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 Posted: Tue Jan 03, 2012 7:51 am
Solo 12/27/2011 - Mrs. Robinson, You Are Trying to Seduce Me.
The nearest scanner belonged to Minnie Frisch, which meant Finn had to cut his losses and go deal with Jacob. He almost felt pity for how the boy’s face lit up when he saw who was ringing the doorbell, only to fall again when he realized that, no, Finn wasn’t here for him. Or, Finn decided, he would have felt pity if he wasn’t so fed up with the absurdity of the situation.
“Where’s the scanner?” asked Finn, eager to get in, get out, and get on with his life. Jacob gave him a sly smile and told him the scanner was in the guest bedroom. Finn groaned inwardly, but figured he’d just have to deal with this as it came. He needed copies of those documents somehow, and it wasn’t like he’d feel okay with taking the whole box back to Destiny City. No, it was safer here in Florida.
There were alarm bells ringing in his head by the time he got to the computer, and they only got louder. It was impossible to ignore the teenager lounging on the Murphy bed behind him, but Finn did his best, leaning down on the flatbed’s lid and willing it to scan faster. It only had one speed.
“You might as well talk to me,” said Jacob behind him. “It’ll pass the time.”
Finn could not think of a single thing beyond sexual orientation and religious affiliation that he possibly had in common with this kid. He concentrated on emailing the scanned file to himself and loading the next sheet into the tray.
“I mean, really, this is just awkward,” said Jacob, apparently incognizant that if it was, it was all his doing.
“Is it really?” asked Finn. This was taking forever, and he still had a whole stack of papers to do.
“Well, yeah,” said Jacob, rolling over in a way that Finn found more comical than attractive. “What are you scanning, anyway?”
“Some old family tree things,” he shrugged, trying to be vague. If he’d been having this conversation with another knight, or even a senshi, Finn would have had lots to say – but Jacob was disappointingly mortal. “My grandfather brought these with him from Europe, and I’m doing some genealogy work.”
“Oh,” said Jacob. “Maybe you could… come over here… and explain it to me?”
Finn’s palm became well appointed with his forehead. He rolled his eyes, sighed, and looked back at Jacob. Same stupid grin and half-lidded eyes. “Mrs. Robinson,” said Finn, groaning. “You are trying to seduce me.” Because it was just one of those weeks when everyone not his boyfriend decided he was irresistibly attractive, even when he knew for a fact that he wasn’t.
“Well, yeah,” blinked Jacob.
“No,” said Finn, and turned back to the scanner.
“No?” asked Jacob.
“No,” repeated Finn, switching out papers. “Nope, nada, nein, non.” Was getting these documents scanned even worth the sexual harassment? He was beginning to doubt it, but then he imagined the look on Menachem’s face when he realized Finn had done something right for once and it all became worth it.
“You said you were gay,” objected Jacob, seeming to not understand the word no, no matter what language it was said to him in.
Finn figured he was rapidly approaching his maximum allowable number of groans and eye-rolls. “Interested in men,” he replied. “Not whiny high school boys so desperate for a shag that they proposition every guy they meet regardless of there being any reason to do so beyond ‘doesn’t matter, had sex.’ So you might as well just give up because all you’re doing is embarrassing yourself.”
He switched out the sheets and stared at the stack in front of him. It was, slowly but surely, getting smaller. The thick paper had made it look bigger than it was.
“I think I would like some ice for my burn,” said Jacob, sitting up.
“You know where the kitchen is better than I do,” shrugged Finn.
After that, Jacob left him alone and Finn finished his scanning in peace. The next morning he flew back to Destiny City and left the whole uncomfortable experience behind him. At the very least, his misfortune had paid off – He spent part of his holiday money on printing really nice copies at Kinko’s, so that when he next returned to Babylon, he’d have something to show the old knight for his efforts.
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Posted: Sun Feb 12, 2012 12:34 pm
Solo 2/2/2012 - Nature verse Nurture
He couldn’t put it off any longer. Finn had been dragging his feet on this project and he knew it, mostly because he dreaded what the old knight’s reaction might be. And what the papers might reveal about his genealogy. Menachem wasn’t happy with his squire – that much had been clear from the start. What Finn feared most about handing over the family trees was that the old knight would pinpoint a branch on them and say “There, there, it should have been them.”
The high crags of Babylon looked especially foreboding tonight, silhouetted against the moonless sky. He’d gotten the knight to explain it to him once - the nights on Mercury were long. The lamps had to be lit. Tonight, the lamps were not lit. Babylon Squire held his lantern higher and regretted that he did not have the Wick, only a poster tube and the heavy knowledge that tonight he would have to explain the concept of genocide to a ghost.
He descended wordlessly to the knight’s courtyard at the bottom of the city. Trespassing in Menachem’s personal chambers was the fastest way to summon the ghost, and the squire had become progressively more bold in seeking the old man out. He was even something approaching surefooted as he descended the long corridor to the knight’s study. The room was already blazing blue when he arrived, the ancient guardian of Babylon leaning over his desk.
“I thought you might come back eventually,” said the knight, not looking up from the map he was carefully lettering. “Has your sorry face got anything to show for its efforts?”
So they were back to insults and condescension. The squire had expected it, but just once would it be too much for the knight to be proud of him? He uncapped the poster tube and began to slide its contents out. “Clear a space on the table,” he said.
“You do not order me, boy,” snapped Menachem. Babylon squire took a step backwards.
“I brought the documents you asked me to find,” he explained, trying again. “Please, I’d like to show them to you, I’ll need a space on the table.”
Begrudgingly, the knight cleared away his maps. The Squire tentatively moved forward and spread out his ridiculously expensive high-resolution prints.
“These aren’t the originals,” sniffed the knight, returning. The squire shook his head.
“No,” he replied. “I had to make copies. The originals are with my grandfather.” Ignoring any further criticism Menachem might have to offer, he finished spreading the papers out. “I found lineages and family trees. It’s in Yiddish, I can’t speak it, but it’s got, look-“
He pointed to the family crest inscribed into the top corner of the papers. Menachem leaned in to look. “That would appear to be some form of the sign of Babylon,” he agreed.
“My grandfather said it was a ner tamid, a light that never goes out,” supplied Babylon Squire. Menachem shot him a look.
“I know what my own sigil means,” he said, and the squire backed off a bit, giving the knight his space to read. Any moment now, it was going to happen. That thing he was dreading. Menachem would turn around and rattle off a list of people it should have been instead of Finn.
The knight was silent for a long time. The squire was certain that his heart stopped for at least a portion of that time. He stopped breathing, even, waiting for that moment. That awful, invalidating moment.
Finally, Menachem straightened. “This runs first-born son to first-born son for thirty generations,” he declared. “Yet you say I am your ancestor on your mother’s side.”
“My mother has no brothers,” replied the squire, adopting the knight’s antiquated syntax as his own to hide his stammer. “Nor siblings of any kind. My grandfather was eldest of seven—
“As you have mentioned,” nodded the knight. “What sort of war kills all but the eldest son? Usually it is just the opposite. The eldest son marches off, his siblings survive.”
“It was hardly an ordinary war,” replied the squire. It was here, one of the many moments he’d been dreading. “When you lived, wars on earth were fought with swords. Men on horseback.”
“Do not tell me what I already know,” snapped the knight. “My wars were fought with magic, with darkness and with light.”
The squire swallowed dryly. “This war was fought with bombs – explosives. Fire and gas. Tanks and airplanes.” Never mind that the knight would not know what a tank or an airplane was. “My grandfather’s family lived in, um, a country called Poland. It was invaded. They rounded up—
This felt completely inappropriate. Babylon squire hesitated. Wouldn’t it be better to just let the knight continue, ignorant of what humanity was capable of?
Menachem had noticed his silence. “Who did they round up?” he asked.
“The Jews, mostly,” replied Babylon squire quietly.
“There is nothing new under the sun,” said the knight, returning to the papers before him. “How did these documents survive?”
Still cautious, the squire approached the table again. “Last time we spoke, you told me that people carry things with them,” he said reverently. “My grandfather told me his mother had a cousin who was already settled in America. They arranged for him to cross the border. He had a box with the original copies of these documents in it, that he was told to protect with his life.”
“And somehow, they made their way to you,” nodded knight, shifting through the pages.
“Did I do well?” asked Babylon. “I found what you asked me to find—
“You followed an order,” replied the knight, his voice lacking the genial notes that Babylon had hoped to hear there. “You shouldn’t expect to be rewarded simply for doing as you are told.”
The squire’s heart sank. He did not look at the knight.
“I reserve praise for those who go above and beyond the call of duty,” said Menachem. “All you have done is what I have asked. I do not need to thank you for that.”
Babylon squire’s sense of accomplishment vanished. “Right,” he nodded. “Foolish of me, really.” Maybe this was what people meant when they complained that America was too reward-driven a society. He was quiet for a long time after that, content to let the knight study the papers without his squire’s interference.
“You’ve fallen silent,” observed Menachem after a while. “It’s uncharacteristic of you.”
At least he’d noticed, rationalized the squire. “Does it answer your questions, at least?” he asked, temper and indignation rising. “Of why I’m what’s become of you, and not anyone else? Why your squire’s not someone more noble? Isn’t taller? More handsome? Less of a goofball?”
“Don’t be foolish,” snapped the knight, once he had apparently heard Babylon squire demean himself enough.
“How is it foolishness if it’s true?” snapped Babylon squire. “It’s not a secret that you hate me.”
He wished he hadn’t said it, if only because of the flash of hurt that he saw cross the knight’s face before he became stoic once more. “I admit I was disappointed when I first laid eyes on you,” admitted the knight heavily. “But you are a hard worker, and you underestimate your own potential. I make things difficult for you because it is the only way you will ever learn.”
Needless to say, the squire was shocked into silence by this admission.
“I am not proud of you – yet,” judged the knight. “But I trust that in time you will force me to change my judgement of you.”
The squire nodded, unsure of what to say. Finally, he settled for, “…Should I take the papers back to Earth with me? Or leave them here for you to study more?”
Menachem was a step ahead of him, already rolling the sheets up and putting them back into the poster tube. “I have seen enough,” he said, handing the tube to Babylon squire. “I can see that there is a question you want to ask.”
Put on the spot, the squire didn’t have a chance to come up with any bullshit to tell the knight. “Did you find someone else it could have been? Someone else who could have been your successor?”
The knight shook his head. “No. It could only have been you. It was always meant to be you.”
Satisfied with this admission – and at a loss for responses – Babylon squire turned and retreated up the long hallway towards the courtyard, and did not speak again until he swore the oath to return to Earth.
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Posted: Mon Nov 04, 2013 4:38 pm
Solo 11/4/2013 - Sleeping City
At sunset, Finn Derouen set off into the woods. It was snowing lightly, and his snow boots left dark tracks on the path. Once the lights of town were fading in the distance, he traded his ski jacket for Babylon’s fur coat and long cape, and the lantern felt unfamiliar and heavy in his hands. Babylon raised it to eye level, and watched its blue glow bounce off the trees.
He nodded to himself. He’d put this off long enough – it was time to go.
Kneeling in the snow, the knight whispered, “I pledge my life and loyalty to Mercury, and to Babylon. I humbly request your aid, so that in return I may give you mine.” The wind whipped around him, and when he opened his eyes again, he was kneeling in the central square of Babylon, staring up at the dark hillside and the inky-black sky beyond. Rising to his feet, he called, “Menachem?”
The wind whistled, high in the mountains.
“Menachem?” Babylon called again.
The light from his lantern spilled across the cobblestones.
He was alone. And maybe, he thought, he was a little bit lost. He cradled the lantern in his hands, slotting the spikes between his fingers. It was the knight of Babylon’s duty to light the lamps, and yet he knew nothing of how to do that. Menachem had once told him he needed the Wick, but had failed to mention where Finn might find it.
Babylon let himself into the knight’s study. It was warmer here, close to the heart of the mountain, and he hung his lantern on a hook by the door and unbuttoned the top buttons of his coat. The room was dusty with disuse – it had been a year since his last visit, and centuries between knights. “Menachem?” he asked again to the empty air. No. Of course not.
There was nothing on the table that looked like it could have been the Wick, just old maps and the papers he’d brought from his grandparents’ house. So then he circled the room, but there wasn’t nearly enough light and there were so many things which looked ancient or delicate of confusing which he didn’t dare disturb. What was the Wick? What did it look like? He remembered his second trip to the city, how Menachem had reached into his lantern and taken out light with his bare hands, placed it on a rod and lifted it to the lamps. This was the duty of their line. Babylon Knight had never lit a single lamp, and he knew that Menachem would look at him and shake his head: he had not yet earned the title.
With nothing to show for his searching, Babylon sank onto a stool in the corner of the room. “If you can hear me,” he said to the air, “I’d love some kind of sign.”
Far away, the wind howled. Babylon stood. He took his lantern from the hook by the door and returned to the square.
It was beginning to snow.
He remembered that Virgo once told him she used to follow Menachem on his rounds. Maybe she would have some insight into where the Wick was kept. Babylon’s ancestor was always stressing the importance of figuring things out for himself, but Finn had always got by with a little help from his friends.
Pulling his cape tightly around his shoulders to brace against the cold, Babylon returned to Earth.
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Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 5:01 pm
Solo 3/23/2014 - The Breaking Light 1/4
The city stood dark before him, and Babylon clicked his tongue against his teeth as he raised his lantern. “Alright,” he said to the howling wind and the shadowed mountain. “I am going to do something about you.”
He started in Menachem’s study, which was dark and cramped without his ancestor’s presence to illuminate it. The cold and low humidity had preserved the room, like it had preserved the rest of the city, but it was all still very, very old, and with only his lantern to guide him, the shadows were long and deep. He remembered that the first time he’d been here with his ancestor, there had been candles burning and sconces on the walls, and it had been warm and brightly lit.
But it had only been the memory of light, and memories alone could not light the lamps.
Babylon set his lamp on the table in the center of the room, letting the blue light dance across the walls. Looking down, he smoothed out one of the scrolls left on the table and tried to make out what was written on it. “No luck there,” he murmured. The alphabet was familiar, but the language wasn’t, and there was no guarantee that the papers were even relevant.
Maybe if there was more light…?
After a bit of fumbling around in the half-light, he found the first wall sconce. Feeling around it, he couldn’t find any kind of switch, and it didn’t need a candle, and though his gloves he thought he felt the slightest crackle of magic, and a divot about the size of his signet ring. This gave him an idea.
Babylon pulled off his gloves and carefully matched the face of the ring to the base. The air pressure in the room changed perceptibly, as all of the sconces ignited at once, filling the room with blue light.
“Okay then,” he said, feeling accomplished. He turned, half expecting Menachem to have appeared in the meanwhile, but to no avail - his ancestor stayed vanished. At least, the knight thought, he could see now. He could only hope that Menachem had been well-organized…
...Not that that would do him any good if he couldn’t find any documents he could actually read. Babylon had come prepared today. He’d given excuses and brought supplies so that he could take a few days handling the issue, and he wasn’t about to admit defeat and head back to Earth after not twenty minutes. But after another hour spent sifting through books and scrolls filled with Menachem’s cramped scrawl, he was having different thoughts; he had no idea what he was reading, or if it was even relevant. For all he knew, it was tax records!
He took a break, had a little bit to eat, and then tried another plan of attack, searching the study itself instead of just the texts within it. If the wick wasn’t here, well… he’d deal with it then, but Babylon would really rather not have to search the entire city on foot looking for an artifact he wasn’t certain still existed.
“A hint,” he said, while carefully opening a cabinet, “Would be nice.” Before him were several faintly-glowing glass globes of blue light, like the one Virgo had shown him, along with several empty vials and what looked like a toolkit. He hummed to himself in approval. “Interesting, but not what I’m looking for.” He’d come back to these later and see if he couldn’t figure out how they worked, though. Legacy, right? Right.
It still wasn’t a hint. Babylon went back to the table where his lantern lay and ran a finger over one of its many sides thoughtfully. It had certainly been a while, but he knew the form his lantern had taken was different from the one his ancestor carried, and for the first time, that worried him. Maybe Menachem was right to call him no true knight of Babylon. Maybe his bloodline had become too diluted and maybe his lantern had evolved wrong because he was wrong. Perhaps the line had been meant to carry through one of those relatives quietly lying in a mass grave in the Polish countryside. Maybe he couldn’t complete the task because he was wrong-
And in that moment, his hand slipped through the glass of the lantern and closed around something solid.
What.
Babylon tightened his grip and pulled, and the action had the unlikely result of producing a long, metal rod from the heart of the lantern. “The wick,” he breathed, as he pulled it free. It had never been lost at all. Babylon gave his lantern a stubborn look, as he turned the wick over in his hands. It was engraved, with long, thin braids embossed all along the body, and ending in the roaring head of a wild cat. “Aren’t you a regular old Sorting Hat ripoff,” he said to the lantern.
The lantern, predictably, said nothing.
He reached down and dragged his fingers along the surface of the lantern again, testing it, but the glass had gone back to being solid. But, as he pulled his fingers away, a ball of light clung to his glove.
“Huh,” said Babylon, and, on a hunch, he touched the light to the mouth of the wick. It took. “Looks like we’re in business.”
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Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 5:02 pm
Solo 3/23/2014 - The Breaking Light 2/4
Babylon headed back out to the square. It was always cold in his city, but the weather had taken a definite turn for the <******** awful during his search of Menachem’s study. He could see a storm gathering in the distance - it looked like the same kind of blizzard that he and Lina had been caught up in in the high pass almost two years ago, when he’d snatched his knighthood from the weather and just barely teleported them back home before the winds became too great. There’d been a similar blizzard blowing his first time to Babylon, he recalled.
“Did you just ******** put up with these?” he asked his absent ancestor, which was about as helpful as talking to air should have been.
So here was the puzzle: he could go back inside and wait out the storm like a reasonable person, for who knew how long, or he could walk up the ******** mountain and try to get this done. (He remembered that Menachem always worked from the top down, that the lantern in the Knight’s Square at the base of the mountain always had to be the last lit.)
Never one to give up easily, he climbed up to the top of the city, keeping an eye on the approaching storm. It wasn’t yet on him by the time he reached the first lamp, and if he knew anything about weather on Mercury he’d guess it would be another few hours before it hit. These things tended to be intense but slow moving.
Babylon dragged his hand across the surface of the lantern, gathering light, and fed it into the wick. “So, uh, here this goes,” he said hopefully, raising it to the lamp. The light caught. He breathed a sigh of relief. And then he looked down the street.
“Did you do this every ******** night?” he asked, and continued to the second lamp, which was followed by the third, and the fourth, and the fifth, and he’d never really considered before exactly how many lamps there were in the city, but there were probably a couple hundred and around lamp twenty the prospect of finishing them all in one go was starting to seem pretty impossible - but those were the rules, right? And maybe it would be easier without the weather bearing down on him - but it wasn’t like he could predict that, and if he went home then he’d have to wait a week and try again, and that was a big risk. The weather might not improve, after all.
So he kept going, and although his feet ached and his shoulders burned by the time he’d finished just three streets, the glowing lamps behind him made him double his resolve. He could do this! Babylon thought, glancing towards the storm. It was closer, but he still felt like he had time - although he’d noticed the wind picking up. “Time to put up or shut up,” he told himself.
He finished the next three streets, and looking down, estimated he was about halfway down the mountain. The storm had churned even closer - it was starting to snow. Just a few stray flakes here and there, sticking in his hair and melting against the front of his visor, but - snow. Time to keep going.
From there, the storm blew in faster than he’d expected it to. There was a lot Babylon still needed to learn about Mercury’s weather. “s**t,” he breathed, hands shaking as he raised the wick. He still had another two streets to finish, maybe another forty lamps, and then the last one in the square - and if he’d missed any, well, Babylon didn’t know what would happen then, but it didn’t seem like it could possibly be good. He glanced up the mountainside, where his work blazed blue through the snow.
“Look how far you’ve come,” he told himself. Maybe he could will himself to believe it. “Look how much you’ve already done. It’s just a little further, and you can do it.” But the further he got, and the more lamps he lit, the harder the storm blew, until his cape was dragging behind him and every step was a fight until, finally, the street was lit.
Babylon stared down the staircase before him, down to the knight’s square. He curled his toes apprehensively inside his boots, took a bracing breath of frigid air, and trudged down, taking his time, because the treads were slick with ice. “Just fifty feet,” he said at the bottom, fixing his gaze on the lamppost. Three years ago almost, he’d reached inside that lamp and plucked out his signet ring. Now, as he approached, he brushed his fingers over the surface of his lamp, pulling light from it.
“Last one,” he said, raising the lit wick. The light caught, and suddenly, the wind around him calmed. Babylon looked up, and could faintly make out a crackling blue dome curving around the hillside, and the snow swirling gently inside the perimeter while it whipped around outside. Closer, he thought his lantern felt strange in his hand. Radioactive. Like there was something changing about its very chemistry - but there was no time to try figuring that out now.
“About time you did something about that,” said a grizzled voice behind him. Babylon spun on his heels to face his ancestor.
“And where the ******** have you been?” he demanded.
Menachem raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. Profanity would get the knight nowhere.
“I’ve, uh, I’ve never seen the lamps do that before,” said Babylon, gesturing to the barrier.
“You’ve never lit them before,” he replied.
“Could’ve used your help three hours ago,” said Babylon.
“It doesn’t work like that,” said Menachem, beckoning. “Come on. Let’s head indoors. We have much to discuss.”
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Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 5:03 pm
Solo 3/23/2014 - The Breaking Light 3/4
Babylon followed his ancestor deep into the mountain. “So, uh,” he ventured as they walked, “Am I a proper knight of Babylon yet? Or…”
“You are the only knight of Babylon,” said Menachem ahead of him, “So we had both best hope that you are a proper one.” Which was sort of, well, he’d been hoping for something a bit more affirmative, but it wasn’t worth getting torn up over. He’d never had his ancestor’s approval before and he had no reason to expect it now.
“So, what’s the deal with the barrier thing?” he asked. It felt like floundering small talk. He fidgeted with the wick, tapping it against his lantern until it slipped back through the glass. “You never said anything about it.”
“It is what allowed our city to flourish for centuries, protecting it from cold in the night and heat in the day,” replied the older knight, holding his lantern higher. “Some ancient technology powered by the light. It was instituted long before I took the mantle. I only maintained it.”
“I can only come here once every seven days,” Babylon said. “Will I have to light all the lamps again every time I come back?”
Menachem was silent for a long time as they walked. Finally, he said, “They’ll stay lit now that they are on. You need only maintain. We have arrived.”
The hallway widened suddenly, into a huge, circular chamber with floors sloping gently towards the center. The whole room was lit with the blue glow Babylon had grown accustomed to, and it came from the shallow well at the center of the room. He couldn’t quite focus on what the light source was - it was like staring into the sun.
“I’m confused,” he said.
“Why?” asked his ancestor.
“What is the light of Babylon?” he asked. Menachem sighed.
“I have explained this to you before,” he said. Babylon shook his head.
“No, I mean. Is the light the lantern? Is it that?” He pointed to the well at the center of the room, the blue light that seemed to pulse and spin like a quasar. He also wanted to know what the light was, what it’s origins were - but he’d always thought it existed solely in the lantern. This was just confusing.
“They are both the light,” explained Menachem simply, and began to walk away, towards the far side of the chamber. Babylon followed him, eyes scanning the walls with interest. There were statues set into the recesses of the room, tall men and women in heavy furs, each holding a differently-shaped lantern to their chest.
“Hey, uh, is this a crypt?” he called. Ahead of him, Menachem had stopped directly in front of the last statue in the row, after which the alcoves were empty. “That’s, uh, that’s you, huh?” Babylon asked. Menachem shook his head.
“My father,” he answered. “I was never buried here. I fell with the city.” Looking up, Babylon thought he could see the resemblance - but the lantern was a different style. “This city is yours now. Its secrets are yours to uncover and it is yours to defend and maintain.”
“Are you, um, going somewhere?” Babylon asked, frowning. “Because I still have a lot of questions, and you’re talking like you’re going somewhere.”
“I see no reason to remain,” said Menachem, sitting at the base of the statue. “I cannot light the lamps. I cannot protect the city. My battles were fought and lost long ago. You should explore the city. Make use of it. discover all it has to offer. With the lamps lit, there is much more you can accomplish.”
And the old knight went still at his father’s feet, and said no more.
Babylon turned around, walked to the edge of the well, and stared into the light for a long time.
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Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 5:07 pm
Solo 3/23/2014 - The Breaking Light 4/4
When he stepped back outside, the snow was swirling gently through the knight’s square, gathering in high drifts between doorways, and the lamps still blazed bright. They’d continue to blaze, he thought, turning to look up at the hillside. “I’ll do my best,” he said, although he couldn’t be sure what changes having the lamps restored might lead to in the city. It was just too ambitious a project to tackle all on his own.
He headed back into the study, and the lights on the walls rose to meet him. “Clever,” said Babylon, setting his lantern on the table again. He took off his gloves and went over to the cabinet full of the little glass lights, and picked one of the working ones up to investigate. It was, indeed, exactly like the little light Virgo had shown him at her outpost. The one she’d brought from her home in Babylon. He picked up one of the empty globes.
“You can’t be that hard to make,” he said, turning it over in his hands. He scooped up a few more of the globes and took them over to the table.
“Okay,” he said, dragging a finger carefully along the surface of his lantern. He eyed the globe, trying to figure out how much light he ought to put into it. Coming up with a good-sized orb, he tried first to press it directly into the glass.
This worked - for a moment. Then, the glass strained and shattered. Babylon let out the breath he’d been holding. “Too much, maybe,” he said, reaching for a second globe. This one, he tried a much smaller amount of light, and it glowed and he thought that maybe he’d made it work, but after a minute, it went out.
“Too little, maybe,” he said, chewing his lip, and tried a few more times with larger and larger bits of light, until finally, he got the steady glow he was looking for.
“Stay,” said Babylon, like he was talking to a tentatively-behaved dog. He got up from the table, and the room spun. He blinked spots back from his vision. Getting that little globe to work had taken a lot of energy, and on top of that, he was exhausted from the night’s work. “Woah,” he said, leaning against the table to steady himself. “Just about time to head home.”
It wasn’t like he had anything else planned, right?
He tucked the little light into one of his coat’s pockets and put his gloves back on, and then picked up his lantern. As he did so, he was reminded of the peculiar feeling he’d had earlier, of it being changed when he finished with the lamps - but again, he had no clear grasp of how it might have, or how to find out. He’d sort things out later, back on Earth.
And, kneeling on the study floor, lantern clasped in his outstretched hand, he went directly there.
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2014 4:49 pm
Solo 5/3/2014 - Boneyard
Finn stood at the bay window in his apartment at Florence Court and regarded the sky. It looked like it was going to rain. Finn clicked his tongue against his teeth in disgust. “Aren’t you just so ******** typical,” he said.
By the time they got to the cemetery, the cloud cover had burned off. Finn joined his mother and sister in the first row of chairs by the grave, feeling too warm already in his suit. “Can I wear my sunglasses?” asked Leah.
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” said their mother, and Finn, spotting his grandparents crossing the lawn, grabbed his sister by the shoulders and switched seats with her.
“Hey,” she said. “I don’t want to sit next to the crazy tea party squad any more than you do.”
“I will buy you beer and drink it with you when this is over,” whispered Finn, and Leah relaxed as their grandparents took their seats.
“That won’t make us close to even,” she said, “But it’s a good start.” She turned, fielding a question about her hair color with the practiced politeness that a Crystal Academy education bought. Finn glanced at his mother. Gwen had her hands folded neatly in her lap, a torn black ribbon pinned to her cardigan. She was dry-eyed.
She’d been dry-eyed since getting back from Florida, thought Finn. Or at least as far as he’d seen. Leah had texted him the night before about her crying, and Finn believed her. He didn’t know how to talk to his mother about all this, so he just sort of… didn’t. Gwen opened her clutch and pulled out more of the little ripped-ribbon pins. She passed them to Finn without looking at him. “Put one of these on,” she said. “Give them to your sister and your grandparents.”
Finn nodded and pinned one to the lapel of his jacket, passed the others. “Go find the other pallbearers,” said Gwen, still tight-lipped. Finn rose from his seat.
“Don’t take my chair,” he said to Leah. “If you do, I won’t get you the thing.”
“You’re the worst,” said Leah, in a tone of voice that indicated she did not actually think he was the worst. Finn gave her a pat on the head. She scowled at him as he walked away.
Finn found, in quick succession, his uncles, two of his oldest cousins, and another teacher from the Sovereign Heights English department. “The hearse is already here,” said his uncle Matthieu. “Finn, is your mother still waiting on anyone to arrive?”
Finn looked around and saw that the funeral was standing-room only (if a funeral could be called that). Elke, perched on the end seat in the second row, flashed him a small wave, the sleeve of her dress sliding down from her bony wrist. She looked-- Finn wasn’t going to concentrate on how Elke looked right now. Her health was important - but he had a duty to uphold. He’d talk to her later.
With six men lifting, his father’s casket felt light on his shoulders.
The funeral passed in a blur, readings and eulogies all blending together with the sweat trickling down his neck. It was sunny. The air smelled like cherry blossoms and his grandmother’s perfume. “It’s like she ******** bathed in Chanel No. 5,” whined Leah in his ear. “You owe me for this. You owe me so much.”
“Later,” Finn told her. “Name your price.”
After the service finished, Finn took off his suit jacket. He took the shovel last, after everyone else had tossed their symbolic scoop of dirt into the grave. “We’re paying the gravediggers for that,” said Leah. “Come on already. There’s lunch at home.”
“I’ll drive myself,” said Finn, and watched her go. Elke approached him next, and stood across from him as he shoveled dirt down on top of the coffin. She didn’t say anything. “You should go on ahead,” Finn told her. She looked a little wobbly - lunch would do her well. “My mom will be glad you came. She keeps talking about how nice you are.”
He watched her go, and glance up - the morning’s clouds had regrouped and brought reinforcements while he’d been shoveling, and now a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Finn double-timed his shoveling. “I’m sorry,” he said to the filling grave. “Should have been able to stop her. I should have been able to save you.” It was his fault. If he’d never gone to Alaska-
The rain began in earnest as he was patting down the last of the dirt. Finn picked up his suit jacket and headed for the car. He drove in silence, his thoughts lulled by the metronome of the windshield wipers. At his parents’ (no, only his mother’s now) house, he washed his hands in the bowl by the door, and put his damp jacket back on. He did not -
He did not look forward to this.
But certain traditions had to be kept.
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Posted: Mon May 12, 2014 5:31 pm
Solo 5/12/2014 - And whispered, winter is dead
The night was still outside the arc of the barrier. Babylon could see no snow storm blowing, nor hear any wind whipping through the mountains. Splayed out across the clear sky were the most stars he’d ever seen, the full Milky Way visible through the darkness. Pulling the Wick from his lantern, he counted the dark spots on the hill and then made his way up, working his way to each and every dim or extinguished lamp with steady sureness. Babylon knew these streets by now - they were his, the same as the lamps and every building huddled against the mountainside.
This was his city.
He was its protector.
The Virgon quarter loomed ahead of him, its lamps blazing through the darkness, its skeletal trees casting strange shadows across the cobblestones. Babylon paid them no heed - he’d come this way before, and he knew nothing lurked in the branches. He found the two guttering lamps quickly, and lit them both, watched as the barrier above him momentarily flickered with the added light.
And in the branches of the trees, he saw color.
Babylon’s breath caught in his throat. There were leaves on the trees, and tiny buds of purple and yellow flowers. Lantern raised high, he ran from one end of the street to the other, and everywhere he looked, the ancient trees had begun to bloom once more.
Panting, the knight skidded to a stop in front of the house that had once been Virgo’s. Her aunt’s tree was covered in new growth.
“Spring comes to Babylon,” said his ancestor. Babylon cast a look over his shoulder at the old man.
“It’s been a long winter,” he remarked. Menachem nodded, sage as ever, and he strolled out of the courtyard. Babylon followed.
“You took something from my study when you were last here. A totem,” the older knight said. Babylon blanched, and self-consciously reached up to twist the pewter leopard, where it hung around his neck on a leather cord.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I felt sort of. Compelled.” Which was an odd way to put things. “Was I not supposed to take it?”
His ancestor looked sort of misty-eyed - if ancestors could look misty-eyed. “No, no, it’s fine,” he said. “It contains a very old friend.”
Babylon stopped his fingers from moving, focusing on how warm the pendant had grown in his hand. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“She was a spirit. A summons of sort,” explained Menachem, eying the pendant. “A bit of very ancient magic. My protector in battle. I called her Reut.”
Which really did not explain anything, thought Babylon, but he supposed he’d go with it. Menachem had begun to walk again, and the knight followed him to the top of a staircase. They gazed down into the valley below, where Mistral lay buried beneath the snow beyond the city’s gates. “She is yours now,” said Menachem. “Like the rest of the city. My time is done, but I am bound.”
And he was quiet for a long time, gazing upwards towards the bright band of the Milky Way, until Babylon grew so unnerved by the silence that he murmured his oath and left for home.
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2014 1:40 am
Solo 5/23/2014 - An old friend of the family
Babylon removed his gloves and took the pewter leopard into his hands. It was warm from being pressed against his collarbone, and as he turned it carefully between his fingers, he imagined that the heat was internal, coming from the figurine’s inner… soul? Life? His ancestor’s words loomed large in his mind. An old friend.
Ancient magic.
“So you’re Reut,” he said, turning the figure and examining it in the light from his lantern. It was delicately shaped, with carefully inscribed eyes and a nose, and clouding in the finish meant to be spots. Someone had taken their time in making it - perhaps some ancestor of his. A master craftsman.
“I’d, uh,” he said. “I’d love to meet you.”
Nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. This was knight magic, and knight magic could never come easily. It was always a riddle. A puzzle. Some test to pass. He stared outward for a long moment, deep in thought as he considered the lights of Destiny City. Babylon was a knight. He had magic surging through his veins, and hard-won experience, and he had lit the lamps and surmounted countless challenges besides that. This summoned beast was as much a part of his birthright as the lantern he carried.
It should not have vexed him, and yet it did.
Eyes drifting shut, Babylon let his psychic sense settle over his surroundings. He felt senshi and knights and negaversers moving in the neighborhood below him - none bothered approach his lofty perch on the rooftop. He had sought solitude in a hard-to-reach place for a reason, and so Babylon contracted his awareness, focusing on the figure in his hands.
It felt bright. Very bright. Full of pent-up energy waiting to spring forth. Babylon brushed his thumb slowly over the Leopard’s head. I am the knight of Babylon, he thought to it, and I am grateful for your service to my ancestors before me, and I would like you to be my friend.
He felt a shift in the air, like a catch being released. Babylon opened his eyes, and before him stood a snow leopard. Reut blinked at him slowly, with blue eyes that matched his own.
“Hello,” said Babylon quietly, extending a hand to her. She butted it with her forehead, and then brushed past him, tail held low. She paced out a circle around the edges of the roof, as if looking for a threat that never materialized, and then returned to his side. “All clear?” Babylon asked.
He could have sworn that Reut nodded to him before she curled around his feet. Carefully, Babylon knelt and ran a hand through her thick fur.
She was purring.
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Posted: Sat Jun 07, 2014 8:56 pm
Solo 6/7/2014 - Forgiveness and revenge
Sometimes, in the dead of night, Finn awoke in his bed at Florence Court and wasn’t sure where he was. Sometimes, he mistook the shadows on the wall, the shape of the room, for the den he’d sublet from Vanya that had never quite felt like home, and that confusion faded quickly. He’d tried to distance himself from Vanya, taking Paul’s discomfort with her and Nick’s forgetting of that discomfort, as a warning sign. He had no reason to linger in the illusion of her presence.
Less often, his bedroom became the apartment from three years ago, the one he’d shared with Tate when they were both still students at DCU. Those nights, he lay in bed, breathing quietly and watching the light on the ceiling change as cars navigated the alley. He could pretend Tate was still alive, asleep in the next room, or staying up late to write a paper for her criminal justice major.
It never lasted very long: a minute, two at most. Then, the moment vanished as he became more fully awake, and left behind melancholy, and a longing so deep and so potent he could feel it in the pit of his stomach.
He woke with a start, from a dream that faded even before he could think to try to remember it, and it was one of those nights. One of those nights that was almost like having Tate back. Finn stared at the lights on the ceiling, which seemed dimmer than usual, the shadows longer and more sinister. He reached out, placing his hand against what would have once been a shared wall where, if he had tapped and she’d been awake, she would have tapped back.
And then, a very peculiar thing happened:
Someone sat down on the end of his bed.
The building, thought Finn, was secure, with a top-of-the-line home security system in place. Kaatje had a key to his apartment, but he’d have expected her to knock if she needed him to help with anything this time of night-
Best see who it was. Finn pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking through the darkness. “Tate?” he asked.
She turned to look and him, and it was her. Not some doppelganger or cheap copy. Not Vanya, whom he sometimes mistook for her, body types and hair colors being what they were. Certainly not Avalon, all frost and steel, but Tate.
And he did not question how this could be.
“Tate,” repeated Finn, scrambling out from under the covers. He grabbed hold of her shoulders, and she was miraculously, intensely solid, and moved easily into his embrace.
“Hey,” she said against his neck. She smelled like sleep and shampoo, like she ought to smell, how he expected her to smell.
“What are you doing in here?” Finn asked. He felt her shrug.
“I had a weird dream,” she said, slipping her arms around him. She squeezed. He felt warm in the pit of his stomach, and - and lower, he felt warm there, too. “You left me,” said Tate softly. He could feel her lips moving against his skin. “You left me, and I was all alone.”
“I’m sorry, Tate,” said Finn, and his voice sounded oddly tight and - he thought - like it was coming from a million miles away. He combed his fingers through her hair: short and loose, they way she’d always worn it, and not Avalon’s long braid. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I promise, I would never-”
“But you did,” she said, and she sounded so scared. So-- So-- She choked back a sob. “You left me. I thought you loved me.”
“I did! I do-”
“Then why would you do that, why would you leave me-” She broke off, and he felt her shaking against him. Gently, Finn rubbed her back, and did his best to make quiet, soothing noises.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing kisses against her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Tate.”
She went still.
“You want my forgiveness?” she asked.
And it was Avalon he was holding, her poison lips on his, her eyes like granite boring holes in his soul.
“You want my forgiveness, but you will have my revenge,” said the General, and with a short, sweet movement, plunged her sword into his heart.
His room at Florence Court was empty when Finn woke, drenched in a cold sweat, and he had no confusion as to where he was.
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Posted: Mon Jun 09, 2014 10:26 pm
Solo 6/9/2014 - You carry them with you
He’d floated the idea by a few people, but no one so far had offered Babylon any solid suggestions about what to do to solve his ancestor’s predicament. No one had even confirmed to him that what he aspired to do could be done. But, he decided, he was not going to make any progress on the issue by sitting around on Earth playing armchair philosopher. In order to move forward, he would have to go to his wonder and do the legwork himself.
Upon his arrival, he set to work tending to the lamps, so that if he made headway with his project the lights would not go neglected. As he drew the Wick forth from the heart of his lantern, Babylon drifted deep into his own thoughts.
Magic, he knew from his brief experience with the Code, had rules. The ways in which senshi and knights and their corrupt counterparts interacted with Order and Chaos were, in so many words, spells. The great cosmic forces behind their power were compelled to behave in certain ways, and for certain people – but there didn’t seem to be any reason you couldn’t create a new spell. All spells had been new once, and the power he wielded was not fundamentally different from the power his ancestors had.
They had created new spells. They had innovated. Someone had built the city, and someone had invented the lamps and created the barrier. Someone had forged his signet ring and imbued it with its magical properties. Someone had carved Mistral from the bedrock and set all its careful traps. Someone had created the surrounding, wove its pavement from starlight and space dust and built each and every outpost.
All ancient things had been new once.
He did not believe that the world had changed so much since that ancient empire that new magical processes could no longer be created.
When the last dim lamp shone brightly once more, Babylon slipped the wick back into his lantern and vanished it to give his arms a rest. As he descended the stairs down to the knights’ square, he contemplated the barrier arching across the sky. How ancient was it, and who had built it? Was it as old as the city, or a later addition?
Perhaps one of the books in the study held the answer – but he doubted he’d ever be able to read them. Even if he and Mistral could piece together enough of a key to read their family tree, there were miles between deciphering names and reading actual text – even if he were able to figure out the phonemes, he’d never find the words.
So: a dead end.
He headed into the study, sliding his fingers over the sconces on the wall to light them. His little cache of supplies was right where he’d left it, and Babylon briefly entertained the idea of finding a way to tap into the city’s magical energy source and adapt it to power modern devices. It would certainly make longer visits more feasible – but if he was going to be messing with new and unsteady magic, then he needed to prioritize. This first, and then he could figure out how to put a minifridge in the study.
After a quick snack of crackers and peanut-butter, he was feeling ready to devote himself to the mission in earnest. “Menachem?” he called.
His ancestor appeared. “I am not a dog to be summoned, boy,” he said. Finn blushed sheepishly.
“Sorry,” he said.
Menachem made no move to indicate whether or not he accepted the apology. He asked, “What did you need me for?”
“I’ve thought a lot about what you’ve been saying lately, about how you’re bound to the city,” said Babylon, calling his lantern back into his hands – he always felt a little more secure when he had it. “About how you want to leave and go to the cauldron.”
“What of it?” asked his ancestor, impassive.
Babylon was unsure of whether this conversation was going well or not. He tried not to hesitate too much. “What keeps you here?” he asked. “How does your binding work?”
Menachem looked… calculating, maybe? “I died,” he said, “defending the city against chaos, as was my destiny all along. A knight of Babylon serves his city until their last breath. My starseed should have gone to the cauldron, but it was…” he trailed off, as if looking for the exact word.
“Yes?” asked Babylon.
“Impeded,” said Menachem carefully, before continuing. “My heir was safe on earth. My line was secure. And so my vigil began. I believed I would be released first when you attained your knighthood, and then when you lit the lamps, but now – I do not know. I am glad to have seen Aria again, but… I am very tired.”
Babylon nodded – all this made sense to him so far, and he had accepted shakier explanations from more questionable sources. “What keeps you here?” he asked.
“My starseed remains in the city. I think you can probably guess where.”
Babylon nodded, rising from the table, his lantern in hand. He knew where he needed to go. It was obvious, really, he thought as he walked. He’d seen Menachem stare into that light for hours, and it was fitting that even though his ancestor’s bones had never made it to Babylon’s crypt, his starseed had.
Menachem followed him wordlessly, his eyes trained on the statues lining the walls, the larger than life faces, the lanterns glowing in their motionless hands. Babylon went down to where the floor began to slope towards the well and then looked back towards his ancestor. “It’s down there, yeah?” he asked.
“There was a ceremony,” said Menachem, “In the Silver Millenium. When pages first arrived from the academy, they would descend into the well to solidify their connection to the city.”
“I never did that,” said Babylon. He’d never even seen this place until long after becoming a knight.
“I didn’t trust you enough to bring you here,” said Menachem. “I believe it was only ever a formality, anyway.”
“Right,” said Babylon, looking down into the well. He couldn’t very well judge how deep it was, and that made him anxious. What if he hurt himself on the fall to the bottom? And how would he get out? And he didn’t even know for sure that he’d even be able to free the starseed from whatever was keeping it there-
Menachem must have picked up on his uncertainty, because he said, “You have to trust the light. You are a child of Babylon. It will do you no harm.”
Babylon took a tentative step down the slope.
Behind him, Menachem said, “I’d like a statue. When you get the chance.”
Babylon took another step forward, and as the floor became steeper and steeper, his feet felt lighter and lighter beneath him. He did not fall so much as he sank, slowly, towards the bottom of the well. The light had no clear core, no clear source, and yet he could feel it all around him, magic crackling lightly against his skin, his hair standing on end. The light simply was. It was limitless, and he wondered which, if any, of the stories of its origin were true.
He could be content to never know.
His feet touched the bottom, and Babylon looked around. He could not see the edges of the chamber in which he stood, could not pinpoint exactly where the walls joined the floor, and he felt vastness and claustrophobia all at once. The bottom of the well was simultaneously large and small.
Inches in front of his toes lay the remains of a railroad lantern. The metal was rusted and crumbling and dented. The glass was long since shattered. Despite all that, it was still clearly recognizable as Menachem’s. Babylon sank into a crouch and ran his finger delicately along the metal.
A shiver ran down his spine. The knight slid his glove off his hand and slipped his fingers inside the husk.
He’d never touched a starseed before, as far as he could recall. This one, as he lifted it from the lantern, felt fragile in his hands, like glass full of hairline cracks. He could feel its age in the power it radiated, an aura like old paper, warm and delicate in his hands.
Too delicate, he thought, to remove from the well. Not by itself, at least. But if he had somewhere to put it, to protect it-
Babylon nodded, a slow smile crossing his face. He understood. He didn’t know if this would work, but he understood
He lifted the starseed to his chest. “I’m getting you out of here,” he said, and slowly, carefully pressed it to his sternum. Warmth spread up his throat and down into his belly, out into his arms, up to his fingertips, and the starseed sank into his chest.
As he stood, he began to float slowly upwards towards the top of the well. His feet met the floor. Babylon looked around the empty chamber. “Did it work?” he asked.
The inside of your head is a mess, said Menachem. Babylon breathed a shaky sigh of relief, and closed his eyes to focus on the journey home. He had plenty of work ahead of him - and next to no idea where to start.
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Posted: Fri Jun 20, 2014 2:09 am
Solo 6/19/2014 - Recap
Once Kaatje made her exit, Finn staggered around his apartment and tried his best to get changed into pajamas. He had no idea what Menachem had talked about with Kaatje, or for how long, or how much of that conversation he’d been naked for. Did it matter how long he’d been naked for, after the first thirty seconds? She’d already seen everything she was going to see by that point. Which, well, was it really any of his business whether Kaatje van der Weydin had filed him away somewhere for masturbatory fodder?
He… didn’t really want to think about whether or not Kaatje was off touching herself to the thought of him. It would just make things weird, and things were already weird enough without that mental image.
Once dressed, Finn recovered today’s jeans and rummaged through the pockets. He’d gotten a letter from Mistral earlier, but hadn’t had a chance to read it. Now he unfolded the paper and quickly skimmed the note - hospitalized he thought, stomach churning. He sort of felt like he needed to go to the hospital, what with every inch of his body aching, but what would they say about his symptoms? Glowing eyes? Light leaking from his fingers?
I hope Asimov recovers, intoned Menachem.
“She’s been through worse,” said Finn, flattening a hand over his chest, and meant it. He could not feel the second starseed, but he knew it was there, lodge beside his own, or perhaps, in a worst case scenario, merging with it. What if this pain he felt now was not rejection, but fusion? That, he thought, was horrifying. He’d best find someone to help him, and soon. A handmaiden of Cosmos. He knew one of those.
But it would have to wait until morning, he thought sleepily. He was tired, he’d had a long day, and he needed to call in sick or Kaatje was going to kick his a**. Which was sort of enough to make him wonder why he’d ever moved out of Vanya’s apartment. Except, he remembered as he climbed into bed, it was entirely possible that she was psychotic, and the fact that Nick barely remembered her post-purification beyond a generalized bad vibe was super sketchy.
Finn stretched out, and was seized by what felt like the worst heartburn he’d ever had. “s**t,” he gasped, massaging his sternum. The pain slowly faded. “No offense, but I need to get you out of me.”
I don’t look forward to being stuck here for all eternity, in case you’re wondering.
“Did you mean it about how you’d sooner we die than be stuck?” Finn asked quietly. All of a sudden, his own mortality felt very close at hand.
His mind was quiet for a while. He began to think he’d fallen asleep, as illogical as the thought was.
And then, through the darkness, came the reply: Yes.
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Posted: Tue Jul 08, 2014 11:50 am
Solo 7/8/2014 - Empty Tomb
The crypt was silent around him, as it ought to be. As he’d expected it to be. Babylon took his time in circling it, staring up at each of the ancient knights in turn and studying their faces. These were his ancestors, he thought, the men and women who’d stood his post before him and kept the city since time immemorial. He felt judgement in their glittering gazes - who was he, little more than a child, to stand in their station?
Babylon had only ever known Menachem to wear a uniform similar to how his own used to look - a dark coat and a heavy fur cloak. The knights that surrounded him were carved from gray stone, glittering with veins of crystal, their lanterns held high. Their silhouettes matched that ancient uniform. Babylon looked down at his crisp white coat. He didn’t think any of his predecessors had ever worn anything like this.
At the end of the row, a long line of empty alcoves waited. Menachem had no statue.
The well waited at the center of the room, bright and mysterious as it had ever been. Babylon stared at it with grim determination. He’d left things unfinished on his last trip down, not as far as Menachem was concerned but for his own satisfaction. Vanishing his lantern, he slipped gracefully into the light and drifted to the bottom.
His ancestor’s lantern was exactly where he had left it, mouldering away. Babylon crouched down, carefully feeling out the edges of the metal, deciding whether it was worth the risk to move it. Despite its delicate appearance, it felt sturdy. Moving slowly, he slipped his fingers underneath the lantern and lifted it from the ground. When it did not immediately fall apart in his hands, he breathed a sigh of relief. That had been his biggest fear, that this task would be over before he’d even come close to completing it.
Holding the lantern carefully, Babylon kicked off from the bottom and floated gently up to the top of the well. As he stepped forward, back into the crypt, he looked down at his hands.
The lantern burned blue.
He looked towards his twin sister, but Raziele had always been skilled in hiding her emotions. The knight of Mistral’s expression gave no sign of her grief, but the circuitry on her gown glittered in the chamber’s light. Menachem looked away.
His father’s sarcophagus stood open, but he could not see in. His statue stood true to life above the grave, hand held above the heart in eternal salute. The fingers were empty for now, awaiting their lantern.
It was not Menachem’s duty to bury his father. He need only stand and watch, and envy his sister’s composure as she watched the marble slab slide into place. Their mother placed their father’s lantern into the statue’s hand.
He looked to the empty alcove beside his father’s grave.
“You won’t fill that for many years yet,” said Raziele.
The memory ended. Babylon approached empty alcove, his focus drawn to the bare pedestal. He did not have the skill to construct a statue, but perhaps one day he’d find some other way to honor his ancestor. For now, he placed the lantern atop the empty sarcophagus. From behind the cracked glass emanated a faint blue glow.
“You asked me once if I was what’s become of you,” he said, stepping back, calling his weapon with a wave of his fingers. “You weren’t impressed. You wanted someone stronger. Smarter. Braver. And I wasn’t any of those things and I wasn’t ready to be any of those things.”
He looked to the nearest statue, Menachem’s father, the lantern he’d seen placed in his vision just now - an orb of light, closed in a delicate golden cage, a mercury sigil dangling from its base. Each stone knight stood an eternal vigil, their lanterns still lit though their lives were long ended. Someday, he realized, if all went well, he’d be laid to rest here as well, his glass star held aloft for all time.
“I am what’s become of you,” he said to the statues. “Of us. And I’m ready for that now. So you can rest. All of you. I’ll stand watch.”
The statues, being statues, gave no reply. Babylon stared at the empty alcove for a long time. “I’ll figure you out,” he said. “I owe you this.” But there was nothing he could do tonight. Earth and sleep were calling.
He answered.
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Posted: Fri Aug 29, 2014 10:57 pm
Solo 7/11/2014 - Clean it up and pack it in
Once they’d all gone home, whisked away on the wings of the Code, Babylon set about clearing up their mess. He gathered up the empty bottles of wine to rinse and save - perhaps he’d need them later, and whole glass was something of a limited resource on Mercury - followed by the glasses, which he washed and set out to dry. The kitchen was in good shape. It didn’t need any work. This had been Menachem’s home, and while he felt like a trespasser here, the whole city was rightfully his. This home was his family’s and it was his right to take it.
Turning, he was surprised to see Raziele standing before him, draped in the ceremonial uniform of her her station. She held a glass in her hand - a sprinkling of ice cubes and some blue liquid that matched the crystal decanter on the counter behind her. After a moment, she looked up, locking eyes with him. “Now that Asimov’s gone,” she said. “I can speak frankly with you. I don’t think the knights of Mistral will ever return to the Labyrinth.”
Babylon registered shock at her pronouncement. They have so far remained optimistic about the state of the war and their lines. But perhaps he misjudged her. “How long have you felt that way?” he asked.
Raziele glanced off towards the empty dining room. “Since before we started locking up the labyrinth. If I’d thought we’d be back I’d have left more research intact and locked down. Mark my words, brother. The only people who will re-enter that wonder will be Chaos-tainted barbarians and tomb raiders.”
She practically spat the last word of it. Babylon frowned. “I know you laid traps,” he said, and Raziele grinned wickedly at her brother.
“Oh,” she said. “I laid traps. Horrible traps. They can try to take my labyrinth, but all they’ll find is death awaiting them. Chaos will never take Mistral. Raiders will never take Mistral. It is my birthright and if I am its last night then I’ll do everything in my power to see it shuttered forever…”
Perhaps there was something in his expression that said this was a bit harsh. Raziele’s expression softened. “Of course if your foolish optimism proves correct and our lines return one day, Mistral will never attack its own knight. Any others will need to earn the labyrinth’s trust. I would never create a minefield I couldn’t disarm.”
The ice clinked in her glass. Raziele’s expression became icy again. “But,” she said, “I doubt you’re right.”
The vision ended. Babylon staggered backwards from the vision, bracing himself against the countertop. It would have been good information to have before they tried to take the Labyrinth, he thought. It would have saved lives if they’d known in advance how deadly the traps set would be. But… he couldn’t hold that against Mistral. She couldn’t have known. The memory lived here, in his wonder and his mind. If anyone was to blame, it was likely Babylon.
He took one more look at the dining room, but it was cleaner now than it had been when they found it. Babylon sank into a chair and stared towards the windows at the front of the house, watching the faintest force field try to flicker in the empty frames.
It had been a long day, he thought. Perhaps he’d sleep before returning home.
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