***AN- I wish I had a beta *sigh* Part two.***
To say that the spirit was stunned would be putting it lightly. The soul of this body was present after all, if not exactly attached to the body. Somehow it had been pulled out, apparently by fae. What else would explain the fae thread? The thought of having to share a body was disconcerting to the spirit. He was stuck in this body now, but he couldn't expect the soul to give it up.
The spirit considered the matter for a long moment, cursing the influence of his conscious. The only way to truly make this work was either to cut the fae thread, making the soul into a ghost (an unacceptable option) or accept the idea of sharing. He pondered that concept, his vast knowledge and the flexibility of a young mind. It could work.
Sighing in resignation, the spirit reached out to the soul again, trying to draw it closer and make the thread less tense. The soul resisted with a scared, weak protest, making the spirit think of a minnow on a fishing line. Wordlessly, the spirit tried to express calm and reassurance. The soul still resisted but then asked a frightened, "?" In words, it would have had asked, "Who are you?"
The spirit hesitated, trying to think of a response that wouldn't spook it worse. Recently, the spirit had been someone who no one trusted. But, once long ago, he had the trust of the world. The spirit answered with an image of a young noble, a beautiful red-haired wife and three darling imps of children sitting for a family portrait.
The soul was silent for a long moment then replied with a family portrait as well; himself and an ebony skinned woman heavy with child, another man that resembled him and an older couple who must have been his parents. The picture wavered then was replaced with a mansion burning fiercely. The soul cried out in anguish and retreated again.
The spirit could say nothing and didn't attempt to touch the thread again. It was obvious what had happened to the man's family and what do you say to that?
The fae thread throbbed with the soul's pain and the spirit laid trembling on the ground. The soul's misery was as his own and it had been a very long since he had known strong emotions other than hate or fear. However, it knew what it meant to lose all that you loved. Given the pain in his throat and chest, he guessed that he was crying in sympathy and empathy.
Eventually, timidly, the soul returned, caressing the spirit's consciousness. "?" it asked. "Why are you here?"
The spirit took his time for this question. If he had to share this body, it would be no good to start off the relationship with the soul fearing him. Finally, he decided on a half-truth.
He showed a picture of a destroyed library. It was easy to produce the accompanying emotion of despair at the sight of shredded and defiled knowledge. He showed the soul the young man that burst into the library, brandishing a crossbow with intent to kill. He was frank with the soul that this man had the right to be angry with him, though he didn't reveal why. He told the soul how overwhelmed he had been, how his body was ravaged with hunger, exposure, and exhaustion. He showed how the young man had railed at him and how the spirit's words barely calmed him. He admitted that he knew he would die that day and how he had knelt for the blade. With a prayer of mercy to God and a last Working of bodily sacrifice, he never felt the blade and his own soul escaped to find a new start.
As he finished telling his tale, the spirit felt a strange emotion coming from the soul. It was laughing at him! The spirit was immediately angry. What was so amusing? The soul choked off it's humor, expressing a desire for forgiveness, a sensation like the calm-down motion of the hand. It said to him without words, "Blue lightening." The spirit didn't understand and the soul was disappointed. It gave him a dismissive emotion instead, and then pictured a blade and a comforting hug. It was sorry that he lost his head, and that wasn't what it was laughing about. After a thoughtful moment, the young man's soul told the spirit his own story in a series of images.
"Father, Mother." Sorcery glyphs. They were both Workers. "Brother," the other young man with blue-black hair and bright blue eyes. The soul showed how shy the lad was and presented the feeling of great love for what must be his younger sib. "Wife," was the dark woman, her curls as full of bounce as her cheerful personality. The soul expressed a painful love for her, and how she made him know the release of laughter.
The soul produced a scene of a feast table, set in spring flowers. The sense was of a recent event, sharp in memory. Even the scent of the bouquets accompanied the image. A festive mood as celebrants toasted one another and made merry. A crash in the kitchen sounding like one of the huge deep fryers, screaming cooks, and all heads turn to see a gush of boiling oil sweep under the door to the feast table.
The soul paused, strong emotion replacing the wordless dialogue. Then it continued.
The guests scattered in the wake of the oil, some less quick feet being scalded. In the panic, a candelabrum is overturned and lands on the edge of the ever-spreading mass. It quickly lights the oil, flame racing across the floor, catching on skirts and cloaks. Mob-mentality ensues. A crush for the exits, both doors and windows. Burning feasters running to others in a desperate attempt for assistance, lighting others in fire.
All these images are from above, as the soul had been on the balcony above the hall. He tries calling on the fae, but never learning how, the fae fails to come to his call, unable to respond to his undisciplined and frantic thought patterns.
"?" the soul asks. "You see now?"
"?" the spirit answered, too caught up in the tale to understand what the question meant.
The soul replied with blue lightening, racing across the ground, up houses and trees, lines of it everywhere. When the spirit seemed not to follow, the soul angrily made the symbol of a Seeing, and rejected it. Again, it made that symbol and then dissolved it, but the picture of blue lightening remained.
"!" the spirit said, finally getting the message. He felt a sudden chill. Surely that didn't mean what he thought it did. Tentatively, he asked if the soul had seen a flicker of prismatic color in the sky before. The soul confirmed it, with a sense of longing and happiness.
The spirit took a mental step backwards. It had seen a flash of tidal fae, the rarest fae seen by man, of woman's domain! The only men ever to hope to have their Sight Worked when a chance flash should occur would be those who cannot unWork their sight.
"You rejected your Adept-hood?" the spirit asked in disbelief.
The soul was remorseful. It offered an image of itself when it was young, playing in the woods with two boys and a girl. They came across a cave entrance and in their innocence they entered. A hidden fae creature attacked from the depths of the darkness, clawing the leading boy and turning to the smallest boy. dark haired and blue-eyed. The soul had acted on instinct to protect his brother, knowing that fae-born fear light; it blasted it with a spear of light. The children escaped, running all the way to an ancient keep of white marble. A face familiar to the spirit scolded the children and then turned on the soul. It was obvious that he blamed the boy somehow because of his family's acceptance of fae use. The soul, scarred by the event, had rejected his parents' request that he learn to master use of his innate gift.
The spirit, surprised, asked about the familiar face. "You know Reginal Tarrant?"
The soul mentally shrugged and showed a family tree. It's father shared a grandfather with the Tarrants. It was a Tarrant cousin.
Insight came to the spirit. When the soul had laughed at him, it was because his story had fae-lines throughout everything, as adepts see the world. An adept of Tarrant blood; the spirit pondered the coincidence. Were there coincidences in God's plan? He himself had lived beyond his mortal years and was pivotal in saving the world from Hell. He raised a silent thanks to his God, certain now that this whole strange situation had purpose.
To say that the spirit was stunned would be putting it lightly. The soul of this body was present after all, if not exactly attached to the body. Somehow it had been pulled out, apparently by fae. What else would explain the fae thread? The thought of having to share a body was disconcerting to the spirit. He was stuck in this body now, but he couldn't expect the soul to give it up.
The spirit considered the matter for a long moment, cursing the influence of his conscious. The only way to truly make this work was either to cut the fae thread, making the soul into a ghost (an unacceptable option) or accept the idea of sharing. He pondered that concept, his vast knowledge and the flexibility of a young mind. It could work.
Sighing in resignation, the spirit reached out to the soul again, trying to draw it closer and make the thread less tense. The soul resisted with a scared, weak protest, making the spirit think of a minnow on a fishing line. Wordlessly, the spirit tried to express calm and reassurance. The soul still resisted but then asked a frightened, "?" In words, it would have had asked, "Who are you?"
The spirit hesitated, trying to think of a response that wouldn't spook it worse. Recently, the spirit had been someone who no one trusted. But, once long ago, he had the trust of the world. The spirit answered with an image of a young noble, a beautiful red-haired wife and three darling imps of children sitting for a family portrait.
The soul was silent for a long moment then replied with a family portrait as well; himself and an ebony skinned woman heavy with child, another man that resembled him and an older couple who must have been his parents. The picture wavered then was replaced with a mansion burning fiercely. The soul cried out in anguish and retreated again.
The spirit could say nothing and didn't attempt to touch the thread again. It was obvious what had happened to the man's family and what do you say to that?
The fae thread throbbed with the soul's pain and the spirit laid trembling on the ground. The soul's misery was as his own and it had been a very long since he had known strong emotions other than hate or fear. However, it knew what it meant to lose all that you loved. Given the pain in his throat and chest, he guessed that he was crying in sympathy and empathy.
Eventually, timidly, the soul returned, caressing the spirit's consciousness. "?" it asked. "Why are you here?"
The spirit took his time for this question. If he had to share this body, it would be no good to start off the relationship with the soul fearing him. Finally, he decided on a half-truth.
He showed a picture of a destroyed library. It was easy to produce the accompanying emotion of despair at the sight of shredded and defiled knowledge. He showed the soul the young man that burst into the library, brandishing a crossbow with intent to kill. He was frank with the soul that this man had the right to be angry with him, though he didn't reveal why. He told the soul how overwhelmed he had been, how his body was ravaged with hunger, exposure, and exhaustion. He showed how the young man had railed at him and how the spirit's words barely calmed him. He admitted that he knew he would die that day and how he had knelt for the blade. With a prayer of mercy to God and a last Working of bodily sacrifice, he never felt the blade and his own soul escaped to find a new start.
As he finished telling his tale, the spirit felt a strange emotion coming from the soul. It was laughing at him! The spirit was immediately angry. What was so amusing? The soul choked off it's humor, expressing a desire for forgiveness, a sensation like the calm-down motion of the hand. It said to him without words, "Blue lightening." The spirit didn't understand and the soul was disappointed. It gave him a dismissive emotion instead, and then pictured a blade and a comforting hug. It was sorry that he lost his head, and that wasn't what it was laughing about. After a thoughtful moment, the young man's soul told the spirit his own story in a series of images.
"Father, Mother." Sorcery glyphs. They were both Workers. "Brother," the other young man with blue-black hair and bright blue eyes. The soul showed how shy the lad was and presented the feeling of great love for what must be his younger sib. "Wife," was the dark woman, her curls as full of bounce as her cheerful personality. The soul expressed a painful love for her, and how she made him know the release of laughter.
The soul produced a scene of a feast table, set in spring flowers. The sense was of a recent event, sharp in memory. Even the scent of the bouquets accompanied the image. A festive mood as celebrants toasted one another and made merry. A crash in the kitchen sounding like one of the huge deep fryers, screaming cooks, and all heads turn to see a gush of boiling oil sweep under the door to the feast table.
The soul paused, strong emotion replacing the wordless dialogue. Then it continued.
The guests scattered in the wake of the oil, some less quick feet being scalded. In the panic, a candelabrum is overturned and lands on the edge of the ever-spreading mass. It quickly lights the oil, flame racing across the floor, catching on skirts and cloaks. Mob-mentality ensues. A crush for the exits, both doors and windows. Burning feasters running to others in a desperate attempt for assistance, lighting others in fire.
All these images are from above, as the soul had been on the balcony above the hall. He tries calling on the fae, but never learning how, the fae fails to come to his call, unable to respond to his undisciplined and frantic thought patterns.
"?" the soul asks. "You see now?"
"?" the spirit answered, too caught up in the tale to understand what the question meant.
The soul replied with blue lightening, racing across the ground, up houses and trees, lines of it everywhere. When the spirit seemed not to follow, the soul angrily made the symbol of a Seeing, and rejected it. Again, it made that symbol and then dissolved it, but the picture of blue lightening remained.
"!" the spirit said, finally getting the message. He felt a sudden chill. Surely that didn't mean what he thought it did. Tentatively, he asked if the soul had seen a flicker of prismatic color in the sky before. The soul confirmed it, with a sense of longing and happiness.
The spirit took a mental step backwards. It had seen a flash of tidal fae, the rarest fae seen by man, of woman's domain! The only men ever to hope to have their Sight Worked when a chance flash should occur would be those who cannot unWork their sight.
"You rejected your Adept-hood?" the spirit asked in disbelief.
The soul was remorseful. It offered an image of itself when it was young, playing in the woods with two boys and a girl. They came across a cave entrance and in their innocence they entered. A hidden fae creature attacked from the depths of the darkness, clawing the leading boy and turning to the smallest boy. dark haired and blue-eyed. The soul had acted on instinct to protect his brother, knowing that fae-born fear light; it blasted it with a spear of light. The children escaped, running all the way to an ancient keep of white marble. A face familiar to the spirit scolded the children and then turned on the soul. It was obvious that he blamed the boy somehow because of his family's acceptance of fae use. The soul, scarred by the event, had rejected his parents' request that he learn to master use of his innate gift.
The spirit, surprised, asked about the familiar face. "You know Reginal Tarrant?"
The soul mentally shrugged and showed a family tree. It's father shared a grandfather with the Tarrants. It was a Tarrant cousin.
Insight came to the spirit. When the soul had laughed at him, it was because his story had fae-lines throughout everything, as adepts see the world. An adept of Tarrant blood; the spirit pondered the coincidence. Were there coincidences in God's plan? He himself had lived beyond his mortal years and was pivotal in saving the world from Hell. He raised a silent thanks to his God, certain now that this whole strange situation had purpose.