"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
The season was changing, and so was the Valley. Once stagnant and still like the muddy pools of water – she was now beginning to flourish. Like the land around us, flowering and growing, the heart of the Valley was beginning to beat and grow again. New faces were arising, tasks were being accomplished, and the handlings of alliances were blooming once again.
How interesting it is, to see a dead thing rise again.
Eight, however, continued to stay in the shadows. He would stay faithful to the Valley, to the land he had recently ruled. But the zest for life no longer rose inside him. He had no heart for setting out on new paths and forging ahead. Why? Who knew – perhaps it was just a time for him to be dormant, to live on just the edges of society. He was the Walayah though, and forever he would protect the Valley and her people.
Today, though, there was not much in the way to protect. Things were quiet – peaceful. The Valley members came and went, visiting the fields, the meadow, and other kingdoms. New recruits came in, diplomats made visits, and steals were done and blocked. How long could this continue for, though? We all know that there is always a calm before the storm.
Today, Eight chose to come around in public (surprise, surprise). His cloak of invisibility was thrown off, and he shed the shadows like snake skin. Today, perhaps, he would meet some of the newer faces of the Valley. Or perhaps even, the old.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
Not that she cared to follow him, like some lovesick puppy winding her way through time and space. Oh no, for her to chase him would be the ultimate exercise in futility for the both of them. Who can catch what moves so fluidly, so entirely outside of time and space? It's easy to run, to chase, to find when you know that your prey runs on the same grass and sprints between the same thickets and woods. But they are more than the grass; they dive and wheel between the layers of things, in the space behind the grass, tucked neatly in the nothingness of darkness, or spinning out beyond the vastness of space.
Oh no, you can't chase what is hidden nowhere.
And so she doesn't. But when it pops back up, when it reappears almost suddenly, well, who is she to turn down an opportunity?
Many years ago, perhaps she could have been here to welcome his reappearance in person. Many years ago, perhaps she could have ended up living here with him. Perhaps that time could have been a glorious one. But it doesn't matter now, because that time exists only in their collective imagination. Today she rules the Deserts (by the skin of her teeth, perhaps, considering her own recent absence) and he continues to serve the Valley. And they have not seen each other in years, not since she and Yael had come calling, not since the day of the red feathers and the breathless talking around the subject.
But today, she's back.
She appears suddenly next to him, as though she'd been there all along. It's probably impolite for the queen of another kingdom to appear within the borders, but she's not here in her capacity as queen. She's here as a private citizen, as a woman to Eight's man.
She is silent for a moment, standing beside him and looking out across the Valley. She remembers the silence the last time she was here. She also remembers how she'd rather recently snatched up an erstwhile member – not that Aletheia had really been doing much of anything anyway. But she has no doubt that Eight would not judge her for these things. It had always been their way, after all. Despicable and strange is, well, par for the course when you're a magician.
Today she is only herself, no glorious wings like she'd had last time. She is beautiful to be sure, a deep black unbroken by any markings, her mane and tail long and far more free of tangles than any wild horse's really should be. On her chest the gold crook and flail of the Deserts stands out proud and gilded, and on her cheek the necklace he'd given her so many years ago still sparkles in the light. Her eyes are a deep maroon, dark like wine.
"Well," she begins, her voice sweet like honey and rich like velvet. "The Valley certainly seems to be thriving." A wry smile plays on her lips. This is their game, their little spinning and weaving of words, and she's missed it.
CAMRYNN
co-queen of the deserts, magical, mother of badassery
09-12-2015, 07:49 PM (This post was last modified: 09-12-2015, 07:50 PM by Gallows.)
I've been waiting for him to reemerge.
The Valley never really lets go of anyone, even a monarch deposed. In some cases, even residents who were formerly dead aren't allows to rest in peace. She's just that kind of gal, the Valley is.
I've lived too long by most standards, and there are few still alive now who can remember the ancient of days when I was young. Eight has aged while I have not, but he is one of those who knew old Beqanna and a considerably younger version of me. I am drawn to those of us who have lived through so much to make it here now. We've seen the fucked up and know that there's only more fucked up to come.
Isn't the truth delightful?
I share Eight's cynicism, honestly borne out of a lifetime of watching a story repeated. It doesn't take away my love of the Valley, but it makes me cautious about each new monarch who ascends to seize the throne.
The Valley takes everything, and will cut you loose in the end.
She approaches him first, doing a very good imitation of a breathtaking beauty engulfed in royalty. Looks are not something I can claim, and it's never bothered me much, although it has annoyed me on occasion. Some horses just don't seem to listen as well if the face they are speaking with isn't gorgeous. I'm just average, dark bay and brown eyed, with hawk wings tucked against my side. Even those aren't special, in this land of a thousand traits.
She's a Queen. Perhaps I should be notifying the populace, but I don't much care who comes in or out of the Valley. She can take care of herself (this land, I mean) and I also doubt she has very much to fear from a resident of the Gates.
Old prejudices die hard, you know.
I approach them on foot, being considerate enough to give them warning because that's how pleasant I am planning to be.
“The Valley is always thriving, Camrynn. It's her inhabitants who need a kick in the ass every once in awhile.”
Whoops. Pleasant is so hard.
It's sadly predictable of me, but I like using someone's name before they introduce themselves. It makes them wonder, and at least I like to think so, it gives them fair warning that their thoughts are not their own.
"Gallows."
But it's only fair to then give her my name, right? Maybe I can redeem my resolution to be pleasant, after all.
G A L L O W S We must all hang together or, assuredly, we shall all hang separately.
i scrounge in the dark, digging up old memories of you and me
Demian hadn't heard from the Magician King since the day of his taking the throne. Eight's approval had been something he was almost proud of, for he had never wanted to cause ill feelings and thankfully the old king had known that. The jaguar king had been taking advantage of the time to himself, enjoying the sound of voices drifting along with the wind as he quietly strolled through the forests of the valley when he heard their voices. It had taken only moments but coming to a stop, he turned his head slightly, tilting an ear and smiling when he caught Gallow's statement. Her blunt and critical nature was always something he found to bring him entertainment, in the best of senses.
But instead of approaching right away, he stood there, listening for further conversation and ignoring the soft tug that the two magicians created just by standing out in the open for everyone to see. It wasn't until the silence had lasted long enough, in his mind anyway, that he turned his body and with light steps he made his way down the path towards the gathered trio. It was maybe only a four to five minute walk at most, but Gallows was the first to catch his eye. She may be plain in her own eyes, and maybe many others, but to the right one they would see that the lines etched in her face were years of wisdom.
A personality like her own was one that tended to draw others in, the good and the bad, whether in negative ways or positive, simply because she was so bold and full of sarcastic remarks that if paid attention to, could bring even the most serious of types some amusement. Plain as day in looks as she may be, to Demian, it was her personality traits and advanced wisdom and knowledge of life that made her quite unique and that's really what most were all about wasn't it? Finding the differences? Being the one who stood out most? Or am I wrong?
Quietly he approaches the once queen and steps up beside her, facing Eight and Camrynn. He had never met the magician queen before, but he had heard tales and rumors of her. The marks of her successes decorated her and with a small smile he tilts his head, studying her for a moment before looking towards the once king he somehow seemed to already know just well enough. "Hello Eight," a voice full of respect slips through his lips as he smiles and acknowledges the magician first. There is no mockery. No 'I'm better than you,' in his tone. No. Simply a tone full of what it was meant have.
Nodding slightly he turns his glowing spotted head to look at Camrynn, "Welcome to the Valley, I'm Demian." He doesn't introduce himself as anything more. He knows they don't need an introduction more so, and if one of them didn't already know what had happened, he was sure they would soon enough. He keeps his eyes on Camrynn, studying her for a moment before turning to look at Gallows and smirking in slight amusement. "You are not wrong with that statement."
There was something to say about connections - invisible red threads tying you down, entangled and knotted and frayed, but still there. There was something to say of you and Eight, dear Camrynn - and also nothing at all. How can you put your finger on something so fluid - so effervescent and changing, but still so solid? It is like the porch light - always on for when you come home. But sometimes flickering, fading, a dull bulb in the dark of night.
There is something to say of magicians - the way they connect like the solid black dots of a puzzle. THere is no way to erase the creation of their soft womb of magic so many years ago, where they seemed to birth a storm of fury and might, where they flexed muscles of magic and power, but also softness and light.
There are so many options for ‘what if’ - of what could be become or what could happen. But isn’t that what the entire world is? What if you, Gallows, had come to take over the throne instead? What if you, Demian, had not had such a warm welcome to the Valley? What if you, Camrynn, had came back from your quiet space to a kingdom in uproar? What if Eight had not disappeared into the dark?
Yes, you are right - it doesn’t matter now - the time has trickled by like sand in an hour glass, and there is no turning back. What will be, will be.
You arrive like the angel of death - quiet and surreptitious, a surprise in the night. But like a sickly man expecting the end, should Eight truly be surprised that you have come? You can sense him like a moth to light, you two are a collection of rapid water swirling in on itself, a central nervous system connected with each other. There is no hiding - there is no escape.
There are rarely words needed when you two are together - and it seems you understand that. You are startling in your looks- a depth of darkness that is strangely illuminated with catch-breath beauty. The diamonds embedded into your bones, the ones you still hold so proudly, do not go unnoticed.
He is not surprised that you have arrived - he was expecting it, really. You two always seem to find a way back to one another.
But you are not the only one to have noticed the magician’s once-again presence. There was Gallows. As you, Camrynn are stark and vast in your beauty, Gallows is that woman that is often passed on the street- a lion in lambs clothing. You cannot catch that adulterous glint in her eye until you stop - stare - and drown in her waves.
They had spoken before, once - in the time right before the graceful arrival of Demian. But they had history. It was Gallows who had reigned when Eight was young - his mother left for the Deserts, and he an orphan of a man who bore many. He was lost, unsure of the magic running through his veins (magic was once so very rare, so fickle to find in the few between). It was you, Gallows, who had taken a timid Eight and turned him so vehemently wrong. Not that was a bad thing, mind you. The Lujayn was where Eight needed to be - where he learned how to wield his power and grow into his own.
Perhaps it was his birth in the Lujayn that kept Eight coming back to the Valley - as we all know she never truly lets anyone go. Perhaps Gallows hadn’t quite recognized Eight weeks ago - he was no longer the gangly boy who knew nothing of the power in his veins. No, now he was older, wiser to the ways of the world (and even, tired of it all). But it was Gallows who had begun his teachings of life. And my, my, how the world comes full circle.
You are pleasant in your arrival (how unlike you!), even practically announcing that our thoughts are not our own (though, you’ve given yourself away! They can now predict this, and churn up a magic barrier of their own, shame shame!). Eight cannot help but let a brief upturn of his lips come softly - and then a nod of his head- “Yes, my Deserts queen - always thriving she seems to be. She’s a living thing and cannot keep her hands off of me.” And it was true. Even in his hazy absences, when he returned -it was back to the Valley.
There is a silence, a space of dead air between them all - yet one that crackled with the energy of history and might. Three powerful beings - once and current rulers - and still one more yet to come. Demian dances on the edge of Eight’s mind. The magician can feel him, feel his thoughts slogging through the space of the valley. He can practically hear the jaguar growl in arrival, a soft hum of his presence. And then he came - politely, unintrusively (it seems we are all on our best behavior here today!).
Eight dips his head - a mutual respect garnering between the two - old and new ruler alike. “Demian - nice to see you around.” And there was no contempt there. It was good to see the new king traipsing around the land of his own. An absent ruler was not a good one - we all know that.
And then, there were four. Once again, the thrumming power alighted between them all, there was no denying that. There was something to be said of the gathering of such might, of such history and promise. Yes, Camyrnn came as a civilian - not a diplomat or a queen, but just a magician counterpart to Eight - but still the knowledge of her position was there.
Eight smirks congenially- looking at the group that had surfaced. “Well, looks like a party of the gods, no?” And truth be told - it was. Two magicians, a mind reader, and a fire transformer (amongst various other traits). There was a power just waiting to erupt. “Demian, Camrynn - queen of the Deserts, if you will. And you know Gallows, my old mentor.” What an intricate web we have all weaved. “There’s just so much potential here, I am practically bursting with excitement.” And while it was said in rather a drab tone, the spark in his eye spoke otherwise.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
