Omega [Caelum]

[Seodai]

Date: 89 Fall, 511 AV Denval seemed to Seodai a dark, cursed place as of late. How long had it been since the streets had felt bright, full of laughter and possibility? Denval had drawn her long, serious face and squared her shoulders against an uncertain future. The mood seeped into every pore of their society, their existence. Even the children seemed more intuitively subdued. The death that came to the city was, perhaps, not so unusual. People were born and people died, it was the way of the world. The sensitivity of their situation made it somehow seem worse, though, the loss of life among them. Such as it was, even Seodai was compelled to come from the cozy anonymity of his home to attend the funeral of a young boy who had drowned. A cousin, somewhere down the line. Swimming with his friends on a dare. He had miscalculated his jump and struck a rock as he splashed into the water. He was dead before anyone could even reach him. It was especially tragic in a place like Denval, where young, strong boys like that had grown into the force that breathed to protect and serve. Not only had they lost a child, a brother, a cousin, but Denval had lost a son in a way that almost transcended all of those bonds. Seodai was never comfortable in such large gatherings, even if they were the very same people he had grown up with, had spent his life near. And so he hovered on the outskirts of the procession, his eyes glued respectfully to the dirt beneath his feet as he shuffled along. He could hear the quiet sobs of the mother but, otherwise, Denval observed his death with a poised, respectable sort of sadness. Ultimately, the people were shuffling back towards the city proper. Families would bring food to the mourners for days, gathering around them in a gesture of solidarity and comfort. Seodai had already put together a basket full of the freshest bounty he could find around the farm, and sent it in the hands of Syllke, who had been absorbed well enough into the fiber of his new community as to attend just as readily as Seodai himself did. Now, though... now was the time for Seodai to make his quiet escape. There were always things to do, especially on a farm. Grief or no, life had to carry on. Seodai did not have a difficult time inching away from the outskirts of the town and, eventually, found himself strolling through mostly deserted streets towards his home, on the other side of the rocky landscape. He picked, idly, at the cloth wrapped tightly about his forearm. An insignificant scratch, the common hazards of life on a farm. At least, it would be so, if he were normal. If his blood weren't tainted, his very existence set up for failure. As it were, the gash he'd earned in the fields wouldn't close. It wept crimson too persistently, and Seodai had wrapped it in layers and layers of cloth. He did not want to detract from the funeral for the sake of his own dramatics. He'd try to find Noc, later. For now, he was bleeding through his best attempts to staunch it, and needed to find his way home to remedy that before he attracted sympathy that would feel inappropriately timed.

[Caelum]

there’s things I remember things I forget I miss you I guess that I should three thousand five hundred miles away what would you change if you could? - counting crows - The sun poured winter light over the beleaguered city, struggling with the cold of winter’s coming to dull the bite of the wind. The sky was clear of clouds and the morning frost left mud puddles along the side of the roads when the ballast stones left off and hard packed earth began. The light glimmered off the elegant curve of iodized horns, unusual in their sprouting from the temples of a lanky man wandering down the center of the road leading back into Denval proper. Caelum had stepped beyond the doors of the Opal Clinic and out into this god-haunted city, attempting to find spread somewhere between stars and the dirt the key to the balancing of both. Denval’s needs pressed upon the outer layers of his consciousness due to the warping of his gnosis, burdening a pair of lean shoulders that already had been known to shoulder the sky. Unlike the other ethaefal riddling Denval, this one was far from physical perfection. Oh, Syna’s light emanated from his skin, was caught behind burning embers in his eyes, and his was a face worthy of crying to heaven; but he was too lean, too worn and with the surprising splash of scars hidden beneath riding leathers and soft washed linens. Robust health failed to glow off of him, creating an enigmatic air rather than a magnetic one. The tow headed young man was spied once he rounded an elbow bend of the road, the last leaves of a series of pecan trees crunching beneath the soles of his boots. Thumbs caught in frayed pockets as he drew to a halt, eyes narrowing with uncertainty when a reverse of the cold breeze brought to him the unmistakable scent of blood. The mark on his hand ached, pulsing, forcing him to shake out his arm as if to relieve a bone deep, holy itch that was, yet, a bad idea. “Need some help?” He asked instead, voice laden with dark music.

[Seodai]

With his thoughts elsewhere, Seodai hadn't really recognized that anyone was so close to him. In fact, that voice was essentially ignored at first. Not because the young farmer intended any sort of slight. He was hardly accustomed to being spoken to with such casual regard, and so it didn't occur to him to glance up. After a moment of his shuffling steps, his idle tugging on crimson cloth, he could feel eyes upon him. It was then that he turned, and found himself staring into a most peculiar face. It was like Lysander. Horned, beautiful. Somehow it was not the same, too. Lysander was flawless, at least at night. Absolutely perfect. This figure somehow managed to be other-worldly and awe inspiring, and rugged too. It was peculiar enough a contradiction to stun Seodai to silence. After a long moment of abject staring, he shook his head ever so slightly. "I'm alright," he demurred. "Just a scrape. Nothin' Noc can't fix up in a bit, when all of this is over." By this he clearly meant the funeral, his wounded arm lifting so he could wave vaguely towards the direction of the burial. The young Denvali had no way of knowing to whom he spoke, and so his casual dismissal of any implied offer of help was not intended to be rude. How was he supposed to know he'd stumbled onto the sunsinger?

[Caelum]

The Sunsinger -- though he had no knowledge that anyone might think that at all remarkable -- tilted his head in the direction of the young man's wave. The funeral gathering with its plethora of mourners seemed to his eyes like a field of ashes speckled with phoenix flowers. Various bright colors, everything from emerald to pomegranate, carnelian to tangerine, popped out in scarves or ribbons, a pair of whimsically dyed shoes or a shawl tugged over hair and across shoulders in modest reverence as well as obeisance to the cold. He gazed what was longer than necessary or polite and his silence struck as a thing familiar. He was a loner, unaccustomed to long exposure to company and conversation; and with the tribulations fate had found for him in the past handful of years, it came as no surprise that his functioning in society could occasionally comes across as somewhat handicapped. Aloof, he had bee accused of being, and cold. A beautiful but decidedly barren field, Rahel Aurelius had called him. He wondered if she was not wrong. "Are you heading for the clinic then?" The continued prickling of Rak'keli's mark called him back to the present, with hope before it was too late to have offended. Amber eyes stripped the sky before landing back on Seodai with an inquiring lift of his eyebrows. "I am staying there for now," he went on to explain, perhaps understanding the stranger's reluctance to allow a stranger anywhere near his injury. "We could walk together and, if you change your mind and Cian --" He just could not bring himself to frame the lie of Noc, "Takes too long, I could..." He trailed off. Eager was not the appropriate word, but willing might have been. Those who walked in the footsteps of Avalis' dark sister did so always with blood on their hands. After a while, you just got used to it.

[Seodai]

"You know Cian?" Seodai had no idea why that surprised him. Cian Noc had somehow become Denval, enmeshed in the very fabric of their society so that everyone knew him. This man was a stranger to Seodai, though, and so it did take him aback to hear that name fall so familiarly from unknown lips. That golden head bobbed back foward, his eyes once more fixed to the path. "I'd planned to head home. Clean it up a little, give him some time to get back." Not the best plan, probably, but Seodai hated interrupting the flow of everyday life with his mini-disasters. He hated that the most simple of injuries became a mini-disaster. Already he felt a bit light-headed, his wound being many hours old and having bled stubbornly for that length of time. Curious blues drifted aside, back to his horned companion. "But if you're heading that way. I appreciate your offer, but my blood is particularly useless. Takes a bit 'o magic to fix these things." Caelum hadn't exactly said he was capable of that, had he? Kind people often offered help, but none of them were able to do more for Seodai than they could do for himself. He was accustomed to gently rebuffing such attempts. His primary motivation, then, for following the strangely beautiful man, was those horns. He couldn't discuss matters that pertained to ethaefel with a level head when Lysander was around.

[Caelum]

"My physician supplies are low," Caelum confessed with a dent to either side of his mouth that would have to suffice for a smile. "But I imagine that whatever all Cian's clinic might hold, it will for certain contain what I need to serve you in it." He gave an inviting tilt of his head or what was meant as one, drumming up every ounce of the healer's self possessed attitude of competence and calm. Well traveled boots ambled their way in the direction of the Opal Clinic, deliberating along the ruts in the worn road until the injured farm boy made up his mind to follow. Once he did, Caelum's loose-hipped pace adjusted to fit and he kept a keen eye on the young man's arm where, was it his imagination or was the make shift bandage darkening further? "What do you mean by saying your blood is useless?" He wanted to know, curiosity urging him to be more conversant than was his usual wont. Magic was mentioned and he unburied his right hand from a pocket in order to tug at the frays and ravels of a fingerless riding glove. A handful of heartbeats passed between them before he managed to peel down the glove's palm and reveal the opalescent twisting of winged snakes who bore a distinct likeness to those multiple Rak'keli marks painting Cian Noc. "I have some small bit of magic," he informed quietly. "I would say we will have to see how well it may serve, but I already learned the hard way what havoc holy magic has been wreaking in your city. I suppose, then, it will have to be my skills at medicine at your service. "I'm Caelum, by the way," and he would have offered his hand, but it seemed unwise what with the blood and the words of what dark illness hung heavy over Denval.

[Seodai]

At mention of the magic that seemed so confounded in their city at present, Seodai made a face at the ground. It wasn't pleasant, the strange disconnect between himself and Bala. He had been careful to avoid using his own gnosis since that day with Talen and the grapes. He'd rather avoid the strange visions, thank you. Everything was just so out of sorts, so strange. "Eh," he hedged mildly about his blood, his cut. He didn't love to talk about it and had he met this stranger some months sooner, he might have avoided it altogether. As it were, he could use a little help, and he had little to lose. "My blood won't clot." With one hand idly picking at the darkening bandage, Seodai lifted bright blues towards the horned creature. As lovely as Lysander, if less perfect. Strangely human and other, it seemed. The curious gaze he fixed his walking companion with was reminiscent of the innocent naivety he had almost wholly possessed before the world began to fall down around him. "Caelum," Seo nodded with a half smile of welcome. "Welcome to Denval. I am Seodai." Their ambling had at last brought them to the threshold of the clinic and, as Caelum entered with all the self-possessed authority in the world, Seodai ventured on with polite conversation. "Where do you come from? How do you know Cian?"

[Caelum]

“The road,” came Caelum’s laconic response. It was delivered with the strike of a smile flashing like sun off naked steel. He made his way, unhesitating, through the clinic entrance to duck into the back hall. A glance was given Seodai over the rise of a shoulder, the light from the parlor window to their left leaving his regard god haunted and strange. An unusual peace was settled beneath his skin, holy and unnerving. This was a man without the whole of his wits about him, left tongue-toed and chained by the gods not altogether long ago. “It brought me here. Not your road, of course, but someone’s or another’s. Most recently I was in Alvadas and, before that, Riverfall and the Sea of Grass. Here,” and crooked a pair of calloused fingers before turning in the quiet. It was some yards down the corridor with the soldier steps of dead men haunting their heels that he located one of Cian’s examination rooms. He kept Seodai in the corners of his regard all the while, concern continuing to weigh down the corners of an embittered mouth. “Sit down, please,” he murmured, shifting a look at the table, at the chairs, and rolling his shoulders back to strip his jacket clean from him. It was dropped, weathered and smelling of summer and blood, over the the back of a chestnut wood chair. The clinic seemed to sleep around them. Perhaps workers or visitors, volunteers or patients were tucked away in corners or in gardens; but in this space where yellow sunlight struggled against the day’s funeral pall, they were alone. Caelum stepped toward the spigot, rinsing his hands before using a wad of tattered, fresh muslin and the heavy, purple mouthed bottle of carbolic to wipe himself down from elbow to fingertips, his sleeves already tied up. “Cian,” a breath left him leavened with unsounded laughter. His head was bowed, the tips of heaven’s graced horns glinting. “I brought him here, Seodai. Or, well, I made certain he was dropped off.”

[Seodai]

Far too familiar with clinic walls, with patient beds and the austere circumstances that usually surrounded the saving of his life, Seodai needed little instruction. He'd lifted one leg to slide onto the unoccupied bed by the time Caelum instructed him to do so, and as the apparent acquaintance of Noc cleaned his hands, Seodai began to unwind the now soaked bandage from the offended arm. Even the bandage refused to dry, to stiffen, as anyone else's might. There was constantly a fresh source of blood to keep it damp and sticky, and so it made a mess of his fingers as he wadded the weight of it up. Crimson fingers made his stomach turn. As important as Viratas might be to Denval, Seodai had never felt especially affectionate towards the god of blood. To begin with, he had been overlooked somehow, in that divine protection that guaranteed them a clean bloodline. He held, however quiet he kept it, a small grudge against the god for that. Most of all, however, he associated the sight of his own blood with all of the miserable times he'd nearly died. It made his head swim to think of it, of the times when magic was the only thing that had pieced him back together. "You've chosen a terrible time to visit," Seodai replied, as water cleansed the fingers that might just fix him. "Denval is such a gloomy place. Nothing seems right anymore. A year ago? A year ago, I'd have said there's no place better to be." Seodai dropped a farm boy's gaze back to his arm. The cut wasn't overly impressive. Several inches long, and deep enough to produce a healthy flow. It likely wouldn't have warranted being stitched together, even, on a normal person. But Seodai's blood had the stubborn need to be free of the bonds of his mortal frame, and so it ran along sunkissed flesh until it began to pool in his palm, running between loosely curled fingers. "Noc seems good," Seodai observed, changing the subject almost lazily. "He has been good for Denval. He's helped Theo, and myself." Seodai didn't mention the strange dreams the man had, nor the way he'd somehow fallen into one of him. Neither did he mention how that unsettling dream had somehow marked the beginning of a whole season of dreams for Seodai, dreams he couldn't shake.

[Caelum]

“Are you withholding judgment, Seodai?” A curious slant took Caelum’s smile as he turned back to the young man. “By what do you intend to judge him if not by his actions?” Eyebrows rose, intent with the farmer’s choice of the word seem. It appeared that he genuinely wished to know while approaching the examination bed, carrying with him a tray burdened with the materials of his trade. There was a roll of muslin gauze, tweezers, needles and an array of multi colored containers holdng the harvest of the Opal Order Healer’s labor in the lab and herb garden. A stool was kicked close to the exam table and Caelum dropped into it. He frowned at the steady pooling blood dripping into Seodai’s cupped palm and, with no further hesitation, reached out to grab his patient’s wrist and pull his arm up. “I’ll hold your arm. You lay flat,” he instructed. This was to further elevate Seodai’s wound above his heart, relying on the force of gravity to assist him in treating this unnatural bleeding. Heedless to the blood drizzling over long fingered hands, he reached down to pull a long, thin strip of cotton fabric from the tray. Swift competence had him drawing it about his patient’s bicep and in a sharp jerk tying it fast into a tight tourniquet. Seodai had underplayed the urgency of his condition, Caelum was realizing, and he mentally kicked himself for not having insisted on examining the injury on the walk to the clinic. A fresh handful of bandaging was take up and he pressed it directly on top of Seodai’s wound, spreading calloused fingertips with a flicker of annoyance for not having the ability to rely upon Rak’keli’s graced purification ability. He pressed down, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. Breathe deep.” “Truth told,” he went on, leting his words spread heavy and addicting, decked as they were in the all of the divine garlands of accent. Agrimony, sherpherd’s purse and yarrow were selected from the tray as he with his free hand began to layer them in thick, carbolic soaked folds on a blanket of muslin. All of the herbs were natural coagulants. “I was drawn here. Compelled, you might say. I was afraid conditions such as these might have risen.”