let me be the one you call / if you jump I'll break your fall

[impudentsongbird]

Book Four: Dark Days
1 | into the breach
2 | finding skulduggery
3 | retreat to the tunnels
4 | into the cacophony
5 | sanctuary in the cathedral
6 | reuniting old friends
7 | kenspeckle's new patient
8 | holy water and disinfectant
9 | objecting to china sorrows
10 | the roadtrip
11 | baffling guild
12 | shenanigans at the safehouse
13 | reassuring fletcher
14 | valkyrie's intervention
15 | solomon's revelation
16 | visiting the edgleys
17 | recalled to the sanctuary
18 | guild's confusion
19 | gabe is busted
20 | the psychic tattoist
21 | envisioning the cacophony
22 | angel's first migraine
23 | the morning after
24 | china and solomon
25 | detectives' council of war
26 | china's foolishness
27 | the collector dethroned
28 | finding crux
29 | skulduggery's vileness revealed
30 | sorrows in aftermath
31 | finding equilibrium
32 | the devil's number
33 | at the carnival
34 | meeting authorities
35 | solomon's confession
36 | the stray soul
37 | sanguine unsettled
38 | solomon's choice
39 | a cowboy underground
40 | in scarab's basement
41 | striking midnight
42 | craven contested
43 | emergency services
44 | on your feet
45 | and don't stop moving
46 | easy recognition
47 | a deuce of an evening
48 | engines roaring
49 | compromising judgements
50 | solomon's conflict
51 | axis turning
52 | thinking circular
53 | blasting the past
54 | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
55 | sanctuary unsanctified
56 | shudder unravelling
57 | catching an angel
58 | layering dimensions
59 | dead men meeting
60 | when it rains
61 | power plays
62 | sing on gold
63 | the valley of death
64 | grand aspersions
65 | no evil feared
66 | new days rising
67 | angelic neuroses
68 | step-brothers working
69 | the many sorrows of china
70 | peacefully wreathed
71 | tarnished gold
72 | the secret in darkness
73 | magical intent
74 | scars worth keeping
75 | benefits of a beau
76 | grand magery
77 | lighting the darkness
78 | old dogs and new tricks
79 | flouting traditions
80 | drawing lines
81 | brothers and sisters in arms
82 | channelling angels
83 | return of the carnies
84 | the death bringers
85 | meriting agelessness
86 | knick knack, paddy
87 | give a dog a bone
88 | americans propheteering
89 | the right side of honour
90 | tailored shocks
91 | hosting angels
92 | elders anonymous
93 | rediscovered strays
94 | changings and changelings
95 | a state of reflection
96 | adding hope
97 | the devil's truth
98 | dead mens' hospitality
99 | lives half lived
100 | next to godliness
101 | devilish plans
102 | beached angels
103 | lights of revelation
104 | heroes worshipped
105 | new devilries
106 | angels under the yoke
107 | brains frozen
108 | father, mother, daughter
109 | parental guidance recommended
110 | driven round the bend
111 | ongoing training
112 | privileged information
113 | reasonable men
114 | passing the buck
115 | gifting magicks
116 | strengths and weaknesses
117 | immaturity's perks
118 | priests and prophets
119 | scaling evil
120 | blowing covers
121 | marring an afternoon
122 | lie detection
123 | five-dimensional pain
124 | reliving nightmares
125 | taking stock
126 | sampling spices
127 | sleeping prophets lying
128 | rueful returns
129 | dead men reunion
130 | medically-approved hugs

The life of an angel was a contradiction in changes and stability. On one hand, they understood very well the way the cosmos was shaped by events within it. On the other, they stood at one step apart from it—or at least had, for a very long time, up until their Master's recent wager with Lucifer. Changes in the recent past had, even for angels, been fast and turbulent, but there were none that concerned Raphael more than Gabriel's abrupt reserve.

In the aftermath of the wager Gabriel had been almost the only one to know where their Lord was at any given time, a fact which had put the Archangel very firmly under Lucifer's radar. Raphael had joked that Gabriel ought to arm himself with more jokes or worse clothes to drive the fallen angel away; Michael had offered the peace of the Garden Coast. (Rafe thought his idea was better.)

Either way, even though their Master was fair hidden, every angel knew that they had only to ask Gabriel and the Archangel would pass on a message.

Then Gabriel had simply blipped off the radar himself. Poof! Gone! No one had noticed at first, because, well, they weren't exactly in constant connection. It was just when Raphael had taken a whim to seek out his younger brother that he'd noticed it, and let it be, because there was absolutely a reason for it. Gabe did not just off and vanish, except that once with his self-exile, and that didn’t count.

But when Gabriel had come back, he had been strangely agitated and yet close-mouthed. The younger Archangel had vanished off to wherever their Master was hidden for a long chat Raphael was dying to have listened into, and yet couldn't (but only partly because it would have been rude). Now he was here, floating among the stars and examining a black hole with unnerving intensity.

For a time Raphael watched without letting on that he was there, but eventually Gabriel spoke. “I’d rather you came to join me instead of lurking, brother.”

Absolutely refusing to feel chagrined, Raphael let himself manifest with an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and ruffled the younger angel’s hair. Gabriel threw a fond, longsuffering glance up at him, but there was something in his eyes, something distracted and sharp, which indicated that Gabriel still wasn’t truly present. Raphael only wished he knew where the other Archangel was.

“Just wondering what you’re doin’ all the way out here,” he said teasingly. “There’s a party going on down there on Earth, Gabe.” There was always a party going on down on Earth. “You oughta be down there bobbin’ for apples and switching up party-hats!”

“I can’t,” Gabriel said quietly, with a sort of seriousness Raphael had, for all Gabriel’s literalness, rarely heard from him. So Raphael fell into the same seriousness, lost his playful accent, and spoke directly.

“Why not, brother? You’ve been reserved of late. I conf—I’m worried for you.”

For a very long time Gabriel said nothing and stared into the slow-turning swirl of the black hole. Raphael waited patiently, his arm still companionably across the other Archangel’s shoulders. Eventually Gabriel spoke. “Did you know, Raphael,” he said, “that the universe you see around you here isn’t the only one our Master has created?”

Raphael was so startled that he couldn’t answer. That wasn’t what he was imagining. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been imagining, but that wasn’t it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gabriel,” he said after a moment. “Our Lord told me the story of Creation not all that long ago, and he never mentioned anything of the kind.”

Gabriel nodded. “He told me that story as well. And then He asked if I really wanted to know details.” He hesitated. “I … admit, I declined. It’s something He said—about faith. I decided I didn’t need to know details. But it’s true, nevertheless. Just beyond this …” The Archangel reached out his hand and touched that gossamer and unbreakable fabric that supported reality. “There are other universes, even with different versions of us.”

“Different versions of us?” Raphael repeated, appalled and uncertain and entirely confused. How could that be possible? What could their Master want with more than one of any of them? What was going on? Where had Gabriel gone in that time he’d vanished? Then something occurred to him and he smiled with relief. “This is a joke, right?”

Gabriel looked up at him and smiled back with such a gentle understanding that for a moment Raphael felt very small indeed. “No, Rafe. I’m not joking. It was a shock to me too. That isn’t the point, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Raphael asked, feeling as dazed as an angel possibly could, especially when he wasn’t even inhabiting an actual physical body.

“No.” Gabriel returned to watching the black hole intently. “I met some people from other realities. One of them is in a kind of Hell, and he very much does not deserve it. I promised him that, if I could, I would save him from it.”

Which did not in the least explain why Gabe was staring at a black hole, let alone a million other questions Raphael would have liked to ask and for which he couldn’t find the words. Finally he found one. “How?”

“First,” Gabriel said with a sort of tranquillity Raphael had heard in his brother’s voice a million times but never after delivering so turbulent a piece of news, “I’m going to jimmy open a crack in the door through this hole.”

Raphael stared at Gabe, and then at the black hole, and then back at Gabe. He opened his mouth to ask whether their Master knew he was planning this and then closed it, because that was a stupid question. He opened it again to query if Gabriel had asked whether he could go around lifting the sheets and then realised that was also a stupid question, because whether he had or not, their Master probably would have told him to do what he felt was best.

It was equally clear that Gabriel very much planned to go through with this, no matter what Raphael said, and really, did Raphael have the right to object? Surely if this carried a risk, their Master would have already forbidden Gabriel from making the attempt?

“I’ll come with,” Raphael said at last, and this time when Gabriel glanced back the younger Archangel’s expression was startled. A moment later that expression shifted into grateful apology.

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I’m not entirely certain I’ll make it through, and we can hardly leave Michael here alone.” He grinned. “Did you see what he was wearing last festival day on the Garden Coast? He hasn’t moved out of the eighteenth century yet. How would he possibly handle the rest of the world?”

Raphael laughed out loud, warm but startled, and the sound of it rang through space. Gabriel chuckled quietly beside him, and for a few minutes there was just companionable humour that faded into an equally comfortable silence.

Still, Raphael had a lot of questions. How did Gabriel plan to find his friend, let alone the universe he was in? How was he going to get back? What would he do if he met another version of himself? Or, worse, Lucifer? Finally the Archangel just asked, “Have you figured out how to crack open the door?”

“I think so,” Gabriel said, considering the black hole. “Once I figured out what to look for. I wouldn’t have gotten even that far if it weren’t for some things our Master said.”

Which meant that, in some fashion, this expedition was sanctioned by their Master, Raphael translated, and something tense in him relaxed. “Something do to with this drain here, I’ll bet,” he said, falling into his casual accent once more. “Gonna rip out the kitchen sink, li’l brother?”

“Just to see what’s hiding underneath,” Gabriel said with a grin.

“I’ll try’n keep it open for ya,” Raphael promised, and Gabriel sent him a smile which lit up the very space around them with its brilliance.

“Thank you, Rafe,” he said, and straightened. Raphael took his arm away as Gabriel lifted his hands, not exactly stepping back so much as giving Gabriel space. The youngest Archangel didn’t often reveal his power, but it was always a sight to see, a song to hear, when he did.

As it was now. Gabriel’s voice started deep, lifted high, split and wove and became more melodies than one would think a single being could possibly sing at once. The sound of it made Raphael’s heart soar, made him want to fly and laugh. It was so deep, so light, so resonating that it was physical; it touched the slow turn of the black hole and made it, for just the briefest of moments, still. In that moment Gabriel sent a carefully-aimed bolt of energy into the heart of it.

It was the kind of sight Raphael hadn’t seen in thousands of years, a play of physics and metaphysics which he hadn’t thought possible, let alone imagined. There was an eruption in the centre of the black hole, where gravity was condensed; the cascade of energy plumed upward and was dragged back down as quick, a tear in the fabric of the reality not allowed the time to widen or become a danger.

Raphael didn’t even know Gabe had moved until the younger Archangel was gone, he was so busy staring in awe. With a start the Archangel stretched out his senses and just barely managed to catch a glimpse of his brother shooting toward the hole at speeds few angels could have achieved through such a gravity well. Raphael certainly couldn’t have.

How, he suddenly wondered, was he meant to keep that open if he didn’t even have the speed of thought to track Gabriel’s movements through it?

Desperately the Archangel cast about for something to jam in the door, as it were. There was some dark matter nearby and with a thought he fashioned it into a spear and pitched it toward the centre of the black hole. It struck just as Gabriel flitted through the crack nearly wholly collapsed in on itself; the star’s gravity caught it, pulled it in, and plugged the opening like a metaphysical sink.

Slowly Raphael made every part of himself relax. For good or ill, Gabe was gone on this quest of his, and now Raphael should probably go and round up some of their younger siblings to guard the area. Just in case.


Book Four: Dark Days
into the breach | finding skulduggery | retreat to the tunnels | into the cacophony | sanctuary in the cathedral | reuniting old friends | kenspeckle's new patient | holy water and disinfectant | objecting to china sorrows | the roadtrip | baffling guild | shenanigans at the safehouse | reassuring fletcher | valkyrie's intervention | solomon's revelation | visiting the edgleys | recalled to the sanctuary | guild's confusion | gabe is busted | the psychic tattoist | envisioning the cacophony | angel's first migraine | the morning after | china and solomon | detectives' council of war | china's foolishness | the collector dethroned | finding crux | skulduggery's vileness revealed | sorrows in aftermath | finding equilibrium | the devil's number | at the carnival | meeting authorities | solomon's confession | the stray soul | sanguine unsettled | solomon's choice | a cowboy underground | in scarab's basement | striking midnight | craven contested | emergency services | on your feet | and don't stop moving | easy recognition | a deuce of an evening | engines roaring | compromising judgements | solomon's conflict | axis turning | thinking circular | blasting the past | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
sanctuary unsanctified | shudder unravelling | catching an angel | layering dimensions | dead men meeting | when it rains | power plays | sing on gold | the valley of death | grand aspersions | no evil feared | new days rising | angelic neuroses | step-brothers working | the many sorrows of china | peacefully wreathed | tarnished gold | the secret in darkness | magical intent | scars worth keeping | benefits of a beau | grand magery | lighting the darkness | old dogs and new tricks | flouting traditions | drawing lines | brothers and sisters in arms | channelling angels | return of the carnies | the death bringers | meriting agelessness | knick knack, paddy | give a dog a bone | americans propheteering | the right side of honour | tailored shocks | hosting angels | elders anonymous | rediscovered strays | changings and changelings | a state of reflection | adding hope | the devil's truth | dead mens' hospitality | lives half lived | next to godliness | devilish plans | beached angels | lights of revelation | heroes worshipped | new devilries | angels under the yoke | brains frozen | father, mother, daughter | parental guidance recommended | driven round the bend | ongoing training | privileged information | reasonable men | passing the buck | gifting magicks | strengths and weaknesses | immaturity's perks | priests and prophets | scaling evil | blowing covers | marring an afternoon | lie detection | five-dimensional pain | reliving nightmares | taking stock | sampling spices | sleeping prophets lying | rueful returns | dead men reunion | medically-approved hugs

Comments

[peacefullywreathed]

You know, there was probably a reason thirteen-year-olds were expected to do more back then than now, Dexter reflected. He'd forgotten how easily adaptable kids actually were. It was kind of amazing, actually. "Sure," he said with a grin, tucking away his phone. Then he changed his mind and took it out again. "Wait a tick, we need mood music for this."

Solomon almost turned to glance behind him at the sudden blare of Eye of the Tiger, but then changed his mind and shook his head with a sigh instead.

"I haven't the faintest," he admitted. "I haven't thought about it." He took a moment to do so, continuing slowly, "He doesn't need to eat, but with the skin he can, so I assume it doesn't need the energy from food, but uses it when it's there."

The moments of silence Paddy had needed before consciously deciding to say nothing had left Solomon feeling as though there was another elephant in the room. Fortunately, Paddy was the one person with whom Solomon didn't mind talking about elephants, although he felt as though, at some point, he was going to cross the line in terms of how much help he could ask.

Either way, it wasn't until Paddy had led him properly inside the house and into the kitchen that Solomon chose to say anything. He took the seat Paddy offered and said abruptly, "I apologise if I unnerved you." The ex-Necromancer paused for a moment. "And on behalf of Dexter's gift. Sorcerers as a society are not usually so incapable of keeping secrets, I promise you."

Solomon had never actually offered help to someone in anything other than sarcastic or disparaging terms. He wasn't quite sure how to do it now in a way Paddy deserved. The man had been constantly thrown in the deep end; surely some recompense had been earned by now.

[skeletonenigma]

So basically Paddy should treat Skulduggery the same as anyone else when it came to eating. Probably with even less consideration, because as he understood it, the skin was a fairly recent development. When was the last time Skulduggery ate anything? The last time he could taste, or properly enjoy a mug of tea? He'd probably leap at the chance for a home cooked dinner. Having reached that conclusion, Paddy filed the subject away and tried not to think about it again.

"There's nothing to apologise for," he said, genuinely befuddled by Solomon's choice to do so. "It's not as if you meant to. I just need a little bit longer than a week to take everything in."

Although, Paddy was doing better than he thought, judging by the way he managed to explain things to Sean without feeling like he was telling the boy a fantasy story. There was something about seeing a living skeleton in the flesh, as it were, that solidified any sense of surrealism he'd been feeling beforehand.

Ironic though that probably was.

"Maybe a lot longer than a week," he added quietly. "But I'll get there. Sean's probably going to help. Now, you had something you wanted to talk about?"

Solomon hadn't specifically said so, but it was fairly obvious from the ex-Necromancer's demeanour. Not to mention the fact that he felt like he had to apologise for Dexter. He was clearly feeling guilty over something.

[peacefullywreathed]

That was probably why Paddy had chosen to tell Sean the truth. Maybe not exactly consciously, but Solomon could well imagine he wanted someone more like him to know. Someone who was ... probably ... mortal. Someone he could guide to help himself adjust.

Solomon chose not to look, and didn't bring it up.

"Saffron," he said simply, turning the head of the cane under his palm. He'd been considering this for most of the night, which is why he'd gone back to the Hotel so early. After it became clear he'd need somewhere safe to go, and after the ice had been broken by their visit the other day, Anton Shudder had set aside a room for him until he'd bought another house.

The thing was that Saffron was only the first. He wished she could be the only, but the manner of her escape was proof that Quiver, at least, was having doubts. Having doubts enough to show mercy, even rationalised as it probably was. If Quiver was doubting, then rumours were probably running rampant, and Tenebrae's attempt to shut down all discussion would only make the issue worse.

There would be others. There would be others and he didn't know what to do with them. "She's not going to be the last person to doubt. A lot of the less powerful acolytes only stay with the Temple because they were born and raised there. They don't know anything else. Now they do. They'll come to me."

Slow half-point turn to the left, equally slow half-point to the right. "The Sanctuary would be able to establish a safehouse," he continued. "It's never been on good terms with the Temple. We should be able to protect them. That won't be too much of an issue. The problem is that they'll expect things from me. Things I won't be able to give them."

He looked toward Paddy, resigned. "I don't know what do to. Again."

[skeletonenigma]

The conundrum had clearly already occurred to others in the Sanctuary. Solomon had already garnered himself a nickname from Dexter - Mr. Prophet. That was probably why he'd resigned himself to the task, even while scrabbling for a way out. Or at least searching for someone to complain to.

"Ah," was all Paddy could say. For nearly a full minute, it was all he did say.

The possibility had, of course, also occurred to him, long before Saffron even arrived on his doorstep. That didn't make the looming explanation any easier, since he'd never had to explain the responsibility to anyone else before. It was difficult to put into words, even for those who already knew what he was talking about.

Still, Solomon needed help. Paddy had to start somewhere. "What you're talking about is taking spiritual responsibility for a large group of people, most of whom are complete strangers or people you barely know, and guiding them from a perceived position of enlightenment that you, in reality, know no more about than they do. What you're talking about, Solomon, is having a congregation. A flock, if you will."

Paddy couldn't deny being glad that Solomon's departure from the Temple may well have ended its existence. Particularly since it was in the most peaceful way possible; no death, no violence, each and every acolyte within it saved through their own choice to allow for it. And on a more vindictive level, Paddy couldn't think of a better retribution for the torture Solomon was put through than to have the entire Temple crumble around the Necromancer leader's ears. "Don't think of it as spiritual responsibility at first," he went on. "You handled Saffron perfectly. She isn't relying on you for help anymore, but she still knows where to find you. And for someone giving up everything they've ever known, that's the perfect balance of comfort and independence. For now, all you're doing is organising safety and protection for refugees, as any good political leader should. The, um... prophet part can come later."

Paddy smiled at Solomon. It was amusing only because Solomon thought the idea was laughable. In Paddy's secondhand experience, no one ever set out to become a prophet. History decided that, after the fact. "You'll probably find that you feel responsible for them anyway. Not just spiritually, either. The thing is, it works both ways - it can be a burden, but it also means you'll feel proud of them when things go right. That isn't a weakness. That's what makes it all worth it."

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon had no idea exactly what expression he was wearing. He imagined it was some kind of combination. Disbelief. Incredulity. Aversion. Annoyance. He didn't know why, but the very last thing he anticipated actually happening was for Paddy to run with the subject of conversation as if it was a fact that Solomon would, in fact, turn out to be a prophet.

Wasn't this sort of thing the height of disrespect? Didn't anyone who went around proclaiming themselves as a prophet wind up being brought back down to Earth in extremely humiliating ways? A congregation. Where was Paddy getting the idea that Solomon even could?

Not knowing what to do was fast becoming an accepted state of being. Being responsible for whole groups of people, for no reason than he was the first person to have done what they would want to do? No. He wasn't resigned to that. He hadn't asked for it. That was how people got congregations, wasn't it? They were assigned them, they accepted them. They had to be part of a legal religious body for that. He wasn't. He couldn't have a congregation.

Solomon managed to curb his first and second impulses to answer, and keep his voice mostly calm. Mostly. It was terse, but remained level and didn't rise. "No, I'm not. I'm not in any position to take spiritual responsibility for anyone. I can barely take spiritual responsibility for myself. I just accepted leadership of Ireland's magical community, for God's sake, and that's more than I can handle given the circumstances."

The idea that Paddy would think he could handle anything more than that was ludicrous. Solomon took a deep breath and forced his grip on his cane to relax.

"The Sanctuary can give them a place to go, if it'll get them away from the Temple." He wouldn't even be personally responsible for that. It was just the sort of leader Corrival was. "It's how to let them down with the rest I'm not sure about--without sending them fleeing right back to the Temple, at least. Either way, the very last thing I need is a group of young and brainwashed sorcerers hanging on my every word because they falsely believe I can save them."

[skeletonenigma]

Barely take spiritual responsibility for himself? Solomon had just single-handedly redeemed himself from Necromancy, the habit of several lifetimes, in the space of a week. If that wasn't taking spiritual responsibility for himself, Paddy was rather lost as to what was.

"Saffron didn't think you could save her," he replied in much the same sort of level tone as Solomon's. "Not in the way you're thinking. She doesn't know anything about redemption or religion or spiritual enlightenment or angels, Solomon. All she knows is that Necromancy's dangerous - which you told her - but running away from the Temple is practically suicide. That's what she's scared of. That, understandably, is why she wants your help - you've already done it. You obviously know something she doesn't. She doesn't want you to save her, she wants you to help her. You've done that. She's not hanging on your every word now, is she?"

It was interesting, how Solomon didn't think he was capable of this sort of leadership. He hadn't thought he was capable of living without Necromancy; yet look at him now. He hadn't thought he'd ever be able to escape the Temple's clutches, or lead the country while blind. There were a great many things Solomon had been convinced he'd never achieve, and had. Was he forgetting all that?

"Tell me something." Paddy pulled over his own chair, and sat down across from Solomon. "Saffron told me that she was one of the nurses healing you after... well, after what they did. She said you told her to consider where Necromancers' souls go after they die. If you didn't care even the slightest bit about anyone else being able to follow you out of the Temple, why did you tell her that? Why bring it up at all?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"Because I was delusional with agony, for one," Solomon muttered. Paddy's soul was rippling with abject confusion, and Solomon wasn't even sure which part of all this was confusing to him. Had the man forgotten that hardly a week ago, Solomon himself had been, by nearly any definition, evil? What did he know about being 'good'?

Saffron Sweetgrass wasn't hanging on his every word because she wasn't there to hang on them. It was as simple as that. He looked at Paddy, studied him. His oasis wasn't parched, but it was restrained with a minor sandstorm, and that confusion served to block out a lot of Solomon's understanding of the man. Even still, there was a sort of infallible peace in the water that was somewhat unnerving.

"If you didn't care even the slightest bit, why bring it up at all?"

"I'm getting the impression you think I'm rather less petty than I am," he observed. "I brought it up because if it did convince people to leave, and therefore encourage Tenebrae's little empire to fall down around his ears, then I'm certainly going to do all I can to make it happen. Which, by the way, is exactly why the Sanctuary will be interested in helping them escape. That doesn't mean I want or am capable of actually leading people through personal revelations."

If those last words came out somewhat sour, he felt he could be forgiven that. It wasn't enough that he did manage to escape from the Temple and the grasp of a genuinely evil magic? It wasn't enough that he was blind and for his own safety had to accept leading a magical nation in the middle of what anyone would term an unrest?

Apparently not. Solomon had no idea if God had had any hand in this at all, beyond His saving Solomon's life, but Solomon wasn't happy with Him right now either way.

[skeletonenigma]

"You are." Paddy shook his head. "Capable of leading people through personal revelations, I mean. Trust me on that. It's never been a matter of if you can, but if you will."

And he would, Paddy was confident of that. Evil was relative. There was a difference between plotting to kill people because you thought it would save others, and plotting to kill people for the sake of the killing. Solomon had never been an evil man. Misguided, selfish, and petty, maybe. But not evil. An evil man wouldn't have been capable of giving up his own power for any reason - even to save himself.

Solomon would help the escaped acolytes who asked for it because he didn't feel he had any choice in the matter. He was wrong, though. He did. And that was what made his mistaken belief that he didn't so wonderful. Even now, he wasn't looking for a way out; he was just looking to complain.

And he knew it.

"It's not fate," said Paddy. "It's not destiny. It's a choice. You can choose what you want to do, Solomon. It's just that you already have, and you don't want to hear about it."

[peacefullywreathed]

"I won't," Solomon said sharply. He wasn't going to bother restraining his frustration now. What was the point? Paddy knew he disagreed, and apparently wasn't going to let up. Solomon wasn't sure which part was the part that frustrated him the most: the fact that Paddy couldn't understand why Solomon might be reluctant, or the part where he genuinely thought Solomon was capable of such things.

True, he had achieved a great deal more than he could have ever imagined, especially at the time it was happening. But that was partly the point. Hadn't he done enough? When was he allowed to rest? That was unlikely enough as it was, given his new status as an Elder. He wasn't going to go and take on more than that. This was one of those times when he had to refuse responsibility, or else he'd probably go insane.

"And I'm choosing not," he said tightly. "I can't help these people with anything more than giving them a place to go. To protect their souls, their minds? That's your purview, not mine. After everything I've been through, how can you expect more?"

That, Solomon had to reluctantly admit, was really what frustrated him, although 'frustration' wasn't quite the right word. It felt almost as if Paddy was taking advantage of the respect Solomon had for him, unintentionally getting more out of him with his sheer faith in Solomon's abilities. As if Solomon would shape up just to meet those expectations.

Well, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Fine, he was an Elder. Fine, things had changed. But he still had to protect himself to some degree, and that's what he was doing now. What he wanted was help in getting those people to not demanding the same thing Paddy just now was.

[skeletonenigma]

Where Solomon grew sharp, and lost the calm demeanour he'd been keeping a strenuous hold on until now, Paddy did the exact opposite. Not that he'd been sharp before, but he grew calmer still, as if Solomon was taking from him any chance of raising his voice right back.

For a while, all Paddy did was watch him. Without judgment, without intent, without much of anything. He met Solomon's sightless eyes, his accusing eyes, without blinking or looking away.

Paddy knew that Solomon could see souls, but if you'd asked him right then what the ex-Necromancer might be seeing, he wouldn't have any idea. There was sympathy, well-worn sympathy with everything Solomon had been through and how much he still had to deal with before he'd come out the other side. Pain Paddy would never be able to imagine, ongoing shock, deep confusion and fear. But it wasn't just sympathy; there was a measure of practically everything else, as well. Including, minute though it was, a flash of annoyance.

"I don't expect anything." Paddy's voice, when he eventually spoke, was every bit as gentle as it was before. "I barely knew Necromancers existed until last week. Anything I might have expected, you're already doing. As you said, giving them a place to go. Protection." Abruptly, Paddy stood up. "Would you like some tea? Something to drink?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"No." With a sigh Solomon rested his elbows on the desk so he could massage his temples. Then he changed his mind. "Yes. Tea, please. Holy water." It did tend to help his headaches. They weren't as bad as they used to be, but he did still get regular low-level aches. He usually carried water for himself, but if he was going to be in a priest's house, why not?

Usually it happened when he was waiting something, close-by, which was defined by mixed feelings. Paddy qualified.

Paddy was being extremely annoying in the way Solomon had always thought priests were, except without being condescending about it. He was just so calm and unjudgemental. It was the way Gabe was annoying: by letting his subject's guilt work for him. Damn them both, anyway.

"You must," he said, but now he sounded tired. "Or else you wouldn't be talking unironically about me having a congregation or being a prophet, and have done so without even being surprised. Neither of which I have any interest in, by the way. Protection, fine. I won't even be the only one sanctioning that. But preaching?"

He shook his head. "Necromancers only work together when they have to. I appreciate your faith in me, I suppose, but you're wrong. Politics is something I know, but I can't lead any kind of church."

[skeletonenigma]

Paddy hesitated at the request for holy water, but then decided Solomon's unique form of magic probably went beyond what most sorcerers were used to. Maybe holy water helped, somehow. It wouldn't surprise him, since all the changing Solomon was doing had been jump-started by the discovery of an Archangel.

"You're not a Necromancer anymore," Paddy pointed out, quite obviously, and not for the first time. Even so, he let the comment sink in while he filled the kettle with water, blessed it, and set it to boil before retaking his seat.

"The prophet bit might have been a bit of an exaggeration," he admitted. "I noticed Dexter's nickname. Solomon, just let events take their natural course for now. There's no use worrying yourself sick over something you can't truly prepare for." Paddy would be there as much as he could, while those events unfolded, so Solomon wouldn't be without guidance - even if it wasn't exactly the sort of guidance he wanted. "A new church doesn't have to be the end-all, be-all solution."

Even though it probably would be, in some form or other.

There was a loud noise from outside, and it made Paddy's head swivel to the doorway as if he was half-expecting it to have been some sort of explosion. Which, to be honest, he was. "Why did you come to me, if you're so certain this is beyond your abilities?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"But I was raised one, and those aren't instincts I can simply toss away. I haven't any idea how to start leading a group of people like that." He left his temples and ran his hands through his hair instead, closing his eyes to try and centre himself.

"None of the others consider it an exaggeration," he muttered. "Saffron didn't seem to think I could do anything wrong. That's never happened before. Especially not for--" He stopped abruptly. He hadn't given Paddy details of Vile, or his connection to Vile, or what it meant. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "It's for all the wrong reasons," he settled on.

The noise from outside was the sound of Sheila backfiring. Solomon flinched at the sharpness of the sound but didn't look over. "I don't want to send them back to the Temple just because I say something wrong," he repeated. "Or because they have expectations I can't fulfil. I am not a gentle man, Paddy. These people will need some measure of gentleness. Saffron is an anomaly in the Temple. Most of the others won't be quite so readily accepting. What am I meant to say to people like that?"

To help them save themselves, without their relying on him for rescuing?

[skeletonenigma]

Paddy didn't ask what those 'wrong reasons' were. He could guess, to an extent. Necromancers respected power, and there was obviously a great deal Solomon hadn't told him. Not because he didn't trust Paddy, but... well, for any other number of reasons, up to and including the sheer amount there was to tell, from a lifetime of over four hundred years.

The sudden stop was a little more specific. But again, Paddy didn't ask. He didn't need to know, to say nothing of not having a desire to.

Saffron, he wanted to say, was nowhere near 'readily accepting.' She still wasn't. She'd resented the fact that she was reduced to trusting someone who wasn't even a sorcerer, and certainly hadn't been ready to hear the real reason Solomon changed so drastically. Solomon hadn't been ready for that. But Paddy understood the deeper meaning - compared to the rest of the Temple, Saffron would be the easiest to deal with.

The kettle started whistling before Paddy could think of an answer, so he distracted himself with finishing up the tea. He put one mug in front of Solomon and hesitantly tried a sip from the other, wondering if the holy water would make any difference to the taste. It didn't, of course. Paddy wasn't a sorcerer.

"The truth," he finally decided as he sat back down. "Not all of it, obviously. Just as much as they can handle. Anyone who has the strength to do what Saffron just did... they might be more willing to listen, and less willing to give up, than you think. People don't give up their whole lives if they don't have some sort of personal guarantee that the other option is somehow better, or safer. Even if a blind leap of faith is all that guarantee is."

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon found the mug and wrapped his hands around it, bringing it up to blow on the tea. "Thank you," he murmured belatedly and a little absently, taking in Paddy's words. The truth. The truth was so much easier with some people. Others in the Temple weren't usually among them. There was too much risk of them using it against you.

He took a few moments to wait for the tea to cool and to sip it. "That's the part that worries me," he said at last, after his headache had started to ease. "The part where they might be using me as their personal guarantee. I'm the only reason they have to believe it might be better or safer."

Another pause, this time so Solomon could find the words to explain. "Necromancers believe in logic," he said finally. "They're afraid, but most of their beliefs are based on proven metaphysics." It was one of the reasons why Solomon was considered eccentric. One of the lesser reasons, true, but even so. "Faith isn't considered as highly. If it was, something like this would have happened earlier. Until now, there hasn't been any logical reason for them to consider anything else."

Now there was, and Solomon was the cause of it. Which was the problem. Necromancers, when they found something to believe in, were fanatical. They didn't know how to be anything else, because that was how they were raised. Leaving aside the idea of having to fight Vile to the death, Solomon hadn't wanted to be the Death Bringer for that reason.

Which meant that Solomon had to give them a solid reason to stay out of the Temple, without encouraging them to latch on to him as some sort of reverse Death Bringer. "The truth." He shook his head and chuckled. "If nothing else, it might be shocking enough to be a novelty. If they believe me."

[skeletonenigma]

"Well, they're right." Another loud noise from outside, identical to the first, and Paddy closed his eyes for a moment to try and remind himself that unless there was active screaming, they were probably alright. The bike was made of magic, after all. "It is better. If not quite safer. Their reason for believing it wouldn't matter if it was anything other than you."

And if it was anything other than Solomon, they wouldn't have had the first clue how to keep themselves safe. Solomon might not appreciate that just yet, and probably wouldn't for a while, but there would come a day when the Temple was gone. Gone, but all the previous members still alive, and living normal lives. If nothing else, Solomon would feel a sense of accomplishment then.

Paddy stirred his tea round and round absentmindedly, completely forgetting that he hadn't put any sugar into it yet. "They'll have believed enough to leave, whether based on logic or not. The rest is just a matter of self-reliance. Especially for those of them actually giving up magic - I'm assuming they won't develop soul-reading abilities like you have. They'll need to learn a whole new way of life. But at least they'll already have a reason for learning it."

That was the tough part, really. Convincing someone they had to change. Not that Solomon wouldn't have to handle some measure of that, because there would always be people who followed the herd with no idea why they were doing it. But for the most part? Saffron already knew she couldn't go back to the Temple, and didn't want to go back to the Temple. Now she just needed to realise she had her own reasons, rather than blindly relying on Solomon's.

[peacefullywreathed]

"I doubt it. Not unless Tenebrae decides to blind each and every one of them as well." Not likely. Maybe he would torture some of the first, if he caught them early enough, but if the movement grew large enough there was no way Tenebrae would be able to contain them all. "But they may still be able to use magic," he added. "From my understanding, my blindness only gives me a more direct connection to the lifestream. There's no reason some of the others couldn't still use theirs as well."

Solomon lapsed for a moment into silence, turning things over in his mind. "There is someone who knows the truth," he said at last, "or at least enough of it to have questions. Cleric Quiver. He was there when I was rescued. Gabe didn't reveal himself, precisely, but he said enough that Quiver at least suspects who he is." He smiled a little. "For Quiver, that's enough. He's the sort of man who says or does nothing until he's reviewed all the facts." Which didn't make him slow to make decisions, but he was careful not to jump to conclusions or make assumptions. "If there was ever a man not to make reckless decisions, it would be him."

A good man to have on side. A bad man to not. A difficult man to predict. "I never would have expected him to change his mind quickly," Solomon murmured. "But to consider the implications--yes, certainly. If he comes to the same conclusion I did, he'll be the one in the position to get people out of the Temple. People would listen to him."

Born and raised in the Temple, he would know how to approach the other Necromancers from a standpoint they could accept. The problem from the Sanctuary's perspective was how to contact him without putting him in danger.

[skeletonenigma]

"Saffron mentioned Quiver, yes." So he'd helped Saffron leave the Temple because he actually knew the truth, or at least suspected it. And that meant, if they were very lucky, Quiver wouldn't stop at just Saffron. An ally inside the Temple, high up in the Temple, at around the same level Solomon had been? That was an excellent benefit for the Sanctuary, if either party figured out a way to take advantage of it and communicate safely.

Paddy nearly laughed out loud. Look at him; halfway planning subtle war on a religious Temple that had lasted for untold centuries. Untold millennium. Subtle war. It was a very good thing he wasn't a sorcerer.

"So you're not the only one they'll listen to?" Paddy asked, smiling. "Not all the burden of leadership will be on your shoulders? That's good to know." He took a sip of his tea, realised there wasn't any sugar in it, swallowed it down anyway, and put a spoonful in the mug when he was done. "Is there any way of contacting him?"

[peacefullywreathed]

If it had been anyone else, Solomon would have known that the words were deliberately dry just to tease him. With Paddy, he could be sure they weren't. They still earned the priest an exasperated look. "Yes, it is," he said, "provided Quiver does actually choose to extend himself. He may not, if he believes it isn't enough of a benefit to risk his own safety."

It was curious that he had done even that much for Saffron. There must have been other reasons for it. Solomon closed his eyes to dull the lifestream around him so he could remember the election better--the election, and the state of Quiver's soul at the time. Ash. Ready for renewal. That had been obvious. But his relation to Tenebrae ...?

In Solomon's memory, the ash in Quiver's soul had drifted around Tenebrae's obsidian as if they were two opposing magnets deflecting each other. Which meant that Quiver had lost faith in Tenebrae as a leader. If he felt Tenebrae needed to be opposed, undermining his authority and proving he was losing control would be just one step.

"No," he said with a sigh, opening his eyes. "Saffron gave us a good accounting of Temple security before she left, but that will have already changed. If we put Quiver on the spot he'll choose his life over anything else. We'll have to wait for him to come to us."

There came the sound of a roaring engine from outside, following by the whoop of excitement from two different voices. Solomon shook his head ruefully, half at that and half at their conversation. "He's a start, at least. The Sanctuary can manage a handful of refugees, but we'll need the help of someone like Quiver if the Temple is really going to come down."

[skeletonenigma]

Solomon could theorise all he wanted, and be as pessimistic about his chances as he wanted, but Paddy could tell that even he believed it was a foregone conclusion. He was speaking as if Quiver would definitely come to them later, and it was just a question of when. The thought broadened Paddy's smile. "Well, you know the saying. Good things come to those who wait."

Taking down a cult, after all, couldn't be done quickly and haphazardly. It was a well-established cult, and spread all over the globe. It had to be a delicate operation, if it stood any chance of succeeding without loss of life.

"Hypothetically," Paddy mused, still stirring his tea, "what happens when all of this works, and the Temple comes down? I believe you said this was only the Irish branch. How many other Temples are there?" He hesitated. "Without making you feel as if you have an impossible workload, Mr. Prophet sir."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Really?" Solomon asked dryly. "In that case I think I'm about due." If waiting was all that was needed, then a lot of people would be due. It wasn't just about being patient. There was a certain entitlement to expectation; most sorcerers had it. Necromancers, in particular. Solomon tried not to expect anything.

There was definite teasing in Paddy's tone this time, far less genuinely reassuring than his previous tease. Solomon gave him another Look. "Don't let the others hear you say that," he said. "The last thing I need is for them to think I've been authenticated by an official."

He traced the rim of his nearly-empty mug; his headache had nearly subsided completely, so he could actually tally up a rough count. "There's one for nearly every Sanctuary," he said at last. "I think it was deliberate, in the past, to counter what they saw as a heathen--" His lips quirked ironically. "--influence on the population. There are hundreds of them and large countries like America have several to cover each major area, but correspondingly some of those Temples are very small, just as some of your parishes might be."

His fingers drummed against the table. He'd seen some of Tenebrae's paperwork; he'd seen the latest census a few years ago. It had been one of Tenebrae's attempts to convince him to add to the breeding pool, actually. "At last census, perhaps a few hundred thousand practitioners," he said finally. "Ireland's Temple has been small ever since the war with Mevolent; we had perhaps a hundred in the Temple here when I left. Another hundred or two across the sea. At least a thousand on the Continent, probably more--the Necromantic population there bloomed during the Second World War. And so on. Less than a million all together."

Which meant that Tenebrae was going to be extremely possessive over the people he still had. Which was why he had the Temple on lockdown after losing just one. He knew exactly what this might begin.

"As for what might happen ... I haven't the faintest idea. I doubt we'd ever be able to wipe it out entirely, just like Meritorious wasn't able to destroy the Church of the Faceless Ones. And young sorcerers will no doubt experiment with power, just for the sake of power." He shrugged. "At best, I suppose on a political level we treat it like it is--an addiction."

[skeletonenigma]

It was actually more than Paddy had been expecting, although that shouldn't have surprised him. With sorcerers being so long-lived and so widespread, it stood to reason the Necromantic cult would establish as many footholds as it could. It probably wasn't the only fanatical group of sorcerers out there - worshippers of the Faceless Ones notwithstanding.

It just meant that even if the Irish Temple crumbled tomorrow, Solomon was definitely going to have his work cut out for him.

Less than a million Necromancers altogether - and as they made up a definite minority of the sorcerer population, that numbered sorcerers at somewhere around a few million. Which sounded like a lot, until Paddy took into account that there were seven billion people in the world. When he thought of it that way, sorcerers barely made up one percent of the total population. Secret world-changing wars made a lot more sense when he looked at the big picture, and particularly since before cameras were invented things would have been much easier to hide.

Unless, of course, Dexter had anything to do with them. Paddy chuckled over his tea at the thought.

"Don't make the mistake of banning it, then," he advised Solomon once he'd taken a few more sips. "That makes it off-limits, dangerous, and therefore attractive to all sorts of people. Monitor it instead." Try to keep people from organising, and developing the same poisonous belief structure as before, and try to dissuade people from practicing it - save as many misguided souls as you could. But if history had taught humanity one thing, it was never to leave your enemy with nothing to lose. That, Paddy thought sadly, was what made World War II possible. And with sorcerers, it couldn't hurt to be extra careful. Most of them really were just misguided souls.

"What abound beyond the political level?" Paddy wasn't letting Solomon off the hook just yet. "A few hundred thousand displaced people, most without magic, all struggling to find a way to cope? How much would each individual Sanctuary do to help?" How much could Paddy do to help?

[peacefullywreathed]

"I wouldn't have planned to," Solomon admitted. "It's the same reason Meritorious didn't outlaw the worship of the Faceless Ones, or destroy all their churches. Sanctuaries tried the same to the Temples in the past. It didn't work."

The problem was that the magical community had nothing like the halfway houses to which Saffron had been sent. Sorcerers considered things like addictions to be beneath them. Even those who were addicted to perfectly mundane substances still carried with them that belief in their own immortality.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a health issue," he said at last. "The problem is that most Sanctuaries don't have conventional health clinics the way you do. We just don't have enough of a population. Places like America might, but the healers in Ireland who aren't affiliated with either the Sanctuary or the Temple aren't much more than amateurs. Capable of handling small issues, but not much else. And that isn't even taking into account the lack of addiction awareness present in our society."

Solomon had never thought about it before, but that was always going to be a problem, he realised. The Council of Elders ruled, but not in the same way as a democratic government. They were chosen by the oldest and most influential clan members and made decisions for the nation at large, for the sake of the divide between magical and mortal, but in the end individual sorcerers were generally expected to handle their own affairs. The Sanctuary intervened only when those actions contravened their secrecy or national borders.

"We don't have a lot of infrastructure at all, actually," he murmured, staring unknowingly past Paddy's head and at the wall. The sound of the dirt-bike's engine purring was a distant noise outside. "We're too used to clans taking care of their own affairs. The Sanctuary doesn't interfere unless an actions puts the nation or the magical community at risk. We have no internal health infrastructure to rely on to monitor an addiction like this."

He blinked, his gaze tracking slowly nearer to Paddy's face. "I don't know." That was all he could say that was even remotely definitive. "Maybe some could be convinced to help, if they thought it would bring the Temples down. They might not need to know the Temples' motives. Some probably would. Most ..." He stopped. He was wrong. "Most wouldn't see the difference."

He couldn't help the bitterness in his tone, then. "Ireland's Sanctuary is old. Some of the newer ones are far more brutal. They pretend they aren't, but they are--to compensate for being younger, and not in a Cradle of Magic. They would treat ex-Necromancers like criminals."

Solomon remembered back when Ireland's Council had reluctantly allied with the Necromancers to fight Mevolent. There had always been tension; it had been an alliance born of necessity. But he also remembered Morwenna Crow. He remembered the day she left, remembered because he was one of the few people she told that she was leaving. He remembered why she left--because of Vile.

All over the world, Necromancers were generally disdained. The ordinary man feared death enough to fear those who controlled it. There were one or two Temples more like Sanctuaries than not--India sprang to mind; Necromancers and worshippers of Kali were nearly one and the same. There was a very great Necromantic presence there. There was an equally great opposition, comprised of those Kali worshippers who believe Necromancy was a corruption of everything for which she stood.

They weren't wrong. Would they be enough to counter the Temple's influence?

He couldn't tell. Morwenna Crow was an anomaly--a Necromancer unaffiliated with the Temple. Rogues weren't common. They were usually assassinated before long. He knew that for sure, because he had often been the one to track them down and send an assassin after them.

"Taking down Ireland's Temple may be relatively easy," he said quietly. "Taking down the whole cult? I don't know. It may prove to be impossible without an all-out war."

[skeletonenigma]

It was occurring to Paddy, little by little, as he slowly learned more about the hidden and impossibly arrogant world of magic, just how much right they had to be arrogant - that was, how powerful sorcerers were. He'd always known that, ever since the moment he first saw Solomon drawing shadows towards himself in the church to prove his control over them. But it was very different when you actually began to comprehend how powerful they were. War wasn't just war, and war was bad enough; war between sorcerers in the past almost brought immense beings of unspeakable evil into the world. Skulduggery, who in the world of mundanity would have been arresting criminals capable of killing no more than a few people, was constantly shouldered with the burden of saving the entire world. Which he did, and admirably well according to the stories Paddy had been told, but... that was part of it. How powerful did someone have to be to handle that sort of thing in their everyday work?

War between Sanctuaries and the Necromancers' Temple. That was the last thing they needed.

But, Paddy reflected grimly, something close to an inevitability. From what he'd heard of the Irish Sanctuary, at least, they weren't going to let Necromancers go that easily. And Necromancers weren't about to give up their so-called messiah.

"Is that likely?" he finally worked up the courage to ask. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Paddy could hear the fear in his own voice. "All-out war?"

He didn't know what he'd do, in a situation like that. He couldn't, in all good conscience, claim blissful ignorance again. But aside from that, Paddy just didn't know. He couldn't compete against power like this.

[peacefullywreathed]

Was it likely? Solomon considered the Temples. Their arrogance. Their certainty. Their fear. He considered how much they disliked others knowing their internal beliefs and systems. He considered the control they deemed necessary over every single member of their organisation. How he had been accepted only because of his faith, even while his autonomy had been considered 'dangerous'.

Even if Ireland's Sanctuary could take down Ireland's Temple quick and relatively painlessly, the other Temples would consider it an action requiring response. They wouldn't accept a governing body targetting even one of them like that. Even if they knew how wildly Tenebrae had misjudged Vile's ability to be controlled, they would consider it their purview to judge and punish--not the Sanctuary's. Anyone who thinks they can control the Temple needed to be sent a message. It had just been a while since any Sanctuary dared it.

And that wasn't even taking into account how well individual Sanctuaries worked together. Which they didn't. Especially not at the behest of Ireland, not now. Not after everything Ireland had faced and, in the others' eyes, only just barely averted.

Cold chills trickled from Solomon's head down into his belly. What had he begun? All he'd done was leave the Temple, and its magic, for his own sake. But if Saffron was only the first, and Quiver would encourage others ... it would turn into an avalanche.

"If things continue as they seem to be, it's likely," he confessed, his grip on his cup tightening as if he could get back the heat it no longer had. "If people begin leaving the Temple here, Tenebrae will tighten control. If we try to help them, we'd wind up in conflict. Ireland's had too many close calls lately. The other Sanctuaries will notice. If we win, they'll want to know we can still stand strong against our internal affairs. If we tell them why the Temple was uprooted, enough of them will take action against the Temples on their own soil. And if we lose ... someone will step in. America, or England. Ireland won't belong to Ireland anymore."

He shook his head, laughing quietly and bitterly. "The best chance we'd have is if none of them believe the Temples are really out to murder three billion people to 'save' the rest. And some will. A lot of Sanctuaries wouldn't mind any chance to come down on Necromancers. It's why they keep things so close to the chest."

It wasn't until a few seconds after that that he remembered he had never actually told Paddy what the Passage involved. His expression blanked and he looked down into the cup he couldn't see, trying vainly to pretend he hadn't essentially confessed what his own intent had been. "There's no need for you to be involved in all that."