This is the horizon of which all sailors dream...
Deep blue, serene aquamarine, stormy grey, tranquil turquoise -- the confluence of all the world's oceans, and of the oceans yet to be, come together here. And the colors of the water blend. Those oceans yet to be, they ripple in swarming stars and dust, as seeming liquid as the warm aquamarine seas, stuffed full of fish. Calm waters ripple, turbulent seas toss, foamy oceans swirl and commingle.
At the center point of this confluence stands the high peak, a stone island. The stone itself is a shimmering blue, at its deepest tone black and at its lightest hue blue-grey as the skin of a dolphin. At the heart of this great peak, there is a crease, a separation of rock leading, it seems to an even greater tunnel.
It is only when the ship comes nearer, carried by the arms of and fingers of the slow rolling waves, that a city can be seen within that crease -- a glorious, immense civilization. Rocks and columns combine, and waters of the many seas roll as rivers through the center of this civilization, allowing its inhabitants to swim wherever they like, or to walk upon the rock-bed paths and stairways to the upper reaches of this inner mountain kingdom.
And as you near it, you can hear it, surely what Ulysses heard. There is a constant, low-ebbing song, as constant as the waves against the island. Sweet, high sopranos of the mermaids. Low, throbbing songs of humpback whales. Deep tones and baritones, the voices of mer-men and dolphin lords alike. The music hangs like sea spray on the air, and the kingdom sparkles with its resonance.
Sudden percussion, the sound of Agapios' feet landing upon the skin of the ship's deck. And he dives, a great swan dive off the figurehead of the ship, arching lastly as he nears the water, disappearing beneath its waves with a joyous splash. He re-emerges ahead of the ship, half beautiful man, half playful dolphin, leaping, arching out of the water and back into the waves.
Turning, churning the waters with his powerful fluke as he treads, splashing, he turns his gaze to your men. "You will have to anchor here! Lord Winter, lower down in a skiff and I will guide you personally..."
He stands upon the deck, watching the seemingly eternal waves. All the colours have run out of the world. They have collected here, with a flash of gold where sunlight ripples against the water, carried there by the waters' run. With hands loosely braced on the railing, he stands on the forecastle deck and stares out at the waters as they fold and unfold, bend and unbend, churn and smooth. He looks to the sea, and looks to the land.
There has been some small consternation among the men, as the notion of their captain leaving them to travel with a mer, ambassador or no, has spread. Tiernan has made little effort to calm them directly, knowing too well that gossip can little be rooted out when it has had time to set. Instead, the night before last, he summoned his officers and told them their orders. "I will travel with the ambassador to meet with his people. In my absence, you three will have the running of the ship. You will answer Mister Anderson," the first lieutenant, "as if he were myself. I expect you to wait for me as long as it takes. If supplies begin running low, then do as you must; this is not any sort of sacrifice mission. It is diplomatic in nature. I don't," he emphasized, "expect it to take that long, but it is not impossible that it may. I trust I make myself clear."
There were no questions. No faces were raised to challenge the captain's blue eyes and unsmiling demeanor. While not a slave-driver, it was well known that Tiernan n'i Diamante, once prince of a landlocked kingdom, had learned his craft well, and ran a tight ship. He had dismissed them then, and now the officers stood uneasily on duty, while the men's eyes went wider and wider.
The island will make it easier. They can understand a point of land better than a descending into the depths. That likely will come, I am sure, but if it can be done out of their sight, so much the better.
Then the city comes into view, and followed then by the song; the sea-song, the sirens, the music, the unceasing sigh of the ocean and its lords and ladies. The sailors are ill at ease and yet transfixed; the officers no better than the men for all that. Tiernan leans forward with his weight braced on his forearms, twisting round suddenly as you leap, you dive, and twists back to watch your progress in the water. Your transformation, new and yet known to him, your procession. Rather than answering verbally, he lifts a hand in saluted acknowledgment, then turns with hands balled into fists on his hips.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Prepare the skiff. Mister Anderson will have the command until I return from my diplomatic duties." Tiernan does not wait for responses, already striding into motion. He is dressed as he would be for any other day on board and in command. The only addition he has made are the marks of his rank, as befits any diplomatic mission; the circlet pin denoting his birth, the signet ring indicating his present status however loosely attached to the High King's court. All else, he has left in his berth. And he climbs with his heavy sea-boots on his feet, into the skiff, settling himself and bracing for the descent as the wooden tender is lowered to the water. The ship's anchor has already been let out and grabbed ground at the bottom; the tender's lead-rope is coiled neatly under one of its seats, even as the young captain begins fishing the oars out of their storage bay and into the locks.
With a twisting leap, Agapios disappears beneath the water. Beneath the waves, he transmits his own song, and word begins to spread that the High Priest's only son has returned with a guest to be in tow. Unheard by anyone above the waterline, his voice continues another string of sounds:
The ship is to remain offshore. The High King of the United Kingdoms sends his greetings and regards. I bring a friend to greet you.
Glistening with the sun reflecting on the droplets of the conjoining seas, Agapios re-emerges, treading water easily as he waits for Captain Diamante to join him. You shall ride on my back like Orpheus afterall. How easy the smile that follows, watching as your men labor to lower you gently. The mer-man rolls backwards, extending to float on his back. The fanning of his fluke and the gentle wave of his arms keeps him treading as the sea waves roll.
The city continues without stirring for the arrival of the ship. Certainly, the Temple is a-buzz with the eventual arrival of their Priest's son. Certainly, his sisters are combing out their green, blue, violet and silver hair with their conch combs, excited to lavish him with attention.
Oh, how they shall enjoy you, Agapios thinks as he watches your skiff lower to the water. I shall have to see they do not enjoy you too much.
The oars are settled; the skiff splashes, for no matter how gentle the men try to be, there are still the waves and the elements to brace against, there is the danger of being too close to the boat. There is a reason that it is always lowered on the leeward side. That puts him a little further from you, a little extra work to be made to bring the skiff to a position to follow you, the oars dipping with the effort of hard-muscled arms and abdominals.
It is not that I am unafraid. I am afraid; very. This is a new thing that I do, in a world where every new thing that I ever have done has changed my life completely. But I need to do this...
I wonder if I am telling myself that I need to do this, to lie to myself? I do not think that I am. All that I can do is try. Iowerth, I am thinking of you as I do this. Please, don't hate me for this. Whether this brings us closer together or drags us further apart, I need to be honest with myself so that I can be honest with you.
Honesty is another cruelty, isn't it? I wonder why my mother never tried it...
He twists on the bench, looking up to the men on the tall ship above and gradually behind him. A hand is lifted in salute and wave as the captain fully departs his vessel. Without turning to look back to where you are, he braces himself as he lifts the oars and begins to pull. Slowly, slowly the massive vessel begins to recede; so slowly that it seems an illusion at first. But there is distance gathering, even as perspiration beads on Tiernan's forehead, trickling down the nape of his neck and trailing along his cheeks as if they could be tears.
"Direct me," Tiernan calls out loud to you, pausing with one arm leaning across both oars as the other arm's lifted to dredge sweat from his eyes. "What do I do now?"
A wave rolls against the body of the skiff as his body rolls in an arching swim alongside you. "You do not need to row," he grins. "It will be more like surfing." And the vessel begins to move, different waters (and their sometimes treacherous currents) are pierced with the arrow of white caps, the slicing of waves as Agapios guides you to the calmer waters of the bay.
Mermaids and mer-man, sirens of every shape and color and tone, pause their own comings and goings now to witness the arrival. No ships come this way unless led here by sirens. Not every ship, nor every sailor, can survive the journey. But you have a most excellent guide.
Not having to work, you can instead turn your attentions toward the nearing and soon surrounding grandeur that is Oannes. It was difficult perhaps to get just how large the island is, and the city glistening within it like quartz crowding a geode, but as you head into the crease its enormity cannot be missed. There are so many layers, so many levels to the city. There are no palaces here, all homes are grand. Waterfalls cascade from level to level, pooling lastly into the ocean. Now and again you might well think you've seen the shifting dance of bodies within those waterfalls. You would not be mistaken.
Female sirens have hair of lavender, of pink, of sky blue and silver -- the lighter tones, bright as coral. The mer-men you witness are colored deeper, more fantastically in many cases. Some dolphins, as Agapios -- but there are all breeds, all types accounted for here. Even silkies -- half men, half sea lions -- can be seen sunning themselves on an outcropping of blue rock.
The confluence of seas becomes a river that carries you through the heart of this city. Ahead, there is a massive structure, seemingly of sapphire or some blue quartz, very like the sparkling center of a geode. "That is the Temple," Agapios tells you, gesturing ahead. He smiles at you, "I think you should leave your boat," he encourages you, "... and come in the water with me. Your men cannot see you now..."
Mermaids and men alike look upon you with curious interest. They do not stare. You are greeted with glances. Bare-breasted the mermaids smile to you as they pass you, singing as they continue along their way.
There is a certain tension for a sailor when the boat begins moving without guidance, without any apparent control. Tiernan is not immune to that tension. He swallows it down, gulping it into the pit of his stomach to be digested and forgotten save as tensed muscles which will later need to be stretched and unknotted, and he locks the oars into place. He is placing himself (perhaps too literally) in your hands.
There is a hesitation as he looks around, a faint blush that rises and deepens despite his experience; you'd think he'd be over it by now, but when he spots bodies and bared breasts alike, it is hard for him to know where to look, and he looks down. He cannot look at his feet the way he would on land; it is not that exact emotion, anyway. As curious as he is - as much as he wants to see - it is difficult to know where to look.
"Your home is beautiful." Tiernan finally focuses his eyes on the island itself, on the city gleaming where the light hits its spires, even as he begins to stand. And standing, he stands in the skiff as much like any explorer, one hand lifted to shield his eyes from the sun and its reflection off the water. "Your people are beautiful as well. I will go home with a complex." As if he did not have enough of those already.
A hand rakes back through dark hair, taking off his captain's hat. He bows politely - to you, to the passing merfolk, to the city itself. "I am honored by your invitation," Tiernan says gravely, focusing now on your face, on your eyes, "and I will endeavor to be a proper guest while I am here. If I err, I hope that you will correct me and forgive my erring ways." Having delivered himself of this speech, he hesitates a moment longer. "The boat, it will be ...?"
Concerned, even to the last. He removes his boots, putting them under the seat along with his hat and his sword; with them neatly stowed, then he eases himself into the water, feet first. The clothes can be replaced, but they are a good pair of boots. Why ruin them? And he sinks like a stone, water running through his hair as he lets himself fall, then expels breath to propel himself back up to the surface, bobbing like a cork on the wine-bright sea.
Your sailors aren't nearby. You don't have to pretend to be an ambassador now. The look you get is rather extraordinary -- he is not sure what to make of your newfound formality. As you stand and prepare to join him, Agapios folds his arms on the side of the skiff, looking at you and waiting for you to truly absorb what you see around you.
He smiles as you slip into the water, and his hand is there. "We should secure your skiff. It will be fine. Who here needs a boat?" Agapios laughs. And he kisses you without thought, without concern, warmly, amicably, the bubbles of air tickling your flesh. "Can you tread without kicking?" he wonders. He does not wait for you to answer him or confirm. He submerges with a smile.
Against your legs, then between them, you feel him issue. And then he rises, bearing you upward until you, like Orpheus are carried upon his back. His powerful fluke moves, his one arm piloting you and he toward the city's rocky shoreline deep within the crease as his other takes the skiff's rope and pulls it along behind him.
You can feel his arching motions. How strange a ride is this? His movements are undulations, undulating in concert with the currents of this internal sea-river. It is like riding a carousel. You lift, you lower as he swims forward. "Isn't this fun?" Agapios says, turning his head to look at you over a shoulder. His blue hair is sleek with the water that clings to it, and as he swims it fans out like cerulean waters as it meets the waves. Fun -- and intimate. The lifting and lowering in the water, the motion of his body beneath your own -- swimming is like making love.
With you on his back, Agapios secures the skiff to a promontory rock. "Circle your arms around my neck or shoulders," he murmurs, glancing back to you. With lowered blue lashes, the look is openly alluring. "I will carry you to the Temple of Oannes."
His formality is a shield he draws up in front of himself in moments such as these, when there is nothing for him but uncertainty. When he cannot find ground beneath his feet, because it simply isn't there, when there is nothing but open water and his shyness threatens to drown him in his sudden lack of confidence. He looks at you as you think to him, and it is a jolt. Only one other has ever spoken to him, without words...
"Yes, all right," Tiernan answers you quietly, blue gaze searching across your skin with the blush still on his own. Do you blush? What does a blush look like, on someone whose skin reflects not pinks but blues? He takes hold of your hand as he slides into the water, squeezing it as if to reassure himself that he is doing the right thing. He opens his mouth - catching your kiss, and the blush rises with astonishment. No, he has never kissed anyone in front of an audience before. Almost, he freezes like a deer before headlights.
Almost, but not quite. There is too much to react to. You speak, you ask him a question, and then you are gone again, his hands finding your shoulders with a jolt, a shock. It takes him time to find words. And now the thoughts which you had sent before which he in his attentiveness to his ship, to his men, to duty come back to him.
Riding your back like Orpheus...
It is as well he did not hear the thoughts which followed, or who knows how he would have reacted? But now he is far from his ship, far from his men, and even the small skiff will be vanishing behind him. Everything is being left behind. The motions of your body are distraction itself, but he is keenly, keenly aware of everything all the same - as if pieces have clicked, fitting together and becoming seamless.
Tiernan groans, lowering his head so that his lips graze your cheek. "My heart feels compressed," he murmurs to you. "I am glad we spent some time alone together on the boat." He would not be able to get through this now, with you so close, with your undulating grace against him, but for that time. Fun. Fun indeed.
He looks to the boat and then to you, and hesitantly, he slides his arms around your shoulders - not around your neck, fearful of strangling you. "If it gets much more beautiful than this," Tiernan whispers to you, "these might be the last words you hear me say for a while yet. But - I won't pretend I am ready; I don't think anything could make me ready. I am as ready as I can be." The smile that is returned for yours is not alluring, or if it is, it is not an intentional lure; there is no hook baiting it, beneath the surface. It is a shy smile. Nervous, yes. And something of longing.
Of hope...
The skiff is left behind to lift and bob with the currents of the mixing seas funneling inward toward the heart of the immense city. Like your past, it sits there, ready to ferry you back. But beneath you, to all sides of you are the possibilities of the present and the future. Is that past so alluring that you have to go back?
"I am glad also," Agapios murmurs. He twists beneath you, his body effortlessly gliding, sliding until he is facing you, swimming on his back. His arms surround you, hold you to him. These undulations you know all too well. "I have missed touching you," he admits.
His bronze skin, burnished as if adored by the sun -- and why would he not be? -- any rise of blush or coloration becomes a further burnishment, turning him not blue but brassy.
His arms hold you, and he becomes your vessel, his fluke propelling him from current to current. Agapios leans forward, his damp blue hair drifting forward to rest against his cheekbones, his mouth almost brushing yours. "My heart feels very open," he whispers. Arching, his body moves, quickening. These touches, these touches that come in the swimming, they are inspiring him. "It's an ocean. You can swim in it any time you like."
Making sure you are holding onto him as much as he is you, Agapios begins to backstroke toward the glittering blue temple.
The Temple of Oannes is not merely a structure for this city's own worship, but marks where heaven and seas meet. "Beneath the water," he murmurs, "... is the entrance to Oannes' Grotto. It is said that is where Oannes himself lived. This temple is a gateway between this world and the next." There is a next world. So many next worlds.
As he swims, Agapios tilts his head to check his progression and location. Soon, he lifts again, letting his fluke do most of the work. It moves beneath you, his tail section undulating once more. Sliding his arms around you, Agapios holds you close to him, his flesh turning brassy with the illumination of his own desire. His own affection for you.
"There is one ritual," he says near your ear. "... The Rite of Making Oceans. I want to make an ocean with you. What waters we would create." Agapios sighs, feelings for you welling in his gut and chest. He kisses you . "We will make it, and you can name it..."
He is afraid. The past is terrible in some aspects, glorious in others - but those are known quantities. The future is unknown - unfathomable and mysterious. It is the difference between setting out in a ship upon the sea's surface...
...and diving in...
"I have missed you, too."
He says it so quietly, you almost might not hear him. It is hard for him to say. Almost, he flinches from the words, as if saying them might burn his tongue to cinder. Emotion is difficult, isn't it?
Well. Maybe not for you.
One hand is loose, the other wrapped snugly around your shoulders. That loose hand rubs at your back as you swim with him, as if it will say what words have not. And already questions are coming - merciful questions, blessed curiosity! - to crowd out awkward emotion from his thoughts.
"The next world? I only know of Oannes what you've told me," Tiernan admits candidly. He closes his eyes at your colour, his breath skipping. He could mistake it for his heart missing a beat. "I only know... so few things."
It fades to a whisper. He does not know this ritual. But he can guess. And the colour rises again in his face, echoing yours, a distorted mirror with his pale coloration, yours metallic. "I am ... still learning how little I know."
"So are we all," Agapios replies. "None of us know everything. We all have pieces, gathered like stones along the way. Rivers are the same, and so are the oceans." You are not alone. You are not the only one searching. You search your feelings like an explorer on the seas, heading into unknown waters. Cortez. Ponce de Leon. Columbus. They all did the same.
He kisses you briefly, aquamarine eyes locking to yours through the buss. His emotions flow at the surface of his skin, effortless as the waterfalls that cascade from stone cliff to stone cliff to pool between the tall columns. Glancing back and seeing the Temple getting closer and closer, Agapios returns his attention to you. His swimming motions slow, his fluke lowering to bring him upright, you still in his arms.
"I would not expect you to know much of Oannes," he smiles slightly. "But you will learn. That is what you are here to do. And I... I will show you everything I can. The world and my heart are open to you." He rests his forehead to your own as he treads water with you. "For the next part of the journey, we will have to swim underwater. Are you ready to kiss me?" he grins, as if you had to gird yourself up to endure such a thing.
"I am ready to kiss you," he whispers and tilting his head his mouth surrounds your own, parts yours for a wide kiss, a savoring embrace. Oxygen fizzes against your tongue, down your throat and into your lungs. Your blood and spirit lift, creating instant euphoria.
Clasping you tightly, his arms anchor you to him as he pulls you down, spiraling into a swift submerge. Open your eyes. Beneath the waves is another city even grander than the last that lives beneath the waves. Columns and palaces, merfolk, sea-horse mermen and mermaids. However breathtaking the above-water city was, the actual kingdom of Oannes outdoes it.
The Temple doors are beneath the waves. They stand open, with jellyfish providing illumination. There are no guards standing in attendance. The Temple is open to any and all.
The kiss holds you strongly, those air bubbles propelling themselves down your throat. His body bumps against your own as he swims swiftly for the doors. You feel yourself lifting, as if you were flying mid-air, and even after you surface, the kiss remains, twisting, clasping as it begins to untangle itself. Agapios looks to you as he treads water, his arms tightly around you. His mouth pulls at yours, his power fizzing against your skin. "We are here..."
Here. A vast temple of seeming sapphire and blue quartz. The interior of the temple is circular. Above, the ceiling seems to stretch to infinity, becoming the face of the universe above, coated in stars. There are a multitude of archways, also of that same gemmy rock. Surrounding the pool in which you and your mer-man bob and float is a soft-pebbled beach of the same glittering stones.
"I have asked that we be allowed to tour it privately," he whispers. "Though the doors will remain open, none will enter until we emerge."
His hand reaches up, touching your hair, brushing it away from your face. Agapios kisses you again, his hand resting at your cheek. "This is the main chamber. This is where the majority of rites are performed. There is no altar... the water is our altar. The chamber is... perfectly tuned for our voices. From here, every creature in the sea can hear us singing. Here, our voices are perfectly balanced.
"It is just that..."
The words fade, incomplete. How can he put it into words? Anything he says, it will sound so plaintive, so ignorant. So Tiernan is convinced. His thoughts lurk behind his eyes - unspoken, for now. But his hand tangles for a moment in your hair before slowly drawing free.
I did not know, when I set out, that the ocean would be so big. And I am so small. Even in my vessel, it is a small thing bobbing up and down on this enormous expanse. How could I hope to make a difference? But I have to try. It is what I want, more than anything. Maybe it is all that anyone wants. To matter. To affect the world - or some hearts in it, at least, that my time here is not wasted; that at the end of my days, when they inevitably come, I can know that it mattered. That I helped more than I hindered, that there will be something there that mourns the loss.
Is that it? It sounds so selfish, put like that. I hope, thus, that that is not it, after all...
It is funny you ask him like that. In a way, girding himself is exactly what he needs to do; brace himself for the embrace of the water, more than your own embrace. It will be new. And an adventure. And his heart leaps, despite all fears and trepidations, despite his own fear of himself. But you kiss him, the kiss comes whether he is ready or not; and he seals his mouth to yours in turn, tongue-tip touching to yours. You whisper for him to open his eyes, and it is an effort of will; he expects the water to sting with its salt, and he squints, and then, opens wide, forgetting to worry whether there will be discomfort. It is that much of a sight to be seen, yes.
He wants to speak. A thousand questions occur, and all of them fade before the frustration of his lack. His hold tightens on you, and he forces his gaze away from architecture to look at you, instead. It is not until you pull away, where water is replaced by air, that he can even begin to frame the first thing to say.
"I need to make something so that I can dive with you without having to be connected at the mouth." Ever the intrepid scientist, apparently. Tiernan gasps out a breath, and he looks around from where he is still so close to you - up at the ceiling. At the walls. At everything and at nothing. It is so immense. And he looks, then, to you. As incomprehensible as you are in so many ways - now you become the only truly comprehensible point in a vast and floating universe. You lean in to kiss him, and he sighs, his hand coming to catch at yours, fingers twining as he looks at you.
"I want to ask so many things," Tiernan confesses quietly. "And none of my questions seem appropriate to this place. I feel as if I should somehow do it disservice - be somehow undermining its wonder, by asking about it. I ... you're sure it's acceptable for me to be here? Two legged, tailless and all?"
Agapios laughs. It is a quiet, easy sound, his laughter, and it issues around the circular space, no matter how vast. "It is really just an excuse to kiss you. There are several varieties of deep water seaweed that would provide the same effect. Though, from what I hear, they are not all that palatable." His fingers twine in yours and he smiles at you -- it is at once a compassionate and amused expression. Understanding the overwhelm that the temple causes, he finds your comments rather funny.
"Ask me," Agapios encourages you, his thumb moving against your palm. "There is no better place than the Temple, where we gather to ask questions of the Power that is greater than ourselves. You are welcome here. Anyone who is seeking is welcome here. Besides," he swims, treading until his body is flush to yours, "...you're with me. It is an open invitation."
He smiles as he rests his forehead to your own briefly before he drifts back to give you sufficient space within to conceive and voice your questions. Who knows what sort of room you might need for what's on your mind!
"Ask me," Agapios repeats, lifting your joined hands out of the water. Tilting his head, his cerulean hair drifting in a veil before his eyes, he looks at how the two hands fit together.
Your laughter draws his attention back to you, even though a part of him wants to remain looking away. You make him nervous, now. Here, alone with you to this degree; alone with your emotions, with his own only poorly locked away, behind such bars; it makes his difficulty rapidly apparent to himself.
As difficult as the contact of the small touch of your thumb, the larger touch of your powerful movements through water to be up against him. It churns in his belly, echoing in his eyes, making him clamp his lips firmly together as you lean towards him. And away...
"My questions are an engineer's questions," Tiernan murmurs. Like you, he is looking at where your hand is linked with his. He is focusing on it; observing it, following with his eyes the lines of skin meeting skin, the fine grains of pores and how they glitter with sea water and light. "How was this place constructed, here, under the ocean; how the air is held, how does it circulate so that it does never go bad. How do the jellyfish stay fixed in place, do they need to be replaced - how this place is maintained, kept from the inevitable erosion of the sea. If I open all the questions which occur to me, it could take years before I am satisfied. I," he smiles a little, abashedly, "want to know things. I like to know how things work, so that I can mimic or even improve upon it."
There are people of this world and of another who desperately stand in need of answers. He does not view himself as any sort of savior. But if he is able to put knowledge and learning to use...
His hand drifts along yours, drawing free slowly so that his fingers play against your wrist. "My own questions - the questions of myself - get buried under those questions, standing here. It is not that I do not want to know. It is just that I am not that important."
"But the questions of yourself are the most significant," Agapios quietly counters. "For it is yourself, not magical engineering, that you seek. The rest, the rest is simply the reality you see or create. As for the jellyfish, though it is not in their nature to remain in one place, those that provide light for the benefit of all are happily paid in plankton. They do not need to move when those who keep them deliver the plankton to them."
Aquamarine eyes shift their attention to your face, while his hand continues to move with your own as if they were independent creatures, with their own mating ritual. "All islands are mountains, this is the mid-body of our great rock. We do not know how far it goes down, no one has ever ventured so far. My guess is that it continues infinitely," Agapios smiles. "There are many air pockets, even beneath such great waters as these, but we have developed ways not only to create air pockets but to sustain them. For more scientific explanations, I shall have to refer you to others. Perhaps you would like to meet the Council of Scholars tomorrow. I am sure they will have the answers to your structural questions."
He moves around you in a circle, though he does not let go of your hand. You are moved with him, his powerful fluke treading for you both. Drawing near to you again, you feel the swirl of the waters around your legs, and the smoothness of his own cerulean skin where bronze humanoid flesh gives way to tail and fins.
"What are the questions you have of yourself. Tiernan. Those are the ones we are here to begin to answer. And I to be with you, to help you along your journey, as I promised. What do you feel... being in this place?"
He leads your hand underwater to swim with his own as he holds you near him, treads for you, listens to you. All of his attention is given to you, and his expression is open and welcoming, inviting you to speak, to share your thoughts.
"I would be curious to explore its depths." Tiernan tips his head back until the back of his head touches the water, then straightens again. He turns slowly, facing you, expression serious. "Not that I am impervious to the depths... or even able to breathe, as you do. But ... there is a temptation." A pull. A lure, of sorts, to dive deep and keep going, even as the light of the surface recedes, going ever further in seeking of the unknown. Of some answer, to a question as yet unvoiced...
You come close again, and he reaches out towards you, fingers touching to your hair. "I would like to speak with them, if they would be willing to answer my naive questions," he admits. "My ... curiosity will seem ignorant, maybe. But I would like to indulge it, if it will not pull them away from more important work."
He shifts to follow the line of the beach until his feet are firmly against sandy bottom, moving until he can sit, facing you. It means that he is in water almost to his chin, sitting; but it is too much to regard and still stand. Too much to try and say, and still keep on his feet. "I have so many questions," Tiernan whispers. "I have been telling myself for so long that they are not important. They cannot be answered, can they? But they keep rising, like bubbles from yeast."
His hand reaches out towards you, lifting to float loosely on the still water; and he looks away. Looks down, gaze falling as if to his feet. "My mother's kingdom was corrupt, Agapios. But it was the only home I had ever known. It ... was a precarious upbringing. I have never talked about it much. There was little use in doing so, yes?"
Tiernan rolls his shoulders in a shrug, gaze still turned downwards, as if to explore the depths in some way, even if not by effort of form. "I want to know why ... why things were the way they were ... why am I so different from my mother? Even as a child, I knew that I did not want to be as they were. I ended up alone, because I did not want to take part in what was all around me. Who am I, to cast aside what I was taught - to keep so thoroughly and readily to myself? What purpose is in this? I feel that there is something more that I should know, and I keep searching for it, and never finding it. Things just - don't add up. My mother was powerful; really powerful, Agapios."
Now his gaze lifts, searching for you as he tries to put into words what he has never allowed himself to truly phrase before. "When she was angry, the skies over her kingdom would roll in black, with thick, angry clouds. The electricity of it would hum for miles around. Things were constantly changing; not just the people around me, though those did too - someone I knew one day could be gone the next. Dead - or an informer to my mother, having tried to get close to me only to keep an eye on me, or to gain some political mileage. And the palace itself would change. One day, a corridor might lead directly to the kitchens. Another day, I would have to find my way around all over again. And my mother? She could charm or kill equally easily, with a wave of her hand for a room full of folk. I ... have none of her power. I have hardly any magic at all, and what I have, can only be used if I build things; inanimate objects, clockwork toys. I was known as Tiernan Toymaker, you know."
He shuts his lips together suddenly, taking a deep breath through his nose and looking down sharply. It is a moment before he resumes, muscles tensed, as if straining against some invisible force. "...Who am I, really? She marked me whenever I displeased her. She took the memories of it, leaving only the residue to steer me from that course of action again. She covered all the marks but for my gravest sins against her will and whim. And bit by bit, she put spells on me to turn me into a mindless slave. A puppet that she could summon up if she wished - to kill those I loved the most, or happened to be nearby to. So that while I might be the toymaker ... so was I also her toy."
The words hurt, coming out. The irony of it - the knowledge that his mother surely knew what she was doing when she did that. It is what she would have said. Tiernan's voice grows quiet, almost inaudible, his gaze locked to the sea water at his chest. "I'm sure she must have said that. Why was I so important that she wouldn't just kill me as a failure? I saw her do so... so often. Who am I, really? Her threads - are they still in me, somewhere, waiting? Do I have a poison sleeping in my bones, Agapios? I don't know what I should do. I go through life, trying not to think about it ... but it is always there. What if..."
You sit on the sandy ledge, the sand softer than any you have felt before. There is a silky quality to it, and it is of the same blue stone as the surrounding mountain and temple. Agapios comes to you, his large form curving around you, giving you something to lean against, and his hand lifts to stroke your hair, to brush it back away from your face.
While there is sympathy in his eyes, and compassion, there is also a strength and resolve. "You should not run from it," he murmurs. "What good would that do? It will only chase you, Tiernan." His hand gently touches your face, cradling it as he kisses you sweetly, the bubbles moving against your lips.
"Perhaps you have more abilities than you realize, or you are stronger even than her foul magic. It is possible that she was unable to kill you. Had you considered this? That even with all of the marks she made on you, you survived them. It is something to consider. For certainly she had it within her power to destroy you, if it was something she could do. I cannot imagine that one like that could have given birth to you." Agapios shakes his head. No, that is not possible. "While everyone has selfishness, darkness to face, to overcome -- what sea is not without its abyss? -- one as dark as she could never have given birth to one who has within him such light."
His comforting touch remains, and it is echoed by gently ebbing waters, stroked to brush against you by the gentle motions of his tail. "As long as you run from her and from what happened to you there, she will continue to haunt you. But you can kill her for once and for all, by finding the truth, wherever it leads you." He pauses and smiles. "Us."
He kisses you again, on your mouth and on your cheeks. "The scholars will be happy to discuss it with you, anything you should like to ask them. They would welcome the discourse with one so inquisitive and intelligent."
Agapios surrounds your shoulders with an arm, hugging you lightly. "I will be with you," he says quietly but with the emphasis of a promise. "For the whole of your journey. Even if it takes you to a desert," he grins. "I will be there for you. You are important to me, Tiernan. I care for you. I find that I care for you very much. And I want to see you happy. I want to see you when you know the truth."
Tiernan leans in against you, breath escaping him in a low sigh. It is hard for him to talk about it - but putting into words unlocks it. Each time is a little easier, perhaps. "I have run from it for so long, I don't think I know how to stop." He touches his lips to yours, then shifts restlessly, looking up at the spired heights.
"Maybe she was unable. Maybe she just had some purpose for me which I never found out. She is dead now, so I can hardly ask her - even if the asking would work. I am sure that it wouldn't. But ever since I was small, I tried so hard not to be like that. I decided that I would rather be alone, than open myself to the risks of her court. Everyone who touched my life at all either left, or died, or betrayed me. Deus only knows why it did not affect me more than it did. I am not that strong now. Now, it would destroy me."
Again, he reaches for your hand, turning to look at you, and he smiles a bit - wry, the expression, but genuine. "I'll try not to need to visit any deserts," Tiernan murmurs. "I ... will try not to let you get hurt. But where do I look? Even if I stop running - what do I do now? I don't know. Do you?"
"Yes," Agapios nods. "I do know. You must go to that place where you lived. You cannot begin your journey without starting there. Do not worry about me," Agapios grins, "... what I do, I do willingly. You cannot protect me from my path, anymore than I can protect you, Tiernan."
Yes, it is decided. That much is clear in the look he gives you. His hand touches you gently, but his resolve is steely -- a water that does not yield.
"We will spend several days here, three if you think your men will not mind. I will ask my father to bless us in a ritual before we make our journey. And we will rest, and we will eat, and we will enjoy one another before returning to your ship. We will plan our excursion along the way. It must be done," he notes, as if expecting protest.
But there is no protest to give. The only way through is... through...
There. Of all places, there?
Tiernan goes very still. He has never even considered going back. What would be the point? He is a prince in exile. Homeless, save for the grace given him by his lover, the High King's son - and now the High King in stead of the original. It was his first home - and, no matter how lightly, no matter how disparagingly he may have seemed when casting it off, it has remained in his heart his first home. He has not spoken of it. Why speak of things one cannot have, one cannot do?
"It is land-locked, you know," Tiernan tells you finally, gaze lifting to yours, and then away. "There are rivers and streams and lakes. But there is no coastline. It will be difficult, and possibly dangerous. Even if the White Queen," as he calls Iowerth's mother, "has conquered it... the people there are borne with a crookedness in them that will not have gone away. Not evil, perhaps. But it is a wild place."
But you are determined. And he? He wishes for answers, even if he is uncertain of the wisdom or the truth in this course. Where else can he find answers? Go back to the start, to the beginning, and search outwards from there.
"They will wait for up to a week," Tiernan acknowledges. "At a week, they will be getting restless, worried - they will begin discussing whether or not to leave me behind. It will result in either a decision to do so, or in mutiny. Three or four days will not cause a stir." He knows his men, and his ship. And colour rises like heat, with heat, in his face.
It is one thing to experience pleasure; another to give in to it. And still another thing to talk about it. You have an easy lever there, where he is concerned.
"I ... think," Tiernan says carefully, "that I need someplace smaller, right now." It is not quite agoraphobia. But it is a vast and open place, this. And he is feeling small, and suddenly weak, though he fails to put it into words. He looks to you, and away again, and then closes his eyes. "And something to eat," he suggests with a light tone. "Breakfast was a long time ago, yes?" Ah, yes. The care and feeding of heart-weary sailors. Isn't that what sirens are said to do?
And then, of course, kill them when done...
Posted by rowan at January 26, 2007 08:58 PM
