Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 56

Interlude 1 – The Touch of Divinity

"Imagine a world without divinity. Can you? Can you honestly look yourself in the eye and say that humanity is ready or even capable of taming the world without divine help? How long have they been waring amongst themselves for a slice of hellish landscape that can't even decide whether or not its solid at any given time? They cannot claim sovereignty over the world, they don't know what the world beyond the so-called God's Realm even looks like, how can they say they have it 'figured out'?

With that image in your mind, I ask you now: what if there was no choice?

You will not like what you read in these pages, but you will understand them to be true given time."

-Sien

"The Truth You Wish to Know: Memoirs of a Sphinx"

~The Cherub~

Yamma was beginning to loathe arguing with her charge. Moreso than any other activity, the grating and unnecessary trill of Amaranth's voice when she was crying or screaming pulled some primal fiber in Yamma's physical body. When she wasn't physical, she lingered out of sight and quietly resented the new cleric's variety of ways she embarrassed both herself and her goddess– however the variety and creativity with which the mortal cursed without actually using profane language was rather amusing in some twisted way.

It would have been a silver lining if not for the fact that every time Amaranth started building up some kind of amiability, she immediately threw it out by asking ridiculous and unnecessary questions about the dead. Or, worse still, wasting time that she should have been using to escape the forest and get back to her home city of Beson and start gathering men at arms to her banner.

But not like this. She was a wreck; splattered with dried blood, caked on mud and layer upon layer of exhaustion. She needed a bath and yet bathing in this living forest of werewolves and other horrors was a guaranteed death sentence, so Yamma did the only thing she could do: she needled Amaranth down the correct path towards the city, she pushed and pushed and when the mortal got tired, she protected her while she slept.

If any of the Collective knew what she was doing with her charge, she would've been reabsorbed and a new Cherub assigned to the half-elf, yet she still found it in her to do these things, she even helped her mortal charge hunt when it was apparent the activity was too hard for the city-going elf blood. It was because of Isira, because a goddess had made her curious, had infected her with the notion that there was more for Amaranth than sitting in some dingy temple getting fat and bored.

Isira had sparked something in the young Cherub, something fundamental to her function and then She'd used it against the Holy Elisandra in such a simple yet masterfully executed way that, if Yamma really thought about it, made all the sense in the world: Amaranth's skills and her character were needed for something more pressing. She was needed to prosecute some higher function on the behalf of the gods, even if that was marginally counter to what the Holy Elisandra (or the Collective) had wished for her.

She couldn't tell Amaranth this, of course, she'd have been even more confused and fearful. . . .yet something in the Cherub stirred with pride: she was helping a god directly, she was helping Isira sharpen the pedals of Her lotus and in so doing she was executing her own goddess's will.

The Holy Elisandra was the goddess of guidance and tutelage, that a lowly Cherub could teach another goddess of the ways of war and conflict- of protecting ones own interests directly or indirectly was a gift and a primal honor that had been bestowed exclusively on Yamma. Yes, it was uncommon, but it was a layered and beautiful exchange. Yamma wasn't just happy to participate, she was proud of it.

In time Amaranth would understand, as would the rest of the Collective, that these steps were necessary– it wasn't just the temptation of Isira's whiles but the divinely inspired purpose that she was born to serve. Yamma had already confirmed this well before Amaranth finally made her way to the main road out of the forest. She was stumbling, dragging her bloodied and battered form along the dirt road, muttering a litany of meaningless words between tears like some forlorn entreaty that her soul would be spared or something.

Truthfully, Yamma had stopped listening to her drivel some days ago except when it became necessary to interact with her charge. She had to, the lethargy of mortal speech had a particular kind of drain on her attention and willpower and while she didn't exactly relish the idea of shunning the bloodied woman, she likewise needed time to think. To plan. To exercise skills she only knew existed because of her link with the half-elf woman. Cherubs were supposed to be semi-autonomous and bound by their purpose to obey the Collective and their god in that order, yet somehow Yamma had allowed Isira to convince her to try new things.

And it was wonderful.

Her curiosity endangered her position, but it wasn't just hers. It was Amaranth's and Isira's and hers that gave her the courage to try these things and to act on her new instinctual leanings. It was a freedom she was still testing the boundaries of, but was quickly becoming enamored with– it irritated her that she couldn't share her insights with anyone but even as they came she was beginning to understand the appeal of mortality. Or at the very least, the novelty of it.

Amaranth lead them for a league until she felt safe enough to prop herself against a rock to rest. She'd stopped crying, but the weakness and unwillingness to get on with things still puzzled Yamma. The paladin-turned-cleric quietly undid her dented cuirass and tossed all her now worthless armor into a heap. She scrubbed her face tiredly and looked around as though she might see something in the undulating shadows that criss crossed the trees. The sun was crawling over the horizon into what promised to be a balmy day.

Yamma transitioned into the physical smoothly taking a step along the road several feet from the tired looking woman. They stared at one another until Amaranth blinked and looked away. Her voice was as soft as the wind and nearly as fleeting. "I have to tell the council. . ." There was a deep resignation in her voice that unsettled Yamma a bit.

"That is the idea, yes. But after that obligation is fulfilled, we need to look for people; those who fight and those who will not be afraid of what's to come." She straightened out her gloves, righted her suit and once more re-accustomed herself to being in a material form.

Amaranth hefted herself up. "Why me–"

"Not again. We've much to much to do–"

"That's–"

"Your purpose. An imperative. . . .a command." She was beginning to understand the reluctance of cherubs to deal too deeply with mortals. Amaranth stared at her and Yamma gave it right back to her until she eventually wore down the woman's resistance.

"What am I supposed to do? You want the impossible–"

Yamma waved her off. "If you were incapable we'd not be having this conversation, now let's focus on the future." In a momentary flash of brilliance she opened the link between them, picked through the slough of memories in the new cleric's mind and she found something. Oh, yes, this would work well: The Cherub spread her hands. "The people need a leader, they need that bridge between your ancestral races and now your city-state needs to prepare itself for the future that's to come. . .

"You've been looking all your life for a chance to do some good, your goddess needs your help, you've lost a great deal and in time that will cease to hurt but for the moment you're needed. The fate of your Duke– of Richard's kingdom, of his legacy and yours. It rests on your shoulders." Yamma spread her hands again to illustrate her point. "I let you keep your memory because it's valued." She lied. "Normally a cleric is Chosen and shepherded off to their duty. . . .if you were a common cleric without the divine looking out for you we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Amaranth licked her lips, looking at her bloodied hands. There was no point in either of them lying to the other, it was the chance she'd been secretly pining for since she was a child, the chance to be more. To help. To change the world. To be the beacon she needed to be to bring her own purpose and the Holy Elisandra's in line.

"Once we're back to the city, you may take your place. . ."

"But, I can't–"

She'd had enough of that word. "We'll do it my way, then." Yamma pressed herself into the woman, felt around until she found what she was looking for and compelled her into motion down the path. There was a tide of resistance and fear but her training had prepared her for such imperfections. She fought with Amaranth's will to assert herself once more and pushed the cleric down from the fringes of her physical body to take control of it.

Yamma wrapped around Amarnath's core being, bound it tightly within her internal organs and coated her protectively before turning to the woman's flesh and moved the limbs awkwardly. One finger. A hand. Balance–

She managed to catch herself before she face planted on the road. Her training hadn't really covered this kind of movement, but slowly Yamma began figuring out the mechanics of holding up a body in three dimensional space. It was sluggish and awkward, so slow compared to her own body. Still, she persisted. She hauled Amaranth up and took a careful step forward.

Then another. In moments they were off, through woods, through fields, down forgotten paths. During the trip Yamma rifled through her charge's memory for likely candidates who'd join her crusade and people who'd fund such a thing. She'd stopped paying attention to Amaranth's being even if occasionally she did feel a heavy thing slam into her inner being like a battering ram. Amaranth was persistent. Then it occurred to her that she was probably missing something important.

Food. Water.

"Oh, right." Yamma said absently, though it didn't pass through Amaranth's mouth. This necessitated learning how to eat and drink, a new adventure on its own– demeaning, really. But pragmatism had to overrule personal feelings sometimes. She drank from puddles along the road- including something she found particularly bitter and disgusting and managed to scavenge some mushrooms and grass that, while not particularly good tasting, seemed to stop the flesh from complaining.

She walked the body for twelve long days, the rest of the world saw jerky trundling mess of a humanoid who was incapable of speech, but to Yamma it was a perfection.

At least insofar as guiding a person against their will could be considered 'perfection'. She had to stop periodically when the muscles absolutely failed but for the most part she was able to keep a handle on their movements; so much so that by the time they arrived in the swampy outskirts of the city she'd actually mastered something of a normal gait in the sluggish and unwieldy body. She fit in amongst the locals, if a little drunken looking.

Perfection came with practice it seemed.

When they were several hundred feet from the main gate she relinquished her hold on the mortal and stepped back as if she'd been extruded from the half-elf's body. Despite the hateful, terrified glare she got she took her time fixing her suit to ensure it hung properly upon her and when she was done she then relegated control of the woman's speech centers back to her.

What came out was a torrent of words in a language Yamma didn't understand– despite being synchronous with Amaranth, Yamma hadn't actually been given any of her language abilities and by some irritating twist of proxy, she wasn't able to pluck their meaning from the woman's mind. It seemed that the Holy Elisandra wanted Her agents to have to learn something too. It was only right, all things considered.

From what she could gather from the expressions and angry tone, she was probably railing about the way Yamma had intruded on her space and taken her body for her own. She broke into the woman's ranting with a calm voice. "You weren't doing anything productive, I had to ensure you moved on to get our work done. . . .we've much to do–"

"I was getting ready to go! I was leaving!"

"You were stalling. You have doubts, that's to be expected, but we've more important things ahead of us than dealing with your doubts."

The blonde woman recoiled, gaping at her handler for a moment. "I- did you- You're a servant of Elisandra, how can you say that?!"

Yamma hesitated for a moment and briefly she wondered whether or not she was wrong– surely not, but it was her duty, her privilege to serve her goddess, had she somehow maligned that? A quick run through her priorities didn't turn up any glaring problems, but somehow something felt a little off about the whole thing. She would have to work on it when she wasn't dealing with a panicking child.

The Cherub idly straightened her suit jacket, admitting nothing. Though her tone was much softer and more careful than before. "If you have spent all this time well, you needn't fear what comes; you are Her servant. Sometimes a cold splash of water is what is necessary to keep you moving forward. You are not alone."

Amaranth took several seconds to process what she'd said and started to pace back and forth, mumbling in that strange language Yamma couldn't identify. Eventually the cleric looked to her, tone cold. "I have to appear before the council and tell them what happened."

"Yes? And then we will figure out how to build an army–"

"You keep saying that, why would She need an army?"

Yamma briefly considered picking through her mind for something to dangle in front of her but instead of risking breaching what she was meant for, the Cherub answered truthfully. Sort of. "It is required to deal with threats beyond your comprehension at the moment. I'm not going to wear heavy on your mind right now, but we will need to get started soon. . ."

"I just lost my best friend, my lovers– my–"

"There will be many more lost along the way, Dame. You have to understand that. Once your business is concluded here, we can seek out. . ." She picked through Amaranth's memories. "That tavern you like so much."

"Th- Wh-" She sighed dejectedly, that flare of anger was overcome by a heavy resignation. A certain sadness. "You really aren't good with people, are you?"

The Cherub didn't answer immediately, she didn't feel the need to dignify it with a response and secretly, deep down inside, she knew the answer for what it was. "We've a meeting to call."

"Right. . ." Amaranth wiped her face, smearing blood and grime across it. She didn't seem to notice as she attempted to fix her newly straightened hair only to find it shorter than before, shorter and much more manageable. Yamma smiled inwardly at the reaction she'd earned from the woman; the confusion and bemusement; the subtle twinge of wariness that told her the soldier inside was reasserting itself.

They were going to be just fine.

#

The council chambers were lavish and arrayed around a massive slab of a table formed from the rough hewn rock that made up the stone work on which the entire city had been built. Each of the six cities of the council had been built on the same corner stone, cut so precisely that every one could have been interchanged and while it might have been a purely symbolic act, even Yamma had to appreciate their dedication to ensuring some form of symmetry.

It was a redemptive act in an otherwise chaotic and unforgiving world, a light against the darkness. Unfortunately for her it was also such a bright 'light' that she had trouble finding a place to observe the participants arrayed around the table to receive the news their champion had brought with her. The magical signature was thick in the air, actually diffusing Yamma's perception. Though fortunately her anchor to her charge made it impossible for her to be completely diffused. For her part in it, Amaranth's newly blonde hair was swept between her ears dampened with water she'd drawn from a well en-route; never one to be disheveled in front of her superiors.

To Yamma the arrangement of humans was predictable and boring: a fat noble from Seafalls who'd made his fortune on scallops sold to the Free States was flanked on either side by his wives and child. While Resinbra's representative was a creased faced balding man who claimed to be a minister of some kind, though Amaranth– and by extension, Yamma– had no idea what exactly that meant. Frost Grove had sent the most interesting individual, a burly pale skinned man with a massive overbite and a tendency to guffaw at the slightest lapse in decorum. He was sat beside the old man with a bowl of some kind of green slurry Yamma was fairly sure was the reason she smelled rotting plant matter.

No one could see the little Cherub, of course, that would've constituted a major breach of protocol. She was the proverbial fly on the wall, just without the body or annoying buzzing that came with it. She took her place behind Amaranth and waited an agonizingly long time for the procession of Councilors and their aides to file in. The final of which caught Yamma rather by surprise.

In any ordinary circumstance Yamma would've been able to pick out the subtle twists and turns of his essence, but in this chamber meant to disrupt magic, his power was heavier than anything she'd encountered in her relatively short existence. There should have been something to pick up, some thread that would have wound back to a god if one had the time to follow it, but his was something solid and pervasive, as hard as stone and as unforgiving.

His magic didn't diffuse like hers did, if anything it grew stronger to the point of being unidentifiable as anything but a force of nature. His physical form was rather unimposing, an old elven man with a flowing robe the color of pig iron threaded with swirling colors that not even she could perceive in their entirety.

Who the hell was this man?

When he spoke, his voice was soft and concerned, directed towards Amaranth with a kindly lilt Yamma found irritating. "My child, what has happened? It's been weeks and we've not heard from you or your Duke."

"Elder," Amaranth sunk to a knee, lowering her head. "I fear I bear ill news. . ."

Curious, Yamma poked around in Amaranth's memories. She found his face among her childhood thoughts along with those of Richard; the elven man had been their steward when Richard's parents were killed, a mentor, a father figure. He was beyond names at his age, but to the majority of the Western Council he was simply known as Elder or Ambassador. The representative of the Elven Vale and the one man that had it within him to override anyone on the council.

Yamma felt a sudden pensiveness radiate from her charge. The Elder must have sensed it too, he laid his hand on her shoulder and bid her to rise.

Amaranth turned to the council, swallowed, and let flow the truth. "We were attacked by lycans in the forest eighteen days into our trek, the Duke was able to negotiate some form of safe passage near the end, after we had taken many casualties. . ." A wariness filled the room. Even the northerner had stopped eating to look on. Ammy continued, "We encountered a woman– a powerful creature unlike anything we'd ever met with."

The northerner snorted lightly, muttering. "A woman overpowering a man? Feh."

"We–" She sighed softly, ran a trembling hand through her hair. The lack of food was beginning to weaken her, Yamma noticed. "We were ambushed attempting to flee to the Vale, Councilors. A pack of lycans tore into us in an attempt to keep us from leaving, from the woods came the creature I speak of. She joined us in fighting the pack only to turn on us thereafter. Markus and I challenged her in a bid to allow the Duke time to escape. . ."