fracturedvoyagelogs | 01. (For Strange) Two in the folk who keep the dead down

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01. (For Strange) Two in the folk who keep the dead down

This place stinks of death. Sabriel stands up from the ice, confused but not panicked. She had not crossed the First Gate, which meant that she had likely been pulled back into Life. But where? And why? At first, all she can see is ice, great pillars of it that seem like a king's guard. As she turns, she finally spies the ship- the source of the death, though she senses great life too. But no danger.

She doesn't question how she has her bells back- all in proper shape and well cleaned except for Astarael. She checks the bandolier across her chest, touching each bell gently. Abhorsen's sword at her hip and the bells at her chest, she feels a least somewhat protected. Her surcoat, decorated with a key pattern, is still around her shoulders, though she has lost the majority of her armor. It didn't seem as if she came straight from the battle, but she didn't feel any different. She could even feel the Charter here, around her, like a comforting blanket, so she must still be north of the wall.

Forming the charter marks for warmth, strength, and light, she whistles them out and finds herself with a comforting light at her shoulder that gives her enough warmth to cut through the ice. "Is anyone there?" she calls out softly, not wanting to draw attention to anything dead that might be lurking.

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Sabriel's explanation reassures him more. Though idly, he can't help but wonder what she thinks about someone like him, who's been brought back from the dead due to the dream's unknown power.

"I could have used you in the peninsula," Strange remarks, with a wry little smile. "The only time I successfully brought back the dead was during the war. The spell for revival worked perfectly. It was in sending them back to the grave that we ran into a few issues."

Namely that it's kind of useless to try and shoot a zombie.

A war. She feels a pang of sympathy for him, hoping it doesn't show on her face as pity. "You needed Saraneth," she smiles, hoping to keep the topic light. It is their first meeting, after all. She touches the handle of the deepest bell fondly. "Saraneth is the binder. It is what I use to bind dead souls and send them back. I make them walk the gates with Kibeth, when it isn't feeling contrary."

Fortunately for Sabriel, Strange is oblivious enough that he outright misses that pang of sympathy on her face. He's far too focused on the bells.

"Saraneth," Strange repeats, trying to feel the sound of the bell's name in his voice and hopefully not mangle it with his accent. "May I touch it?"

She considers it, then takes it from the holder, ignoring the handle and keeping her hand around the clapper, inside the bell. She wouldn't normally be so open with them, but Strange wants to learn. And she is happy to teach what she can and hopefully dissuade him from raising the dead again.

"We can't let it ring, or I might be fetching you from the first gate," she tells him. The bell looks perfectly ordinary on the outside, but Sabriel is sure the magic of it is obvious.

Strange places his hand on the handle. The moment he touches the bell, he feels the magic emanate from it. He holds his hand on it for a moment, before putting his hands back in his pockets.

"What do you mean by 'the first gate?'"

"There are different gates of death before you reach the final gate." She puts the bell away, careful to ensure it doesn't ring, and turns to face him, leaning against the table. "Nine precincts. Nine gates before the final gate. Each one more and more difficult to traverse, but I've been doing it since I was a child. I can...feel it here, strangely enough. The barrier between life and death."

"That makes sense," Strange admits, with a little nod. "I think I might have encountered that barrier when I died."

Or at least, he encountered something. Strange isn't entirely sure how to describe that feeling of nothingness that settled on him after the tuunbaq killed him. A gate is a good enough term as any.

"My world does not seem to have any of those gates. There simply is 'being dead' and then 'being alive.'"

"Perhaps one day, I will show you," she tells him gently. "But...where did you bring the dead back from? How did you bring them? Where did they come from?"

"In my world, there are two realms where people go when they die. Generally, your moral state in life determines where you go. The kind and virtuous go to Heaven. The immoral go to Hell. I brought the men's souls from Hell and returned them to their bodies."

As he talks, it becomes obvious that the resurrection has rattled Strange more than he wants to admit. He places his hands in his pocket to hide the trembling and his expression goes distant and a little vacant.

"The magic I used was old, from the time of the Raven King. My blood served to represent the life I was giving to them. I slashed my arm, said the incantation, dripped my blood on their bodies, and soon those corpses were walking and breathing as you or I might."

Without thinking of what it might look like, she reaches out a hand and places it gently on his arm. It's obvious that this has affected him negatively, and she's a bit afraid for him. If he had brought back the immoral men and wasn't able to return them, then had he unleashed evil on his world without knowing? It seemed a grave mistake, but she didn't know the circumstances, and nothing in Sabriel's world was black and white. "You talked about the Raven King," she says, trying to be encouraging. "The magic was old? We have something similar, called Free Magic. It's what necromancers use and it's always unpleasant. Blood is spilled, like you said, and it causes blisters and pain."

It's obvious that Strange wasn't expecting the physical affection. He looks surprised for a moment before giving Sabriel a small smile of his own as he says his other hand on top of hers.

"The Raven King is the man who brought magic to England to begin with. Not all of his magic is unpleasant-in fact, I find most of his magic and older magic in general to be quite useful. It was only that spell which was...unpleasant."

She invites the warmth for a moment before pulling away slowly. "It should be unpleasant," she tells him gently, but firmly. "It shouldn't be easy to bring the dead back." She didn't want to turn this into a lecture, as she was almost certain that he was not going to repeat it. "So, tell me more about the Raven King. And faeries."

This is obviously something Strange enjoys talking about. His eyes light up with excitement as he talks.

"In England, there is a realm that exists parallel to ours. That realm is the world of Faerie. It's named for its inhabitants, powerful beings who almost have an innate sense of magic."

Though she's glad to see the change in demeanor, she sits as he begins his explanation, starting to feel the events of the day finally catching up to her. Battle weary, she had been running on fumes since she arrived but, now that she had discovered someone who could be a friend, she finally allows herself to relax.

Like she had been before, she tries to find some similarities in their worlds. She immediately thinks of the Old Kingdom, though she doesn't bring it up. She wants to hear him describe it more. "Have you been there?" she asks softly. "Are the faeries...helpful? Does everyone know about them?"

"They're as helpful as people are. Some act out of the goodness of their heart, some are selfish and act on their own desires."

As Strange talks, he moves to sit on the edge of his bed. He's still ready to continue talking but if Sabriel is sitting down, he'll do that too.

"But yes, I have been to Faerie. It's...honestly astonishing."

"You can't say that and then not tell me about it," she argues, resting her cheek on her hand. Hardly proper, but she had a hunch that Mr. Strange didn't mind a bit of lazy posture.

Strange's grin widens. He knows it's a little unfair mentioning how wonderful Faerie is and then not talking about it. So, he's going to talk about it.

"The Raven King, the magician that I mentioned earlier, lived and ruled in Faerie for a while. So when I entered into those realms for the first time, I entered into his lands. There were bridges suspended from nothing, towers as far as the eye could see, grand castles that seem to have grown from the ground itself! Ships moored where there was no water, forests growing where there was no sunlight, stars that shone in ways no earthly stars could shine...it was astonishing."

His enthusiasm was infectious, and she found herself smiling as he explained it. It seemed so outrageous, but she had never been anywhere outside of the school and death until recently, so the notion of these fantastic lands were better than a storybook. "Can you...get there from here? From the dream?"

"I wish I could, but I cannot." Which Strange is very obviously a little bit bummed about. "The way to travel to Faerie is through the king's roads: roads made by the Raven King, hidden behind all the mirrors of the world. I think the Raven King only built them in the world of man, not the world of dreams."

Well, that is a disappointment to Sabriel, too, but she hides it well. "Mirrors." She smiles. "That actually makes a bit of sense. That's where I would hide something if I needed to." She puts a hand on her bells. "Mr. Strange, I am...enjoying this, but I'm coming back from a rather..." She hesitates. "A very strange and tiring day. And I think I should rest. Where can I...?"

Strange lets out a little noise of surprise before looking blatantly embarrassed for a moment. "Good God, have I not told you that yet? Terribly sorry, Miss Sabriel, I should have started with that before chatting your ear off about magic!"

It's something that he knows is a bad habit of his and knows that if his wife were here, she'd gently tease him about it later.

"You should have a room of your own, designed after a room you are familiar with in the waking world. The ship was attacked recently, so I do not know the state of your room. If it is too unsafe to stay in, there are beds and hammocks set up in the galley. Or, you could simply sleep here and I would take one of the hammocks."

She waves his worry away with a small gesture. "It's no trouble. You keep your bed and I'll search out my room. But, maybe we can continue this talk soon? I should find my feet and try to make those Charter books for you." However that works.

She stands, taking her sword and bandolier, attaching them both with a small amount of effort. She's a little concerned about what her room might look like, but there isn't anything to be done about it. If it is too unnerving, a hammock is not the worst place she's ever slept.

"I mean it when I say there is nothing more I would like than to continue this talk. I have missed conversing with people about magic during my time on the Terror. I wish to make up for lost time."

Strange is the sort of man who's emotions are visible no matter how he tries to hide them. His words are the honest truth: he's just so happy and so relieved to have another magician on the ship. He gets to his feet as well, lingering a bit in case Sabriel needs any help managing her bells or bandolier.

Once she's settled, she turns, feeling a strange urge to hug him out of appreciation and relief. She is overwhelmingly tired, though, and simply settles for holding out her hand to him. "I don't think I'm going very far, Mr. Strange. Seek me out any time."

Strange takes Sabriel's hand and gives it a shake and a little squeeze. "I shall do so, Miss Sabriel. And again, if you have any questions about this ship or the nature of things here, feel free to ask me."

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choosethepath - 2020-06-22 14:51 (UTC) - Expand

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