((a bit more closure to come later, and I wanted the 400th post))

 

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I think I just discovered how long I can hold my breath.


Crispian.. I can't even begin to try and tell you how awesome that was.

BUMP

/Bump for stupendous postifferousness.. Crisp that Stroy was a helluva trip, can't wait to hear some of the wind down for you. Just claimed Hurbury in yer name in honour of you beating D'Vena ((Well not really but LOL))

Silence settled over the chamber as the smell of blood and gore filled it. Toby and Azi slowed rose to their feet, perspiration dappling their foreheads. Toby went to Nekolia’s body, seeing the gaping wound in his head, the twisted remains of the sword close at hand. Although it was evident, he leaned in close to listen for the heartbeat he knew would be absent. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, even as his hands opened his psalter. In a soft voice, he began to read from the prayers for the dead, wondering how often he would do this in the next few minutes.


“I waited for the Lord,” he started, “I implored him, and he heard me. From the mire of clay, he lifted me. He set me upon solid rock. My footsteps he made firm.” His voice droned on in the room as he signed Nekolia’s body with sacred oils, commending him to the Lord’s care, and praying for his sin. He had only met the old man in the past days, but he was certain of his sanctity, at least in his final act.


Azi bowed her head for a moment for the fallen man, whom she had not known. Then she turned her attention to the others in the room. Lexi’s sobbing drew her attention first. She found her adopted sister cradling Jashen’s head in her lap and crying. Azi knelt down, her armor sliding against itself in a metallic hiss. “It’s ok, Lexi, it’s ok,” she murmured softly, stroking Lexi’s hair. Lexi raised her eyes to Azi.


“No, it’s not,” she said in a voice that was both hurt and angry. “What do you know about it being alright?” Her words were harsh, but she knew that Azi knew nothing of this type of suffering. She blinked quickly several times, but could not keep tears from coming. It had been a long time since her grandfather, but she still could not shake off the memories.


Azi felt it was better to not fight this battle now. Instead, she turned her attention to Jashen. He was skill, and she noted how his arms hung at unnatural angles. Her fingers caressed his chin and rested lightly on his throat. She closed her eyes as she found no pulse, no echo of his heartbeat. She could not tell Lexi right now, but knew that Crispian would want to hear.


The subject of her thoughts was stirring, bracing his sword so that he could get himself up. He groaned as every muscle and joint of his body protested even the slightest movement. His left leg burned with pain and his sword arm was numb to the shoulder, hanging lifeless at his side. The remains of his shield dangled from his left arm, and he slid the straps off with a shrug and let it fall to the floor. Blood smeared his armor in several places and some peices of it were ruined. Still, he managed to gain his feet and yank his helm off.


“Is everyone alright?” he asked in a shaking voice, not sure if he himself was. Slowly, he started toward the small group. “Is he dead?” he called to Toby, who paused in his prayers to nod, then turn back to the fallen sorcerer. “You three alright?” he asked, drawing closer. It was than that he saw the look in Azi’s eyes, the tears silently rolling down her cheeks.


His face contorted in a grimace of pain. “Jash?” he asked weakly, to be answered by a slow nod from Azi. He sank to the floor on his knees. “Oh god, not Jashen!” he cried out, his shoulders slumping forward as the first great sob wracked his body. “No, no, no,” he muttered.


Azi felt helpless, caught between her sister and her friend. She raised pleading eyes to Tobyas, who was crossing toward them. His vestments were marred with spots of blood and he looked exhuasted. His face was grim as he again opened his book of prayer and knelt next to Jashen, beginning to intone again the fortieth psalm. But, he felt something. The ethereal bound of body to soul was not broken! Jashen could yet live! But he would have to work a great rite of resurrection, and his too could end up maimed if Tobyas did not do the spell correctly.


He bowed his head in prayer. His titian hair was a wild tangle of sweat matted and finger stirred areas. “When they came to the tomb, he said to them, “Roll the stone aside,” but they protested. “Teacher, he has been dead these three days.” But he looked to them again. “Roll the stone aside,” he repeated, “for our brother is not dead, but only sleep.” His hands moved through the motions of the ritual, ending in a palm uplifted to heaven in entreat. Sweat ran freely down his face as he stood, rigid and frozen.

 

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Tears slid down Azi's face unchecked as she bowed her head and prayed with all of her power for Jashen. This man, this dear friend, this brother in her heart. He had to live, she couldn't bear it otherwise, she loved him so dearly... After all they'd faced together, after everything, it couldn't end this way.


One hand remained gently on Jashen's neck hoping to feel some evidence of life, the other reached to grasp Crispian's tightly, in comfort for herself as much as for him. She listened to Tobyas' voice, stretched and exhausted as he spoke, and sent her strength to him. Fervently, she prayed, choking back sobs, for Jashen to return.

/back to the top please

/Bump back onto page one


Flashback:

"Now lad" said the voice "Finish this"


-Good advice.. edit faster and post us some more! Does Jashen survive?? Enquiring minds want to know more!!!!

((I put a new image on my laptop yesterday, so am just getting back into the writing))

 

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Jashen stood in a room tiled in white and gray marble. Light diffused through it from no apparent source. To one end were gates wrought of gold and silver, leaves and grapes intertwined with doves and crowns. At the other was a gate of black iron, twin slabs of solid metal mounted flush to the wall. Others milled about the room as well, and he thought he had glimpsed Nekolia passing through the shining gate of gold and silver. He moved in that direction, feeling oddly none of the wounds he had suffered in the confrontation with D’Vena, included the shattering of his arms from hitting the wall. He flexed them as he walked, curious at that but strangely detached.


A man stood before the gate, looking young and hale. He was clad in ancient armor. A breastplate worked in fine scales covered his torso, but his arms were bear to a pair of matching bracers. He was girdled in a leather skirt heavy with metal plaques that rustled against each other as he moved. A mass of curly red-golden hair escaped from a Corinthian style helm. He wore sandels that laced to his knees and over them had fastened richly detailed greaves. In one hand, he held a bared short sword made for stabbing, and in the other a ring of keys. A small bracer covered his lower left arm. He watched Jashen approach.


“What is it you seek, Jashen Michael Pontiff?” the man asked in a voice that was aching to hear, so rich was it with love. His eyes did not look at Jashen, but rather seemed to shine through him, as if in a glimpse he had accounted for, assessed and ajudged every act in Jashen’s life.


“What’s is beyond that gate?” Jashen asked, his throat suddenly constricted, for he knew he wanted to pass beyond that gate, to be on the other side. Perhaps more than anything in his life, he wanted that.


“Beyond that gate,” the man answered a smile danced upon his lips and eyes, “is Unity with the Almighty, oneness in his Love and Compassion.”


Jashen was stunned. “Heaven?” he asked in a soft whisper, barely breathing the word.


The man smiled again. “Some do call it that, others, Elesium, and even others Asgard. The perception of the One who Created is as varied as his children are.” Again he smiled that dazzling smile of one who had long shared that perfect unity, that concert with the Divine. As he spoke, a bead of light expanded on the wall midway between to the two gate. It grew to become a portal, opening onto a corridor of pure incandescents.


Jashen heard his name called from that opening. “What is that?” he asked with a measure of worry in his voice.


“That is the one you call Tobyas, and your Brother and friends, calling you back to life,” the man told him. His eyes grew kindly as he gazed as Jashen. “Now you must choose, Jashen Michael. Shall you stay here and perhaps pass through one of these gates, or shall you go back and share in the life you gave up?”


Jashen was confused. Was he not already truly dead? Was his life not ended in that moment when he struck to save Crispian? To divert D’Vena from being able to strike at him? Could he REALLY be called back?


The man nodded to him. “Yes, the gift of resurection is great and power. Even from so powerful of a death as that you suffered. The Ethereal bound to your body yet existing.”


Jashen pondered this. He felt so peaceful and calm here, and if he unitied with the Divine, with Almighty God, would he not know eternal peace, as the clerics had promised? Would not salvation be his? On the other hand, Crispian apparently was alive. His sacrifice had worked. But how would his brother deal with being alone, a single twin? Jashen looked to the shining gate, and to the blackened one. He shook his head with a wistful smile.


“I shall return, as they call me. Perhaps one day, one time, none in the world will need me, or my tasks will be done.” He bowed to the man in the strange armor who regarded him with a questioning look.


“Return then, and live out humanity’s greatest gift: unconditional love. For you have it for your brother and others, I can tell.” As Jashen turned and was about to step into that odd shimmering portal, the man raised his hand in salute.


“Fare thee well, bearer of my Name, and son Of Jasper.”


With a jolting stop, Jashen took to his body again, rolling over and vomiting violently. He spat and turned to his friends and his brother, who were all obviously weeping and much distraught. He smiled at them, a sort of crooked, lopsided smile. “So you won and still let me die?” he quipped, but got no further.


Crispian pulled him up from the floor and wrapped his arms around him in a great hug which made his ribs creak from the pressure. “Don’t you dare die before me, little brother!” he whispered to him, kissing his cheek and holding him tight. “I would be lost without you.”


Azi looked up, her hands covering her mouth as she let out a small squeal of joy, jumping up and adding herself to the brotherly hug. Tobyas rose to his feet, helping Lexi to hers and smiled himself. He clapped Jashen on the back with his own joy.


“Welcome back, Jashen,” he said quietly.


The sound of feet on the stairs drew their attention as a group of people entered the room, Bashir had rounded up some of the League and brought them here, with haste. Last in the door were Mirashta and Oakleif. Oakleif looked about and then considered the little knot of people. “Well, did we arrive too late?” he asked dryly.


Mirashta, however, went directly to Crispian and grabbed him, shaking his shoulders. “Don’t you ever do something like this without me again!” she scolded. “Do you think I achieved Wizard Primus just to guard Albion from her foes?” Her eyes flashed anger at them both. “You two always try to do it all!” She pulled him into a warm embrace.


Oakleif, his General’s chain still gleaming with newness, looked over the room. Well, you did a good job of nearly ruining the room at least.” He aided Lexi up. “But now let us get you all back to the League Hall and we shall deal with the Guards when they come about.”


The small group picked up their wares and repacked them. Tobyas passed the reliquary to Azi.


((to be continued))

 

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