For what seemed like eternity and not nearly long enough at all, Solomon drifted in half-aware sleep. Part of him insisted that he really needed to stay awake, that after what he'd been through it would probably be a bad idea to slip away. Yet the rest of him didn't care. It wasn't that he wanted to die. It was just that he was no longer afraid of what would happen if he did. And he was sure that he wouldn't, besides. He didn't know why. He just knew that he could sleep, and it would be okay.
Mostly, he was simply enjoying being able to breathe. Being able to feel his body, and know it was his. He could feel warmth in his extremities, his head and side, which indicated he was bleeding, but he had no idea what might have caused it and didn't have the strength to lift his hands to see. He ached, and badly. Even lying still, he ached.
It felt good. Strangely peaceful. His eyes half lidded, Solomon watched a close-by pocket of purple-red, at the way it seemed to vibrate. It took his still-gathering mind a little while to figure out that it was vibrating because he was near it. Because of an odd sort of tarnished gold which threw it into stark contrast.
A tarnished gold which belonged to him. Maybe, he thought idly, it would shine up a little. It must have been black, before.
The door opened. Solomon didn't move. Moving was far too much effort right now. He watched in fascination at the faint eddies in the room, a tinge rather than a rainbow, and the way they cast back in reaction to whomever had entered.
He thought he saw some of that tinge lighten, but didn't connect it with Quiver until the man's shoes came into view. He paused and moment later knelt into Solomon's view. It wasn't until Quiver was putting a hand under his head to tilt it up that Solomon realised he held a cup. Quiver offered it to him carefully, in case he tried to drink too fast, but to be frank, Solomon was too exhausted even for that. He all but let Quiver pour it down his throat, drinking eagerly while there was water but unable to complain when there wasn't. For a moment his throat flared wildly with pain, but then the dryness eased and it dulled, and there was only relief.
When the cup was empty Quiver set it beside him, lay down Solomon's head, and waited. Solomon blinked, slowly, and breathed.
There was a light in Quiver's soul, he marvelled. It was blackness, mostly, blackness like there had been in Valkyrie's, except worse. Suffocating tendrils of blackness and pockets of purple-red, and a thin glow of blue light at his heart, a glow like a persistent ember.
Inhale.
"Solomon."
Quiver's voice was soft, but it still seemed loud. Intrusive.
Exhale.
"Why are you sorry, Solomon?"
A slow blink. He had said that out loud, hadn't he? He wasn't surprised they'd heard, somehow. He couldn't be bothered to think over why he wasn't surprised, but he wasn't.
"Used Da's soul," he whispered. Quiver's brow furrowed.
"I thought you said Necromancers powered Necromancy."
Inhale. "Necromancy is powered by anything that's nearest."
"And Necromancers are usually what's nearest," Quiver observed with a nod, as if that made sense. Solomon watched the shift of a silhouette across that ember. A veil. What did it mean? He couldn't tell.
"So you were speaking to your father?"
"Mmhm." Solomon's assent came almost absently, his eyes tracking the movement of that silhouette. There were more of them, actually. It was odd. Like Quiver's soul should have been black on black, except where its crevasses were highlighted by Scream, but that tiny ember threw it all into starkness and left shadows moving on the floor.
"He was here? You saw him?"
"Mmm."
Inhale. Exhale.
"Solomon." Solomon tore his gaze from the movement of the shadows on the floor to look at Quiver's face.
"You look like you're crying tears of blood," he murmured without thinking, and every movement in Quiver's soul froze. For a moment. Then movement came again, but sluggish, as if Quiver was forcing it to and yet was still shaken.
"Not I." A moment of blissful silence. Then: "How are you able to do this, Solomon?"
"Saw the lifestream."
Quiver inclined his head. "You said. How?"
He wanted to know how. How meant talking about Saint Gabriel. Saint Gabriel was off-limits. For one, Skulduggery would kill him. For another, Tenebrae was stupid enough to try and control an Archangel. Like China. Solomon didn't mind that, but he did mind putting Saint Gabriel on the spot. Solomon found himself smiling, actually huffed something close to a silent chuckle, and turned his head a half-inch into the floor in a shake. "Not telling. Unbelievable."
"Try me."
"Don't know if I can trust you. Was an accident, anyway."
Another long moment of silence. Solomon watched Quiver, letting himself be mesmerised by that slow movement. Careful thinking. Quiver always did think carefully. He was probably here to get information. Of course he was. Solomon sort-of didn't mind. What was the point in minding? Except for Saint Gabriel. He wouldn't tell about Saint Gabriel.
Exhale.
"How does it work, Solomon?"
Inhale. "Not sure. See things." No answer. "We're in an ocean. A current. Carrying things. Rippling around the things that can't be moved yet. Reminds me of Monet."
"That's what it looks like. How does it work?"
Solomon sighed and let his eyes close. He felt tired. Comfortable, only because his previous moments have been so pained. Ready to sleep. "I don't know. Tell Tenebrae that. I don't know."
Except he did, a little. With his eyes closed, he couldn't see, exactly. But he could feel the current around him. It felt warm, soothing. Like the description of remembering the womb. Except with Quiver so close. Quiver felt like the sharp edges of rocks, and the only safe harbour was nearly impossible to divine unless you already knew it was there.
Like Solomon did.
"I can feel my soul," he mumbled, in the tone of a man figuring things out for himself. "I can feel my soul and feel everything else up against it. Like wind." He opened his eyes again, but only halfway. "Can see more like this, though." He squinted. If he squinted he could almost see Quiver without his soul at all. "Like an overlay. Or a veil. Or something."
Without quite meaning to, his eyes shut.
"Solomon."
Solomon sighed. A weary sigh. A resigned sigh. "I'm sleeping."
There was a pause, and a moment later he heard the scrape of shoes on stone, felt the sharp edges of Quiver's soul withdraw and the door close. Then he was left in the room with prickling walls and a low-level scratch-scratch-scratch of bound souls. It was irritating, but not much more. Not right now. Not after he'd been through.
Solomon rolled onto his side and hugged the bear up to him, enjoying the warmth in it which rolled over him. He didn't question how such a small bear could seem to cover him like a blanket. He just appreciated it and, for the moment, slept.
Nathanial strode down the hallways, his face carefully blank, until he reached the room where the camera's screen was. He let himself in quietly, closing the door behind him, and folded his arms as he faced Tenebrae. "Did you hear everything, High Priest, or do you require me to repeat the conversation?"
no subject
Mostly, he was simply enjoying being able to breathe. Being able to feel his body, and know it was his. He could feel warmth in his extremities, his head and side, which indicated he was bleeding, but he had no idea what might have caused it and didn't have the strength to lift his hands to see. He ached, and badly. Even lying still, he ached.
It felt good. Strangely peaceful. His eyes half lidded, Solomon watched a close-by pocket of purple-red, at the way it seemed to vibrate. It took his still-gathering mind a little while to figure out that it was vibrating because he was near it. Because of an odd sort of tarnished gold which threw it into stark contrast.
A tarnished gold which belonged to him. Maybe, he thought idly, it would shine up a little. It must have been black, before.
The door opened. Solomon didn't move. Moving was far too much effort right now. He watched in fascination at the faint eddies in the room, a tinge rather than a rainbow, and the way they cast back in reaction to whomever had entered.
He thought he saw some of that tinge lighten, but didn't connect it with Quiver until the man's shoes came into view. He paused and moment later knelt into Solomon's view. It wasn't until Quiver was putting a hand under his head to tilt it up that Solomon realised he held a cup. Quiver offered it to him carefully, in case he tried to drink too fast, but to be frank, Solomon was too exhausted even for that. He all but let Quiver pour it down his throat, drinking eagerly while there was water but unable to complain when there wasn't. For a moment his throat flared wildly with pain, but then the dryness eased and it dulled, and there was only relief.
When the cup was empty Quiver set it beside him, lay down Solomon's head, and waited. Solomon blinked, slowly, and breathed.
There was a light in Quiver's soul, he marvelled. It was blackness, mostly, blackness like there had been in Valkyrie's, except worse. Suffocating tendrils of blackness and pockets of purple-red, and a thin glow of blue light at his heart, a glow like a persistent ember.
Inhale.
"Solomon."
Quiver's voice was soft, but it still seemed loud. Intrusive.
Exhale.
"Why are you sorry, Solomon?"
A slow blink. He had said that out loud, hadn't he? He wasn't surprised they'd heard, somehow. He couldn't be bothered to think over why he wasn't surprised, but he wasn't.
"Used Da's soul," he whispered. Quiver's brow furrowed.
"I thought you said Necromancers powered Necromancy."
Inhale. "Necromancy is powered by anything that's nearest."
"And Necromancers are usually what's nearest," Quiver observed with a nod, as if that made sense. Solomon watched the shift of a silhouette across that ember. A veil. What did it mean? He couldn't tell.
"So you were speaking to your father?"
"Mmhm." Solomon's assent came almost absently, his eyes tracking the movement of that silhouette. There were more of them, actually. It was odd. Like Quiver's soul should have been black on black, except where its crevasses were highlighted by Scream, but that tiny ember threw it all into starkness and left shadows moving on the floor.
"He was here? You saw him?"
"Mmm."
Inhale. Exhale.
"Solomon." Solomon tore his gaze from the movement of the shadows on the floor to look at Quiver's face.
"You look like you're crying tears of blood," he murmured without thinking, and every movement in Quiver's soul froze. For a moment. Then movement came again, but sluggish, as if Quiver was forcing it to and yet was still shaken.
"Not I." A moment of blissful silence. Then: "How are you able to do this, Solomon?"
"Saw the lifestream."
Quiver inclined his head. "You said. How?"
He wanted to know how. How meant talking about Saint Gabriel. Saint Gabriel was off-limits. For one, Skulduggery would kill him. For another, Tenebrae was stupid enough to try and control an Archangel. Like China. Solomon didn't mind that, but he did mind putting Saint Gabriel on the spot. Solomon found himself smiling, actually huffed something close to a silent chuckle, and turned his head a half-inch into the floor in a shake. "Not telling. Unbelievable."
"Try me."
"Don't know if I can trust you. Was an accident, anyway."
Another long moment of silence. Solomon watched Quiver, letting himself be mesmerised by that slow movement. Careful thinking. Quiver always did think carefully. He was probably here to get information. Of course he was. Solomon sort-of didn't mind. What was the point in minding? Except for Saint Gabriel. He wouldn't tell about Saint Gabriel.
Exhale.
"How does it work, Solomon?"
Inhale. "Not sure. See things." No answer. "We're in an ocean. A current. Carrying things. Rippling around the things that can't be moved yet. Reminds me of Monet."
"That's what it looks like. How does it work?"
Solomon sighed and let his eyes close. He felt tired. Comfortable, only because his previous moments have been so pained. Ready to sleep. "I don't know. Tell Tenebrae that. I don't know."
Except he did, a little. With his eyes closed, he couldn't see, exactly. But he could feel the current around him. It felt warm, soothing. Like the description of remembering the womb. Except with Quiver so close. Quiver felt like the sharp edges of rocks, and the only safe harbour was nearly impossible to divine unless you already knew it was there.
Like Solomon did.
"I can feel my soul," he mumbled, in the tone of a man figuring things out for himself. "I can feel my soul and feel everything else up against it. Like wind." He opened his eyes again, but only halfway. "Can see more like this, though." He squinted. If he squinted he could almost see Quiver without his soul at all. "Like an overlay. Or a veil. Or something."
Without quite meaning to, his eyes shut.
"Solomon."
Solomon sighed. A weary sigh. A resigned sigh. "I'm sleeping."
There was a pause, and a moment later he heard the scrape of shoes on stone, felt the sharp edges of Quiver's soul withdraw and the door close. Then he was left in the room with prickling walls and a low-level scratch-scratch-scratch of bound souls. It was irritating, but not much more. Not right now. Not after he'd been through.
Solomon rolled onto his side and hugged the bear up to him, enjoying the warmth in it which rolled over him. He didn't question how such a small bear could seem to cover him like a blanket. He just appreciated it and, for the moment, slept.
Nathanial strode down the hallways, his face carefully blank, until he reached the room where the camera's screen was. He let himself in quietly, closing the door behind him, and folded his arms as he faced Tenebrae. "Did you hear everything, High Priest, or do you require me to repeat the conversation?"