12-27-2017, 04:47 PM
[[Continued from Birth]]
Armande stepped into the room. It was quiet. The moisture in the air had all but dissipated. The strong scent of soap and shampoo still lingered, though. He felt a stirring at that. He wanted to be clean. But first Valeriya.
She was curled up on the floor of the room in a corner, wrapped in a warm blanket. He quirked a smile at that. She had foregone the bed. Her deep even breathing said she was lost in sleep. Almost he woke her, to help her into the bed. But instead he stayed his hand. The pallets of the Khylsty were harder than the carpeted floor of this room. And she looked so peaceful in her slumber. He walked over to her and squatted down, studying her quiet repose in the shadows.
Her sharp and beautiful features were softened, bathed in darkness. Her hair appeared damp and it took him a moment to realize she had removed the carved ornaments. He smiled. She was no half hearted person. He felt a sense of protectiveness wash over him. He did not fight it. He did not reject it. He peacefully accepted it as part of him. He would not be half hearted either.
It was an indication of how tired she was that she did not stir when he leaned down and gently kissed her cheek and then made sure the blankets covered her adequately. He did not want to disturb her.
He closed the door of the adjacent bathroom quietly and then flipped on the light fan for the white noise. Carefully he peeled off his layers of clothing until he stood naked before the mirror. Scars and slashes, some decades old, others fresh, criss crossed his still muscled shoulders and chest, arms and torso. A sharp puckered trio of slashes ran down the left side of his ribs. The drainaka had been fast, part of a group. No man faced four of them without some injury. His armor had split at one point and the claw had ripped through, nearly putting paid to him.
Not fatal. Not yet. He still wore burns from the fire on one side of his neck and trapezius. The medication and treatment had helped, but the body took time to heal.
But his forearm....that was what hurt. Not physically. Not just physically. His orobouros, taken into his flesh decades ago was now torn and broken. The rock and rebar had scrapedhis flesh as Apollyon had dragged him in front of him. Barovsky....he smiled. His oldest friend, when his friends were more work partners than anything else. The man's last shot, before the traitor Aria killed him, had put the Destroyer down.
What a cost. But worth it. So worth it. Still, it hurt to see the once whole serpent now broken and torn. Sacrifice. Everything had its cost.
He looked at the counter and saw the carvings from Valeriya's hair, strands still gripping them. It must have hurt but she likely laughed as she tore them free. He smiled. Always a price. Still, after a moment, he scooped up the pile and wrapped them in tissue paper. He was not one for sentimentality. But somehow he didn't want to get rid of them. They went into his pouch for another time.
He got into the shower and felt the dirt and grime and smoke wash off him. An entire lifetime. He felt cleansed, reborn. When he emerged he was only wearing a towel. He got some spare travelling clothes.
He needed some sleep. He was tempted to curl up next to Valeriya but thought better of it. Not now. That would complicate things, especially if she woke. He exited the room and found a spare cot. Illarion appeared to still be awake because his head moved when he came out. He nodded at the boy and found a spare cot. Just before he went to sleep he did one more thing. He used encrypted communucation to get in touch with Theiss. The man responded only briefly. First and foremost, he told Regus to use anti-surveillance protocols. He understood. The death of Apollyon was not the end. It was possible his face was known. The man arranged for the supplies he wanted. The innoculations, antibiotics, first aid supplies. He also needed weapons. He still had what was in his pack, but that wpuld not be enough. Tjere was no telling what they might need. Travel supplies. Above all, he needed information. Strangely, Theiss was unforthcoming. Alarms went off in his mind.
He gave himself three hours. It would be around mid afternoon when he woke.
The time came and he was up. A few of the Khylsty had awakened. Briefly, he showed them the food, how it was to be eaten.
Finally, Armande told them he'd be back with instructions to stay inside. The three he'd taken to training nodded. They would keep everyone inside.
Slipping out the door, he took various roads and alleys to get to the rendezvous point. The old man wasn't there. But his aide was. Andrez. The truck he was in was small and old but everything fit in the bed, disguised as construction supplies. Just a contractor going to work.
Andrez too seemed reticent. "What is the problem, Andrez?" The man refused to meet his eye and Armande's suspicion grew. It was too public a place to kill him....maybe. Had Theiss betrayed him? White hot rage filled him at this thought
The man must have seen the death in his eyes. "No, sir! No! But have you....." He trailed off. He swallowed. "Have you watched the feeds?" He nooded at Armande's wallet. No. He hadn't. In hindsight, he should have. But he had been in a cocoon, from the night of the fire, up to and including his slipping out the door moments ago. Or perhaps a chrysalis. Foolish, in any event. He had been foolish.
He pulled his wallet, unsure what to look for. Andrez's voice was weak. "Search Ascendancy..."
Armande did so. And it seemed as if acid were burning his forearm. Anger boiled inside him. His voice was death. "Not a word. To anyone. Tell Theiss too."
He needed to think. For the first time he could remember in years, he was at a loss.
Armande stepped into the room. It was quiet. The moisture in the air had all but dissipated. The strong scent of soap and shampoo still lingered, though. He felt a stirring at that. He wanted to be clean. But first Valeriya.
She was curled up on the floor of the room in a corner, wrapped in a warm blanket. He quirked a smile at that. She had foregone the bed. Her deep even breathing said she was lost in sleep. Almost he woke her, to help her into the bed. But instead he stayed his hand. The pallets of the Khylsty were harder than the carpeted floor of this room. And she looked so peaceful in her slumber. He walked over to her and squatted down, studying her quiet repose in the shadows.
Her sharp and beautiful features were softened, bathed in darkness. Her hair appeared damp and it took him a moment to realize she had removed the carved ornaments. He smiled. She was no half hearted person. He felt a sense of protectiveness wash over him. He did not fight it. He did not reject it. He peacefully accepted it as part of him. He would not be half hearted either.
It was an indication of how tired she was that she did not stir when he leaned down and gently kissed her cheek and then made sure the blankets covered her adequately. He did not want to disturb her.
He closed the door of the adjacent bathroom quietly and then flipped on the light fan for the white noise. Carefully he peeled off his layers of clothing until he stood naked before the mirror. Scars and slashes, some decades old, others fresh, criss crossed his still muscled shoulders and chest, arms and torso. A sharp puckered trio of slashes ran down the left side of his ribs. The drainaka had been fast, part of a group. No man faced four of them without some injury. His armor had split at one point and the claw had ripped through, nearly putting paid to him.
Not fatal. Not yet. He still wore burns from the fire on one side of his neck and trapezius. The medication and treatment had helped, but the body took time to heal.
But his forearm....that was what hurt. Not physically. Not just physically. His orobouros, taken into his flesh decades ago was now torn and broken. The rock and rebar had scrapedhis flesh as Apollyon had dragged him in front of him. Barovsky....he smiled. His oldest friend, when his friends were more work partners than anything else. The man's last shot, before the traitor Aria killed him, had put the Destroyer down.
What a cost. But worth it. So worth it. Still, it hurt to see the once whole serpent now broken and torn. Sacrifice. Everything had its cost.
He looked at the counter and saw the carvings from Valeriya's hair, strands still gripping them. It must have hurt but she likely laughed as she tore them free. He smiled. Always a price. Still, after a moment, he scooped up the pile and wrapped them in tissue paper. He was not one for sentimentality. But somehow he didn't want to get rid of them. They went into his pouch for another time.
He got into the shower and felt the dirt and grime and smoke wash off him. An entire lifetime. He felt cleansed, reborn. When he emerged he was only wearing a towel. He got some spare travelling clothes.
He needed some sleep. He was tempted to curl up next to Valeriya but thought better of it. Not now. That would complicate things, especially if she woke. He exited the room and found a spare cot. Illarion appeared to still be awake because his head moved when he came out. He nodded at the boy and found a spare cot. Just before he went to sleep he did one more thing. He used encrypted communucation to get in touch with Theiss. The man responded only briefly. First and foremost, he told Regus to use anti-surveillance protocols. He understood. The death of Apollyon was not the end. It was possible his face was known. The man arranged for the supplies he wanted. The innoculations, antibiotics, first aid supplies. He also needed weapons. He still had what was in his pack, but that wpuld not be enough. Tjere was no telling what they might need. Travel supplies. Above all, he needed information. Strangely, Theiss was unforthcoming. Alarms went off in his mind.
He gave himself three hours. It would be around mid afternoon when he woke.
The time came and he was up. A few of the Khylsty had awakened. Briefly, he showed them the food, how it was to be eaten.
Finally, Armande told them he'd be back with instructions to stay inside. The three he'd taken to training nodded. They would keep everyone inside.
Slipping out the door, he took various roads and alleys to get to the rendezvous point. The old man wasn't there. But his aide was. Andrez. The truck he was in was small and old but everything fit in the bed, disguised as construction supplies. Just a contractor going to work.
Andrez too seemed reticent. "What is the problem, Andrez?" The man refused to meet his eye and Armande's suspicion grew. It was too public a place to kill him....maybe. Had Theiss betrayed him? White hot rage filled him at this thought
The man must have seen the death in his eyes. "No, sir! No! But have you....." He trailed off. He swallowed. "Have you watched the feeds?" He nooded at Armande's wallet. No. He hadn't. In hindsight, he should have. But he had been in a cocoon, from the night of the fire, up to and including his slipping out the door moments ago. Or perhaps a chrysalis. Foolish, in any event. He had been foolish.
He pulled his wallet, unsure what to look for. Andrez's voice was weak. "Search Ascendancy..."
Armande did so. And it seemed as if acid were burning his forearm. Anger boiled inside him. His voice was death. "Not a word. To anyone. Tell Theiss too."
He needed to think. For the first time he could remember in years, he was at a loss.