After Geiren had bathed the blood and grime from his glyph-etched body, and had his own wounds treated (the lines of the wounds already showing signs of entering the sinous pattern of scars), he joined Morrighu in their tiny, curtained section of the tents. She was waiting for him in her fine linen shift - fabric and skin both so white that it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. The white flow of her hair and of her garment lent the Elven woman a nebulous appearance - only the twinkling beauty of her blue eyes spoke of life and warmth.
She came over to him and studied his face, reaching up to trace his chin with chill fingertips. "You still burn with battle fire," Morrighu said simply - letting her finger run down his arm till she could take his hand.
He knew that she sought to distract him, and he could not think of a more pleasurable way to release the energy that coiled in him - turning the destructive into an sublime act of love and reference. But.....he felt a change. There was a little warmth in her touch - and if it was possible - his wife looked more ethereal and fragile. And yet more alive - all at once. The ancient energies still stirred within - demanding release, but as his wife drew him to their mat Geiren used every ounce of control he had so that his touch was a gentle as the wind's whisper.
When at last they lay entwined in the now-darkening tent, and Geiren could at last call the knowledge of speech back to the forefront of his mind, he asked, "What is different?" He ran his finger down her stomach, feeling the hint of warmth. "What is changing?"
Morrighu lay in the shelter of her husband's arms and sought to put words to the changes. Long, long ago she had known these changes in her body - welcomed them. Delighted in them. And now she felt joy in heart, but that emotion was outweighed by shock - she had never expected again to feel the morning's queasiness, or know the subtle link between she and a babe in her womb. She could not have been pregnant long and was only now beginning to realize that she had been carrying the child since Geiren and she had first lain together after his rescue from the Bank. She had put her weakness down to all the stresses of what had been demanded in those wild days, and even lately had not been paying close enough attention. Until recently - when the queasiness had gotten worse, which had only been the last two days.
She took Geiren's hand and lay it upon her stomach, and said, "Within is our child."
Geiren buried his face in her white hair and gathered her close, wrapping his arms about her in a protective circle. "When?" he whispered in her ear. "When?"
"I think before I was under the Colonel's protection," Morrighu answered just as softly, "But I don't know exactly."
"Damn him. Damn Blayne!" Geiren suddenly hissed. His arms tightened - as if terrified she would be snatched from him.
"What?!" Morrighu asked - suddenly fearful of something she hadn't foreseen.
"He could have destroyed both you and our child," Geiren hissed.
Then Morrighu understood all too clearly, and the memories chilled her heart - everytime the Grand Inquisitor forced her to sing was a time that her body could have weakened to the point that the babe in her womb could have died.
Geiren loosened his grip and propped himself up on one arm. Determination gleamed in his brown, ancient eyes. "You have to go to Jord," he said. "When the Politi go - you _have_ to go!"
She sat up and met his eyes - her's shown with equal determination. "I can't," she said, "I'm tied to these people - they need to heal. If the Proctor falls..."
"'If' is right," Geiren answered, "_If_ Zephyr and this ex-Deaconess can get close enough to use that sword. _If_ the sword can do all that is claimed. And if over a half-dozen Refusers - sitting in the middle of a tent city aren't discovered by morning." He tenderly took her white hands in his scarred ones, and said, "To borrow a comment I overheard Thomis Parch make, 'I'd let the whole city burn to protect you ..and our child."
Memories and a newfound protectiveness stirred in Morrighu, bringing with them old fears - fears now amphilified. She leaned against Geiren's shoulder, and said, "You're right - our child comes first." Determination was strong in her voice when she added, "One day I will sing for the people of Montfort, but not now - you're right, the cost of our child would be too high."
[And later that evening...]
[Geiren]
After the communal dinner had ended with the new Refusers Geiren sought to speak to Kallin private. Concern...pride, but no madness shown in Geiren's brown eyes as he said, "Kallin, if you have a moment - I need to speak to you."
[Kallin]
Geiren had found the mage sitting not far from the entrance to Linnell's tent, leaning back against a half-empty crate with his legs stretched out before him on the ground to warm his feet at a campfire. He had traded his grey clothing for something less distinctive, plain brown wool and cotton, though the three silver loops still shone in his left ear. "I have nothing but moments," he answered almost tiredly, glancing up from the hands he had folded across his stomach. Moment after moment during which Linnell faded into the grey, and Kallin mulled over the problem of the Blood-bond that still tied her to Blayne. Moment after moment, measured in the slow pulse of the mosaic.
[Geiren]
Geiren stood and looked at his friend. While Geiren had every reason to rejoice - Kallin had few. "In truth - that is all any of us truly have," he said, "Though they are indeed like your threads - they weave together to form far greater patterns."
He hunkered down besides Kallin, and said, "Morrighu is going to Jord too." He met his friend's eyes - Geiren was having problem containing his joy, or his worry. He simply said, with joy underlying his low voice, "She's pregnant."
[Kallin]
"So that is what it was," he murmured, then seeing the questioning look in Geiren's face, he added, "Something in her colors had changed, but I am not familiar enough with them to be able to tell what." It had been a faint touch of heat moving into the Bean Nighe's icy shades, a trembling breath of warmth. "Congratulations." And a genuine smile -- too rare for Kallin now -- touched his face. "Have you ... asked ... her to go to Jord?" This last was said with a faint note of dry humor, for Kallin had learned in the past weeks that no one "told" Morrighu what to do.
[Geiren]
A wry smile trembled on Geiren's lips and he said, "We 'discussed' it." He settled down into a more comfortable position. "She's like the rest of us - pouring all of her drive into battling the Church, and before that the Republic. So now its hard for her to change direction - to realize that she has to focus on something else - someone else."
"Though she knows that for sake of her and our child - she has to go to Jord," Geiren said, quietly but vehemently. Old anger and terror shown in his brown eyes. "She _can't_ be where Blayne...." he spat out the Grand Inquisitor's name, "can find her - he came too close to destroying her ...and our child!"
[Kallin]
<thisthisthis>
Kallin breathed out slowly as the mosaic surged, and gave it a moment to calm. "He's taking care to rebuild the city now," he remarked conversationally, as if Kallin himself felt no enmity towards the Grand Inquisitor. As if he did not want to raise all the fire of the mosaic and see Blayne wrapped in flames.
He flexed his right hand, feeling the constant ache of the open cut in his wrist, and the way the threads skimmed over it, murmuring. "I have been told that Jord is safe -- a city under tight control of its Baron, but one well-ordered and relatively peaceful." His lips curled again, this time in cold irony, for Montfort itself had been well-ordered and relatively peaceful once. "And the estate Silverfox purchased," and how Lanaera had muttered at hearing that, about how she would be sure to repay the half-elf as soon as she could find the impudent boy, "large enough to accommodate a babe."
[Geiren]
Geiren smiled at that. He said, "At least with a babe - it will be a few months before it will be trying to explore the vastness of the estate." The smile touched and gentled his brown eyes, as he continued, "It's a good thing that Morrighu's loom is intact - she will need something to work on during her pregnancy." He didn't add - 'to keep her mind off of my safety here.'
Though he had avoided mentioned Kallin's wrist - up to now, Geiren said, "You should see either Morrighu or Darmon about some herbs to keep chances of infection down." His tone was conversational, but there was concern in his eyes when he looked at this friend.
[Kallin]
"That might be a good idea," Kallin agreed quietly, "as there seems doesn't seem any likelihood of it healing permanently any time soon." He held Geiren's gaze for several moments, then looked around the sheltered area in the tent city Allenel Gilford had set up for the Politi and those who had teleported in with them. The light of the campfire flickered on the canvas walls of the tents. "I would stay if I could, Geiren. And fight him for no other reason than my own vengeance, and see Montfort destroyed in the process." The mage held little affection for the city which had cheered on the destruction of the Weavers' House and the placement of Uralia and Wyland on the pyre. "Allenel Gilford would live with him simply to see Montfort rebuilt."
[Geiren]
"Not that I can blame Allenel," Geiren murmured, "Montfort is all he has left."
[Kallin]
He turned his blue eyes back to Geiren's own gaze, and watched the threads
as they skimmed around the other man, looped themselves over him, and twisted
through the glyphs scarred into his skin. The patterns were weaving
Kallin and Paul and Linnell away from this place, he could feel it with
every movement of the mosaic through his body. An insistent tug that
drew him out, drawing him first to Jord
and then ....
<yes>
"What holds you here, my friend?" he asked even more softly than before, "when your wife goes elsewhere? Think you that the safety of your child's father is of less importance?" Not time to leave yet, despite the growing urgency of that pull; the threads were tangled about the other man, a fold in the pattern, and there was no leaving until the knot was undone.
[Geiren]
Geiren stared at the ground - though he was seeing beyond the soil that lay before him. Seeds were struggling to draw nourishment from a blasted earth - nourished by the blood of a young soldier - who's last moments Geiren saw as if through a shadowy glass. He knew that despite the destruction life was struggling to return to Montfort - as was the cycle of all things.
He could sense that something pulled Kallin on - and perhaps because it tugged so hard on his friend something also tugged at Geiren. He began to draw a glyph in the loose dirt, and said, "They need swords - they'll need fighters and numbers if they're to succeed." Though Geiren could hear an echo of Morrighu's earlier argument in his own words.
[Kallin]
<he moves to other rhythms>
It was more than a thought and less than an utterance of mental communication, something Kallin sent shivering along the threads in mild rebuke. A faint note of dissatisfaction echoed back in response, but the threads finally sloughed away from the intricate scars written on the other man's skin. They delighted in the mystery that Geiren had become, whispered of it, and occasionally, like a low hum, Kallin could hear the melody of Gwion's name.
But he moved to other rhythms, and was not bound to the patterns that wrapped themselves around the Politi. One way or another, the knot tying Geiren to the household would be undone, but which way he cast himself loose was up to him. And mutter all they would in displeasure, the threads could do nothing about it.
"Swords and fighters," Kallin agreed after what might have seemed a long
pause. "And your wife will need a husband, and your children will
need a father." And at that, he stopped, for he knew that already
he had gone further than he had allowed the threads to go, chiding Geiren
and pushing him in a direction not of the other's choosing. Kallin
pushed himself to his feet, clapping one hand on Geiren's shoulder as he
rose. "When the time comes for us to leave, you might need to have another
... 'discussion' ... with your wife."
[Geiren]
Geiren got to his feet. Kallin's words echoed in his mind, and he had the uneasy feeling that they were in accord with Morrighu's true sentiments. She hadn't said anything about his staying, but he knew that she feared for his safety.
He hated to leave a battle only half done - and somewhere deep inside of him cried for him to stand on the battlefield, with the Hounds at his call. But another part of him wondered if one extra sword was worth the price of never seeing his child. Nor could he forget the welcoming warmth of the threads as they trailed along his glyphs.
He stood beside Kallin and said, "Morrighu and I will talk again - I don't doubt that." Geiren looked at the night sky that was like a drape held above the tents - then turned his attention back to Kallin, and said, "I'm going to go look for Yon tonight - I've heard rumors he's back at the Dragon's Inn. But before I go - let's go see Morrighu about those herbs."
[Kallin]
<this>
Kallin nodded without speaking again -- the mosaic and the humming of the threads had momentarily stolen his voice -- and fell into step with Geiren. No need to tell the other man to be careful in his search for Yon -- Geiren knew to be, and Kallin was sure Morrighu would do that anyway. As he walked through the darkened aisles of the tent city, Kallin watched the shimmering lights of the threads swirling around both their feet and sheeting over the walls of the tents as they passed.
The patterns were weaving, and the mage waited to see where the threads would spin them all
<out>
The Politi teleport handkerchief brought Geiren and Yon to the center of the Politi tents. And though Geiren could hear normal movement within the tents - he could also hear a great number of voices out coming from outside. Far too much activity for the time of night in the tent city. He partially lifted the flap to Morrighu and his chamber, and softly said, "Morrighu?"
Morrighu had sensed the return of Geiren and she also could sense Yon's presence. She was relieved that her husband had found their friend. She wrapped a grey woolen shawl around her shoulders and stepped out.
She gave Yon a bow and pronounced clearly, "Welcome Yon."
To Geiren's unasked question and evident concern she said, "Something attacked one of the girls and everyone - except for the Politi - have gone to deal with it." Her brow furrowed - "But worse - there is has been a catastrophe of some kind - that has disrupted many levels of existence."
"I know," Geiren answered, "We were lucky it hit before we tried to teleport."
He looked at the other warrior and said, "May have trouble - we need to talk to Kallin."
"He's by Linnell's tent," Morrighu said.
[Yon]
As the teleport ended, Yon turned lightly on one heel taking three exact seconds for a full rotation, his almond eyes neither blinking nor moving.
Then, with no apparent change to his features to indicate whether or not he was satisfied, he followed Geiren.
"Well come," he offered in his heavy accent as he returned Morrighu's bow. It was, after all, only honourable to use their traditions when in their homes.
As Geiren and Morrighu conversed, Yon stepped back to the flap of the tent and moved to one side. His eyes closed, and he stood simply _listening_ for a few seconds before moving back to where Geiren stood.
[Morrighu]
Morrighu excused herself - she knew she needed to take what rest she could. There was no direct threat at the moment, and with Geiren safely back with Yon she knew she could sleep.
[Kallin/Paul]
When word had come that an armed attacker had entered the tent city, Kallin and Paul immediately had seized the threads and stood ready. Not to defend against the assailant, but in preparation for a teleport if that should become necessary. The last thing they would choose, with few choices for refuge remaining in Montfort, but the safest course if the conflict should draw the attention of the Church.
They were not prepared, however, for the explosion. The threads had been humming uneasily for several minutes before it came, whispering something to themselves which the mages could not quite make out. Then a moment of silence, not unlike the silence Allenel Gilford had noted, but deeper, as if the patterns waited. Even the flows of the mosaic, moving within Kallin's blood, paused, capturing his breath, and that moment of silence stretched out, empty as <between> --
When the blast came, it was less a wave than a storm, sending the threads scurrying away in a near panic.. Kallin, just outside Linnell's tent, cursed softly as the threads twisted in his hands, wrapped themselves around his arms, tried desperately to spin themselves <in> to him. A high-pitched wailing shivered along --
<gogogogogogogogo>
-- and the colors of the world around them shifted, a circle of grey opened without either mage summoning it, a maw of <between> gaping wide to swallow the threads --
<herehereherehere>
-- Kallin did not stop to see how Paul wrested the greyness down and stitched it shut, he was too occupied with keeping the threads from strangling him in their panic. Whatever had happened, whatever had been born in that blast, terrified them, as if something sought to rewrite the patterns, rework them into something new.
<nonononono>
In the end, all he could do was allow the threads to wash over him, and over Paul, and murmur back to them in reassurance. And that was how Geiren found the two, bathed in it, both bemused and disturbed at what had happened, and all the more convinced that there was more reason than ever to leave Montfort as soon as possible.
[Geiren]
Geiren walked quietly into the tent and waited till both Paul and Kallin seemed either ready or able to speak. Then he said, "Something was born or re-born this night.....this place has been stagnant long enough - new variables are being added."
[Kit]
The weird explosion had sent Kit burrowing as far as she could under the covers - huddling next to Linnell. But when nothing wors followed the young foxling listened to the calm movement of the Politi mages beyond, and the more distant sound of an awakened tent city. She licked Linnell's cold hand to let her friend know she'd return and slipped between shadows till she was out of the heavily-curtained tent - but when she saw Geiren, she slipped under a stool. Kallin and she had come to a truce for Linnell's sake, and while she didn't think Morrighu's husband would hurt her - seeing him reminded her of her guilt.
The fox woman decided she would just listen and see if anyone explained what had happened.
[Geiren]
A movement along the floor caught his eye and he saw the young fox slip under the chair.
Geiren made sure not to make any indication that he had seen her - Lucc had told him that self-guilt made her wary of hit and Morrighu.
[Kallin/Paul]
"Something born or remade," Kallin remarked as the threads finally settled into an uneasy calm. Inside, the flows of the mosaic had surged in response, reverberating with the force of the blast. "Something I would much rather be far from." In the tent next to them, he could sense Linnell turn restlessly in her blankets; even at night, when she could move without fear of sunlight, she chose to stay closed in her tent. "Yon," the mage said in acknowledgment, bowing slightly.
It had been many weeks since the Politi had seen the foreign warrior; he had gone out with Geiren in search of healers the night of the Cleanings of the Weavers' House, and had stayed in Montfort on his own business. There had never been an opportunity to thank the man for what he had done to protect the household during that battle. And Kallin had no idea how to thank Yon now. Merely a nod in greeting before seating himself on one of the pallets on the floor of the tent.
[Geiren]
Geiren settled on another of the pallets and gestured towards one for Yon - if the warrior wished to sit.
"Poor little one," he said softly as he noticed Kit huddle further back under the stool - their movements obviously had startled her. Geiren wished he could have a chance to explain that he held her no ill will - how could be angry at such a wounded, loyal being like Kit. But whenever he came close she hid. He hoped that maybe between Lucc and Morrighu they could help explain to the fox woman.
He shook his head and turned back to Kallin and said, "Not only was something born .....or remade....but the Hounds cry of a battle this night." His hands closed into fists and he lowered his eyes as he fought the desire to hunt with them.
{That is not your first priority}, he told himself, {Morrighu....the rest.. have to get safely out first}. Geiren looked up and studied each of the two men. Finally he said, "I don't think the battle will come near here."
[Yon]
Yon bowed slightly in return to Kallin and moved to sit on a pallet. His eyes tracked around the tent briefly before coming to rest.
The segmented conversation between Geiren and Kallin was difficult to follow, and he wasn't sure what they were referring to in any event. Something had happened, obviously. Something that was even more completely incomprehensible than the usual insanity.
But it was not close. Or, not close enough for him to be aware of, and until it became such, there was nothing to be achieved by questioning.
[Kallin/Paul]
The older of the two mages crouched before the stool under which Kit cowered, and held out one hand while making soothing noises in the back of his throat. Though she and Kallin had reached an agreement for Linnell's sake, Kallin still was uneasy having one still bound to Blayne moving freely among the tents. "I believe it is distant enough we need not concern ourselves with it for now," Paul said softly, and spun threads
<out>
to curl softly near Kit's front paws in a gentle, comforting pattern.
[Kit]
Kit nosed at the slowly turning threads, and reached a paw out towards the pattern - though she knew there was nothing to touch. They were enticing.. She inched her way forward; with her belly low to the ground and her ears back in worry.
She came out to look at Paul with questions in her dark eyes.
[Paul/Kallin]
"Though it does make us more anxious than ever to depart," Kallin added, only half-watching Paul try to lure Kit out. All that required was word from Lanaera that preparation of the ballroom floor had been completed; Kallin needed to be able to move the mosaic into its new template immediately upon emerging from <between> once they teleported. "Have you had your .... 'discussion' ... with Morrighu?"
[Geiren]
Geiren held his body still so that Paul would have a chance with Kit. It hurt to see the young were-fox acting like a whipped pup.
"Not yet," he answered - drawing an intricate knotwork in the dirt floor. Geiren looked up at the drapery that separated Morrighu's and his quarters from the tent. Again he felt the rift between the desire to run with the Hounds, seeking revenge, and living to see his child born. "I hear the Hounds wanting to hunt....," he murmured, knowing that his comment might make little sense to anyone else but him.
And though Geiren knew that his desire to fight was nearly overwhelming he didn't feel it was fair for him to leave Yon in the dark, with only one choice before him. He turned to the warrior and carefully said, "Morrighu and the Politi are going to Jord....."
[Paul/Kallin]
Paul paused for just the briefest moment, glancing over at Kallin, who gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. Kit had not been told that the Politi would be leaving, and taking Linnell with them -- nor that Linnell had reacted with indifference to the news that they would be leaving Montfort, and with distress at the thought that the were-fox might not come with them.
Though it was unlikely Kallin would be willing to leave Kitrina Tvyvar behind with the knowledge that would allow the Grand Inquisitor, if he were so inclined, to follow the household.
[Kit]
::Hounds?:: came the quietest whisper of mental speech, though it was "heard" by all in the tent; a voice shivering with fear. ::Who is being hunted?::
Geiren looked up - startled by Kit's voice. "The battle's dead - the Hunter gathers together the souls," he answered, struggling to keep his hunger for vengeance against Blayne from his voice - hunger to see the Hounds tearing the Grand Inquisitor apart. He could see his words already had enough power to drive the little kitling closer to Paul - her whole body quivering - for he had no doubt she guessed at whom he wanted to hunt.
::The battle's not close?:: Kit asked. She didn't want to see anymore battles and destruction. She feared for Blayne - though she knew he had many skills and defenses, and she feared the death he would bring down in the name of his Redeemer.
[Paul/Kallin]
"No, little one," Paul murmured, tweaking the threads slightly to caress over the top of her head gently. "And as Geiren has said, soon we hope to be much further from it." The threads slid downward, twining through the thick fur across her back before dancing away again. They had tasted Blayne's taint on her, but hummed more with sadness than with displeasure. "We leave Montfort soon, to try to help Linnell with her ... illness."
A flicker of his fingers, and a lacy pattern slid back and forth across the floor before her nose. "You may come with us, if you wish." The mage met Kallin's gaze again, then looked to Yon. "And you, also."
[Kit]
Kit watched the gently entwining threads - seemingly hypnotized by the patterns, but she was trying to think. To fight down the desire to react with instinct. ::I....,:: she started, caught between the horror of leaving Blayne and the deep desire to help Linnell. Linnell, who had no spark - no bright life in her.
Both instinct and thought told her that Linnell needed her more - that she had very little time. While Blayne had nearly forever.
::Go,:: she sent, stepping around the threads and leaning against Paul. ::I need to take human form,:: she said, mostly to herself, ::Allenel is sad I stay in fox form..... will miss him.::
[Paul]
Paul slid one hand gently over her fur, as softly as the threads had caressed her. "I am certain he will miss you, also." He could feel the patterns shifting again, unfolding slowly, changing cadence. Moving to wrap themselves around those who had tied themselves to the Politi. Moving them all away from the darkness that gnawed on Montfort, spinning them
<out>
to cast them elsewhere. "I am certain
he will miss you, also."