Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 23

Interlude 5 A Game for Kings and Gods

"There are many people who think chess too complicated and contrived in our modern society; that other games are more representative of the strategies required to win at war and life. The majority of these people have never held the fate of a nation in their hand and would scarcely be able to grasp the ramifications three moves hence as they slide a pawn into place.

It isn't a game for the simple or those unwilling to take risks; in my country, our pieces are lives- our pawns are citizens, our rooks are our armies and our King? Our King is our future. Most people have never held their King, much less claimed another's. They will never learn the lessons a skilled opponent can teach and they will never be prepared to take control of their lives. The gods don't play dice and neither should we. We can find our purpose if we just look, learn and step into it humbly.

If you learn nothing else from your stay with me, remember this, my friend.

This is the true power of the grid.

Ithric Kettar"

The Cherub

Transporting fractured memories and pieces of experience into a specific place in a sea of specific places to fully form oneself into a cohesive being that could be called 'someone' instead- and at the same time- 'no one' was a tricky thing that still took thought to pull off. This itself was a tricky prospect considering that the sea of specific places, and the memories attempting to find the place in question had never actually met. Throwing darts at a map.

Amaranth had done that. It was an apt analogy. A smoky bar in the middle of the slummier area of her favorite city. Throwing darts at a paper target made up to look like a bunch of muffins badly sketched with drunk hands. A map, though. Muffins and a map. They were the same experience playing out at different times with different Amaranths both young and older. It was confusing and it made Yamma's head hurt.

That thought in and of itself formed a physical body in a barren wasteland under a roiling purple sky with white lightning crisscrossing it, looking for a target. Deciding it was probably not wise to linger, she blinked and opened her mind to the sea of specific places once more. Several times she thought she'd found the place, but when she opened her eyes the landscape was always slightly 'off'.

On the thousandth time, Yamma opened her eyes to find the place she was looking for- at least she thought it was; a sunken valley hosted hundreds of ruined buildings made of stone and glass unlike anything she had seen. All of them buried under a sky less void and sealed in with heavy, oppressive air. A field of packed dirt interspersed with rubble crunched softly under her finely tailored boots as she started walking towards the strangest of the glass buildings; it was tall, taller than anything Amaranth- or Yamma- had ever seen. Sheathed in glass the color of soot, it reached into the empty sky like a spire constructed from pure magic and impossibility. As she approached, the structure began to make more sense and she found an entry to it under some fancy lettering in a language she couldn't comprehend.

The welcoming hall was spacious and worn out with countless ages of accumulated dirt forming a thick layer of grime over once opulent carpeting. At the end of the hall blinked a circular ivory glow. The dot was no bigger than a coin but in the otherwise dark room, it was a dominating feature.

Yamma ducked under a fractured archway to avoid hitting her head, having to actually crouch down to navigate some fallen pillars. When she got to the back wall she paused. The dot of light was set in a steel panel beside a much bigger steel panel inset slightly into the wall. It was big enough to be a pair of doors side by side but there didn't seem to be any handle. She opened her senses, careful not to draw on Amaranth's essence and slid a tiny part of her self-consciousness to the council chambers to ask for permission to use some of Elisandra's power.

The other Cherubs debated for hours of thought-time, demanding she divulge her location and becoming increasingly belligerent when she refused. A higher power had asked her to keep it secret, her very nature forbade her from holding it in her mind and so she couldn't have given it to them if she wanted to- which, if she was being honest, she really didn't.

After what felt like an eternity, a vote was cast and her request was accepted. Her heart surged with Elisandra's primal energies, compelling her to seek out guidance from the collective. To obey. But that was wrong. . . One didn't learn through blind obedience.

It was Amaranth's nature to be curious and rebellious, so too had Yamma's baser instincts formed around that central pillar. The concept of unquestionable servitude felt as alien and strange as it had to Yamma's progenitor: it made her want to rebel for the sake of it! To think those snobs knew the first thing about this place when they hadn't left their chambers in ten centuries was absurd. She was careful, though, not to let those thoughts run to close to the tiny part of her she used to communicate with the others.

Instead, she immediately put the blessing to use trying to sense the nature of the magic that controlled the odd button. She pressed her will into it to manipulate the tangles of power to no avail. She even tried to ease out into one of the higher layers of reality to look for a mechanical lock.

Finding none, she frowned slightly and pushed the button. It gave smoothly and the steel door slid to the right with a rhythmic ding.

The chamber beyond the 'doors' was tiny by comparison to the lobby, no bigger than a privy with beautiful gold and wood paneling along circular walls and a glass back looking out on the history of desolation. With no wind to stir the errant cobwebs, their sway startled her at first until she realized she was stepping into the strange chamber, curious. She had come to far to go back, she wouldn't turn away now.

After all, she had been promised something special and gods never lied. Even to another gods' subordinate. When Yamma turned, she saw the panel in the wall and frowned. Rows and rows of buttons were staring back at her expectantly with that odd ivory colored glow. Her attempts to sense the magic that might control it fell flat, but after a second she realized only one of the buttons didn't actually have a glow to it. She couldn't make sense of the rune underneath it, but that seemed fairly trivial. She pushed it.

How convenient.

At first nothing happened and Yamma stared at the panel, perplexed. Before she could attempt to exit the chamber the door closed with a soft ding and lurched upward. Yamma grabbed the rail, bracing herself as the chamber shuddered and groaned. It slid upward into the gloomy abyss perpetually rising from the ground with a strange kind of friction that made the chamber feel alive. Slow. But alive.

A flash of panic rippled through her- and Amaranth, she was sure- when the Cherub considered her own mortality for the first time in her comparably short life. She could die in physical form, so could Amaranth. If one of them died, the other would follow suit thereafter. Had she already endangered her charge by being reckless? She was better than this, she knew better than to dig around in this place.

She was Elisandra's divine agent, not some stupid mortal. Cherubs weren't supposed to be curious! They were supposed to be servile and astute, looking out for the interests of their patron and charges, protecting and guiding when necessary. This? This was beyond her scope.

Carefully she edged up to the frame where a window should have been. The rustling wind from the ascending chamber blew down over her face. Over the lip of the chamber she could see she was actually on the outside of the building and being propelled up a shaft with a set of bright steel looking posts along either side of the shaft. The chamber- a vertically propelled carriage, she was realizing- continued to climb ever higher into the darkness giving Yamma more than enough time to get used to the awkward movement. As she did so, she looked out over the remains of whatever the place had once been.

The devastation was awesome in its sheer scale but so was the alien sense of preservation; as if the entire area had the luck to have been in a pocket of earth so dense whatever had destroyed the effigies to some obscure civilization couldn't burrow down deep enough to level it all. Curious.

Yamma braced her hands on the support where there should have been a window, watching for the last fifty feet of the carriage's journey. The subtle shift in its ascension told her it was coming to a stop. It did eventually with a jerk.

Ding.

Helpful way to train the rider, Yamma noted and turned from the strange visage. The doors slid aside to reveal a warm hallway wrapped in exquisitely polished wood and marble colored a soft eggshell and a deep salmon that actually made Yamma pause between the two 'worlds'. Surely this was Isira's personal garden, did she have any right to enter, even by invitation?

Cherubs were the lowest of the divine beings, they weren't meant for sights like this. . .

Yamma adjusted her antique waistcoat, polished a button with her sleeve and straightened herself up self consciously. Part of Amaranth bled into her thought processes- she would be more rude to ignore the invitation and three times so to arrive in anything but her best attire. Since she was only allowed one set, she made sure she was as presentable as could be and stepped into the hall.

Like pressing the trigger of a crossbow, she was hit with an intoxicating scent that prickled the deepest parts of her soul with its sublime gentility and warmth. She didn't have to breathe and suddenly she found the need as she followed the gentle lapping at her senses of the inviting smell. She turned the corner to find a small set of stairs going up to a rather plain looking door with a protruding knob attached to a steel plate with a red and green light on it. Above the small lights was a black pad the size of Yamma's fingertip. She stared at it, puzzled and, on intuition not entirely her own, she pressed her finger to the pad, feeling for the tingle of magic or the complex pull of a mechanical lock. Neither of which presented themselves.

Yamma stared blankly a moment longer and then it struck her. It was a door. Doors had procedures and operated on simple principles if the occupant of the home was there. She gave a couple of knocks. Three seconds passed in silence before the light on the plate flared a vibrant green. A soft clack echoed from the door and it opened inwardly.

Isira's voice was dizzying in its warmth and raw power, even before Yamma felt her presence. "Come in, come in!" When Yamma stepped in the scent she'd noticed seeped into her like a gentle poison that made her entire body relax from within. The massive room was laid out around a central table and a carpet full of pillows. Isira was standing between the table and an arched window that looked out on the blackness. Two small orbs dangled from the ceiling casting a warm light over the entire room but somehow the light played strangely across Isira's muslin slip. As if it wasn't there.

The goddess pouted her lips playfully, looking at the young Cherub, sizing her up briefly before she stepped forward. Yamma stopped when it was clear Isira was coming to her. She had no idea what to expect, but when she was enfolded in a hug, she knew that had been the last thing on her mind. She stood there for a moment not sure how to handle the situation. "I- came as soon as I could." She squeaked out.

"I know," the words flowed across her ear. She shuddered involuntarily. She wanted to be upset at Isira, but the mere glimpse of the ageless beauty sent her heart into her throat and the questions she'd been preparing all seemed to fall by the wayside. Melting in the heat of Isira's presence, for a moment all she wanted to do was stand in the goddess's arms and enjoy the new sensations waring through her mind.

Duty

Responsibility

Warmth

Passion

Life

Yamma glanced at Isira from the corner of her vision. Her caramel skin radiated warmth unlike anything she'd so far known, a subtle invitation to touch it rippled through Yamma's mind and she actively had to resist it. She steeled herself, unsure exactly how to address a real deity. She'd never been in the presence of Elisandra, even though she felt Her influence in the back of her mind at all times. An apology seemed like a good idea. . .

"I'm sorry about shouting earlier. I- it was my first assignment and I-" her voice died on her lips when Isira turned her head to meet her gaze. Gods she was gorgeous. "I-. . ."

Isira's bottomless brown eyes watched her with calm detachment, as if she had the rest of eternity to wait for the little Cherub to find her tongue. Yamma stuttered a few times before she gave up and sighed, turning her gaze down. It was always better to appear a supplicate in the presence of a superior, after all.

"You're better than that," Isira said simply. "What troubles you?"

"T- Troubles. . . No troubles. I owe an apology, a debt, for how I acted in your presence in front of the mortal-"

"Amaranth."

Yamma blinked in surprise. "You remembered."

That actually seemed to bother Isira. She turned away leaving Yamma to chill in the hallway. "It might strike you to know that I care a great deal about people, my dear. Do come in!" Just like that any hint of her being upset was dropped like a curtain. "I've prepared a meal for us, you'll give me the honor of your company, I hope?"

Carefully, Yamma edged up to the arch of the main living room and clasped her hands behind her back. "I. . . I beg your pardon, but we don't eat? Goddess, surely your own Cherubs have taught you such?"

Isira stopped half way into another room off to the side, shooting Yamma a glance. "Humor me?"

"Of course, goddess. . ."

"Mmm. . ." She eyed Yamma a moment longer, flicked her gaze to an inset doorway on the opposite side of the room. "There's some clothing in the other room, be so good as to change into it? I want you to be comfortable."

"All right. . .?" Yamma waited for the woman to leave before she made for the indicated room. She wasn't entirely comfortable or sure what etiquette she should have been following and she had to wonder just how offensive she was being. She could have consulted with the others, but what was the point if they'd want to know where she was in exchange for any help?

Yamma stopped short when she saw the dress hanging from a hook in the changing room. Without thinking about it, she muttered, "You're kidding me. . ."

#

It was too small! Even for her diminutive frame, the silk fabric felt like it was compressing her physical body in on itself. It hugged her curves like water but didn't have the decency to drape below her mid thigh and- as if it was an anathema to all that was modest- its plunging neckline put more than enough of her body on display.

She was already longing for her baroque attire as she stared in open wonder at the mirror big enough to be a main entry gate to a castle. A sudden self-consciousness washed over her while she turned this way and that to see how the crimson dress contrasted her marble pallor. With her blonde hair and pupil-less eyes she looked more like a doll than an agent of divinity. . .

A cruel mockery of man or its greatest evolution.

Yamma frowned at that though, adjusted the straps on the dress and smoothed out the wrinkle across her taught stomach. For all her concerns, she probably fit someone's idea of attractiveness; gentle curves, a toned body and breasts the size of grown man's fists. Short, maybe, but well proportioned.

Yes, she was well proportioned.

Yamma blinked. When had she ever considered these things necessary to her function? "Hmph. . ." She eyed her reflection dubiously. It wasn't too late to go back to the collective- if she'd failed in some way, she could always petition for a new representative to take over. Amaranth deserved that. . . But had she failed? Yamma wasn't sure.

"Now, I have to wonder," Isira's voice filtered through the thin door. "Have you had wine yet?"

"In the colloquial sense or literal?"

There was a pause. "Say no more!"

That took a moment to sink in and before she realized it, Yamma was opening the door to correct her mistake-

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the goddess standing in the middle of the room where the table had been. It was set aside for a pair of cushions and some plates of something vaguely identifiable as food and, much to Yamma's concern, a pair of glasses with a bottle of wine. The greatest concern- surprise, even- came when Isira caught a breath, putting two fingers to her chin and studied Yamma.

"My, my. . . " The luxurious woman glided into Yamma's space, cupping her cheeks gently with her warm fingers. It was unearthly- insane even- Yamma wasn't supposed to feel that warmth. By the gods, did she, though. It swept through her sending a shudder down a body never meant to be corporeal for more than a few minutes at a time. She looked up to the ageless goddess, watching, waiting. . . Hoping? A spark of passion cracked deep inside her and she took her first breath by some long dormant reflex- a gasp.

The tingle of air not meant for breathing was incredible. She could feel her body go slack as she savored the unnatural scent of the goddess's power and presence- of her very soul. Her entire being wanted to melt into it and for just a brief split second she tried to join with that purity of purpose- that endless expanse of pleasure so achingly close. . .

"No, no. ." A distance voice whispered. "I think your charge would be quite upset if I took her champion from her."

Yamma mumbled something. Charge. . . "Champion?"

"Indeed. . . Come, let's speak. Be patient, that feeling will pass."

Yamma followed blindly and let herself be sat down on a cushion. In her fuzzy logic she was sitting down in a western bar, but that seemed wrong somehow. What seemed right was the presence of an all consuming pleasure cresting the boundaries of her very being like waves lapping at the shore of a grey beach.

It was profane. Warm. Full of life. . . Where the beach held true to its form and protected the inner sanctum of the land against the unpredictability of the water, the water itself was a world unto itself. It was home to someone.

Yamma looked to the goddess. She understood now. . . She smiled to Isira, the first smile of her life. The only one she'd ever seen. Gods it felt good to know. The euphoric high was already dying off but the power of its revelation left a gap in her soul. Isira was no more an enemy than any of the other gods. She had been wrong.

The entire Collective had been wrong.

Isira's warm chocolate eyes watched the little cherub passively like an eagle might its young. Eventually she picked up her plate and separated herself a piece of green paste with her spoon. "Try some, it's quite good."

Yamma blinked, struggling to focus. "I beg pardon, I'm not. . . You-"

"Shh."

"We don't eat."

"We don't breathe either," She said playfully. "You seem to be enjoying it, though."

Yamma eyed the paste on her plate, then Isira. The goddess just watched her through her wispy bangs, playful and mischievous to the end. She picked up the spoon and plate, "Which should I-"

"That's up to you now isn't it?" Isira was watching her more intently than before. Yamma noticed there was no green paste on her plate. It was a test of some kind. . . She frowned at that.