One winged angel
Meirin was a black mountain across a gorge that the Soulsease river thundered through. A single spar of rock formed a natural bridge, and it was lit by censers that sprang to life, as the sky darkened, with a smoky green flame. The town itself was a collection of small stone houses made of the mountain’s granite, but behind them a tower of silk white marble rose like a lady’s wrist holding a silver minaret in her flat palm. The town seemed to Deakon to be nothing more than the cloth around her forearm and around the tower was a set of stairs leading to the minaret, and from the windows under it Deakon could see something sparkle.
“How beautiful,” Deakon murmured under his breath. Josian raised an eyebrow but said nothing,
“It hasn’t been beautiful since the tower fell.” Tobin corrected him, “then it was beautiful, but now it’s just Meirin.”
“I can see a tower,” Deakon protested, “its beautiful, tall and white, with a silver minaret and something sparkles in the window.”
“The tower fell with the last lady of Meirin,” Josian said quietly, “you’ve had a very long day, you can see the shadows of the mountain, you’ll see in the morning, the tower fell.” But Deakon could see the tower, tall and proud. He wanted to go to it, more than anything he could explain, and they were wrong, the tower was there, and it was Meirin, not the town, not the mountain behind it, the tower was Meirin.
A man in a heavy robe that covered most of his face approached them. He looked clear at Deakon, and though the majority of his face was in shadow, it was clear that he smiled. He bowed at Tobin, but patently ignored Josian, and Josian ignored him. “Welcome, Oujisama, to the small hospitality of the town of Meirin.” Although he was facing Tobin Deakon got the distinct impression the man was talking to him, but Deakon noticed the word, Oujisama, it meant prince. Tobin was recognised as a prince.
“I’m not Oujisama,” Tobin protested, “I haven’t been one in a very long time, and even then I wasn’t much of one. My name is Tobin, how many times must I tell you that, Takeo.” Tobin knew this man and the man knew him.
The man, Takeo, bowed with another smile, “My apologies, Lord Tobin, pardon my memory. I am old and sometimes things escape me.” The whole thing sounded mocking, “but well come, regardless. I will arrange your house for you, is there anything else that would please you?”
“Wine,” Tobin replied, “a lot of it, and three glasses.”
“suitable clothes and food for the boy,” Josian added, “he can’t go anywhere dressed like that.” Deakon wondered what was wrong with what he was wearing, he was dressed like any young Darin boy in a short obebe with his legs bare.
“I can’t drink,” Deakon corrected Tobin, “I’m not of age.”
“The third glass isn’t for you, Deakon,” Tobin said softly, “wherever you are, when you drink to the past the third glass is for the devil.”
The town that rested under the tower of Meirin was short and squat with small square houses roofed in slate and they were completely unlike anything that Deakon had ever seen in his short life. He had lived all his life in the splendour of Shiro, which he hadn’t’ realised as splendour, with matted floors and sliding walls. The walls in Meirin were permanent, made of the dark granite with its glass sparkles, and they were icy to the touch. In the centre of the room was a small granite slab stained black from many fires, with the makings of another laid out. Instead of a thin mattress on the floor there was a raised bed heaped high with blankets against the mountain chill. Clothes were laid across the bed, much like the ones Tobin and Josian wore, and lying on them was a single gold pendant that Deakon had the terrible impression he had seen before, and was meant for him. He also suspected with a terrible clarity that everyone here was dead and had been for a very long time indeed. He couldn’t have said where the impression came from, but he knew it to be true. He didn’t like this place, as strange as it was; he had never felt more at home.
“Do you need help dressing?” One of the robed figures asked from the heavy wooden door, it was a woman, and he blushed to the tips of his reddish hair
.
“No,” he said, pulling the woollen fisherman’s sweater to his shoulders though he was yet to undress. “I can manage,” his voice was squeaky and high. She laughed under the hood of her robe and pulled the door closed behind her.
He dressed as quickly as he was able, struggling with clothes he had no idea how to wear, and then sat on the bed to look at the chain. The golden pendant was marked with a silver snake that swallowed its own tail in a design he knew was called an ouroborous, and in the centre was the symbol of the crystal bell that the woman in white had worn. The pendant was important; Deakon knew that, in the same way that he knew everyone in Meirin was dead, and that this place was home. He hung it around his neck, and then stowed it into the sweater, he seemed to think it was the best thing. He didn’t know if he should trust Tobin and Josian, they kept their own secrets and he had told them too much already. He should never have told them about what he saw on the field of Samrath. He never should have let them see what happened with Kennichi and that he could see the tower. The tower kept its secrets and so would he.
He left the little house that they had given him following the girl with the snow white ankles through the shale along the streets to the house where Tobin and Josian were lodged. It was larger than his and the lights were already high in the windows. Josian opened the door as if he knew that Deakon stood there. “Come in, lad, come in, supper’s chilling on the table as we speak, and you’ll let the mountain air in. Quick, whilst its still warm in here.” He put his hand on Deakon’s shoulder and almost pulled him in. Deakon trusted him more than Tobin, but not much more than he would trust the devil himself.
He felt naked when Tobin looked up at him, his eyes seemed to be flecks of frozen green fire, and there was suspicion his gaze. He had a metal flagon in his hand and the plate in front of him seemed to have an entire goose on it. There were bowls of potatoes and other vegetables on the table, and a loaf of bread with a vicious looking knife stuck in it. “Sit, boy, eat, you’re all hair and bone, there’s not an ounce of meat on you.” He stood up as Deakon sat, and carved him a whole leg from the goose, plopping it down on Deakon’s plate. “Say what you will about the hospitality of Meirin, but they will never let you starve.”
Josian poured him a cup of hot honeyed kir into a wooden beaker. “Drink up,” he said, “that’ll get some heat in your bones.” Deakon lifted the cup and sipped at it gratefully, and then looked around the table for sticks to eat it with.
“Eat with your fingers,” Tobin said noticing his discomfort, “use the spoon for anything really messy, you get used to it.”
“Takeo said you were a prince.” Deakon said as he picked up the goose and bit into it as politely as he could.
“I was,” Tobin answered, “before my family abdicated, and then I was the last son of a very minor branch indeed. I was only just a prince, and I never really cared for my duties. The only titled I ever earned was sir and I didn’t like that. Tobin is fine, but call me Toby and I will kill you.” His smile was brittle and Deakon knew that was true, more true than he would have liked. Tobin was more than capable of killing him outright for no reason. Josian would have a reason, whether it meant anything or not, “now eat.”
“I’m eating,” Deakon protested, spooning up some of the creamy potatoes; there was some spice in the mixture which was strange but not unpleasant. Deakon rarely had potatoes in Shiro, they were a delicacy from the south, and never eaten them like this, smashed up with cream and butter. They were filling and good. “Look, I’m eating.” he made a great show of chewing. “What are the holes in the mountain?”
“Graves?” Josian answered, sipping his wine. “They used to bring the most important people here to bury them in the sky, before the tower fell. The lady of Meirin was the descendant of the ancient god of death to bridge the gap between the living and the dead. To have her read the lament was a very great honour and made the death seamless.”
“They would walk battlefields, to ease the suffering of the dead.” Tobin’s voice was low and sonorous. “They had a Senshi husband and their first born daughter became the next lady of Meirin, and any others were absorbed into the D’Cevni house and raised with the imperial children.” He drank deeply, “the bond between Meirin and D’Cevni was very strong, but that was a long time ago.”
“You said you were D’Cevni,” Deakon answered, “I’m eating,” he bit off the chide with a chunk of goose.
“I am,” Tobin replied, “of course, six hundred years ago when the last lady of Meirin fell the D’Cevni ruled most of the world. That was before the Draima wars changed everything.” He emptied his cup of wine, just as he had asked there was a third cup, full to the brim, and a large jug behind the goose. Neither he nor Josian was eating, and it seemed that this feast was all for Deakon.
“Is it an old house?” Deakon asked wiping his mouth.
“The oldest,” Josian answered, “Tobin can trace his ancestry back to Imperator n his father’s side and the Orsan Mikaeli on his mother’s.”
“Shut up!” Tobin snapped.
“As your reeve it is my duty to proclaim your glory, Oujisama.” That was mocking and playful.
Tobin grimaced. “You’re not my reeve,” Tobin said, “and I’ve buried more squires and reeves than I care to recall, so its not in the best interests of your health to make that claim for fear of the Tobin squire curse.” He poured himself more wine, “and besides you’re a gentleman.”
“Have you been friends for a long time?” Deakon asked.
“Since forever,” Josian said with a smile, and then put his hand to his hair, pushing it back and smiling bashfully, “does it show?” Deakon nodded, “well, Deakon, eat up. Do you want some pudding?” Before Deakon could answer Josian had placed some kind of sticky sponge in front of him and handed him a clean spoon as he poured thick yellow cream over it. “Try this, syrup cake and custard.” Deakon spooned up some of it suspiciously and sniffed it, and then tested it tentatively with his tongue.
“I think he suspects that you poison him.” Tobin said with a laugh.
Deakon blushed. “I just don’t know if I like it.” He protested vainly, “Draima once made this pudding with treacle and figs and I had to eat it all although it was nasty and bitter.”
“You know a draima?” Josian asked, “and you don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it, but its sweet and good and fattening.”
He cleaned the spoon with his tongue thinking about it. “No, her name is Draima. She’s an imperial princess sent to Shiro because they have so many princesses and she wanted to live with her sister Ekeade because her husband was from Shiro.” He ate more of the pudding, thinking that he might have said too much, but everything he had told them was common knowledge. He had killed Kennichi, he could never go back, but they could.
“Unusual name,” Tobin said, and then he smiled. “but hark at me, I’m called Tobin, and you’re Josian, so it’s not like we can talk, and Deakon’s unusual enough. That’s an odd name for a Taira, aren’t they given names like Masafumi?”
“My mother was from Dathyl.” Deakon answered, “her name is Aeris, she chose my name when my father died. The clan lord was going to call me Hirotaka.”
Tobin nodded as if that made more sense to him. “Now eat up your cake and run along to bed, lad, we’ll be staying her a couple of days to let you find your feet. I don’t know about you, but Meirin always gives me the creeps.” Deakon nodded as he chewed although he had no intention of going to bed, he wanted to check out the tower that only he could see, and to know why Meirin was populated with the dead.
He left them to their small house and their wine. The air was bitterly chill and made his chest hurt. The temperature had dropped drastically since he had gone in for dinner and it was only twilight. The temperature would be below freezing at midnight.
It was almost impossible not to reach the tower. Every path in the town led to the tower and the mountain behind it. The small black caves were like a thousand eyes looking down at him, but their gaze was not acrimonious. They watched him, but couldn’t have guessed the mountain’s intention. He saw several of the robed figures, but no one barred his path. When he reached the tower the giant double doors were wide open. The floor was like a sheet of glass over the Soulsease rive that thundered thousands of feet below. The tower was completely empty but for a flight of stairs that went both up and down, and hanging from the ceiling a hundred feet above him was a chunk of crystal, and in it, as if sleeping, was a woman of phenomenal beauty. Coiled around the giant shard of crystal was a skeletal beast that was built like a snake around a single ridged backbone, with four huge claws that went through the loops of its own body. The importance of the woman and the beast was lost on Deakon.
Inset in the clear crystal floor was a design of a snake coiling in a figure eight before swallowing its own tail. It was the same design as on the pendant they had left out for him. It made his mind up and he stepped away from the door as it closed behind him. It didn’t surprise him.
The stairs that circled the walls went both up and down. The stairs that led up were marked with a silver bell, but those that led down were marked by the ouroborous. It made the his decision for him. He descended.
It was a long thin corridor that got narrower and narrower on its way until it reached a small chamber with a hole in its centre. It was dark and he couldn’t see anything. He wondered why someone had gone to such bother to build something so completely useless. He scratched his head and prepared to go back when he spotted a lantern to the die. It was lit and hooded as if someone who shouldn’t have been there had left it behind. He picked it up and opened the panel to cast a beam of light around the room and saw the paintings.
The first one showed a figure with a pair of golden wings holding a glass ball in one hand, but on the other side at his feet was a shattered globe.
The second image showed two winged figures battling with matching black swords. They were both aloft and they destroyed each other as behind them a forest burned.
The third picture showed a golden woman holding the glass sphere and a black sword, behind her there was a loom that had been shattered.
The fourth image was the winged figure helping someone out from a grave in a fabulous cathedral.
The fifth showed an image eerily like the fourth but the winged figure had clearly killed the body.
The sixth figure was unambiguous, it was a ship sailing with tattered sails and all aboard it the crew was dead.
The six images were strange but the seventh image chilled Deakon to the bone. The winged figure was strangled by silver threads but the wings weren’t his, a second figure was behind him with hair like golden fire and arms about his waist. One hand held aloft the silvery globe, the other globe had fallen almost carelessly, and around his neck was a torque, the mark of a draima gift, but there were three shadowy figures at his feet. Both he had the figure holding him wore imperial crowns. It was not that that had disturbed Deakon, The man had only one wing, the other had the other wing, but both had yellow eyes.
“What is this?” Deakon asked the silence. The room was surrounded by the pictures.
“This is the Aegis.” A baritone voice said behind him, “and these are the A’setra prophecies of the Draima Rei.” The man behind him was tall and pale with dark eyes and hair, he would have been handsome if not for his scowl. He wore a traditional Senshi shirt and wide legged trousers with a dark splash design over the front. Around his waist was a short sword and he held a broad sword in his hand. “Who are you, boy, to be in this place?”
“My name is Taira Deakon.” He told the man. “I came here from Shiro, I saw the tower and the snake eating its own tail. I just wanted some answers.” The man tensed. “Please don’t kill me, I don’t know what this is.”
“I am the Cadacus.” The man replied. “Follow with me.” The man spoke sparingly and in an archaic manner with clipped emphatic sentences. Deakon saw no option but to follow him. The man terrified him much more than either Tobin or Josian.
The Cadacus, which struck Deakon as more of a title than a name, led him back up the stairs, but instead of leading him to the door, he climbed all the way to the tower’s apex. The top floor of the tower was a flat balcony open to the mountain.
Deakon realised the man wouldn’t dirty his sword, he was going to throw him from the tower. “What do you know of the snake?”
“It’s an ouroborous.” Deakon answered. “It’s the creature around the lady isn’t it?” If the man was going to kill him it wouldn’t hurt for him to answer a question first.
“Then you can see that as well. That alters things.” He paused. “Do you have the death visions?” Deakon nodded, the man seemed resolved at something at that answer. “Do you know about this place?” The man sounded almost fond or regretful. HE was dressed like a Senshi in a woodcut but for the terrible stain on his stomach. At the balcony the floor was flooded in moonlight, highlighting the man’s features. Deakon closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Get away from him, Cadacus.” Tobin said from the door. “the boy is under my protection.”
The Cadacus laughed. “The boy doesn’t need your protection.” There was no joy or mirth when he spoke. “He can see the ouroborous.” Tobin started at that but still moved between the Cadacus and Deakon, his hand fluttering at the chain at his waist. “The boy is the price of my betrayal. I shall accompany him whilst he searches for answers.”
“you haven’t left Meirin since Mina.” Tobin shouted and the Cadacus’ face flickered at that. He was angry at Tobin and Deakon didn’t know why. “can you even leave the Aegis?” It wasn’t anger he saw in Tobin, it was pure rage.
“I waited.” The Cadacus replied. “he can see the Ouroborous. I owe him my allegiance by the terms of my oath.” He broke no expression as he spoke.
Tobin’s face hardened as he tensed. “Show him,” he snarled, “show the boy what you are, Mamoru.”
The Cadacus reacted to the name before untying the strings over his trousers to show the stain more clearly. His skin was grey and mottled but sliced open cleanly in a hideous gash marred with drying blood and pus. He had been eviscerated, Deakon could make out the pulsing shape of intestines.
He fainted.
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