Backdated to early November.
Word Count:/ 1561
“I pledge my life and loyalty to Jupiter, and to Empyrean. I humbly request your aid, so that in return I may give you mine.”
This time, when Empyrean appeared in the desecrated hall, he arrived alone.
His first journey to his wonder had been brief and made with company, a quick search that yielded his signet ring but offered no glimpses of the past the way Ganymede and Valhalla said a trip might. Certainly the hall seemed as if it could easily be haunted, full of dust and debris, a mess of overturned tables and shattered benches, tapestries torn from the walls and ripped to shreds, but the air was calm, his surroundings undisturbed otherwise, as if nothing had tread there, neither living nor dead, for hundreds of years.
Empyrean turned on the spot and gazed around. He thought it best to come alone this time, as if the heavy silence that lingered in the aftermath of destruction could not be truly appreciated among company. Now that he was here, he found that he didn’t quite know where to start.
“You’re quite a bit older than the average Page,” said a voice, low and gruff, near the only wooden table that still sat upright.
A ghostly figure stood there, draped in furs and tunics, with a full beard and eyes that were lined by age. Empyrean might have thought him nothing more than a memory dredged up from another life, except for the fact that this figure, this man who couldn’t be much younger than Empyrean was himself, had his sharp, discerning gaze locked directly on Empyrean.
“Hello,” Empyrean offered a polite greeting. “I’m—”
“Empyrean, Page of Jupiter,” the figure said.
A frown marred his face. His gaze swept over Empyrean as if he was far from impressed by what he saw. Perhaps it was Empyrean’s rank the spirit took issue with; he spat the word like he found it offensive.
“Otherwise known as Beau Gallo,” Empyrean countered.
“Gallo.” Again with the frowning, with the spitting of words. “You are not a Martel?”
“No, though I suspect, since you’re here in the place of memories, if I looked back through my ancestry far enough, the name Martel would eventually come up.”
The figure did not look appeased. He stared and frowned, and frowned and stared, taking in the few details of Empyrean’s outfit — the tunic, the belts, the sash, the leather pants and boots. Then he spent quite a long time gazing upon Empyrean’s face, focusing on a spot nearly level with Empyrean’s eyes without meeting Empyrean’s stare.
Empyrean suspected the silver at his temples might be cause for displeasure.
“I’m not what you expected,” he observed.
“Pages tend to be a bit younger,” the figure agreed.
“So I’ve noticed.” Empyrean offered a meager smile. He didn’t need this phantom from the past reminding him that he was too old for this war. The youth of his allies made that quite clear. “Usually when an introduction is offered, the other party reciprocates.”
The lines upon the man’s face deepened with the set of his frown. “Carolus Martel.”
“And you are Empyrean.”
“I was, many years ago.” Carolus drew himself up to his full height, a near even match with Empyrean himself. The man’s pride was palpable in everything from his expression to his bearing. “Protection of this Wonder has passed through my family for generations. I inherited my position from my grandfather.”
“And I’ve inherited it from you.”
This hardly seemed to appease Carolus, whose frown somehow grew even more severe.
“You had children,” Empyrean assumed, hoping to find some common ground. Most of the parents he knew loved to boast about their children.
“Two sons and five daughters,” Carolus said. He gave Empyrean an arching look, expectant. “And you?”
“Three sons of my own, and several daughters I’ve come by later in life.”
Carolus emitted a low hum but didn’t otherwise comment.
In an attempt to keep the peace, Empyrean offered, “Two of my sons are Knights. Not even Pages, but proper Knights.”
“The third will inherit from you?”
“Doubtful. My youngest is a Senshi. Oberon.”
“Oberon.” Carolus spat the word like the entire concept of having a Senshi in the family confused him.
“My older two are Sessrumnir and Valhalla.”
At this, Carolus grew very quiet and very still — as if he were not still enough already. For a few moments, the frown left his face. His expression went slack. Eventually, he sighed, and the stiff set of his shoulders seemed to sag.
“My sons were Sessrumnir and Valhalla, though the order was the other way around.” He seemed to study Empyrean again, scrutinizing him anew. “I can’t imagine your line resulted from either of them. I suppose I have one of my daughters to thank.”
“Your sons had no children?”
A short bark of laughter tore out of Carolus’s barrel chest. “Hard to when they both chose to pair off with men.”
Something in his voice seemed to indicate that he did not find this acceptable. Empyrean could not determine which part actually displeased Carolus — specifically that they were in relationships with men, or that those relationships likely didn’t result in children of his blood.
How deep does a thousand year old bigotry go, he wondered.
Probably as deep as it still often went in the modern era, if he had to take a guess.
“Have yours given you grandchildren?” Carolus asked.
“Valhalla has, yes. Three so far.”
“He made a good match then.”
“I like to think so. He married Ganymede.”
Another bark of laughter escaped this bitter ghost. For a moment so brief Empyrean would have missed it if he were not watching closely, a spark of amusement lit Carolus’s eyes.
“I always knew those pampered bastards were lying,” Carolus said. “Sailor Ganymede has never been and can never be a woman, they said, as if they had any say in the matter short of killing any woman who bore the symbol on her forehead.”
“Indeed,” Empyrean said. It seemed to be the safest response around someone who might have a rather medieval view of sex and gender.
There was a chance he wasn’t giving Carolus enough credit, but Empyrean didn’t have an accurate enough read on him to want to find out just yet.
“Our line will carry on,” Carolus said. He seemed pleased by that, at least.
“Our line?” Empyrean said, brow lifting.
His reaction brought about the return of Carolus’s severe frown.
Graciously, Empyrean chose not to pester him further. Instead, he went with what he thought was practical. “I’ve no way of knowing who will take my place when I die.”
“You have three grandchildren,” Carolus reminded him.
“And it is my hope that none of them will ever have a need for this power.”
“Someone must always guard Empyrean.”
They stared at one another in silence then. There was a certain pride in Carolus that Empyrean did not quite have, a sense of duty and protection that, as a new Page, Empyrean couldn’t yet share. This place, whatever it was, certainly intrigued him. There was much to learn, and even more to rebuild, but for his seventy-one years of life, Earth was all Empyrean had ever known.
His pride was there — in his family, in his career successes, in the futures of his grandchildren. As much as this place called to him, as grateful as he was to draw upon its power in times of strife, a dusty hall could never compare.
Carolus seemed to sense this in him. His frown deepened, though it was not necessarily a look of disappointment. If anything, he seemed resigned. He did not lower his gaze, but looked Empyrean in the eye with something like determination.
“Go,” Carolus said. “Return to your family. We will speak again later. You have a significant period of time to make up for.”
“I apologize for my tardiness,” Empyrean said, quietly sarcastic.
Carolus scoffed, but he seemed to be hiding amusement more than expressing annoyance. He waved Empyrean off, as if he were no more than a pest that could be brushed away.
Empyrean took a moment to glance around the hall, to take in as much of the dust and decay as he could.
“Are they content?” Carolus asked — a low mutter to disguise his interest. “Sessrumnir and Valhalla.”
Empyrean thought of his older sons — Valhalla, who stood by Ganymede with pride, and Sessrumnir, steadfast and fierce, but without the stability Valhalla had found for himself.
“Valhalla is, I think, in his own way,” he said.
“But not Sessrumnir?”
“Sess…” Empyrean paused, tried to come up for a succinct explanation for something that wasn’t such a simple problem. “Sessrumnir needs time. War is never easy.”
“No,” Carolus agreed. “It is not.”
His next frown was just as severe as all the rest, but less disappointed over all.
“See that they tend to their Wonders,” Carolus said. “Sessrumnir and Valhalla are as valued among our family as Empyrean has been.”
Empyrean couldn’t imagine either Michael or Chris would appreciate a lecture from a thousand year old ghost through the mouth of their own father, but he nodded his agreement all the same.
Apparently satisfied, Carolus waved him off again.
This time, Empyrean chose not to linger.
