"I'm sorry that I am late," Soldekai smiles, stepping from a suddenly appearing crack in the fabric of the universe. The room shimmers with it, a hairthin fracture in reality opening up in the middle of the room. As he comes out, golden armor becomes jeans and a shirt. Leg first, arm, shoulder, torso, then the mirrored other half. "I hope you weren't waiting long," he smiles at you. Hard to tell, even with his watch...he can't exactly measure time here in some comparative version to home.
     "Do you have much to do later this night?" he wonders, "I...am not sure how long we shall be." He promised to show you the fires of inspiration itself. Granted, it was a pass, but still, one has to appreciate the grandeur.

     Christopher...Kit...is seated on one of the benches in the forge, working on a puzzle of interlocking pieces of steel. Solving it rapidly, redoing it. As if he were going for a record. Silver eyes glanced up at the shimmer of light and there was an automatic motion. A shifting to rise...for one never knows who might be coming through the tether next. He is dressed as Kit would be, in jeans and hiking boots, in that black leather midlength coat. A black shirt, no collar, a crew...and hanging midway between the hollow of his throat and the beginning of his chest, there is the perfect sphere of metal. It chimes as Kit rises. "Ah no," a smile perches upon his lips. Rascalian. A hand comes up and the puzzle is tossed aside...ringing, perfectly in perfect pitch upon a nail. "I understand, Soldekai...you were on a mission from God, I am sure..." A joke. And not.
     Urfiel's malakim swordsmiths can ever only seem to raise eyebrows at the...odd cherub. They do so again as he rubs his hands together. Kit grins. "I have Time, yes...it is always Night somewhere...is it not? I could be working without ceasing...one evening will just become a day later on. Let us not rush inspiration..." And he makes a gesture. After you.

     "No, after you," Soldekai motions. Yes, he had taken an appreciative glance, but nothing too untoward. And you might go first...as you will be entering, more than likely, either Heaven itself at the Castle of Purity, more than likely. And as a Malakim, he has to make sure all things are secure.

     "Oh....right..." There is short chuckle held in the throat. And silver eyes, metallic, linger for a moment, and then he steps forward. There is a pause, a glance to the malakim guards of Purity's tether. Isn't this against some holy law? That Christopher should use such a portal? A smooth smile pulls upon that mouth. "Lovely chatting with you lads," he says to the malakim. "Give lady honor a flourish for me..." And with that, Christopher enters the tether proper...through the portal to Heaven that opens wide for him. Heaven's wide mouth and neverending maw for light. He is drawn through...all semblance of Kit....left at the door...to coin a phrase.

     Indeed, the door opens to a spot near the Castle of Purity. Soldekai appears behind you in the rift, returned to his golden splendor. Heaven itself...no waiting. He grins as he becomes golden light encased, turning about to walk with you towards the Citadel of Fire. Have you been there? So few go...Gabriel's...problems...are well-documented. "I..." he grins like a guy on his first day, "...I'm glad you had time to come," he says, missing his own entendre, "...I'm also glad we got to talk more. Considering how many of us there are, I am not surprised that it wasn't another millennia before we..met again." Always on that type of word. Meeting. Joining. Certainly the simple, but always much more.

     Such a difference between the shell called Kit and the being named Christopher. Dusky as the Night, his form. Clothed in the mottled vestments of a master of the realms of night. Armor of links...like mirrors. Against them, images. Reflections of a universe of dreams. His gaze is molten silver. Metallic. Shining. His hair is black, and his wings are midnight. Black-blue. Blue-black. He chimes when he moves. The intonation of perfect tone. As golden as you are, he is dark. His arms fold against his armored chest.
     He has never been to the Citadel of Fire...no...wait, there was that one time. The raven delivered a message the old-fashioned way. Herald that he is. "Time...is as bendable as a reed by the wind," comes the sing-song deep resonance of his voice. He tilts his head and looks to you. The entendre was not missed. Perhaps it can be seen clinging to the metaphor smile his lips make. Mysterious. Enigmatic. "I am also glad. Millennia can...slip by, Soldekai...like dreams ...coming and going...repeated all within the same night," his voice falls. "When a blink is a century, I am both shocked it was not sooner...." Christopher's smile curves ribald. "or much later. But it is Now...and who knows how many millennia Now shall comprise?" He looks toward the Citadel of Fire. "I do not even know when I was at the Palace of Your Lady Of The Unending Flame...your Vestal Commander..."

     He laughs, "Most can't recall," lines of reality shifting. And suddenly...you both are within the Citadel, spires of flame reaching up unending. The walls are pure element, each of the small beings almost identifiable in the roaring flames that surround this chamber. Before you stands Soldekai, nothing but smiles. A warping, more than likely done by him. "There's something about this place," he not losing a beat, "...that causes the mind...to haze. I think it's intentional." And he laughs. Beneath your feet, nothing. The fire is not there, and instead, the view extends all the way to a sea of blue. The Atlantic. He looks down, "That's where we're going," he says softly, the panorama of the Atlantic ridge zooming in to a wash of smoke and mist. Steam off of a coastline. Sweeping around, the eyes you are looking through fly around cliffs of black, cooling lava that flows into the sea. Iceland. Fire and Ice together, land still being birthed. His solitude.

     Shimmering space. The fire would illuminate him, were he not the son of Night. The fire and light glance against his feathers, his skin. His silver eyes. Reflected off of him. As if he were a scrying mirror of a dream's divination. Christopher walks behind you. He likes the view. As the corona of the Atlantic is seen beneath his feet, Christopher pauses, crouching down upon the illusionary reality. Balancing easily on the balls of his feet. A moment to look at it, wings stretching out slightly. He rises as you indicate the destination. "Ah...." And the smile is beautiful and wide. "The heart of creation's fire. We the material...she...the spark..." There is great respect for Gabriel among Blandine's most trusted companions. An appreciation that comes, no doubt, from an intrinsic understanding of Inspiration and how it can work with Aspiration. And he is true to his Word. Christopher is taller in this form than his earthly vessel. He moves with a fluid grace. Languid. With dreams at his heels. "It is beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a chiming of sound.

     This is the gate. If you look carefully, you can see Gabriel's sigil etched in the 'glass'. Soldekai smiles, "She is, is she not? Go ahead," he whispers, disappear through the gate...and you shall appear there. "I will tell you more about it when we arrive."

     His finger traces the sigil in the air, as if he were a magician conjuring mid-air. Half-turning his head, Christopher looks to you. A smile playing in a hint upon his lips. His eyes shimmering. He disappears through the gate. With his own...dark and motley flourish.

     Where you arrive is within the mouth of a cave. Before you, its jagged window opening to the sea. There is blackness around, save the opening of light that is filled with mist and steam. The sun can be barely seen at the edge of the horizon, barely dipping below the line this time of year here. But despite the steam and birthing of land, the rock touch is damp and cool. Black basaltic lava is this, a large bubble that has burst. This is where Soldekai spends his time. Looking at black, white and grey and all those colors in between. Jagged opening also holds the sea ahead, a blue line ahead, heady with white steam...lava must be generated below water line, below this cave...and then thrust into cooling ocean. From the cave to the sea is smooth waves of cooled lava, not too unlike its sister islands of Hawaii.
     Behind you comes Soldekai's voice, close. "What do you think," he says softly, lips almost at your ear, his gaze ahead through his Window. "My tether, as it were," he smiles. A tether for one.

     Ah, now ...this suits him. He eases within this environment like a rivulet of steam issuing from cooling basalt. He can disappear here...so easily blending in. Until some shimmer of reflecting mirrors and silver reflecting eyes give him away. Ahead, the Window. Like a peephole to the inner soul. His arms unfold and his armor chimes. His wings outstretch. A stroke against you, even as your voice does against his senses. Lips...pucker...the birth of a smile for the birth of the world. "A wondrous place, your tether," comes the deep resonance of his voice. An insinuation of sound. Christopher half-turns his head, starlight eyes shimmering. A brow cocking up. "You live in the Heart Of It All. The house of Beginnings." Creation. He nods, seriously. "Creation's stirring.." A smile begins on his lips. Slanting, curling. Yes, there is a double meaning, Soldekai. You dwell in the loins of the world. What a palace.

     Tell that to him. Gabriel's Chamberlain would blush. "When I have a moment," his lips placing kiss upon the wing nearest him, "...this is where I can be found. Keeping the Norse legends alive." And who is to say he could not have been mistaken for Odin's son? Soldekai hovers behind, eyes given to the window again, "It always sounds like that, the steam from below. The earth bubbles still and sends forth new ground. Iceland...has grown by several hundred acres this Earth Year alone. Expanding coastline, broiling over and cooling. Going a little further with each dribble of black basalt." He looks ahead again. "You hold too many of my secrets, Christopher," angelic words tinkling from him in a truthful tease.

     And that bids laughter. Chiming deep, the deepest tones of a chime. Dark and mysterious.
     Hmm...but that is my way, do not blame me for being your sphinx, Soldekai..." His wing lifts to your kiss, pinions stretching. Unfurling, like the welcoming unfolding of lover's garments. So subtle an expression of pleasure at that touch -- a thousand eyes should miss it in staring before one stolen glimpse would catch it. Christopher's puckered smile pulls slowly and smoothly. "But rest assured, Protector of Odin, none shall get the secrets from the sphinx." That is true. For who could ever get Christopher to state anything simply or without some accompanying riddle or test of wit? Let the persistent try to wind their way through his circular arguments.
     His left wing stretches back, long edges stroking along the back of your legs. His armor chimes with each motion, and the images shift. Dreamscapes altering. Christopher inclines his head and as his hand is visible to you, he is holding three perfect spheres -- larger versions of the one he wears around his neck. They make perfect sound as he revolves them. Against their rounded surface, images of you. The volcano. The spreading of black rock. Constant creation. A dream of what your fortress tether of growing rock may be in another thousand years. And then the spheres are repocketed. Christopher grins slightly, smoothly.

     His eyes watched the orbs, grinning to see time pass in your hand. "You make that song too simple...he's got the whole world in his hands....and two others as well." Soldekai chuckles, his fingers stroking outer pinions lightly. "Have you ever seen Mt. Pinatubo?" he wonders, the violent heart of the Phillippines? "I could show you the lava there," he whispers softly, sharing his universe with you. "Or, we could remain here."

     There is an ease of quiet laughter at that. "I do not think I know that song..." There is a ...throaty sound to his voice at the stroking of pinions. Like a wary raven, his feathers are upright, his wings lifted. Arched. Very sensitive wings. But as a minister of dreams, it is the ....more subtle motions and embraces that reach him the most profoundly. Slowly, Christopher turns. "Wherever you and I are sharing space, Soldekai...the earth will tremble and shake and run hot liquid.." Yes, he said it aloud. The grin is slight. He is genuinely serious, even though he spoke in metaphoric terms. But ...there is a little...bit of a tease there. "I would like to see the places and things you hold dear," he adds quietly. A hush. Just for you.
     Christopher is half-turned toward you. You yet partially behind him. But now a hand can lift and touch your face. A thumb eases across your cheek before his hand lowers. You feel his wing moving along your legs again. The half-turn put him in a better position for that.

     The comment about trembling earth causes that blush. For a moment, the angel behind you glimmers. His own wings are stiffly folded against himself, but with the touch to his face, they slip and unfurl in relaxation. His hands alight at your waist. "Mt. Pinatubo it is," he says softly, "...then back here, hmm? Gabriel will already know that I have shown you two places, I should at least be here when she comes looking for me." He laughs at that, and suddenly the invisible sigil that has been beneath you glows faintly, displaying itself. Her Mark. As the lines betray themselves, an image appears, lush and dark. The jungles of the Phillippines. "Whenever you are ready," he whispers, stepping back a little to give you space.

     The grin is startling at your blush. Beautiful. Rascal. He places his fingers against his lips, a slight ...secretive pressure. The I shall tell no secrets....expression. "I will hide in a corner and give Greek Chorus commentary." And then with a wink, he steps upon her sigil...then into the jungles of the Phillippines. And the angel becomes a dark bird at the sight of so many trees. What a tangle!

     It is so...jungle appears all around, a thick tangle of canopied darkness. It is wet here, the ground soft and mushy. No matter -- life in the rain forest happens thirty feet in the heady arms of leaves and branches. The air smells of sulfur, a living hole to the earth's soul immediately nearby, but the animals here seem not to care. Ash and the rich waste of lava give the forest here constant nourishment, supporting the cycle of life, death, reclamation, and birth over and over again.
     It is an elaborate system of landings and covers up high here. From this treehouse another can be seen in the next thickness, nothing connecting. This is a tether for angelic types. Soldekai stands in a pair of khaki pants and open white canvas shirt. Around him birds fly, unafraid to enter the treehut's windows and fly out as they see fit. They are free to come and go. A light breeze filters through, keeping the place from sweltering. Sol smiles as he moves across the 20 ft space, picking up a small rock. Arrowhead. "The peoples here think this is one of the places of the Gods," he smiles, heading towards you and the entrance platform. He hands the arrowhead to you, a treasure of this place. "They think that the beings who happen here talk to the mountain."

     The black head turns. This way and that. A sheen. A darkness. A harbinger of a thousand things that only shadows and shades can tell of. In murky realities born of Dreams. Black wings are arched upward and the large raven's beak parts, opening. Taking the arrowhead. There comes a sound of...glee. Aviary glee. The arrowhead is sat upon his perch beside him, on the treehouse window. "Isn't it, Soldekai?" comes the still resonant voice. "These people are wise and observant. There is a little girl in a village who dreams of having seven beads to wear around her slender neck. Oh what a treasure," he begins to murmurs, beak touching against the arrowhead. "The design is so simple and yet..."
     He might go on for hours with the trinket if you do not get his attention...

     Soldekai chuckles a bit, "I am sure you will see to her dreams," he rests assured. "I guess," he nods, "...we talk to the mountain. She sometimes responds." His Mistress still. He leans against the doorface and watches you at the nearby window, fascinated with the arrowhead. "They will wonder about the black bird that came during the day," he prophesizes, "...you will become mythos." He pushes off the doorfacing and returns to you. "So, what do you think?"

     "It is a good myth," the bird almost purrs like a cat. "They will say he carries the sacred arrowhead to arm the weapon of the Muse of Fire. That one strike of it...and..." The raven cocks his head. "No...no...too similar to cupid....I shall have to ponder it more..." There is a caw at another bird and the raven lifts the arrowhead and lifts off the window. Christopher stands then before it, arrowhead balanced in agile fingers. He glances back at the bird and makes a wave of his larger wing. "Scat, this was a gift!"
     And then the trinket is pocketed. The Herald of Dreams stands ...smiling. Secretive. And revealing. Hands clasp behind his back. "I am sure there is no mistaking when the moutain talks back." The grin pulls slimly...smoothly. There is heat behind it. "It is a great place. I would get lost here. How is it you do not? Ah...that is right...you are focused..."

     Soldekai grins at the dismissal, but it falls into a warmer smile when the corporeal you stands before him. "I don't know if it is because I am more focused," he blushingly turns aside, "...but I am used to this place, yes. I have to listen for when the mountain decides to proclaim." Lapels of his shirt flutter, and he looks the very picture of an explorer from last century, relaxed in his hut. "But I like the way this myth is shaping up, though, every moment should have a story to it. So, what of you," he asks softly, "...being a seneschal perhaps somewhere in your thinking one of these days?" Hammock swings outside of the window, and the room is sparsely furnished. Soldekai moves towards the pallet of woven palm covered with a cotton sheet and blanket, reaching down to bring up a handmade necklece from the bedding.

     "I could not imagine it," says Christopher, in corporeal form...and like you...dressed for the surroundings. So as to make...very little disturbance. Olive khaki pants are full of pockets. And well it may be assumed that all pockets are full. Of what? Perhaps you would like to search them. He wears a shirt the color of the shadow of leaves. "Being anchored to one position...when dreams are such an...expansive realm. I would be....a bird in a cage..." He quirks a smile to that, full lips curving with it. "But...if My Grace of Dreams and Hopes..." Blandine, "...bestows the honor upon me, I shall take it." Blandine is wise enough not to -- he is far too.....dynamic for such an honor. Slow stride carries the distance between you. "Unless...of course...the tether could be in a cave full of sparkling gems and dripping water. I could...make do with such an arrangement..."

     "You are Blandine's," Soldekai teases, even as the space between you is covered. He smiles as you near him and opens the necklace out so that your throat would walk into it. "From me," he says, "...personally." A piece of rough leather thong, a small piece of shining basalt dangling from it. "You have something of the trip, and now from me. That is actually of Iceland. I always wondered whether any archaeologist should venture up here and find Atlantic rock in a Pacific hut and not have a heartattack." He smiles. It might as well leave. But in the tying, his arms are slow to retract, his expression becoming more serious. Perhaps you know what should follow. "You know...that I cannot see you very much, Christopher. I cannot make dedications of my time to you...I should not." How many in Gabriel's Legion that he must see to? How many souls? How many wrongs...how many meetings of the Council...how many eyes are upon him. Certainly all of Dominic's. He knows his station and predicament. Only then do his arms begin to lower, leather in place.

     The gaze is serious to meet your own as the leather thong is placed around him. Your arms around him. It is Actual and Symbolic. A metaphor, a dream and a realization. The basalt holds a portion of you. It is going to be his reminder. "What is time," he murmurs. The stone hums against his skin. "To the Eternal, moments are tiny eternities. Space and time fold elliptical. Bend. Stars are born and die in one angelic sigh," comes the smooth and quiet voice. Smooth as the spheres he once held. Smooth as the skim of feathers to skin. "So we should cup this moment in our hands and call it an epoch." A raven brow lifts. A slight arch. Stars fill his eyes. Despite the corporeal. A hand reaches up. His finger glances across the basalt stone. "It hums with You. I wear it, you are with me, Soldekai. And ...when you rest, will I not become to your dreams what this gift to my touch? More than a reminder. It is a part of you. Likewise..." His hand moves to cover your eyes in a symbolic motion, "...when your senses must rest, you will find me with you. What...matter time to ones such as we?"

     Beneath your hand comes a smile. Reassurance you give him again, reminders of not what he does but what he Is. Even he sometimes forgets. "How is it you refresh me, Herald?" he asks in a whisper. Around you, the insects sound so much louder. Skin can feel his eyelashes, fluttering even as his amber eyes remain closed. "I feel as I have taken from you and given so little in return..."

     "Not true. My heart is full," Christopher breathes, his hand draws away. "And I have an arrowhead and a piece of you around my neck." He is easily pleased gift-wise. The raven within sees to that. Christopher smiles, his face taking on a dusky incandescence. "Night...refreshes Day...Day ...wakens Night." As if that should explain it All. And this. The space between you is closed, no distance now. The strength of him and the warmth of the corporeal is against you. His voice a breath at your ear. "I think we should return to Iceland...before the volcano speaks. That is a thing ...I think I would rather hear the story of than witness..." Christopher winks at that.

     He nods in the quick affirmative. "It is a tale told better from a distance." A glance down, and the floor of the hut is now Gabriel's sigil. Lines are drawn in white heat with the speed of an Ofanim. Soldekai doesn't move from you, instead placing an arm about. This ride, is from him. He closes his eyes and the sigil glows brightly, instantly, a supernova.

     When it dims, it is the inside of the window cave once more, cool mist backlashing as the wind comes up from the water to meet it. And Soldekai still holds you, window at your shoulder. The cave is cool, and from your position now, you can see that it leads deeper into the rock, smooth path underfoot to mazed caverns within.

     Gone are the khakis, returned is the celestial. Dark wings unfurl and surround you. Midnight. Like being...enfolded by Evening's own arms. His wings are long and powerful. A Herald's form. And too....his arms are around you. Fingers and feathers making the first splay of the...Day/Night. The touch spreading. Twilight becoming nightfall. You are sunrise. He is sunset. Is this not appropriate a coupling then? How more symbolic could it be....

     "We will not speak of time, but according to my choir...I must sing a certain song," his whispers fall at your ear. Cherubim form rather famous attachments. Some, famous for their longevity. Others, for their outcome. This one, for its daring, no doubt. "You asked me....of the meeting of Inspiration and Aspiration. Shall you hear me spin the prophecy?"

     "Yes," comes Soldekai's voice, achingly quiet and somber. Hands move about his darkened other, explosing the intersections of day and night. He too is back to celestial version, his own wingspan expanding to almost shut out the light of the window to the world. No matter, a warm glow begins to rise from the floor. "I shall hear it now," he offers, leaning into place only the second kiss at your collarbone.

     He does not draw from you to show you the Prophecy in mirrored spheres. The reflective links of his armor chime in pure tones as the embrace begins to close upon itself. You and he...how different is this embrace than the shutting of a morning glory at nightfall? Arms enfold as petals would. Wings unfurled and surrounding. You feel his hands upon you, shifting. They are at your back. "It is a powerful combination, the fires of Inspiration and the lift of Aspiration. The spark of life. The breath of hope. Such joinings have in the past created stars and worlds. The greatest creation," Christopher continues, voice sing-song soft and deep, "to arise from such a pairing is love. Desire that is pure...is a blending of hopes and dreams...with a base element of fire. Sparking them. This...is the prophecy then. And this the oracle dream."

     He's unsure of how to respond to that. Soldekai looks down between you a moment, preparing to confess such. "I'm afraid...that I don't know...what to do with this prophecy..." he has never worked in the realm you do, so much more pragmatic is his existence. "It is beautiful," he whispers, gaze returning to you, "...but..." so far from him and his work. "I think," his face downturned again, "...I have been in my world too long." He chuckles a little. "I think I might be too dense for you, Christopher." Eyes peer around you, towards the back of the cavern. An invitation if there was one. "You can teach me...to understand you...later."

     Christopher inclines his head and so much for prophecies and metaphoric speech. The smile is ...full. In its way and expression of pure sensuality. "I will teach you," and he grins at the possibilities of it. Oh what a Fate that shall be, malakim, to have the Herald of Dreams as a ....tutor. "But for now...my mind is....not on instruction....though...if one where to subtract struction and keep the in...hmmm...." A brow cocks up. "The things one could do with that little word...in..." Do not get him started. The grin crosses his expression and the dusky angel of night parts from your hold. Mottled garments beginning to dissolve as he moves toward the back of the cavern. And as he does...you can see another meaning. The mottled garments represent the Universal Face. The armor, stars. He is a Constellation in action.

Posted by rowan at May 04, 2003 05:15 PM