury at the pain they caused the man I loved more than life itself. The spirit’s boiled around the room, their power was greater than anything I'd ever felt before, even in the most holiest of places. The power filled the room and spilled outwards through the entire flat, overflowing into the neighbourhood, stronger than anything I had ever been able to do before. It flowed outwards, screaming in the spirit world, massive power, my power, singing the angry music of my rage. The other shaman cowered back in the face of it, his face a visage of fear and awe.
“I don’t think I will ever forgive you.” My voice was nearly as dangerous as Darren’s, it even scared me, as Darren’s never had, but the rage brought clarity, sudden insight in the outpouring of hot emotion. “And that’s why he’s still like this, isn’t it? Ahrimadan is right, he’s strong enough to come back, powerful enough to fight off anything Rhiannon could throw at him. But he doesn't want to. He hates himself so much that he doesn’t want to come back. He isn’t fighting it. He’s letting himself die...”
I gripped Darren desperately. He was killing himself, passive suicide, he didn't want to live enough to fight against it. Too much of him wanted to end it, wanted it all to end.
NO! I don’t care if it’s selfish. I don’t care if Darren has the right to choose. I won’t let him go, I won't let him leave me like this! Please, in the name of all the spirits, don’t let him leave me!
My plea echoed through the spiritual plane, flowed through spirits for hundreds upon thousands of miles. Thundered with strength greater than the heaviest storm or the mightiest Avatar. Powered not by my magic, not by the power I could call, it was far stronger than that. Far stronger than anything I, or any shaman could ever consciously conjure. It rode on wings from my heart, from my soul, powered by the depth of my love and the agony of loosing him. It surged across the entirety of the world; wizards and witches on all continents raised their heads to the power of my cry, felt a faint shard of ice in the hearts at my sudden cold horror of loosing Darren. Tears rose unbidden, unheeding to their eyes at the strength of the grief, the pain, the desperation.
I looked up at the older man, tears blurring my vision, flowing down my cheeks into Darren’s rich black hair. He stared back at me, and a tear flowed from the corner of one midnight blue eye. My voice was cracked and choked... “I-I don’t want to loose him.”
He sobbed, a harsh, broken sound, his body huddled downwards, crumpling in on itself. “No. You will not loose him, boy. I will show you how to bring him back. I pray that we still can.”
Anyway, time to see how this works, or whether it's the music high talking. - If it keeps working I should be ready to post some more on different fics tomorrow as well - maybe.
Getting back to our flat was an adventure in itself, with Darren walking like a lobotomy victim and a jingling shaman - when will these guys start updating? - on my back. Thankfully it was the middle of the night, and besides, most people were probably heading to the park, that’s where the police were certainly heading, i so don't want to be the one organising this cover up.
Still, a few miles of staggering and a few more flights of stairs later, we’re back at our flat. I was kinda hoping Darren would recognise the place. But, no, nothing. Didn’t even blink. he did sit in the most stylish chair though (he’s slowly transforming my flat into some interior designer’s wet dream, He may be an evil creature of pure malevolent power, but you have to admit, Darren does have stunning good taste) which I took as a good sign. He didn’t hear me when I spoke to him though.
I dumped the unconscious Shaman on the couch, which seems to have been replaced by some exotic black thing with gold and red patterns on it. It’s cool though. I take a minutes to ask a few of my ever present spirits to keep an eye on him, I’m not overly worried though, this is my home after all. The only person whose ever managed to take me down in my own place was Darren, and that mainly because I wasn't ready for him. I got some severely nasty surprises waiting for anyone tries to take me on here. Just in case I search the older man for any fetishes or talens, pulling out anything that feels even vaguely spiritual. He couldn’t match me without these earlier on fairly neutral ground. No way he’s taking me down without them.
I give him a quick check over while searching him, but he seems to be Ok, looks like he had a couple of healing fetishes slung about him that’ve healed any damage. Anyway, shouldn’t be all that much, I don't have much to do with lethal spirits, not my style. I’m beginning to recognise the signs of Darren’s family now. This guy’s short as well, alright not as short as Darren, but he’s still only about 5’ 8”. His eyes are closed, but I know they're the same deep blue as Darren’s and his sister’s. I’ve always thought of his eyes as some deep pool in the depth of a cave somewhere, with just a touch of light to make the depths visible. It’s eerie seeing someone else with Darren’s eyes. He wasn’t alabaster pale like Darren, i always thought it freakily unnatural how pale my lover is, I mean he’s literally white as a sheet. A corpse isn't as pale as he is. but then his sister had been pale too, not as pale, but still close. This man was much darker, I’m not sure if it’s genetics or a tan though - he has no tan lines, but shamans are known to do the naked out door ritual thing. What? I checked the waistband of his trousers, honest!
He has Darren’s hair though. Every one of his relatives I’ve ever seen have always had this rich black hair, and I mean REALLY black. It’s so black it manages to shine and eat the light at the same time. Soft and thick and long. I can close my eyes and touch this man’s hair and nothing tells me it isn’t Darren. It even smells the same, rich, slightly earthy and amazingly fresh. Like a cold wind through a th
thick, ancient forest. There are other differences though. Darren is almost painfully thin, but it’s natural not some stupid dieting fad. He’s close to scrawny actually, his chest and stomach look defined, you can see the muscles, but it’s less due to weight lifting and work outs and more to do with there just not being al, that much fat over the top. This guy’s a lot older than Darren, but he’s pretty ripped. Not the huge, weird overdone look of body-builders (can we say “Yuck!”) no, that perfect strong look, all muscles bulging. Something about them gives me the idea of hard work and an active life more than some expensive gym or something. Either way they're nice to look at even if the guy’s over 50.
Still I’ve done what I can for both of them, for a second anyway. I can leave them long enough to stagger to the coffee machine. After a night like tonight I am in serious need of some thick black coffee that makes the spoon practically stand on end. I run thought to my kitchen, noticing in passing the several patches of fresh paint adding a green theme to my previously ice white kitchen. Darren has been busy lately. I’d get mad, I mean it is technically my flat, but I’m too busy being happy that he considers the flat enough of a home to re-decorate, that he's that comfortable here. From the little he’s told me, and he’s told me practically nothing, he’s not been very comfortable anywhere before. Besides, it looked good.
I grab some coffee beans from the freezer, not even checking what type they were - unusual for me, since I like to get the blend just right and am willing to mix and match different beans until I get what i want. Still, even without looking I can sense their origin and flavour, their potency and characteristics - no, it's not some weird caffeine fiend’s sense, the beans have had their spirits awakened, like just about everything else in my flat. I am a techno-shaman after all, what’s the point of something that can't talk back to you?
Speaking of which, I send my senses out through the flat, searching for Ghost. Generally an easy thing with my personal spirit guide. He’s lurking in his palm top on the kitchen counter, a little weaker than usual, but fine. I would’ve known long since if he were having any trouble. Not bad, cuts through Dark magic spells and keeps it’s edge. I should put that on a little label on the back.
I put the beans into the spiritually awakened grinder, letting their soothing chatter ease the tension in my head as the spirits confer to make sure the coffee is as perfect as it can be. They seem to sense my tiredness though, and don't bring me into the complex debate of smoothness, richness, strength, texture and flavour that we’ve repeated day after day for years. No, I needed someone who could give me a few answers.
“Ghost? Ghost, you up for a talk, or too wasted?”
You sound worried. Hell, you feel worried. I’m up to playing agony aunt. Spill, Rick.
I poured the ground coffee into the coffee maker (awakened) and paused, listening to the gurgling of the machine and the muted babbling of the spirits (I think Ghost has passed the word to keep it down. Heh, he may be snarky, but he's not bad my spirit guide). “You know what’s happened? Been keeping up?”
As best I can. Short version, Darren had a major domestic with the rest of his family. One missing presumed squished really unpleasantly. Another definitely dead, and the last you went mano-y-mano on and, to everyone’s great surprise, managed to bring down. And for some reason he’s now zonked out on the couch. What’re you doing, collecting pretty magic users who might kill you? I’d stick to stamps or something, personally.
“Well, that’s most of it. Darren’s hurt though...”
His brain’s fried. How bad is it?
You know it’s bad when Ghost doesn’t make fun of a situation. “I don’t know. Bad I think. But Ahrimadan isn’t worried, he’s sure Darren will be fine in a little while. He should know right? He is Darren’s familiar.”
What do you think?
“I really don’t know. Everything in me’s screaming it’s bad, though. But...”
You trust the cat? He is a daemon remember, not exactly the best source for info. Slightly ahead of Fox news for reliability but still far from perfect.
“Yeah, but why would he lie about Darren? Surely he doesn;t want Darren hurt either.
No... but he's also less likely to want to face the truth. He’s a daemon and mega-arrogant about Darren’s abilities. Can't say I blame him, the kid can lay down some serious smack down, but he ain’t a god and he has his limits. I don’t think Ahrimadan realises that. I don’t think he can. I also don’t think he knows Darren very well.
“He must know him! He’s his bloody familiar, it’s be like you not knowing me.”
Well, you’re not exactly overly complex to figure out. I’m thinking about hiring you out to preschoolers to practice on. No, Ahrimadan doesn’t understand Darren, because he’s a daemon. There are some things daemons can’t understand.
“Like what? In thought there were daemon summoning rituals that could tell you just about anything?”
Just the facts, yeah. But there’s a difference between knowing and understanding, you should know that shaman-boi. How many morons run around chanting ‘e=MC squared’ and think they understand physics? No, I’ll lay odds that Ahrimadan doesn't understand love, or mercy, or light, or compassion. And these are things Darren has in spades.
Now that’s just weird. A sorcerer compassionate? That’s like saying a model’s modest! “Darren? We talking the same guy here? Y’know, short, beautiful, really good in bed. Used dark magic to rot off a man’s arm in the most agonising way possible because the guy tried to pick his pocket? Not exactly merciful.”
That's the guy, yeah. The guy who voluntarily tortures himself with red hot fucking metal rather than give in to the darkness. Would you do that? Or just say screw it and take over a small, hell, with his power, a large country and rule it as brutal dictator?
Damn, he had a point. I hate it when Ghost’s right, he’s the world’s worst fucking gloater. Thankfully I was spared having to answer the smug spirit when I heard a groan from the couch. The shaman was getting up. I waited, looking over the kitchen cabinet into the living room, while he rubbed his head and collected his thoughts. His head must be throbbing after the sound blast he was hit with, but he sat up far faster than I would’ve done. They breed them tough these Camaalis folk.
“Can we start without you going all psycho on me? This is my flat, my home. I’m a shaman. You’re a shaman, you’re pretty smart, do the math.”
He stretched painfully, taking several deep breaths. “You took my talens. Yes, i can do the math, boy. Only a fool challenges a shaman in his own home. I underestimated you once, I will not do it again. You are very good and very powerful. I am impressed.” He stopped, kinda chewing on his words, looking bitter. “I have to admit, you are better than me. Even if we were on neutral ground, I think. At shamanism anyway. Do you know how rare you are?”
I didn’t actually. I’d always kept away from the wider magical community, didn’t really want to get involved, besides I knew next to nothing about it. Darren said there were these massive families and magical organisations all over the place, well, I didn't know much about them, and the few I’d met, and were technically part of, I was happy to leave well alone.
“You want coffee? It’s awakened, just about everything here is, though I imagine you already guessed that. I got some awakened aspirin as well... uh, kinda like awakened willowbark? Or are you Camaalis guys more open to techno-spirits than most shamans?”
He smiled at me, thoughtfully. “We are more open to most magic, it has been the key to our success over the centuries, a willingness to change, a willingness to accept new and different customs and methods. Though technomagics in their various forms are still sadly rare.” He frowned, looking even more thoughtful if possible as I poured out the coffee and fished out a couple of spiritual aspirin. I was nearly to the couch before he spoke again. “You know a fair amount about us, our practices, our openness... and you knew I was Camaalis. I suppose we are famous among magical communities, but I think it is more. I take it you are a friend of Darren’s?”
I stopped mid-step, nearly spilling coffee on the carpet. I heard the spirits scream in outrage at the near sacrilege of spilling caffeine. I glared at the other shaman, mega-defiant like. “Yeah, I know Darren. Well. We’re lovers, have been for nearly a year now, been living together from nearly square one too.”
He looked surprised, “and he’s safe? He hasn’t hurt you? Harmed you? Does he... does he love you? he said he had found love, but I never believed it possible.”
I blinked. I was surprised now... “What? It’s impossible for Darren to love, or impossible for someone to love another guy?”
He laughed then, and it was good laugh, rich and jolly. I got a flash of a jovial, wise man who gave advice with a grin, the face he showed when he wasn't in near death situations. It was sad really, I wanted to see that man, not the suspicious, tired, so desperately sad figure in front of me. “Don’t be so defensive, child. I am not homophobic, far from it, you’ll have to look hard to find any such prejudice among the Camaalis clan. We’re pagans remember, unless Darren hasn't maintained his faith? When it comes to love and lust we are free and unfettered, the better to let it flourish and thrive, regardless of gender. We always have been and always will be. No, my surprise is Darren can love - he’s a sorcerer. Every source we have says they are incapable of gentle human emotion.”
I was actually a little stunned. He was a good guy, a kind guy, someone wise and fatherly, I could feel it coming off him like waves. The Camaalis clan was free and liberal and loving, willing to tolerate centuries ago what even now is attacked by bigots. And even now, with my shaman senses, heightened by the presence of another shaman, heightened by the allied, awakened spirits in my home, all I could feel from the other man was sadness, massive grief. No anger, no rage, no hate... just like Darren’s sister. In that moment it hit me - for all they were trying to kill my lover, clan Camaalis was not evil.
I put the coffee on the table, and the pills and sat down next to Darren’s unresponsive form, feeling a little crazy. It was far easier to get through all this believing Darren’s family were evil.
“You look surprised... surely he’s told you about the dangers of loving a sorcerer? Surely you know he could turn on you at any time?”
Ok, that knocked me out of it. “I am surprised, but that you guys seem to be decent people, given your psychotic crusade. Glad to see you’re returning to form there. Yeah, Darren’s fed me that whole load of shit when we first met, tried to drive me away, all that crap.” I leaned forward, and the air crackled as the spirit’s charged it with their power and my emotions. “So I’ll tell you what I told him. I don’t care, and I don’t believe it. He won’t kill me, i see it every night in his eyes, I see his love, I feel it! There IS light in his shadows, there is a, what did he call it? A spark in the darkness. And I swear it can fight back the worst that’s in Darren, it can give him what little life and happiness it can claim, no matter how small that will be. And fuck you all, I’m going to make sure he enjoys as much of it as he can, to make every shining moment beautiful for as long as I can. I won’t let you take that from him for the sake of history. I won’t let you take that from us.”
He fell back into his chair, looking at me with some weird expression I couldn’t describe on his face. The he smiled. No, he fucking grinned! “It’s true! It is love... astounding... could we have been wrong all this time? But... after Kat’s...” his face crumpled with grief.
I felt a pang hit me too, I’d been there when Darren killed his sister, i remember how much it hurt him to do it, how he felt his hand forced. How his family had forced him to step into the darkness he’d fought for so long. Anger was there again, quick and hot. “You have no idea how much you hurt him then! His sister, his own sister! You gave him no choice, you fucking forced him into the darkness. Forced him to become even more of what he hates. Don’t you see it you bastard?! He doesn't want this! He didn't choose this! He fights it, he runs from it! He stands such pain that I can't even imagine it just to avoid becoming the thing you’re trying to kill him for, and even with every fucking sacrifice he makes you still hound him! You make everything he's done, everything he’s suffered useless by forcing him to take another fucking step into the darkness, do something else to damn his soul, do something else to kill the light and let the darkness rule! Bastards!” I hit him, I was so angry, for a moment there I hated him. For the first time in my life, I hated something...
My voice was squeezed down and tight, ‘cos I just wanted to hit him again, and again, wanted to scream and break something. They made him hurt so much. “You made him hate himself. From childhood you taught him to hate himself. Taught him there was no hope, taught him he was vile. He never talks about his past life but I can feel it, I can feel the pain and the anger! I can feel the rejection. To a child, a fucking child!“ A year’s worth of rage against Darren’s family was just spilling out of me. A year’s worth of fury at the pain they caused the man I loved more than life itself. The spirit’s boiled around the room, their power was greater than anything I'd ever felt before, even in the most holiest of places. The power filled the room and spilled outwards through the entire flat, overflowing into the neighbourhood, stronger than anything I had ever been able to do before. It flowed outwards, screaming in the spirit world, massive power, my power, singing the angry music of my rage. The other shaman cowered back in the face of it, his face a visage of fear and awe.
“I don’t think I will ever forgive you.” My voice was nearly as dangerous as Darren’s, it even scared me, as Darren’s never had, but the rage brought clarity, sudden insight in the outpouring of hot emotion. “And that’s why he’s still like this, isn’t it? Ahrimadan is right, he’s strong enough to come back, powerful enough to fight off anything Rhiannon could throw at him. But he doesn't want to. He hates himself so much that he doesn’t want to come back. He isn’t fighting it. He’s letting himself die...”
I gripped Darren desperately. He was killing himself, passive suicide, he didn't want to live enough to fight against it. Too much of him wanted to end it, wanted it all to end.
NO! I don’t care if it’s selfish. I don’t care if Darren has the right to choose. I won’t let him go, I won't let him leave me like this! Please, in the name of all the spirits, don’t let him leave me!
My plea echoed through the spiritual plane, flowed through spirits for hundreds upon thousands of miles. Thundered with strength greater than the heaviest storm or the mightiest Avatar. Powered not by my magic, not by the power I could call, it was far stronger than that. Far stronger than anything I, or any shaman could ever consciously conjure. It rode on wings from my heart, from my soul, powered by the depth of my love and the agony of loosing him. It surged across the entirety of the world; wizards and witches on all continents raised their heads to the power of my cry, felt a faint shard of ice in the hearts at my sudden cold horror of loosing Darren. Tears rose unbidden, unheeding to their eyes at the strength of the grief, the pain, the desperation.
I looked up at the older man, tears blurring my vision, flowing down my cheeks into Darren’s rich black hair. He stared back at me, and a tear flowed from the corner of one midnight blue eye. My voice was cracked and choked... “I-I don’t want to loose him.”
He sobbed, a harsh, broken sound, his body huddled downwards, crumpling in on itself. “No. You will not loose him, boy. I will show you how to bring him back. I pray that we still can.”
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-18 12:04 pm (UTC)I especially like Rick's riteous outburst of fury.So long in coming. Damn and I thought Jarrod had all the angst. ;) It don't hold much of a candle to darren's *bows* you really worked that empathy. *G*
I wonder what kind of music inspired this latest chapter?
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-18 08:19 pm (UTC)Darren is the disputed king of angst, he's had a hellishly hard life, and it doesn't get any better. Rick... well Rick is just too good and too nice to take the world Darren lives in. He can;t understand it, can't approach it and needs some black and white absolutes. It'd be easier for him if the Camaalis clan WAS evil, then he could legitimately hate them. It would be easier if Darren was good or safe or harmless, then he could easily support him.
But 'tain't so. And the whole thing's ruining his life as much as Darren's. The rage had to coem soem time, at Darren's self-hatred if nothing else.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-18 10:50 pm (UTC)*g* rick reminds me of Jarrod friend Kevin in some ways. But can't pin them down yet. Guess just thier intense faith that there's a good person burried in all the darkness.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-19 06:01 pm (UTC)The music? I changed it every paragraph! Every time the mood needed changing, so did I, from godhead and Linkin Park, to Meat Loaf and Labi Sifre, dropping off at Mad'House, swerving round John Vangelis, settling for a while at Korn and Manson... I'm very inconsistant when it comes to music, I'll listen to anything.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-25 08:21 pm (UTC)I think I'm glad Rick finally blew up. Methinks that was a long time in coming.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-25 11:24 pm (UTC)Rick needed this, his world's been pretty wrecked by Darren. Someone needs to take the blame - best it be the people whose fault it is