Title: Hellboy: Prophecy of Bones
Rating: T, may change in later chapters
Summary: The Angel of Death is not through with the slain Prince Nuada. Using dark magics and following dire portents handed down from an Oracle of the Triple Goddess; Prince Nuada is brought back to life, for a price.
Disclaimer: I own none of anything that looks even vaguely like Hellboy and all the yummy goodness that is Prince Nuada. Sad, so sad.
A/N: So yeah, I have previously been writing Grey's Anatomy fanfic (cause Owen+Cristina= rocks my socks off). But my plot bunnies have died, and I'm waiting for new ones from the pet store. Those rat bastards seem to have lost my shipment. Then over Christmas I watched Hellboy II, and Prince Nuada became my new mini obsession. Along with that creepy bastard with all the eyes (Guillermo del Torro is a twisted guy I tell you!) So I actually DO have a whole plot in mind for this story (yay!) and intend on finishing it. Eventually. Sigh, back to the salt mines I fear, this story wont write itself.
The bones were whispering. Even in the dark confines of the black spider silk bag binding them, they murmured, sibilant hissing just loud enough to taunt him. They refused to outright speak to him of course. They wanted only to speak to the Angel's Hand. Maddening. Any power refusing to revere the Angel of Death soon felt his wrath. The bones grew silent, leaving the bitter trace of mocking laughter to ring in the empty temple.
Dark pinions rustling, Moriel rose from his meditative seat, sinews and limbs cracking as he stretched, blinking bits of feather and dust motes from a dozen bloodshot eyes. With a careless thought he summoned the Hand, adding a cruel reminder for absolute haste. The golii was a slatternly creature, still prone to defiance even after so many centuries of training and discipline.
Pained breathing heralded the golii's arrival. Moriel inspected deeply etched talons for minute cracks before letting the summons ease its painful insistence. The golii had shown up promptly after all. Leathery hands fished the bones from deep in his shroud, tossing the precious bag negligently to the Hand. The Hand snatched it from the air, pale skinned hands flashing like stars from the long, dark sleeves of tattered garments and cradled them to a thin chest, like a child at suck. Even though the Hand wore a heavy cowl, Moriel knew a tender, reverent look was being bestowed on the bones. They belonged to the golii after all.
"They speak golii. I will know their words. Bind you speak true, bind you to silence for all others. Only I will know the portents. Speak." Magic pulsed in the ritual words, throbbing in the air, tightening the Bindings linking Hand and Angel together. A faint glow illuminated the face in the cowl, the triple runes on the third eye standing in stark relief. A faint grimace of pain was all Moriel saw before the light faded, pleasing him. This Hand needed the reminder of pain, often.
Smoothly the golii knelt, placing the black bag on the ground. Pale hands crawled like spiders over the drawstring, unknotting the blood-red cord holding the pouch shut, breaking the spells keeping the bones quiescent. Moriel hissed with pleasure as the cloth fell away, revealing the mix of ebony, ivory and cobalt bones within. How he coveted the power of those tiny, gem-like bones! Four of glowing ivory and azure, five of darkest black, each bone was unique, carved with thousands of tiny sigils in a language so old that not even he fully understood it. Twelve had been made by Her, the Creatrix of All, then gifted to Her Oracle as the Goddess' voice to Her children on earth. The thirteenth bone was the Oracle's own, severed from the left hand, to give the bones life. They spoke only to the Oracle, going dormant in death. Death had no life to give them, so Moriel needed the Oracle alive. No true seers had been born in a hundred years, and of those alive who divined the future, none had the power to transcend to Oracle. Watching the golii's maimed hand deftly scoop up the tiny gems filled Moriel with mixed parts fury, envy and satisfaction.
The golii cast the bones thrice, the silence growing heavier when they were thrown an additional time. Never had Moriel seen the golii throw them so many times. Curiosity ate away at his patience, irritation making him send a spike of pain down the Hand's bonds. Shoulders hunched in pain under the cowl, even as the golii cast the bones a final time.
"What you seek, Ä-Mǽriel, fades as we speak. The Heir of Bethmora lies dead, fallen to ash, and with him heart-dreams conjured in secret. Day to Night, Night to Day, seeds planted in bitter soil failing. Return the Heir to the sundered throne, bound to death and life, hate and love, to reap the harvest of your dreaming. Anung un Rama turns to his true course, the Great Tree withers, dies, and from the ashes will arise a new empire, watched over by the Angel of...of Death and Rebirth. The bones prophecy, and will speak to you no more." Fine trembles shook the golli's body, the last dulcet syllable fading into the ominous silence. The Hand's pause went unnoticed by Moriel as he shook with rage. Mariel, Angel of Rebirth, opened her dozen summer-sky eyes and swam to consciousness within them. She had heard the slight hesitation.
"Thank you, my Hand. Go, we will summon you when we have need." Mariel spoke softly, her voice holding tenderness.
"Mistress. Master." The Hand swept up the bones and swiftly refastened the cord, humming the binding spell into the knots. The golii stood, hands still cradling the bones and turned to leave.
"Give us the bones, slave. They are no longer yours, though they speak only to you." Moriel hissed, anger and fury bleeding down the Bonds, making the Hand shake with agony.
Clawed hands took the black silk bag and stowed them in their shroud, even as Mariel eased the golii's pain, touching the bent head softly. Moriel growled as the Hand fled, cursing his twin for being too soft on the wretch.
"Peace, Moriel. We must focus on more pressing matters. What shall be done about Prince Nuada?" Mariel walked over to the inscribed circle on the floor, stepping across the line of skulls and candle holders imbedded around the perimeter. Moriel sat down, fingers of one hand toying with the small bulk of the bone pouch in his pocket. Mariel lit the candles with the other hand, preparing for a lengthy meditation.
"He must be resurrected. But can we do it? Our powers wane in this dominion of Man; they have such fleeting faith in anything not made by their greedy hands." Moriel gripped the pouch hard, feeling the bite of the bones even through his desiccated flesh. Mariel winced at the sharp pain.
"Yes, we can, but it will have a great price. We will use my Hand to fuel the spell; the golii is the last reserve of my strength. Tying the two together seems to fit the portent, 'bound to death and life, hate-' and love? Nuala was his only love, and she is in death. Or is he to love what he hates? That would be more in line with Her sense of justice." Mariel mused, secretly delighted at the prospect. Seeing the Elf Prince with the Hand; bound to the golii for life and love would be entertaining.
"Silverlance? In love with that creature? You are more cruel than I though, Mariel. But it is fitting. We are agreed then. We will resurrect Nuada Silverlance, bind him to our Hand and make of him our Avatar. Anung un Rama will scorch the earth to bitter gall, and we will reign over a new era." Triumphant glee welled deep in their five-chambered heart, Moriel chortling with satisfaction. Mariel sighed, counseling patience yet.
"Agreed. Bringing Nuada back will set the prophecy in motion. Rest, Moriel, while I prepare. You will need your strength."
"Agreed." Moriel retreated into the darkness, his dozen bloodshot eyes softly closing, leaving only Mariel's dozen open upon her wings. She inhaled freely, feeling a deep strain ease. It was always harder to share flesh than animate it alone. Though how alone could one be with a split soul housed in one shell? Settling into a more comfortable position, Mariel removed a scroll from her robes and began to write, skeletal claw imprinting golden runes on its surface with magic.
She had much to tell her Hand before Moriel woke.
***
A priceless fortune of golden shells littered the ruined throne room of Bethmora. The empty husks of the once fearsome Golden Army littered the floor like cast off toys, dropped in favor of some other entertainment.
Ä-Mǽriel glided around each fallen warrior with nary a sound, their Hand trailing quietly behind with a heavy chest clasped in thin arms. The alabaster statue of Princess Nuala greeted them with mournful silence as they found the shattered remains of the prince. Setting down the chest, the golii hurried about unpacking the necessary supplies while the Angel watched. Magic gathered in a thick dust around the room, slowly waking to the silent call of Death. Star-like hands glowed against dark material every time the Hand moved, arranging the circle around the fallen Prince. Bits of golden shell made up the boundary, with obsidian obelisks marking the four cardinal directions. Finished, the golii returned to Ä-Mǽriel's side, holding a stone bowl and a bronze knife at the ready.
Mariel took the bowl from the Hand, holding it steady while Moriel grasped the golii's maimed left hand, wrenching it across the top of the bowl, roughly pushing back the long sleeve to expose pale skin. He took up the bronze knife, holding it poised above the fragile skin. The golii's skin was flawless, smooth ivory tinted with gold, so fine he could watch the delicate tracery of veins in the wrist. They were pale silver in hue, unlike the green-tinted veins found in most mortals. The bronze knife slide over them, a lover's caress, parting flesh effortlessly and the wound gaped bloodlessly for a long moment before viscous silver fluid welled sluggishly. The Hand held perfectly still while the bowl filled. Moriel squeezed the wound, making the silver blood flow faster, and the golii wince. Mariel held her tongue.
Judging the bowl full enough, Moriel let the last drop fall before removing the bowl. Mariel spared the golii a moment of pity and sealed the wound with a surge of magic down the bonds. Golden runes crawled along the edges of the cut, knitting flesh seamlessly together before fading. The Hand surreptitiously pulled the tattered sleeve down over the pale skin.
"Now, slave, the lance. Find it and hide it where I told you."
"Master." The Hand went to do as Moriel asked. He forgot her for the moment.
"I invoke the flesh; call forth the shattered parts that make the whole. Form. Now." The magic in the room twisted, eager to do the Angel's bidding. A cloud of dust and pebbles converged on the ruined statue of Nuada, every mote finding its place. An unblemished figure soon lay in its place. Moriel let fall two drops of silver blood onto the Prince's stone eyes. Ä-Mǽriel reached deep into the earth, pulled every particle from the air, leeched all it could from the moisture pooling underground, summoning all the magic it could reach. Corpulent with power, Moriel went to the statue of Nuala, the blade of the knife still lodged in her heart. Mariel dabbed blood over her eyes.
Ä-Mǽriel jerked the knife from Nuala's chest, power flooding into the empty space, holding her together, forcing stone back into living tissue. Blade in hand, Moriel returned to Nuada, letting the corpse of Nuala collapse to the ground. Nuada's statue had returned to organic tissue as well, lifeless, but no longer stone. The Angel of Death plunged the knife from his sister's heart into Nuada's chest. He stepped back, exhaustion weighing him down with leaden weights. Bloodshot eyes drooped. It was for Mariel to finish now.
The Angel of Rebirth knelt at the dead prince's side, a clawed hand prying open stiff jaw muscles, opening dark lips. Sharply indrawn breaths behind her let Mariel know her Hand had returned from Moriel's task. Wordlessly she passed the brimming bowl to the golii. Pale hands trembled, but no precious liquid spilled.
"Pour the quicksilver into his mouth as I remove the blade. Do not let a single drop stray, or all will be for naught. I will not save you from Moriel's wrath if you fail."
"Mistress." The fine trembles stilled. Mariel smiled. Wrapping desiccated fingers around the hilt of the knife, Mariel focused the remained of their gathered magic down the blade, into the dead heart sheathing it.
"Now." Mariel slowly began to pull the knife out just as the Hand began pouring silver blood down the Prince's gullet. Mariel could feel the blood coursing under the tip of the knife, could feel each molecule taking root in the dead flesh, blossoming. Quicksilver pooled around the edge of the wound, welling forth and sinking into dead skin; dry earth absorbing rain. The steady stream of quicksilver slowed as the bowl emptied, soon fading to the last few drops. Mariel placed her hand over the wound, Crimson blood began to flow. Golden light flared, light so bright it made the golii's eyes water. Runes flared, stopping the flow of blood and sealing thinly over the wound , then fading to shadow traceries on the elf's skin. Ä-Mǽriel dropped its hand from the elf's chest, sagging to the floor.
Prince Nuada took in a shuddering breath. Long seconds ticked by before he drew in another, then another. Mariel smiled, pleased beyond imagining. She had not lost her gift, though this was probably the last resurrection she would ever be able to perform. The golii stood over the living prince, transfixed, the empty bowl held in nerveless hands.
"Move him from here. Care for him till his strength returns. We will speak with him after we have rested. Use the healing magics you know, and the sleep charms to keep him complacent. More detailed instructions are on this scroll. Read it, commit it to memory, then destroy it. You will obey every command written there. I must rest." Mariel's voice was the dry scratch of old paper as she fished the scroll from her robes. They had expended much of themselves in this task. Mayhap too much? It was done now. Mariel's summer-sky eyes sagged closed.
"Mistress?" Mariel opened two eyes, looking at the Hand.
"Ask your question quickly."
"May I speak without fear?" Meaning the golii feared Moriel's reaction.
"Yes, but swiftly. I fade."
The golii knelt by Mariel's side, pale hands throwing off the heavy cowl. Smooth, symmetrical features were revealed, large, dark eyes dominating the round face. Dark hair crowned the golii's head, smoothly bound back in a long braid. Humans were really such ugly creatures, though this one was considered to be beautiful by their standards. Mariel could not see it.
"Mistress, I beg of you, a name. Any name. My true name was given to you at my creation. I am not asking for it back. Just- any name." The golii's dark eyes flicked to the sleeping prince, lingering on his perfect face. A riot of emotions washed over the Hand's face before settling into mask-like stillness, calm eyes turning back to Mariel.
Mariel was too exhausted to deal with the human's foolishness, opened her mouth to say 'no'.
"I could not bear it if he called me 'slave'." Mariel was surprised by the raw anguish and desire in the golii's eyes as she stared once more at the elf prince. Bound to love and hate was he? How very interesting! Mariel thought for a moment, unable to remember if the human was male or female. It was so very hard to tell the difference between the two! The whole race blended together what with their nondescript features and coloring, bland shades of earth. At least the fey were colorful.
She looked at the golii for long moments, deciding on a name. Female, she thought, the human had been female in life. If not, well, the Hand wanted any name after all, who was she to be choosy if the one Mariel picked did not suit?
"Eroica. Now go." Mariel closed her summer-sky eyes and faded into darkness.
"Mistress." The girl murmured, knowing full well that neither soul was animating the Angel. They were deep in the primal dark, resting and recouping, only their physical shell rested on the throne room floor. They could be there for hours if not days. Already the pain was building along her bonds; the runes binding and holding her together clamored for her obey the orders given to her. She held out for another moment, savoring the sound of her new name.
Eroica. Goddess only knew what it meant or why Mariel had chosen it, but she didn't care, it was hers. The pain ramped up a notch, becoming unbearable. Eroica moved toward the sleeping prince, breaking a prepared charm to help her move his body. Placing the broken halves on his chest, he floated up a few feet off the ground, held immobile. Gently Eroica nudged him into motion, guiding him deeper into the ruined palace of Bethmora to the safe haven she had prepared. As they passed the dais that once held the throne of the One Armed King, the golii noticed the fallen form of Nuada's sister.
She was breathing.
Eroica bit her lip, tempted to stop and help the fallen princess, but the need to obey, carry out Ä-Mǽriel's orders was a compulsion too strong to resist. Already pain was arcing along her nerves at the delay. She would have to come back when she could, hopefully before Ä-Mǽriel woke. Gladdened by her decision, Eroica continued deeper into the heart of Bethmora with its fallen king.
A/N: So for any confusion, let me clear up a few points. 1) Moriel and Mariel are the same creepy Angel seen in the movie. Ä-Mǽriel is the name they are called when referring to both of them. As for eye color for the two, they each have their own set on each wing, not that all the eyes switch colors, that would be creepy… well, creepier. 2) What the hell is a golii? Think golem (not from LOTR, google it if clarification is desired) I will explain that little bit of trivia, plus what a Hand is, at a later date. Till then; suffer. Reviews are peachy, me likey. If not, I'm writing this to stave off madness and ennui waiting for my delivery of plot bunnies. Bastards.