Author's Notes:
Gajeel learns more about the Auré and their history. See also: the wrong way to be Indiana Jones.
I do worry that this infringes way too much on the "Wise Native" trope. Please know that wasn't my intention and I apologize if it comes across that way. I did a lot of research into everything I put in here and tried to be respectful, but I understand I'm coming from a different point of view so just because I think its ok doesn't mean it actually is.
Chapter 97:
"One 'a Sal's lads says he met up with Krew in Verbena just yesterday, that he was headin' towards the wastelands."
Hajime's voice bobbed up through the low murmur of happy conversation. Alongside an uneasy itch at the scar that tracked down his neck, Hajime had taken to fiddling with the wedding ring on his finger. He was staring deeply into his mug, refusing to look up.
"Verbena is near the prison Hajime spoke of," Juvia observed quietly.
"So it is..." Hajime let out a tense breath, "S'pose we could see if we can catch his trail. Maybe find a direction... or where he was when he met trouble. It'd be a start, anyway."
Sand peppered the window that Gajeel scowled out of and the only other noise aside from broken conversations was that cursed, wailing wind which had settled in to the flatlands with dusk. Hajime and Juvia were sitting across from him, their faces stoic and shoulders tense. Juvia's lips were drawn down into a worrisome frown and she was wringing the hem of her dress between her fingers enough that Gajeel was sure a hole would form from just the friction.
Tai had insisted they stay the night in Chuparosa, arguing that the winds would make a cart ride back to the nearest station impossible. And besides, tonight was a something of a holiday for them. There would be plenty of food and good company, and they were welcome to stay and enjoy alongside the Auré so long as they were respectful. Currently, they were in a hall of sorts, filled with tables and good food, although Gajeel didn't seem able to find much of an appetite. He just sat and continued to trace the imperfections in the glass with his eyes, letting the numbness set in.
"Course we'll have ta plan fer after the week's end." Hajime stretched out his legs and began to feel around his person for a cigarette. His words were turned a forced sort of lighthearted that made Gajeel's gut twist, "Guess ye'll get ta go on yer date after all, lad."
"We're going." Gajeel stated.
The old man's eyes softened, "What about yer therapy, lad?"
"Finding Krew alive is a little more important than talking about my feelings."
Maybe it was the fact that Hajime had lit a cigarette, but suddenly Gajeel was craving nicotine. He gritted his teeth and focused on staring at his own reflection as it faded into glass. His own eyes glittering back at him, reflecting the same bloodthirsty thing he felt coiling in his ribcage where his heart should be. The smell of nicotine and smoke eased into the space, smothering the biting scent of spite that had settled like a wall between him and everything around him. He felt like he was suffocating, and through it all Juvia eyed him sadly, her lips drawn straight and tight.
"It's not Gajeel's fault," Juvia said sternly, quietly. Her navy eyes felt like icicles piercing into the lividity in his chest.
Something raw stole itself up Gajeel's throat and he opened his mouth to snarl something back.
"Here we are!"
Teiyah was grinning as he set down a tray onto their table, silencing the three in an instant. He set down a bowl for each of them with what looked to be a stew that Gajeel could smell the spice from already. Leaves were splayed artfully around the bowl and there seemed to be some sort of meat bobbing alongside peppers in the bright orange broth.
Amid shaky thank yous from Hajime and Juvia, Gajeel's gaze was drawn to what Teiyah was wearing. At some point between greeting other members of the community and getting them food, it looked like he'd changed. Gone were the light white tunic and pants decorated with glass beads and in their place Teiya's body had been painted an ash grey and he had a chest plate that was adorned with silver, black, and jade beads that formed into a fanged snout with bright red eyes. Black beads knocked together every time he moved, fringing the chest plate as well as his skirt. He had greaves made with those same black, silver, and jade beading but instead of shoes his feet were bare and four long claws traced the floor, brilliant teal and sharp.
Gajeel furrowed his brow and for the first time took a sweeping glance around the meeting hall. People sat and stood, eating and chatting, but there was a group of people clustered together towards what might be a stage all dressed in deep blues. An elderly woman was clutching at something in her hands, her eyes dark and sad. There was a man standing near to them, looking almost like a guard lording over his captives, and he was dressed in a similar style to Teiyah to a degree of much more extravagance. His outfit wasn't made from beads, but from the sleek, navy scales of the anak. His silhouette was accented by a massive, feathered headdress of iridescent blue feathers, feathers that ran down the length of his back in a rippling wave... feathers Gajeel would have been blind not to recognize.
Teiyah must have noticed him staring and followed his gaze, "Her husband passed this morning and so Aapo– the man with the, ahh..." he motioned over his head as he muttered a few words in his language, obviously searching.
"Headdress." Gajeel said flatly.
Tai smiled, "...headdress, yes. He follows the family through the day after as Aowas."
Gajeel blinked, "A... Aowas...?"
"Ah, you do not... ahh..." Tai hesitated, focusing for a moment, "He is god of... how do you say..."
"Death?" Juvia prompted and Tai clicked his teeth and shook his head with a bit of an embarrassed chuckle.
"It is not, ah, how do you say intericćion...?"
Gajeel narrowed his eyes, "Destruction?"
Teiyah snapped his fingers and grinned, "Destruction! Yes. And chaos, shade-shadows, dark... oh, and the shaman, and many other things-"
Juvia asked a question, but Gajeel hadn't really heard it. He was stuck on the name Aowas and how it sounded like something else he knew...
"-the Great Lizard that eats souls in the afterlife. When the first night comes, we celebrate to lure him to us so Papá can travel peacefully to Shunoya, The Infinite Garden."
...Davian, it had to be something with Davian, didn't it? What was he always saying? By Oros's teeth. Laxus had said he would call on his god's name for power. It had never occurred to Gajeel to ask who that god was or what it did, and now he was kicking himself for not being curious enough.
Hajime stiffened, "Is this... a funeral?"
"Funeral?" Tai cocked his head to the side, "What is that?"
"Ye know, lad, when someone dies and ye... people pay their respects and you put 'em in a casket..."
Tai seemed even more confused, his eyes darting towards Gajeel, "Casket?"
"Should we be here?" Juvia asked, "Juvia thinks this sounds important."
"Oh! It is," Tai laughed, "Which is why no one travels during the Dance of the Fighting Dragon. He might scoop you up and eat you on his way down from the mountain... so the elders say."
Gajeel leaned forward onto his arms, "The anak... are they Aowas's children?"
Teiyah seemed to turn a bit stiff, like maybe Gajeel had just alarmed him. A strange look crossed his face as he met his eyes, something tinged with a bit of panic that stung Gajeel's nose more than the spice from the soup.
"Ah... Ch-children? Why would you..." he said at first, hesitantly, and then let out a short, wary chuckle, "Haha, magicians... you are, so strange."
Someone yelled from across the building and Tai turned his head quickly, shock hitting his face before he laughed a little more genuinely and nodded.
"I, um, I am late," he said hurriedly, "Enjoy yourselves, friends! There's plenty to eat and drink. I see you after the dance!"
He rushed away towards an older man who was frowning as he approached. Arms crossed, he herded Tai away into what seemed to be a side room, releasing a curtain of glass beads so no one could see inside.
"What was that about, now, lad?" Hajime asked lowly.
Gajeel just grunted. He was too preoccupied with studying Aapo, watching the nearly-black scales shimmering in the lamplights. The feathers seemed to shiver down the thin wooden rack strapped to his back with a life of their own and he had claws similar to what Tai had strapped to his feet. Aapo straightened his spine and turned his head with a sudden need to examine the space around him. The movement was something very fluid, very sinuous, and very like the way Davian had looked when they had all danced on the night of his return to Fairy Tail.
Gajeel began to smell the incense, myrrh. The unsettling memory of one of the chambers in the temple sparked vibrantly in his mind's eye. He clenched his fists, the chilled fingers of unease sinking into his ribcage just as the drumbeat started. It was one deep thrum that made the low din of voices settle into abrupt silence. It came again, alone, like a solemn heartbeat filling the space. When another drum began to echo the first, that was when the tempo began to speed, percussion turning into a low, easy swell alongside rattling. Aapo's eyes fell on Gajeel, holding his gaze for just long enough to cause the dragon slayer's guts to twist, and then he was looking straight again. The feathers flickered like blue candle flames.
Tai reemerged from the beaded curtain. The same man that had led him away was following closely after, hoisting something large made from silver beads and jet-black vulture's feathers onto Tai's shoulders. It wasn't until Teiyah straightened beneath it that Gajeel recognized that it was the massive head of a dragon with teeth made from metal. As the drums started to beat faster, Teiyah tilted his head back and let out a shrill cry. Aapo returned it.
Aapo stepped forward to the sound of a flute, singing lyrics Gajeel didn't understand as each of his feet stamped to the drumbeats. His body twisted and when he shook his wrists the hollow sound of bones rattled with him. Teiyah returned it with a strong stance, bouncing to the rhythm with intention. When he moved it struck deep into the earth and Gajeel... Gajeel was starting to feel light-headed.
He didn't like it. He didn't like the way Teiyah danced the way his father had taught him. He didn't like that Aapo danced like Davian. How they circled each other, both singing and stomping and moving, and more voices joined from the crowd. Men dressed like the warriors painted on the walls of Oragatohl'i, wearing the hides of wild cats and other beasts around their shoulders with spears in hand joined the dance between the two. They surged towards Aowas – no, no his name was Aapo – and feinted back when he lunged. Again, they came and Aowas danced his serpentine dance, this time drawing a blade from his waist. One of the warriors fell to the ground and he raised his hands in victory.
The drums felt louder, the deep pitch of them knocking against Gajeel's ribs as the Auré sang. It felt hard to breathe. Was it hard to breathe? The air felt thicker and Gajeel was starting to feel dizzy. There were more dancers, dressed far differently than the silvery dragon, than Aowas, and the warriors. They wore robes of cerulean beads that caressed the floor, and hoods to shield their faces.
The spice from the soup stung his nose and his stomach rolled with iron. Aowas killed another warrior with his blade, his blue feathers shaking with the action. The robed dancers attacked using beautiful silks that flapped and snapped as they spun and twirled and whipped forward. Aowas simply batted them away. He simpered down at his next victim as they fell, dancing over their body, head twisting this way and that with the sort of predatory motion of an eagle as it trains its eyes on a hare. The dragon stomped and skulked at the fringe of the battleground, watching intently with red eyes flashing. Each time his heels hit the ground Gajeel could hear the clink of metal and it made his teeth feel hot.
Why was his heart beating so fast?
"Gajeel..."
He snatched his hand away when Juvia went to place hers on it. Concern was written on her features. The shrill of an ocarina knocked around his ribcage and the singing was so loud. The last of the robed dancers fell to the ground with a thud that rattled him in his seat. The dragon screamed as it leapt forward and Aowas danced out of the way of talons.
"Lad... what's wrong?" Hajime's voice was garbled through the haze of voice and song. Gajeel felt like the world was swaying beneath his feet and he realized his hands were shaking.
"I'm... I'm fi..." his throat closed. He glanced over at Hajime and Juvia and their wide, worried eyes. His eyes had a hard time focusing and he could see the people behind them were singing and clapping along. He felt the swell in his chest when the dragon lunged towards Aowas. Why was he the only one shaking, the only one finding it so hard to breathe? He felt untethered to reality, like being trapped in an hourglass as the sand shifted down beneath him. It was dense and heavy all around him, sucking him down, and he didn't like it.
The dragon and Aowas fought and it rattled the sky. Blue and black feathers intertwined as they danced, claws barely missing throats with feet landing in the gaps of hands clapping and rattles shaking. Aowas lost his knife and it clattered to the ground. Gajeel could feel his magic building up in his chest, could feel the desperate claw of it inching up his throat. But whereas dancing with Laxus, Natsu, and Wendy had been a blissful reverie, Gajeel felt something now far more akin to his fight with Zahir in the prison. He felt hot and livid, he felt angry and vengeful, he felt... sort of like he was going to throw up.
"I'm..." his eyes locked on the exit and his mind raced to count the steps to freedom, "I... I need a cigarette."
"Wait, lad, calm-"
The dragon roared as Aowas rushed for his knife.
Gajeel felt like he was walking on a ship because the ground tilted beneath his feet with each step, but he counted them as he rushed away. Ten... nine... eight...
Song turned into screaming that nearly drowned out the drums and the dragon grasped Aowas. Green and blue silks flashed and snapped around them as the dead warriors and robed figures rose to dance around the two, red slathered across their faces to signify death.
...seven... six... five...
Aowas fell to the ground screaming and Gajeel could feel the curse in the intonation of his voice.
I will return.
...four... three... two...
No one even looked at him as he rushed for the door, as he clamored outside into the night and the wind-blasting-sand. He closed himself from the warmth of people and lamplight and for a moment just shivered in the blustery night.
It was then that he realized he was panicking. He was panicking. He still couldn't breathe right and now his vision was fringed with black static. Hands shaking, world tilting, mind swimming, the inane, steady voice inside him told him he was going to make himself pass out and it was so fucking stupid.
"Serrill panics..." he gasped as he staggered into the nearest thing that could hold him up, which just so happened to be a hitching post for a few begruntled mules who eyed him with clear disdain as he shivered, "Gid-Gideon panics. Ah, Maelia panics... a lot."
What did Dr. Alexi say about panic attacks? Ground yourself? He was in the middle of a goddamn desert near a pyramid where a lizard-freak told him he'd kidnapped someone he knew and was ready to feed him to... him to... a god? The gods? Aowas, Oros? There was strange ritual dancing in the building behind him and soup that smelled like it could melt a horseshoe.
How in the hell was he supposed to ground himself? He'd just as soon scream.
One of the mules sniffed at his gloved hand and immediately flinched back, offended with the smell of his sweaty hands.
"You smell like shit and hay," Gajeel growled back at it. It blinked at him as if to say well at least I know how to breathe right.
Gajeel glared down at his boots and counted the studs he could see. When he finished with that, he counted them again and realized he'd missed one. The world stopped tilting when he finished counting one more time to be sure. He rolled his shoulders and listened to his bones pop at him. When he looked back up again the mule he was standing beside didn't seem quite so cheeky, and in fact seemed more upset that Gajeel didn't have any food with him than the fact that Gajeel was hyperventilating on his post.
"Sorry," Gajeel said lamely, running his fingers down the coarse hairs of its neck. It was patient and let Gajeel work himself down with pats and brushes and heavy breathing. After another few minutes, Gajeel fished into his pocket for his cigarettes, "You don't mind, mh? Smells better than you do, anyway."
The mule gave him a look.
"Listen, I told the doc I was tryin' to quit. Didn't say I did."
He fought with his lighter – he'd actually bought a lighter, a metal one, since when he'd visited Zahir he'd lost all of his matches – before finally being able to light his vice. He pulled his collar up to stave off the sharp of sand biting into his skin. It was while he was smoking in the dark with his misery that his eyes came to trace the bluffs just at the edge of the village.
"Lost a friend today, you know," Gajeel muttered. And it should have been me.
It was a stupid sentiment, a childish one, a mantra that clattered around in his brain as all other speech fled from him and he began to feel how alone he was out here in the cold. He felt like bad luck. That's all he ever felt like recently, if he were honest; bad luck, bad timing, and incredible stupidity. All of these bestial tendencies and still he was so fucking good for nothing.
It should have been me.
There was some laughter on the wind. Children raced around the bend, chasing each other with big smiles that immediately died as they saw him. Small faces filled with alarm as slowly, one by one, they turned and ran back from whence they came.
"Great way to remember the Auré don't like strangers, eh?"
The mule sniffed at his jacket.
It had been a while since he'd felt like such an outsider in the world around him, but it didn't do much more than sting him in a place long indifferent. As he was accustomed to do when he realized he was in a place he didn't belong, he began to look for a dark shadow to hide inside. It was true there were plenty around, but he didn't feel inclined to make himself even more off-putting when these people had welcomed them in for the night. He smoked his cigarette and let his boots lead him through thatched huts as his mood continued to darken alongside the empty doorways. No one was out, everyone having already convened at the hall he'd left behind him, and so aside from the wind everything seemed empty.
Gajeel felt like he was drowning, or maybe the opposite, like he desperately needed to drown, to self-destruct. Gods alive, he wanted to. The guilt was painful and how much would he have to bear? Another life on his long roster. Why couldn't he make it stop? Why wasn't he finding a way to end it?
"Momentum," he breathed, "I just... I just need to keep going."
But where? And why? And what next? He couldn't just let Krew die...
He hadn't intended to walk towards the bluffs, it had just happened that his feet led him in that direction. He wasn't much concerned when he saw the stone marker with black letters etched into the surface, or the rounded stones stacked each on top of the other as he neared a cavernous entrance, nor did he even feel a chill or sense of somber reserve at the crematory hut and it's wearied stone open and waiting for the next to be laid in its empty hollow. Fine dust powdered the stone aside charcoal and the old shadows of flame licked into it after decades of use. Cold now, it guarded what was sure to be a burial ground, flanked on both sides by torches Gajeel was a little surprised he hadn't spotted from down in the village.
It was probably odd to think such a place seemed warm and inviting, but to Gajeel it did. There was comfortable, orange fire that illuminated the old, red stone and a nice reprieve from the blasting of sand and whetted wind. He scratched at the grains in his hair and shivered, hesitating just inside. He was greeted, as expected, by the sweet smell of rot and the cool, calming must that tended to accompany caves. The catacomb, as he was quick to realize it was, seemed to stretch very far in quite a few directions. Gajeel wondered if they always kept lamps burning or if the light meant someone else was here. Maybe they'd be insulted by his presence. He should leave... but then he never really had any good sense, did he?
Gajeel wasn't afraid of dead bodies, never had been. Even the garish motifs of human bones in the temple hadn't really alarmed him. (He didn't think they were particularly beautiful, either.) Death. Decay. It was just a state of being, something that happened, sometimes tragically, sometimes to people you didn't want it to, but it was. So when he glanced into the little annex off the main hall and found himself staring at a tiny room where cubbies dug into the stone lined the walls with resting places for the dead, it piqued his interest, and he found himself glancing into these little alcoves as he walked deeper into the necropolis. He didn't mind that he could see smiling skulls and bones arranged as if sleeping in a snug bunk. The clothes seemed new, placed only months ago, eaten through in places by moths and the like. He began wondering who dressed the bones, because they didn't dress themselves, or if maybe it was something the whole village turned out for? Gajeel could smell grains and dried corn. Leaning against walls or sitting at alabaster feet were bottles of liquid and covered pots. Some of the cubbies were adorned with jewelry, some covered with beaded tapestries, others didn't have much of anything. The only thing consistent seemed the slumber, the silence, and the shadows that danced in the dim flicker of the lamps and torches.
Around the sharp bend, Gajeel found himself staring into a long, empty hall with torches lining one side broken only by more of the little rooms for those resting. Along the opposite stone wall, there was running the length of it for fifteen or twenty feet a massive tapestry of those glass beads that the Auré seemed so fond of. They glittered softly at him as he approached, staying aloft by silver rings anchored into the stone itself. He couldn't begin to fathom how long it must have taken to make, or even how old it was, but it seemed terribly important especially as the scattering of gold beads throughout the picture caught his eye. Gajeel's attention was first drawn to something he recognized immediately; The Dance of the Fighting Dragon had been immortalized in beads, showing the same raw energy he had felt just earlier. The band was shown playing, the warriors and robed figures danced around, all the while these two larger figures, Aowas with his golden blade and the dragon, bared teeth and claws towards one another.
Stars lined the top border with a procession of people walking atop it and beneath the bottom border there were skeletons in repose. It was obviously the catacomb and maybe the procession was spirits travelling to... whatever Tai had called it. And feathers...
The picture shifted, the brighter colors of the dance turning into the darker hues of purple and black night. There were tiny houses and fields, and they washed away into a picture of deep maroon. A man wearing white was leaning over a figure laying on a table, obviously dead, since his skin was an odd shade of green. Maybe the other person was a shaman, because he wore clothes that resembled Teiyah and Ohmara's. He was surrounded by pots, was burning incense, and seemed to be holding a large fan made of feathers, those same feathers – of course - that Gajeel was now starting to regard with a high level of suspicion.
He was telling himself to walk away, to just keep walking and not let the tapestry bother him (because maybe there just happened to be a bird with those same vibrant blue feathers that the Auré held in high regard) when his eyes traced across the side border and the open mouth that was at the top corner. Not a dark navy, but a deep teal head that was so dark it nearly blended in to the deep hues around it. Its eyes were gold and the spirits of those walking across the top border seemed to be heading straight towards the waiting fangs of it. Its body twisted down the side and when Gajeel's eyes followed it, he ended up having to double back down the tapestry. It bordered the entire work, with its tail resting just where the mouth began.
How hadn't he noticed it before? Was it the flickering torches that had made it too difficult for him to see or had it been made that way, like one massive optical illusion? He drew his eyes back across the beads, noticing the things he hadn't seen the first time; men working in fields in the daylight portion and how those same fields became barren as night descended, the houses and palisade, and then the erection of the town hall and what Gajeel came to recognize as the shaman's home. The resemblance the man held to Ohmara was startling when he really looked at it. And there, sitting just as day turned into night, a shadow darkening the horizon, Oragathol'i glared down on it all like a massive winged demon in the distance. Even in glass-bead rendition, it was a mar on the beautiful scene. Gajeel sort of wondered why they'd even added it because it, sort of... stood out.
Gajeel caught faintly in the dank cavern a hint of incense, myrrh, and he turned his head immediately towards the smell. He felt the hair on the back of his neck raise as he gazed deeper into the catacomb. He didn't know what he'd do if he found himself walking into a golden tub. Although, if he found that bastard again... well, it would certainly be convenient that they were in a crypt.
He decided to step carefully as he continued through the catacomb. The light seemed to become more and more sparse as he followed the smell of incense, until Gajeel was relying more on listening to how his footfalls bounced back at him from the cavern walls than he was his own eyes. The warm firelight didn't seem the reprieve it had before, and he found himself wondering who else could be down here when everyone else in the village had gone to the meeting hall. He began wondering what he was even doing, why he was so fixated on figuring out what was at the source of the smell, but then he heard what sounded like mumbling which turned into a rhythmic hum in the back of his head. The smell was thick now, to the point Gajeel could feel it bleed across his tongue. A dim light flickered in a doorway that was carved with... something. Gajeel couldn't really tell it was, but he ran his fingers along the ridges of it and the texture was both familiar and also not quite what he expected.
Papá Ohmara's shadow jumped across the wall and Gajeel noticed the brilliant flash as the old man waved a bright blue fan of feathers over the body of an elderly man. It was hard to see because of the incense thick in his head. The shaman didn't stop when Gajeel stood in the doorway, just continued on as if he were the only person in the chamber. And then, Gajeel realized Ohmara must not have heard him, because he continued to hum and chant and pray, retaining his balance remarkably well for someone who had to walk with a cane just a couple hours ago. He wafted the incense over the body and made a gesture with his hand, motioning towards carvings in the rockface around him. They looked like people but Gajeel couldn't recognize anything aside from that.
He was starting to get dizzy from the pervasive smell of myrrh and found himself retreating out of the room to lean against the wall. It was just so strong, sticking to his lungs and making it hard to breathe. He wanted to get away from it, so he picked the first turn he could find and walked pointedly towards it, not being mindful in his flight as he just tried to get away. It was while he was reclining against the doorway to another small, family chamber that he spotted something glinting at him farther down the hall, fading away in the pitch blackness.
He huffed, glancing back behind him for a moment before deciding there was no way he'd get lost as long as he could smell the myrrh, and let his curiosity get the better of him. He took out his lighter and illuminated what he could, finding another tapestry. This one wasn't quite as well put together. Maybe the practice hadn't been made into an art yet, or maybe the person who'd made it hadn't mastered the beadwork yet, but it seemed more striking in the flickering of his tiny flame. Where the first tapestry had vibrant colors, this seemed to have everything outlined in black. Sharp, dark beads doused the picture in shadow. Oragathol'i was the first thing his eyes recognized, sitting seamlessly into the image with its four large columns puncturing the sky. It didn't seem so out of place, and there was existing in its shadow a whole town's worth of people. They seemed to be celebrating, because Gajeel could see wine and food and flowers, lots of flowers, and green plants. As his eyes drew lower, though, the pretty scene turned desolate. White protrusions jutted from the ground like a long ribcage and there were people in between the bones. They were screaming, their bodies twisted in agony.
The ribcage turned into a dark, scaled body that snaked its way up the border. The mouth of the beast was wide and tilted towards the top of the tapestry, and a man was falling into it, a warrior. A warrior, dressed almost exactly how the warriors in the other tapestry had been dressed, with the pelt of some wild cat and his spear tumbling down beside him into the open mouth. There were more warriors, all of them marching towards the edge of the border towards their doom alongside robed figures. Something clicked into place as Gajeel stared at one of the robed figures fighting alongside the warriors, that their hands were illuminated and there were circles in their palms. Gajeel realized they were mages, and they were fighting off what he could only assume was Aowas.
The silver beading caught his attention viscerally, something so different than the rest of the piece, it literally glittered in the wan light cast from his lighter. Gajeel saw teeth first and then a large, red eye. His heart started to race. He had to take a step back because it was so massive, breaking the border and clutching at the edge of the portrait with black talons. Gajeel nearly stumbled back as he took in the wings and tail, because of course he'd know his own father when he saw him. And there he was, immortalized in glass beads with a vicious snarl parting his maw and malicious intent aimed past the wizards, past the warriors.
"What... the fuck..." he whispered. Something like shock and anger bubbled up his stomach and he immediately snapped his head towards the end of the hall. Were there others? More? What did this mean? Did his old man actually fight that thing or...?
He needed to find another tapestry. He struck out further into the darkness only to draw up short. The hall ended abruptly. There were only a few sparse rooms here, the dead laying undecorated. Gajeel decided he must have missed something and so he went back, glancing this way and that for a hallway or passage, but he just came to that same hall where the myrrh seeped through the air like oil on water. Ohmara was still chanting, the thin drone of his voice ebbing and fading as he worked.
He went back to the tapestry and just... stared. He searched it for things he might have missed, trying to memorize what was on it. He watched the doorway to Oragathol'i like he'd find someone standing there, glared at the faces of the people in its shadow like they could give him answers, and finally he stared down his father. He gritted his teeth and glared daggers.
"What the fuck..." he muttered again, feeling the skin on his wrists prickle. What did this mean? Was this just another useless puzzle piece? Did that mean Aowas was real or was this just a strange legend? What was his dad doing here so many years ago?
He blinked. Just... how long ago was this?
"Don't let your emotions get ahead of the mission," Gajeel snarled and took a shaky breath, "What am I missing?"
He looked down towards the dead end he knew was there, and then back to the dimly lit hall from whence he came. Gajeel didn't know enough about bones to be able to tell if these were older than the rest, but what he could tell was that the people back here didn't have anyone left to care for them as they lacked any of the adornments the others closer to the entrance had, which meant not a lot of people came back here, if at all. But that didn't make sense, did it? Why have this massive tapestry here where no one would see it? Even if it was old, it was obviously still highly thought of to have not been taken down... but not enough to be stored somewhere safe?
He furrowed his brow and reached his fingers out to touch the beads. It was heavy, but still gave beneath his fingers before hitting the stone wall. He watched the ripples of the beadwork run the length of it. He took a couple slow steps and listened to the way the noise bounced off the walls around him. He pressed his hand to the tapestry and pushed again, testing, until he hit the stone wall again. A few more steps, but this time when he reached his hand forward his hand sank, pulling the tapestry inward until the rings caught against where they were mounted to the wall. His heart jumped up into his throat as he realized this was what he was looking for, a hidden doorway, and he immediately closed his lighter and reached for the bottom of the tapestry, hefting it up just enough that he could slide beneath it, and finding himself doused in the darkest blackness he thought he'd ever experienced.
He stood there blinking for an absurd amount of time, each time expecting to see even the hazy outline of something but only ever greeted by that sovereign darkness. He flicked on his lighter, took a deep breath, and ran his eyes down the walls that were carved with something very old and immediately terrifying. The skeleton guardians that had been carved into the gateway of the sacrificial chamber in Oragathol'i lined the halls, arms crossed as they stood guard. There was something written on a low-hanging slab overhead but Gajeel couldn't read it. The black and red painted letters looked sharp enough to kill, though, and it began to sink in just how alone he was here.
He clenched his fist and drew up his resolve. If he ran into something, he'd handle it, but he couldn't stop now, could he? Not when he knew his dad had been here.
The first step he took echoed far too loudly for him to take comfort in, the second was much more reserved. He stalked down the corridor, his eyes drawn to the doorways that seemed quite on par with what he'd run into so far. Rubies glinted at him from where they were set deeply into the eyes of guardians on either side of the entry, and Gajeel was surprised to see what awaited inside.
More bones, and these slightly different from those on the other side of the tapestry. They were dark and stained brown with age, a thin veneer of calcium dripped in places where water had been seeping for decades. There were quite a few of them, possibly ten or twenty, all cramped together tightly, and they were all wearing masks. Dark, and with small slits where the eyes and nose should be, they stared up towards the ceiling. The next room was the same, as with the room after. In fact, it was almost like a carbon copy from one crypt to the next. When the way split and Gajeel was made to turn, the bodies stayed facing in the exact same direction. Was it north? It was so hard to tell down here. And they all wore those masks.
Gajeel came to a doorway that was slightly different from all the others. Here, the sculptures on either side of the doorway weren't just decorated with rubies, but jade lined the walls as well, alongside a black stone that was as smooth as it was shiny. Obsidian, maybe? At a cursory glance, everything seemed the same it had in every other room, but the glint of gold stopped him in his tracks. There were gold containers here, and incense, and books; black bound books with gold embossed on the covers. And they didn't wear those same wooden masks as what Gajeel had seen before. These were made from jade and gold, not carved into some nondescript face but each different but similar. And then his eyes caught a shimmer in the darkness that blanketed the inset stone and littered the ground. There were feathers... everywhere. They fanned out around the remains, particularly around the head and the... tails. They had tails. Long things that curled at decayed feet.
Gajeel's ribcage suddenly felt incredibly tight.
He took a step into the crypt, eyes tracing the walls, carved here as well. Again, there was this pattern that Gajeel could recognize but at the same time was at a loss to identify. It spiraled around the room until it coalesced somewhere on the ceiling, but his light was too dim for him to tell what it was. There were only four bodies, and as he examined each one in turn, he would have been stupid not to realize they were important... and ancient. But why lizardfolk? And why here? And what did it have to do with his dad?
Gajeel approached one. His stomach churned as he forced himself to eye the black book resting there beneath its crossed hands, the insignia nearly indiscernible from age. Some sort of magic circle? He could see the faded outlines of symbols very similar to what was carved into the flesh of the chameleon that had trapped him in Oragathol'i. He set his lighter onto the stone and began prying loose the boned fingers, still black-taloned with gold jewelry clinging still to shriveled bone, and gripping the cover tightly. The catacomb had a dampness to it, yes, but not enough to keep the bones from becoming fragile and brittle. They snapped apart easily, releasing the book so that Gajeel could open the leather cover. It wouldn't have mattered if Gajeel had been able to read what was written there, although he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't have, because at some point between the burial and now, something must have happened. The pages were all ruined, sticking together or flaking apart with the barest of touches, turning to ash right before his eyes.
Gajeel snarled and regarded the masked figure. Even cut in jade, those eyes were recognizable. Wide and reptilian, staring up at him with abject apathy. High cheekbones and a wide mouth that he could already picture smiling and revealing sharp teeth, a laugh poised between them at thwarting him yet again. Alive or dead, it didn't matter, the chameleons were still mocking him with their secrets he always seemed too little, too late to reveal. His stomach twisted as he eyed the golden symbols adorning that mask, above and below the eye, just like the chameleon in the altar room.
He'd been important... He'd been important and Gajeel had gotten too overwhelmed to get him, had let him slip away. He'd let him get into his head, and now here he was staring at old bones for answers. It was enough to make his blood start to pulse hot, to make him feel so utterly stupid. Here he was surrounded by all of... this and he knew it meant something but was too fucking stupid to piece it together. He balled his hands up into fists, suddenly taken with the urge to just smash it, the mask, the bones, the book, all of it, so he turned on his heel to just leave and the sudden motion made the long feathers on the ground dither away from him. He watched them as they settled quietly back down and he began to wonder... what's the point?
Don't you want to know what it was all for?
He gritted his teeth as he stared at the feathers. He didn't need to know what it was all for... and even if he did, he didn't want to. Bianca was out of the equation now, and he didn't need to dwell on her, on what she'd done... to him...
He took a breath that was more like a gulp. His stomach twisted, igniting iron.
Don't you want to know what it was all for?
The question reverberated around in his ribs, making him feel sick.
"I don't want to..." he whispered, and closed his eyes, forcing the memories that had begun to bubble there beneath the surface to quiet. Dark rooms, and tables, and black despair and heat. He didn't need to know what it was all for.
What else had the chameleon said?
You're asking the wrong question...
He swallowed the bile in his throat, studied the feathers at his feet, "What question...?" he asked them, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. Feathers wouldn't give him a fucking answer. They'd just lay there and flicker in the gold light of his lighter. They were long, longer than his forearm, navy at the base and slowly blooming into a light teal at the tip.
...you just don't know the right questions to ask... the right offerings to give...
"Father wants me for a ritual."
Everything is a ritual.
He flipped the feather in his hands, studying the edge. He could separate the fine fibers and they'd fall back together again in perfect alignment.
He didn't need to remember Bianca. He'd witnessed three other chameleons in action. Maybe it was true that Kahli and this new chameleon hadn't given him anything to work with, but Davian had. The day in the courtyard when they'd both fought Zahir, he'd hauled him off the ground and spoken words that had ignited something in Gajeel's chest. Gajeel studied the feather and turned over the similar words in his mind.
"Give me your fire."
The first thing he felt wasn't a surge in power like what he'd witnessed in the courtyard. It felt like something hungry had just turned over in his stomach, something that made his skin crawl and entirely too warm. The feather shimmered, a warm incandescence filling in the gaps of it with gold. The other feathers followed suit, bathing the room in an eerie, wan glow that reflected off the jade masks. The carving in the ceiling ignited and he watched it spiral around and around on the roof. A massive, fanged mouth opened, devouring its tail.
Gajeel swallowed, stepping back as his vision started to swim. He felt weak at the knees, like he was using a large amount of magic all at once. The room felt like it was breathing, like he was standing on the edge of a massive throat, about to be swallowed. It all felt so surreal, like a dream, as he watched the gold shiver and writhe like it was living. The ceiling seemed to be lowering, or maybe it was just the creature on the ceiling. He felt like he could reach out and touch it.
"What's the right question?" he breathed, "All I have are dead ends... what am I supposed to do?"
"You pray to the old gods?"
Gajeel nearly jumped out of his skin, and in his current state, he nearly toppled over. Suddenly, all of the light was gone, including that of his lighter. His heels bumped into something and he nearly fell over. Doused in the pitch-black, Gajeel could do little more than recognize the new sound of someone else breathing. He heard the shifting of fabric, lazy and unperturbed, before a match struck, casting a frail, warm light in between them. Papá Ohmara was standing in the doorway, a sharp frown turning his lips down.
Gajeel didn't fumble for an excuse because he was too busy noticing things about the man that were starkly different than what he remembered. He didn't have his cane and instead stood with back straight and a cutting stare at Gajeel. His eyes, which Gajeel had remembered being decidedly human, now flashed back at him in the tiny light, like a cat's. Pupils blown wide to the point of nearly engulfing his irises, he looked almost like he could have been possessed.
His edges softened slightly, "I am sorry for your friend."
Gajeel felt a pang tighten in his chest.
"In times of uncertainty, I find it best to reconnect with my ancestors..." his eyes trained on the feather in Gajeel's hands.
He immediately dropped it. A sneer fought to pull back his lips, "These aren't my ancestors."
"I know," Ohmara replied, and fell silent, seeming to meditate on something. He looked similar to a terra-cotta statue waiting in torchlight, and his scent was colored with those same earthy tones. "Do you enjoy long stories?"
"No."
Papá Ohmara chuckled and Gajeel watched him walk into the corridor where he stopped and waited expectantly for him to follow. Gajeel shot a wary glance towards the skeletons before grabbing his lighter and following. Ohmara had turned his back to him to light a nearby torch and motioned for him to take a torch. When Gajeel didn't move, the old man let out a sigh and turned to walk deeper into the catacomb, lighting their path on his own.
"You know..." in the deathly stillness, his voice seemed to pierce the darkness like an arrow, "...the Auré are fairly new to this land. Our sacred ground is to the south, past this country's borders. It was after the wizards hunted down the old people that we came to live in the shadow of the bluffs. This land is more fertile, better for growing crops and raising children, but it still has its echoes of people and places from long ago."
He glanced over to Gajeel, "Oragathol'i is merely one of many. Most the jungle or the desert will claim. Others are hidden."
Gajeel regarded the walls as they walked, noticing that the cubbies of bodies had stopped. The place they were in now seemed like it was untouched, with no more torches resting on the walls and waiting for ignition. Gajeel glanced over to Papá Ohmara who didn't seem perturbed by the darkness in the slightest.
"A long, long time ago, my ancestor had a dream. It was of a massive, feathered creature that came down from the mountains and waited outside their hut. They were frightened but still they came out to meet the creature. It took them in its mouth out into the desert where they were shown a man, collapsed in the sand. And so, the next morning, my ancestor hurried out to the place shown in their dream."
"And…?"
Ohmara chuckled, "And they found their husband, a man who had escaped the wizards."
Gajeel gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling much more on edge than he did before. He turned his head forward, acutely aware of how remote this place was.
"Strange way to meet." Gajeel said, flexing his free hand, curling and uncurling his fingers slowly.
"Love has a way of surprising us," he said warmly.
A doorway loomed ahead of them, marked by carvings of scales and feathers, like what was on the ceiling. Gajeel's heart picked up its pace and he swallowed thickly. He stared at the old man, trying to see a hint of something out of place. He didn't feel an off-ness, no failing of glamour or scent of something that didn't belong. If the old man turned on him, if he was one of them, what would happen next? Could Gajeel kill these people's leader?
"You still look at me as if I mean you harm."
He balled his hand into a fist, "I don't know that you don't."
Ohmara nodded his head solemnly as if he figured as much, "Perhaps what I will show you can change your mind."
Ohmara went steadily into the new chamber. In the center was a small dais carved from the stone floor, and atop it was a large gold bowl. There were pots next to the doorway that smelled like oil and Ohmara struggled to lift one and pour it into the bowl. Gajeel could hear it trickling away down a small channel that delved deeper into the room. He could smell damp rot and old cloth, his eyes training on shapes in the darkness. Ohmara motioned for Gajeel to douse the torch in the oil and reluctantly he did, rotating the flames in it so it would heat and finally catch. The fire rushed across the dais with a deep whoosh, slithering its way down a trench running the length of the floor before breaking to light up what seemed to be an altar. Sitting on it was an obsidian box, and it was this that Ohmara approached and lifted from its place.
"Do you know the history of this land?" he asked, running his hands across the opalescent carvings depicting some sort of creature, possibly a lizard or dragon, Gajeel really couldn't see enough to tell.
"I don't."
"It is not a good history. It is dark, and shrouded in misgivings, like you," Ohmara's eyes flashed up to him as he began, "Before the wizards had come to this land, the people before us often waged war with us and took prisoners. So, when the wizards did come with magic to destroy what they called witches, our ancestors agreed to give them supplies and our best warriors. Many of them never came home. Those that did spoke of a great creature that came from beneath the ground and devoured men."
"A dragon." Gajeel said, figuring Ohmara was referring to the Dragon Wars because of the familiarity. His dad used to tell him stories like this when he was young, about aiding mankind in the fight against what he said were evil dragons, dragons who above all else just wanted destruction. But Papá Ohmara shook his head.
"Not a dragon. The old people called it a god, stories began that in order to satisfy it, they had to feed it their best captured warriors. This was why they waged war, to hunt. Our people had for so long been brought to Oragathol'i to die long before we had known it."
"How did they stop it?" Gajeel asked hastily and Ohmara gave him something of a sympathetic smile.
"They didn't." Ohmara handed the box to Gajeel gently, "The wizards were no match for that sort of ancient power. Word spread that the witches had summoned a demon to bring about the end of the world and it awakened a force in the mountains to end the old god's reign."
The box was heavy, heavier than he would have expected it to be. Gajeel looked questioningly at the shaman but he had retreated to find a place to sit, reclining next to a shrouded figure set into a cubby in the stone, and seemed to be waiting. Gajeel lifted the lid and found his breath disappearing in a gasp. Sitting there in the box, glittering up at him with a pure sheen Gajeel recognized immediately, was a silvery, iron ran his thumb over the velvet smoothness of it. Memories rushed at him but he hastily packed them away because now wasn't the time. When he looked back at Papá Ohmara, whose eyes glinted softly in the dark, he had a soft smile and a look on his face like maybe he'd expected such a reaction.
"You have the spirit of a great beast in you." Ohmara nodded knowingly. Gajeel found himself stricken with several emotions at once and each fighting for its own hold. "You asked me how I knew the Old Language."
His voice cracked, "Yes…"
Ohmara pulled back the shroud slowly and Gajeel was long past the point of being surprised by bright blue feathers. Ohmara's face had quite suddenly fallen somber.
"My great, great grandfather was the last of the old people, the Osaloua. He learned our lifestyle, our customs, and taught our people for almost two hundred years..." the old man's eyes glinted as he looked down at his hands, "I was supposed to have this conversation with my daughter... I was sort of relieved to think that maybe this would all die with me."
"What do you mean?" Gajeel asked, "Teiyah?"
He smiled softly, "I have been alive for a very long time. I couldn't have children with my first wife, but Eleuia was gracious enough to give me a daughter with more of the Osaloua in her than I... As she got older, she came to the decision that she didn't want to continue our line, and I respected her choice. The gods had a different path for her, it seemed. Teiyah's mother was a dear friend, you see. He was only a few months old when she left this world for Shunoya. Even though my daughter is gone, he will still learn the way of the shaman, although he will never know this place. After my body is laid to rest here with my ancestors, the elders will seal off the entrance to the gateway. When they have passed, there will be no one left to remember."
Gajeel gave him a hard look, "Sounds like you got somethin' to hide."
Ohmara didn't react, only continued to gaze down at the bones beside him. He looked heavy and tired, resting his palms on his knees.
"Sometimes we must accept that our time has come to an end. The wizards and the Auré hunted down the Osaloua to extinction because of their pact with dark gods..."
Gajeel furrowed his brow, "You mean the demon?"
"Demons are made by men. Make no mistake, the thing that they called upon was no mere demon. It existed before the mages and It was destroyed by the dragon... or so I had thought." He took a deep breath before he continued, "About fifty years ago, we started going missing. The Auré and neighboring tribes... our women. Always when they were near one of the old monuments... until it suddenly stopped. Many of the elders believe it was bad luck or trickster spirits luring foolish women out into the desert..."
"You don't."
Ohmara shook his head.
"How are you so sure?"
"Because It spoke to my daughter just before she went missing. I heard It come to the hut in the night; I could smell the blood It brought with It. I can't remember what It said or what It sounded like... but I can never forget the hunger It brought with It..." Ohmara made a motion with his hands and shook his head fervently, as if trying to push the memory away.
"...Aowas?" Gajeel muttered.
Ohmara sort of snuffed at that, "Aowas belongs to the Auré, a being that can only exist on the celestial plane and so can only harm those crossing. The Osaloua knew Its true nature, and It is not bound to this world or the one after."
"I thought the gods weren't s'posed ta be inherently good or evil... or physical," Gajeel growled. He jumped when Ohmara's laugh cut the room.
"I used to be skeptical, naive, not unlike you or Teiyah in my youth. Time has a way of illuminating things for you that even the best teachings can't." Ohmara said, leaning forward as he spoke, "There is power in knowing, whether it is a name, or a language, or a history. There is darkness in old spaces, the remnants of things that used to eat with abandon and were worshipped by men and beast alike..."
His eyes flashed as he met Gajeel's eyes, "Know the name and derive power from it. Oros, God of Creation out of Destruction has been awakened, and out of Its destruction, It will usher in a new era... unless It is stopped."
"And you think I'm the one that's gonna stop it?" Gajeel's lip curled.
"I think the gods give us the tools we need to succeed," Ohmara said sternly, "It was the Iron Dragon that destroyed the old god so many centuries ago. And now, here you stand, his reincarnation. It is as the gods intend."
Gajeel growled, "I don't believe in gods."
Ohmara smiled slowly, "Well then, I shall pray they still believe in you."
Author's Notes (Cont'd):
Hey guys,
I'm very sorry for dropping off the face of the earth. If I worried anybody, I'm apologize, I just had a really hard writing this chapter and sort of got depressed about it. That and, you know, *gestures vaguely at the world around me as if that should explain everything*. I'm so sick of the US literally and figuratively being a dumpster fire.
To in-the-background-for-now, thank you so much for checking in on me. I really appreciated it. Also, to blvcksteelgajeel, I saw your reply on my post. I am sorry I never said anything, I just literally felt like the worst ever for not updating... and then I got too wrapped up in wondering what the socially acceptable reply time is.
To all the beautiful beans who are still interested in/following this work, you're what I stick around for. I hope each and every one of you is safe and happy.
Have a happy Monday. 3
-Your Friendly Neighborhood StevMarie