White froth washes up on a basalt beach and bare feet sink into the fine grains of sand, sinking less and less as the sand is progressively more wet. There is not much in the way of shells on such a cold beach, but there are some. And if there are trinkets to be found, to be sure, Kit Marlowe shall find them...
It is a scene cut from a memory, repeated now and again. But it is timeless, a signature moment. Kit in rolled up navy cargo britches, a white shirt open and played with by the wind. Shells and basalt stones strung around his throat, his skin pink with the chill. For despite the fact that it is spring, it is still Iceland...
Short curls, not half so wild as when he was in Venice, are nonetheless sported with by the fingers of the wind. Teasing breeze, Kit turns his face to his, blowing sand off the dark object in his hand. Volcanic glass, buried for a long time, only now able to be unearthed by the persistence of the sea. Worn smooth and round by the sand, its cousins.
He has been very still, your Kit. While in London he seemed truly tired, being here has rejuvenated him already, renewed his spent spirits, spent in hard labor. It took all he had to be such a beacon to such a one. But the work is not done. The vacation will not last long....
The sea returns again, bringing home its native son. In the water, not so far away, Soldekai stands, unfolding into the air of the world. Around his waist, water swirls, dark and frothy, hiding the lower half of him from view. His arms, above his head, open towards the sky, and the Archangel turns his face upwards to the ever radiant sun. His lips move in a silent prayer before he looks to his companion at the beach.
The water parts for him as he strides forth, against the strong current. Against him, the water level drops, revealing the rest of him, as well-sculpted as the rest. "Hey," he murmurs as he closes in, working to get attention, "...I almost hate to interrupt your thinking," Soldekai smiles.
"There is not so much to interrupt," Kit murmurs, teasing, mouth curling, "... I'm not one half so bright as you..." His pun delights at least him and he grins, showing his latest quarry, his other hand unclasping one of his many pockets to make a space for it. Where would Kit be without pockets?
I dare say, what would the concept of pockets be without Kit?
The rock is slipped into the pants pocket (God only knows what else he has in there, truly), and he is looking at you. What else could he do, in truth? His eyes follow the progression of the water, down, down and down, taking in the skin and the sight that is revealed down and down and down.
"This is all the paradise I need," Kit Marlowe announces. "I don't need the Everyman's Heaven," the one to which he yet requires escort. "I feel serene here. Other than The Marches," home, "... I feel at my ... most serene here. At peace. Loved. God is here. I wear His baubles around my neck." And we are Him and He is us. That is the way of it. "This is all the heaven I require, and this..." he smiles, "... is the very image of my dreams."
Soldekai's head tilts to the side and he grins, hand running over his exposed neck. Massaging a muscle. "Now, if we can just stay here forever, this would be perfect? Us, Him, and His Nature." But life isn't perfect; not until we are all brought back to Him.
"Swim? Or do you feel like going inside yet?"
"See what you can work out, hmm?" There is a twinkle in his eyes, but it is not irreverence. Kit smiles, tips his head and seems to think long and hard about it. "Inside, I think... I would rather soak than swim..." In the heated pools, springs warmed by the living volcano and the one whom it still serves. "You will join me?"
Kit holds forth his hand, fingers curled, such a beckoning. "There is nothing I would like more than for you to sit and soak with me. Steam running through our feathers," if he still had feathers in any form. They are pinions now of Brilliantly colored light. Kit grins. "Ah, many dreams," he sighs.
"Few," Soldekai says, and always of the same thing. You and he, joined together eternally. He strides forth onto the sand, his wings furled against him. The sand squishes between his toes, but it doesn't stop him from taking the hand offered to him. Strong and wide, he folds fingers around yours, and then walks past to lead up the stone path back to the cave.
"I think...I am to return," Soldekai says softly, walking slowly upwards. He glances over to you, squeezing your hand. "I am...sending another to London. A few others, in fact." Servants enough to give assignments. Soldekai smiles, trying to make the best of it. "They don't..." the Council, "...think I should...be...here so much. That I need to be Elsewhere..."
Yes, somewhere where I am not...
A part of him whispers that to himself. Well, and to God, of course. But it is more than that, he knows. Kit grasps your hand. He looks to you and he knows. "I will not be able to tarry too long either. If you cannot stay, stay only tonight. When I have recuperated a few more days, I will return to The Marches..."
He walks toward the volcano, its cavern, your tether and earthly palace. "London will continue to be busy, I think," he notes quietly. "There are... ripples, always, from every stone. But such a big stone... I think... we will be dealing with it for a long time to come..." Kit glances over to you, then watches his feet sink in the sand as he walks. "I am always happy to have moments, Soldekai. I am...very grateful." He looks to you. "Very thankful..."
"Me too," Soldekai whispers softly, rounding another mass of jagged black stone. The cave opening is not so far away, and in it, intimate seclusion. "Every moment we Are," mated, "...I am...eternally happy. More than I could ever have dreamed. I am surprised...still," Soldekai smiles, "...of the joy we have, of what I now know and feel."
"I think," he goes on, "...they want me to...be the part of what I am. I am not so convinced that means I need to attend meetings, that I cannot be on the battlefield," the Archangel explains. "But I will...consider their words. They...are my Superiors," still.
"You can effect change there as well, my Brilliance," Kit murmurs, playing soft confidante. For is that not what he is? Mated, as he is. "In fact, perhaps it is ... it is the battlefield that matters now. Not India or Pakistan but Heaven. For is it not the battlefield that Gabriel herself wandered from. Is it not the same battlefield that nearly bested Michael. Upon which I nearly Fell...Heaven's... complexion must change, too, Soldekai. Or we will forever be fighting real and imagined shadows..."
Maybe it is time to take the battle where it matters. To Heaven's own door.
"It is an opportunity," Kit says, looking to you as you and he near the cavern, "... to have your Brilliance imbue those around you who need it most." He looks to the black rock, unafraid to speak it. "Like Jean and Dominic..."
There is a pause. "Love will require Brilliance, Soldekai, if it is ever to take hold in Heaven and Earth once more. It cannot do it on its own..." His own. He needs you. As much as he needs the Sentinel and Herald of his own Aspiration to be Forgiven...
You speak smartly. Soldekai grins, thinks for a moment, then nods at you. "Love needs Brilliance...and the battle also needs to be at our own door. Heaven's complexion must change..." All true sentiments. They are taken to heart and Soldekai's grin turns into a smile as he crosses the arch into the cavern.
Here, the sound of the sea is but a soft constancy. A lulling background. Soldekai enters, bringing you with. "I guess we should prepare for victory," he thinks, still on your words. They do make sense. "To prepare a way."
Kit steps inside with you, his hand still in your hand, and he turns to you, his free hand reaching for your other. Its partner, as you are, in all things. "I, your Sentinel, am happy to play Herald once more. Your Brilliance," not Light, for Light failed to illuminate it, "...to show Us the way. With Love," Kit adds. "For without Love, there can only be War..."
We need Him...and They will need to come to understand this. How could it be without you? I cannot carry the message. I ...would not be heard...
Kit smiles to you, and there is crystalline moisture at his lashes, then upon his cheeks. "We should prepare for victory. It is the only way we will ever achieve it..."
"Ah," Soldekai murmurs, lifting one hand to touch your cheek. "None of that," he whispers, pulling you closer. He walks backwards, instinctively knowing every bit of the cavern. "We are together and we have time," Soldekai explains. "What else is there?"
A few steps and a smile, and the Archangel is near one of the warm pools that steam within the cave. "Nothing else," he says softly, "...just us for now."
Your touch and the nearing steam do much to stop the leaking of passion and compassion (or the passion of compassion) from his eyes. Kit nods, he smiles, his face blushed with the emotion and with the nearness to sudden heat after so much coolness.
It is only at the pools that he lets loose of your hands, that are thereafter employed in removing first the white shirt and then untying the drawstring, navy cargo pants, letting all the layers fall to the cavern floor. Slowly, as softly as he may, he shimmers a little, his vessel leaking out a cherub here and there.
A beautiful, dusky-skinned and Brilliance-touched cherub...
The effects of your love is like a sunrise upon his cheeks, a golden radiance that emanates from within him, dusting over his complexion in very meaningful and obvious ways. None may look at him and not see how Brilliance has touched him...
And how he so likes to be touched by Brilliance...
His hand slips gently at your neck, fingers lightly pressing as he leans in and sweetly kisses you. Naked, wondrous, he slips from the grasp and into the pool. A glance behind him, and a secretive smile to you.
Posted by rowan at May 18, 2004 10:17 PM
