The Exegetic Episodes of the Bloodtrailed Bashtok and the Emergent Matriarch

[Sunblade]

Ari didn’t stop.

His elbow came down on Aver’s shoulder two more times before the mercenary curled under his arm, braced against the wall, and threw him back on the bed.

Her respite was short-lived.

The Beasten rolled forward and back to his feet without missing a beat. Swiveling back to face them, the stalking garhan bared his own fangs at the firrerreo. Aver expelled a steadying breath through her nostrils as blue eyes flickered to assess his stance.

Quietus might’ve taught him, but Arathul hadn’t learned. Not as well as he could’ve.

Or should’ve.

When he charged the mercenary again, Aver was ready – he went high, she went low. There was a nasty crack, then a louder roar.

His fist was lodged in the wall where she’d been standing a moment ago. Blood trickled down from the mangled knuckles, between the splinters of bone jutting out of his wrist.

Aver shoved him face-first against the stone, breath hot against his neck. “Listen, you stupid motherkarker.”

 

[Quietus]

With one hand clutching the bookcase and another rubbing at a now very tender throat, Quietus could do nothing but listen to the ruckous of the two as they wailed on each other. She had her doubts that neither would come out unscathed, even Aver for all her experience. Arathul was undisciplined in his fighting because it, strangely enough, wasn't really in him. A curious fact she'd come to uncover as the boy passed from childhood into the years of his young adulthood. More and more he took to the archives, spending less time in the jungles where she assumed he'd be more happy.

Seems more of Anhedonia had trickled through than expected, repressed as her life was from his own.

Not anymore.

As the sound of the crack (bones breaking, she knew it well) and the resulting roar of pain from her son, Quietus understood two things: Aver wasn't going to be able to cull his temper without knocking him out or seriously hurting him, and the likelihood of either of those things happening without Aver getting seriously injured in the process was small.

So it was up to her to remind him who he was and who she was.

I am your mother.

Sucking air deep into her lungs, Quietus emitted a growl that turned into syllables, "ARA-THUL!"

Using her own anger to feed what little energy she had left, Des pushed off the book case and staggered several steps towards the center of the room, turning to face the pair.

"STOP."

 

[Sunblade]

As Arathul stared at his twisted hand, he knew there should’ve been pain enough to bring him to his knees. Yet it didn’t come. Even that kind of agony couldn’t pierce the black fog strangling every thought, nor could it overpower the adrenaline rushing in his veins.

Like his mother (NOT OUR MOTHER) had done so many years ago, the Beasten curled under the hold of the mercenary. Slowly, inexorably he pushed off the wall, moving the immovable. And Aver, for all her strength and ire, could not stop him. With every pained grunt – for her ribs were cracked and her back painted black and blue – he gained another inch of ground.

No, Ygdris could not stop him.

But his mother (yes, MY mother) could.

The growl had nothing to do with humanity. Arathul snapped his eyes open; Aver ceased breathing altogether.

Quietus had spoken. Well; roared.

His voice shivered and broke like spiderwebbed glass. “Let me go,” he croaked out. “Let me go!”

As soon as Aver released him the Beasten keeled forward. Black tears ran down his face as he slid down the wall, cradling his broken arm against his chest.

“What’s happening to me, masza?”

 

[Quietus]

Quietus stood hunched in exhaustion, chest heaving for breath, for relief. Her throat and lungs felt like they had caught fire. She closed her eyes and attempted to find center in the maelstrom of emotions surrounding her and coursing through her veins. Her heart hammered in her ears, she tasted blood at the back of her throat - her own.

A mental glance was given to Aver, but no sentiment nor words were attached with it. Simply a check; a are you with me? before it shifted to her son.

The memories of your previous life have been released from the powers that held them at bay.

No more words. Quietus would not speak again tonight and, she felt, not ever again were it up to her.

You are blood of my blood, but though I raised you from infancy you know that you are not my true son.

Unsteady steps carried her back towards his bed where she sank against it and to the floor, back against the side. Black eyes stared off in his direction, unfocused.

Your true mother was Masenre Lorelei and she has taken the final flight.

 

[Sunblade]

Soundless sobs wracked his form as he leaned his head back against the cool stone. Now that the fog had cleared, Arathul almost wished for that mindless anger back; the pictures were now no longer just senseless smears of color. They were crystallizing into memories.

Souvenirs of another life that he had lived, and yet had not. Of a bottomless, twisted, seething hate turned against the world. How that spite had burned up everything inside until he (I) walked around hollow, until he (I) succumbed under Gulag rot.

His next words carried forth on a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t—” pain curled fast and hard through his arm as he tried to raise it. Gone was the anger, and so was the rush of the fight. Everything flooded back in, crawling up his splintered bone like lava.

“Give me that.”

Arathul looked up to see the mercenary holding out an expectant hand. “Wh—”

“Give me. That.”

Without waiting another beat Aver grabbed his broken limb by the elbow. The garhan hissed, lurching forward to follow the motion as she inspected the injury.

“Yeah. I figured.” The merc made to glance at Qui, but stopped mid-motion. Instead her blue eyes turned to the searing gold of Arathul. “This is going to hurt.”

Before the last of the sentence rang out, Aver snapped the bone back into place.

shliiick

The Beasten slammed his good fist against the floor. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

Aver stood, wiped her fingers into her ruined shirt, and stepped out on the balcony without another word.

 

[Quietus]

She waited, feeling the purpose in Aver's mind, for the Mercenary to tend to her son. It gave her a moment of repose to collect her own thoughts and consider how to answer Arathul without causing further temper-flare. A little pain had never deterred him before, why would it now?

As Aver's steps echoed out onto the balcony, clipped and heavy with what she assumed her continued disgust and fury, Quietus took another deep breath and let her head rest back against the side of the bed.

I was sworn to secrecy by Masenre Lorelei. She intended to tell you herself, when the time was right, but even the most carefully laid plans go awry...

You were her third child. She raised you on Honoghr, at the temple where her seat of power presided hundreds of years ago. You were royalty, much like you are today. Gifted in many ways ...

Quietus opened her eyes, turning glazed black towards him without seeing him, we couldn't get you out of the archives. You would spend hours in there with Merovign, you loved to read and learn.You were very close with him. He was your protector, your big brother.

The faintest of smiles appeared on her face next, Some things never change.

 

[Sunblade]

He could watch with his own two eyes as the meat and sinew began to crawl back over the stark white of the bone. He could watch, and he did, because looking at his mother would be too painful. Moreso even than the deep, aching throb in his wrist.

So long as he didn’t, Arathul wouldn’t have to face the raw bruises lining her neck like a perverse necklace.

How easily control slips away.

“That’s… not me,” he forced out with some effort, and wiped the black ichor from his lips. “That’s her. And she died. Why—” Arathul choked on the words.

The futile anger welled up in his chest again; he bared his fangs at the ceiling and dug his fingers into his wound. Another cry tore from his throat, but the red haze receded.

“...why did you bring her… me back?”

 

[Quietus]

No, it wasn't him.

Arathul had grown without the influence of those memories. And though his soul was once a creature, a being known as Anhedonia, it had been fractured to the point of being unrecognizable. Lorelei had done everything within her power to fix it, so that she might one day have her daughter back, but her failure had lead to something Quietus had never really experienced in her before.

Remorse. Regret.

There was nothing Lorelei had loved more, devoted more effort and care and time to, than her own children.

She couldn't bear to raise the child that would not be her daughter. Couldn't stand the pain of loss. Something special about Perone, perhaps it related back to the relationship she had with Korran. Perhaps it was one where she truly loved someone - it was a guess based on an outsider's observations, but a good one to lean on. Qui had only ever seen Lorelei speak of another man in that way once afterwards, and it was when referring to Ayden Cater.

So she'd given the infant to Des, knowing it would grow strong and healthy, gain the knowledge it needed and deserved to thrive. One day her lost child would return to prominence, where it belonged. Des trained him, prepared him, groomed him for the mantle of Beasten for a promise made. She'd denied her own blood children the right to the throne for him.

A frown pulled at her face, brow furrowing.

I didn't. I merely woke you from the coma these dying powers put you in.

Lorelei blocked those memories so that you could grow uninhibited by them, live your own life. With her death that safeguard is gone, there's nothing remaining to stop them from returning.

 

[Sunblade]

The hole in his chest seemed to tighten, then expand to grasp at his hammering heart. He spat another wave of the black illness on the floor between his legs, clutching his spasming gut.

His head lolled back against the wall again, eyes squeezed shut. He’d gone through sharper pain – was going through it, even, as his bone fused back together under writhing flesh. But this raging in the back of his head was unlike anything he’d lived through in his life.

Uncle (brother, you boor) had brought him a few holocrons to study, and even the vengeful spirits confined within didn’t lash out as much as his own soul.

I’m tired. Can… can you help me sleep?

Arathul tore his gaze from the mess on the ground. His mother was looking at him with glassy black eyes, unseeing. And there, just as he’d feared – the fading stain of his fingers on her neck.

She won’t— How did she die? How could you let her die, Desdemona?!

He groaned and dug his nails into the healing wound again. The alien presence in the back of his mind screamed, turning wild eyes back on the Beasten.

Leave me alone, bashtok. His features pulled into those of a feral hunter once more. He braced his hand against the shelves and slowly pushed back to his feet. Get out of my head and back to the Nodholvark you came from.

You can’t—

Arathul snapped his jaws, fangs slicing through the air with an ominous sound.

Several moments of silence passed. Quietus wouldn’t hear or feel a single thing from her son as he battled with himself. Then, finally, a hand touched her shoulder. I am… sorry, masza.

 

[Aver Brand]

Her fingers, bruised but unbroken, traipsed slowly along her ribs. The usual smooth curves were twisted in places, bulging against skin or pressing too deep wherever Arathul had struck true. Aver closed her eyes and let out a measured hiss as she began setting the fractures. One by one – a little nudge in the Force here, a small pull there – soon enough her breathing was strained and her grip silver-white on the stone railing.

And then it was done. For hours the pain would persist, but at least she wouldn’t heal all wrong.

Aver opened her eyes with a sigh and began picking at the drying blood under her fingernails. Her eyes followed the final dismissive gesture, and suddenly she found herself facing a familiar view.

Stepping closer to the edge of the balcony, Aver leaned forward for a better look. Granted, she wasn’t quite on top of the citadel, but with a drop like that… the hundred meter difference hardly mattered.

She furrowed her brow as she pondered the various ways to survive the fall. Because forcing herself into rational planning was about the only thing that could cool her temper at this point.

Besides violence or sex, of course. And given the current state of her mate, neither of those were happening anytime soon.

 

[Quietus]

She was quickly beginning to fade now that the adrenaline had stopped filling her veins. Quietus couldn't hear Ane's voice in her son's mind, that was his own demon to deal with, but could feel her there. Feel the presence that was at once oddly foreign and strangely at home there in that body.

I'm tired. Can... can you help me sleep?

Sleep. She closed her eyes, filling her lungs with air. Years ago she would have sent him to the Acolytes, to the Priests or Shamans. Now that her part was done, they were fully capable of taking care of his ailments, but this was a deeply personal issue brought on by the untimely death of She who came before them. Now, with the title resting firmly on her shoulders, it was her duty to see that this issue was rectified. Anhedonia could not stay if she meant to fight Arathul the whole way.

She likely she did, her spirit was strong before, and now it was angry.

The hand on her shoulder startled her back from her waning thoughts - she didn't flinch, but she hadn't been paying attention. Quietus rested her cheek on the hand there, the scent of blood and decay mingling on his limbs and her front. A hand lifted to grasp his forearm, Help me up.

No difficult task for him, Arathul was more than capable of lifting the woman with a single arm alone and hardly any effort.

I can't block her, not right now. I will need time...

She didn't have the power or the energy.

But I can help you sleep.

 

[Sunblade]

It was an afterthought, helping Quietus up. As they stood there, both stained by the curse, both tired; no, drained, Arathul sighed out his relief. He dipped his head and touched his forehead against hers in a gesture of quiet gratitude. He knew well his mother’s preference for silence. Now more than ever, no doubt.

It’s alright, he ventured, voice like walking barefoot over broken glass. She’s agreed to talk.

A wry smile quirked at his lips as he pulled back again. We’ve the one head to share, and we’re the same kind of stubborn.

The Shamalain kind.

With a wave of his hand Arathul raised the tomes from the floor and back to their shelves. The dust cleared off patterned tile in a sweeping cloud; the stone creaked as he smoothed over the hole he’d made with his fist.

The Beasten cleared his throat. I think... I’ll go meditate.

It had been late afternoon when the two women had arrived, and dusk was quick to settle over the flat jungled plains. In the moonlight they would find solace – all three of them.

 

[Quietus]

The boy had to lean over quite a bit to place that forehead of his against her own and his mother appreciated the gesture. Braced against him with her hand still on his arm, Quietus took the time there to try and find that center again. Muster the strength to continue standing, to move her feet where she would need to go in order to rest in peace.

Shockingly, she was not disappointed in his decision to meditate instead. It meant less effort on her part - not that she didn't want to, simply that she wasn't sure she actually had the reserves left to do it. Her hand lifted to the side of his face, touching at it, patting it gently as if to communicate it was a good choice.

Making amends with the woman inside his mind was certainly an option, though Des was unsure how viable it would be. Only time would tell.

You, her hand slid to the goatee on his chin, taking hold of it and giving it a faint tug, are my son no matter where your blood comes from, and I ...

Fingers slipped from him then as she turned and slowly began to shuffle her way out towards the balcony, am Masenre now.

I am here for you, when you need me Moriir.

Her hand reached blindly for the doorway support leading out to the open air and she leaned her weight against it as her fingers made purchase, breathing in the wind of the high citadel that carried Aver's scent to her. She drank it in, willfully reaching out to her mate's presence once more. Unless Arathul needed her further, she was finished here and they could take their leave.

 

[Sunblade]

Arathul let out a shaky laugh. His mother (niece, Ari. niece) was Masenre now. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded; his hand lingered a moment on hers, and then they both dropped away.

When it rains, it pours.

As Quietus shuffled towards the balcony, the Beasten shrugged on a robe with stilted movements. Now that the pulsing pain in his arm had faded somewhat, other aches were making themselves known. He hadn’t hurt in so many places since he’d first tried to tame a skreev.

What’s a skreev?

He had always been insatiable about knowledge, it seemed. Not even the four hundred years of darkness could wash that hunger away.

There was a faint smile on his split lips as he limped towards the meditation chamber, and shared with himself the fire-blaze of his mount in the rising sun.

Oh.

 

[Aver Brand]

By the time they’d finished their silent conversation, Aver had devised a grand total of eleven ways to get to the base of Halcyon citadel unharmed.

The seventh included Shai. (She liked that one best.)

Still, when the familiar presence of her mate edged closer, the mercenary couldn’t help but tense up. Her fingers found a firmer purchase on the railing of hewn stone. She pried them off one by one, measured, slow; and when she was done, her hands were open.

So was her mind.

Open, but not welcoming. Though her ire was now pressed under the weight of an ancient glacier, its fervor still twinkled like coals through the ice.

We can’t leave the way we came, Aver stated, matter-of-factly. A beat passed, and then she turned to face the new Shamalain Matriarch. I’ve arranged for a transport from Irontown. One of my ships will make detour past Thral.

 

[Quietus]

They could go back the way they came. It was possible, just not right now. Quietus would need a week of time and several fresh feedings to get back to peak power. Then, without having dealt with the obliteration of the curse for four comatose days, it would hardly be an issue.

But judging by the subzero chill of Aver's thoughts, that was not an option at the moment.

She almost smiled, the iota of amusement at Aver's mood lasting less than the wingbeat of a terribird. What simple things moved such glaciers from their slumber - 600 years of life had done a number on her fuse, apparently. Perhaps that was why people like Jake Daniels found people like her to be without feeling, without emotion. Vacant.

On the contrary, she still felt quite strongly over many things, but after a while it gets really hard to keep putting effort into the same thing.

Quietus pressed her palms against the stone railing, eyes closed against the sensation of the wind on her face. It felt good to be back within a place of familiarity and she found a modicum of hesitation at the idea of leaving it so soon. She would have liked to rest here, in her old home, and bask beneath the rays of Dxun's light. Give some time to contemplate what the death of her grandmother really meant.

It had yet to truly sink in, she'd been given so little time to think on it.

She didn't push against the coldness presented to her. Didn't have the energy or the strength to do it. A simple nod of understanding was given.

 

[Aver Brand]

She was angry and glad at once that she’d left the ring on Thral.

Then again, she was angry about many things today. It seemed longer than it ought to be, and hopping halfway across the galaxy through some sorcerous portal certainly hadn’t helped. Aver was used to stress, to kicking sleep in the gut and soldiering on for days if need be; but that was battle.

That was war.

Funny, how the question of “Which mate comes with the biggest mess?” was becoming difficult to answer. For a long time, Aver took unmarred pleasure in the company of both, even if for entirely different reasons.

Now this. So many conversations, so many feelings… and Rev wasn’t innocent by any measure. He’d torn out Gabriel and forgot to tell her he’d shoved him into a cloned body.

Forgot for twenty karking years.

And then there were the kids.

Aver bared her teeth and dug her fingers deep enough to chip stone.

Why does this have to be so complicated.

 

[Quietus]

Qui allowed her arms to fold, pressing elbows and forearms along the smooth surface of the stone, black eyes closed. Breathing slow, deep, controlled.

Why, indeed, did it need be so complicated.

There was really only one answer for it, even if Aver wasn't looking for an answer at all.

Family always is.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Family,” the mercenary echoed, and closed her eyes.

Planning a Halcyon descent had only taken so much time. She’d spent the rest corralling words that could encompass her anger.

Aver had never done that before. (Nor had she wanted to.)

“It's been a while, yeah? For the twenty years I’d be comin’ here, rarely a kid in sight. Now don’t get me wrong, that shet ain’t for me – but point is, this was all you and whatshisface… Lucian. Allll you.”

“And it takes a little something to handle Quietus, don’t it? If he can kark you then he can hold that boy o’yours down. Ain’t no two ways about it.”

Her blue eyes were unflinching as she stared at her mate. Ygdris Val was many things, but she was no coward.

“So where is he? Where the kark is he that I’m stuck dealin’ with his kid, on his planet? ‘Cause you never wanted me to be a part of your family. You made that perfectly clear.”

“Look—” and still words failed her, “hurt me, kark me, ignore me for a year— I don’t care. Just…”

Don’t abuse my affection, Des.

 

[Quietus]

Quietus didn't open her eyes, didn't look up. Whether she'd been prepared for a tirade, thought she deserved it, or simply had zero energy to deal with it remained unclear. It all muddled in the exhaustion.

But as Aver was not afraid of her, she was not afraid of Aver. She was not afraid of Aver's anger or words, nor was she afraid of her right hook (already dealt with that twenty years ago). She was, however, a little concerned that Aver's self-importance might get in the way of realizing what being in this relationship meant.

She'd recited the words herself: sacrifice and trust.

She'd lived through the trust factor, both of them had.

Now, today, she was living through the sacrifice factor. Perhaps something she was a little less familiar and experienced with. It was all well and good to think you could make sacrifices for the other, but where it counted was in the act.

I don't know where he is ... Quietus admitted to her, black eyes opening to stare out at the open nothingness she knew to sit before her. A grand view of the evening horizon, mountains and jungles for as far as the eye could see.

He left when I left. We are not so close as you think ...

Not as close as you and I.