Chapter 36: The Grand Finale
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It will be an unconscionably beautiful day.
Cold here in the shadows, but when the sun comes up? It will still be cold.
Roberts has set up a bank of cameras here on the flat roof of Savage's palace. I suppose he wants to preserve the moment for posterity.
Personally? I'd think we would all be a lot safer if posterity never heard of this. I know I would feel a lot better if I never had.
Cold. I've been cold for a day now. Since we came back from Curicamarca. No. Morning after. Since I ... found out.
It was late when we finally made it back to the City of gold. Late enough to be pressing into Thursday. I was tired. Eighteen hours of strategy and coordination, moving the bulk of the army over from Xek'or and positioning the special forces at the cliffs and Pau'ah's vantage point. Setting up jungle parameters against ambush and sending out river patrols to make sure that none of Amhacutec's troops lingered or went bandit. All to make sure that no one decided to play director's cut with 'Jaguar Sacrifice : Part Two'.
Crap.
Brooks volunteered to stay. I could have gone back to the city with Jones and Dick.
Would that have.... helped?
Perhaps. Early information is always of value. But Mayfair was getting shakier by the moment, and I wanted him back in the city before Air Maya got shifted from troop transport to life flight. And, of course, Mayfair goes nowhere without Brooks. So I 'ordered' them out and finished the CCI myself.
Mistake? Perhaps. Probably not.
I could have gone looking for Savage when I got back. Would have, if he had been 'one of us'. JLA or JLA or Titan or even Doom Patrol. But it was midnight and the man was a civilian. It's not polite to call after ten. Alfred taught me that back before... back when I was a child. And I *knew* the crisis was over. That whatever was left would wait until morning.
So I waved off K'usal's offer of a late meal and just headed up to my room. Up to the mortal comforts of a hot bath and a soft bed and Dick. Always Dick.
I could have asked Dick. Could have woken him for final debrief. He didn't know, of course. Not then. Not quite. But he had been in the City. He had heard and he had seen, and if we had gone over it all? Together?
Would I have seen? Have understood?
Perhaps. Probably not.
But it was midnight, and he was asleep. Not surprising. Dick had had little more sleep then I had this week. None in the last thirty six hours. He had to been bone aching tired. I was. And the crisis was over.
He looked so... sweet... which his fist tucked under his chin and his dark curls wild against the piles of pillows. So beautiful, and so dear. So much the boy I cherished grown into the man I loved. So I just slid in beside him and, when he struggled up from his dreams I whispered, "Hush, Dick. Rest. We'll talk in the morning."
If we had spoken then? Would that have made a difference?
Perhaps. Not likely.
But when morning came we still didn't talk. At least not right away. Because Dick was there, and I was there, and he was still beautiful. Strong and tan in the golden light. The first exhaustion of battle had been slept past, and the adrenaline was still there, and Dick was warm and strong and *with* me.
It was noon before we talked. Noon before we left our private world to join Indy for an almost as private lunch on the patio. Noon before Dick charmed S'uuj into cornbread toast and a fresh batch of scrambled eggs, served in our own little enclave apart from the increasingly frantic bustle of the dignitary filled city. Noon before Jones finally broke though the gilded layers of Founder's Club civitas and convinced me - really convinced me - of what was and what was to be.
Not easy. Batman is supposed to be all-seeing, but Bruce Wayne? Well, like Mrs. Alvarez said back on that first day, the people in the jungle lands are not 'educated' the way we are. Not as 'good' as us, by unspoken implication. But Savage and his men went to Harvard or Howard or UCLA. They were my fathers teachers. His colleagues. They were 'civilized'. They were 'our kind'. My kind.
I shiver that Dick believed first. So much of me has wanted to shield my boy, and so often I have failed, but I bled inside to think what he must have seen to make Jones believable. And in the end - I believed.
'The time of sacrifice is coming. A legend will die, a God will be born, and the greatest among you will risk his heart.' So speak the Skulls of Bengalla.'
Walker had warned me. Warned me at the start. But I discounted the man in purple, because I have a general discomfort with 'magic' and because he was not truly 'one of us'. The first is hubris, and the last?
Dick *is* the greatest amoung us. That I have always known.
Should I have spoken with Jones? Told him who Walker was, and what he had said? Would Jones have understood the warning? Would any of us have acted differently if we had?
Could I have changed this? Even then?
I could have taken the dagger myself. Or destroyed it. That would have done - something. Perhaps put an end to this... atrocity. Perhaps start a war that would never end. A thousand years is a long time to hold a grudge, but Amhacutec has proven these people can do just that.
I could have called J'onn back. Brought in the heavy hitters and to hell with diplomacy. Diana? No. Maybe Kal. Kal would have backed me. Acted without question. He has to power to put an end to this. But to do so would put an end to this civilization as well. The first 'Conquesta' killed over thirty percent of this population. What would a second one do?
I could have...
It doesn't matter. I didn't. That's what it comes to. I had my choice, and I made it, and now I'm going to have to live with it. Going to have to find some way *to* live with it. To live with *this*.
Dr. Jones and I will sit atop the palace with Littlejohn. Supposedly this will allow the senior archaeologist to explain the ceremony without disturbing the ritual.
Damn ritual is disturbing enough on it's own.
I accepted gratefully. At least its better then Renwick's offer of a place on the platform. That high honor is one I can do without. I doubt I will keep my composure. Hell, I'll be glad to keep my breakfast!
Not that I ate one.
I turn to Dick. He was also offered a place of honor. Even higher then mine. Apparently the locals take the sancu seriously. Dick is now 'Ric Kawil' and 'Richarzin'. Welcome to join at the altar, or sit this out in the quiet of Temple of the Moon.
Savage's son assured Dick that, even thought he had been born 'Spanish', he would be most welcome to participate.
Dick declined, citing his duty to me.
At that thought I turn to him. "Dick?" He is watching the movement in the plaza. Not the altar - but the children trying to keep order among the herd of sacred llama's while their parents in turn try to run herd on them. His nature. He keeps an eyes on what really matters.
At the sound of his name, he turns back to me. "Bruce?"
"You don't have to stay here."
"You will."
I have no answer to that. I will stay, and he will stay with me. He'll pay the price in nightmares, but he'll stay.
I have always been humbled by his loyalty. Even more then his love, his loyalty is my true constant. Even when I doubted everything, I never once doubted that.
Oh, my beloved. Loyalty is a very chilly virtue.
Is this loyalty? Is this love? I suppose Savage would say so. This is his idea. His demand. His culture, and the fruit of all that he has done. Savage would call it obedience. And faith. And piety. Cardinal virtues. St. Francis Xavier would agree.
I? I hope that I am never loved like that.
We go to our seats.
The singing is starting now. A full choir, well trained and melodious. Backed by harps and horns and drums. The sound is far purer then the rough a capella chant of Amhacutec's solders. The sentiment is not. These are the same words as I heard on that morning, shifted far too slightly by the change in language. Prayers for the potatoes, for the corn, for the prosperity of the community. For all the things they want given to them.
I suppose all happy people pray like that. It is only pain that teaches one to pray like Azeral.
I seldom pray. Jean-Paul says I should. That there is mercy and grace in God.
Perhaps. Someday. When I am past the confusion of God and Santa Claus. When I am pure enough to pray like him, and not like these people.
The nobles are marching in. Men from the left. Women from the right. Long rows of feathers and gold and jade. Dancers flank the processions on either side. The drifts of fragrant petals muffle their steps.
Burning chili drifts up from the plaza, the capsaicin enough to sting the eyes like tear gas.
Littlejohn's cheeks are wet. I tell myself it is not all the smoke.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
All my life, I have been a man haunted.
I have been haunted by my parents death. I have decried it's uselessness and raged at it's cruelty. It had been my mantra, by purpose, my cause. The wellspring of everything I am and will be.
Now I know that there are worse ways to die.
Worse then gunshot.
Worse than piranhas.
Worse then fire.
Worse then lying bleeding in an alley with your son screaming your name.
You could be lying on an altar of jade with your son holding your hand, and smiling as you die.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
*TERMINUS*
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
With infinite thanks to Chicago, inspiration to Muses, without whom this would never have been finished. The things that are right are the instances where I listened to her - and the things that are wrong are where I did not.
With thanks also to the many other writers and artists ( cannon and otherwise) who have contributed to richly to the DC universe. Thanks to you Batman is not fiction. Batman is an urban legend.
Now, if anyone is still reading this (and after thirty-six chapters I am frankly impressed by your endurance) I do want to hear from you. Because otherwise I will never believe that anyone read the whole thing. - Darklady
Oh - and for the legal types? KKR-2002
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
It will be an unconscionably beautiful day.
Cold here in the shadows, but when the sun comes up? It will still be cold.
Roberts has set up a bank of cameras here on the flat roof of Savage's palace. I suppose he wants to preserve the moment for posterity.
Personally? I'd think we would all be a lot safer if posterity never heard of this. I know I would feel a lot better if I never had.
Cold. I've been cold for a day now. Since we came back from Curicamarca. No. Morning after. Since I ... found out.
It was late when we finally made it back to the City of gold. Late enough to be pressing into Thursday. I was tired. Eighteen hours of strategy and coordination, moving the bulk of the army over from Xek'or and positioning the special forces at the cliffs and Pau'ah's vantage point. Setting up jungle parameters against ambush and sending out river patrols to make sure that none of Amhacutec's troops lingered or went bandit. All to make sure that no one decided to play director's cut with 'Jaguar Sacrifice : Part Two'.
Crap.
Brooks volunteered to stay. I could have gone back to the city with Jones and Dick.
Would that have.... helped?
Perhaps. Early information is always of value. But Mayfair was getting shakier by the moment, and I wanted him back in the city before Air Maya got shifted from troop transport to life flight. And, of course, Mayfair goes nowhere without Brooks. So I 'ordered' them out and finished the CCI myself.
Mistake? Perhaps. Probably not.
I could have gone looking for Savage when I got back. Would have, if he had been 'one of us'. JLA or JLA or Titan or even Doom Patrol. But it was midnight and the man was a civilian. It's not polite to call after ten. Alfred taught me that back before... back when I was a child. And I *knew* the crisis was over. That whatever was left would wait until morning.
So I waved off K'usal's offer of a late meal and just headed up to my room. Up to the mortal comforts of a hot bath and a soft bed and Dick. Always Dick.
I could have asked Dick. Could have woken him for final debrief. He didn't know, of course. Not then. Not quite. But he had been in the City. He had heard and he had seen, and if we had gone over it all? Together?
Would I have seen? Have understood?
Perhaps. Probably not.
But it was midnight, and he was asleep. Not surprising. Dick had had little more sleep then I had this week. None in the last thirty six hours. He had to been bone aching tired. I was. And the crisis was over.
He looked so... sweet... which his fist tucked under his chin and his dark curls wild against the piles of pillows. So beautiful, and so dear. So much the boy I cherished grown into the man I loved. So I just slid in beside him and, when he struggled up from his dreams I whispered, "Hush, Dick. Rest. We'll talk in the morning."
If we had spoken then? Would that have made a difference?
Perhaps. Not likely.
But when morning came we still didn't talk. At least not right away. Because Dick was there, and I was there, and he was still beautiful. Strong and tan in the golden light. The first exhaustion of battle had been slept past, and the adrenaline was still there, and Dick was warm and strong and *with* me.
It was noon before we talked. Noon before we left our private world to join Indy for an almost as private lunch on the patio. Noon before Dick charmed S'uuj into cornbread toast and a fresh batch of scrambled eggs, served in our own little enclave apart from the increasingly frantic bustle of the dignitary filled city. Noon before Jones finally broke though the gilded layers of Founder's Club civitas and convinced me - really convinced me - of what was and what was to be.
Not easy. Batman is supposed to be all-seeing, but Bruce Wayne? Well, like Mrs. Alvarez said back on that first day, the people in the jungle lands are not 'educated' the way we are. Not as 'good' as us, by unspoken implication. But Savage and his men went to Harvard or Howard or UCLA. They were my fathers teachers. His colleagues. They were 'civilized'. They were 'our kind'. My kind.
I shiver that Dick believed first. So much of me has wanted to shield my boy, and so often I have failed, but I bled inside to think what he must have seen to make Jones believable. And in the end - I believed.
'The time of sacrifice is coming. A legend will die, a God will be born, and the greatest among you will risk his heart.' So speak the Skulls of Bengalla.'
Walker had warned me. Warned me at the start. But I discounted the man in purple, because I have a general discomfort with 'magic' and because he was not truly 'one of us'. The first is hubris, and the last?
Dick *is* the greatest amoung us. That I have always known.
Should I have spoken with Jones? Told him who Walker was, and what he had said? Would Jones have understood the warning? Would any of us have acted differently if we had?
Could I have changed this? Even then?
I could have taken the dagger myself. Or destroyed it. That would have done - something. Perhaps put an end to this... atrocity. Perhaps start a war that would never end. A thousand years is a long time to hold a grudge, but Amhacutec has proven these people can do just that.
I could have called J'onn back. Brought in the heavy hitters and to hell with diplomacy. Diana? No. Maybe Kal. Kal would have backed me. Acted without question. He has to power to put an end to this. But to do so would put an end to this civilization as well. The first 'Conquesta' killed over thirty percent of this population. What would a second one do?
I could have...
It doesn't matter. I didn't. That's what it comes to. I had my choice, and I made it, and now I'm going to have to live with it. Going to have to find some way *to* live with it. To live with *this*.
Dr. Jones and I will sit atop the palace with Littlejohn. Supposedly this will allow the senior archaeologist to explain the ceremony without disturbing the ritual.
Damn ritual is disturbing enough on it's own.
I accepted gratefully. At least its better then Renwick's offer of a place on the platform. That high honor is one I can do without. I doubt I will keep my composure. Hell, I'll be glad to keep my breakfast!
Not that I ate one.
I turn to Dick. He was also offered a place of honor. Even higher then mine. Apparently the locals take the sancu seriously. Dick is now 'Ric Kawil' and 'Richarzin'. Welcome to join at the altar, or sit this out in the quiet of Temple of the Moon.
Savage's son assured Dick that, even thought he had been born 'Spanish', he would be most welcome to participate.
Dick declined, citing his duty to me.
At that thought I turn to him. "Dick?" He is watching the movement in the plaza. Not the altar - but the children trying to keep order among the herd of sacred llama's while their parents in turn try to run herd on them. His nature. He keeps an eyes on what really matters.
At the sound of his name, he turns back to me. "Bruce?"
"You don't have to stay here."
"You will."
I have no answer to that. I will stay, and he will stay with me. He'll pay the price in nightmares, but he'll stay.
I have always been humbled by his loyalty. Even more then his love, his loyalty is my true constant. Even when I doubted everything, I never once doubted that.
Oh, my beloved. Loyalty is a very chilly virtue.
Is this loyalty? Is this love? I suppose Savage would say so. This is his idea. His demand. His culture, and the fruit of all that he has done. Savage would call it obedience. And faith. And piety. Cardinal virtues. St. Francis Xavier would agree.
I? I hope that I am never loved like that.
We go to our seats.
The singing is starting now. A full choir, well trained and melodious. Backed by harps and horns and drums. The sound is far purer then the rough a capella chant of Amhacutec's solders. The sentiment is not. These are the same words as I heard on that morning, shifted far too slightly by the change in language. Prayers for the potatoes, for the corn, for the prosperity of the community. For all the things they want given to them.
I suppose all happy people pray like that. It is only pain that teaches one to pray like Azeral.
I seldom pray. Jean-Paul says I should. That there is mercy and grace in God.
Perhaps. Someday. When I am past the confusion of God and Santa Claus. When I am pure enough to pray like him, and not like these people.
The nobles are marching in. Men from the left. Women from the right. Long rows of feathers and gold and jade. Dancers flank the processions on either side. The drifts of fragrant petals muffle their steps.
Burning chili drifts up from the plaza, the capsaicin enough to sting the eyes like tear gas.
Littlejohn's cheeks are wet. I tell myself it is not all the smoke.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
All my life, I have been a man haunted.
I have been haunted by my parents death. I have decried it's uselessness and raged at it's cruelty. It had been my mantra, by purpose, my cause. The wellspring of everything I am and will be.
Now I know that there are worse ways to die.
Worse then gunshot.
Worse than piranhas.
Worse then fire.
Worse then lying bleeding in an alley with your son screaming your name.
You could be lying on an altar of jade with your son holding your hand, and smiling as you die.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
*TERMINUS*
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
With infinite thanks to Chicago, inspiration to Muses, without whom this would never have been finished. The things that are right are the instances where I listened to her - and the things that are wrong are where I did not.
With thanks also to the many other writers and artists ( cannon and otherwise) who have contributed to richly to the DC universe. Thanks to you Batman is not fiction. Batman is an urban legend.
Now, if anyone is still reading this (and after thirty-six chapters I am frankly impressed by your endurance) I do want to hear from you. Because otherwise I will never believe that anyone read the whole thing. - Darklady
Oh - and for the legal types? KKR-2002