"You'll have the time," Saint Gabriel said to her. He said more, but Solomon tuned it out to watch; the sorcerer wondered if Saint Gabriel knew how his voice made the lifestream ripple. Probably. It was fascinating, actually. Fascinating and beautiful. When he spoke it was like a butterfly touching down on a pond-surface; even the Scream stilled to listen. And that when he was speaking with a mortal's voice.
Solomon knew that if the Archangel spoke with his true one, the Scream would do a lot more than just perk up its non-existent ears.
He couldn't help staring. Everything was blurry, even Saint Gabriel, but the Archangel was the thing Solomon could see with the most clarity. He was defined; where the other sorcerers were balls of colour or shadow, and he had had to squint just to see past the soul to the people when he'd had physical eyes to see, Saint Gabriel had a face. He had form. 'Beautiful' was too tame a word. He was soft, gentle. Peaceful. Quiet surf on an endless golden beach, and the starlight in his wings extending forever in all directions overhead.
Such brightness in the physical world should have overshadowed the others, but it didn't. Valkyrie's soul wasn't shadowed anymore--at all, actually. Solomon hoped that meant she wouldn't suffer any part of a withdrawal. It was still young, though. He could tell that. Young, like a ... a sun, maybe. Bright and colourful and explosive, but still being shaped. Fletcher's soul was young as well, but in a different way; his was more flighty, pulling this way and that as if it had the attention span of a puppy. With wings.
Ravel was steadier. More tempered. Like a tree, one that had stood for a very long time and would likely stand for longer yet. Not a heavy one, though. Not an oak or a pine, but something more supple.
The Scream quivered. Solomon tore his eyes from the people filling the room to the corridor at the same time Saint Gabriel looked up. "Here's Nate. Ready, pardner?"
"Past it," Solomon agreed, and made to lever himself up again as Saint Gabriel turned to him. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was a little startled when the Archangel reached down to pick him up, cradling him to his chest and rising as easily as if carrying a child. Solomon was a few inches taller; it should have been awkward.
It wasn't. After a moment Solomon just felt relieved he didn't have to try to walk and rested his head on the Archangel's shoulder. The throb of pain all through his body, both from injuries and from muscular strain, eased just with the Archangel's touch. A moment later he felt warmer, comforted, as wings folded around him. Holding the bear on his lap, Solomon reached out curiously and found feathers under his touch, soft and humming. It made him smile without thinking.
Quiver came in and stopped short in the doorway, and Solomon had to look. Had to stare, really, not that anyone could tell. That tiny pilot light had grown into something bigger, something big enough to actually start affecting the shadows. It looked painful, actually.
"Thanks, Nathanial," Saint Gabriel said; Solomon tracked the ripples his voice made, the way they hit the blurry purple-red and made it still. "Hand it to Erskine, will ya? Fletch has the key."
What was--oh. Quite suddenly Solomon was glad he couldn't see what Quiver was holding, although if he could, Quiver wouldn't be holding it and it wouldn't matter. He was, Solomon decided, getting very close to being delirious from sheer tiredness.
He expected Quiver to leave after the exchanges were made. To his surprise the man stepped into the room, the fire in his soul still and steady but bright, and Solomon heard the door close. "You can see souls, can't you." It wasn't quite a question. "It's you who taught Solomon how to do so. You whom he was protecting."
"I showed him a different way," Saint Gabriel corrected, turning to stand beside Fletcher Renn. "Anythin' else is somethin' he did on his own."
"Who are you?" Quiver's voice wasn't quite even. Not quite the matter-of-fact tone Quiver usually displayed. The light flickered, but never actually dimmed.
"My friends and family call me Gabe," said the Archangel, "but on formal occasions my Daddy calls me Gabriel."
The last thing Solomon saw before Fletcher Renn whisked them away was the sight of the flame in Quiver's soul exploding into a searing bonfire.
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Solomon knew that if the Archangel spoke with his true one, the Scream would do a lot more than just perk up its non-existent ears.
He couldn't help staring. Everything was blurry, even Saint Gabriel, but the Archangel was the thing Solomon could see with the most clarity. He was defined; where the other sorcerers were balls of colour or shadow, and he had had to squint just to see past the soul to the people when he'd had physical eyes to see, Saint Gabriel had a face. He had form. 'Beautiful' was too tame a word. He was soft, gentle. Peaceful. Quiet surf on an endless golden beach, and the starlight in his wings extending forever in all directions overhead.
Such brightness in the physical world should have overshadowed the others, but it didn't. Valkyrie's soul wasn't shadowed anymore--at all, actually. Solomon hoped that meant she wouldn't suffer any part of a withdrawal. It was still young, though. He could tell that. Young, like a ... a sun, maybe. Bright and colourful and explosive, but still being shaped. Fletcher's soul was young as well, but in a different way; his was more flighty, pulling this way and that as if it had the attention span of a puppy. With wings.
Ravel was steadier. More tempered. Like a tree, one that had stood for a very long time and would likely stand for longer yet. Not a heavy one, though. Not an oak or a pine, but something more supple.
The Scream quivered. Solomon tore his eyes from the people filling the room to the corridor at the same time Saint Gabriel looked up. "Here's Nate. Ready, pardner?"
"Past it," Solomon agreed, and made to lever himself up again as Saint Gabriel turned to him. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was a little startled when the Archangel reached down to pick him up, cradling him to his chest and rising as easily as if carrying a child. Solomon was a few inches taller; it should have been awkward.
It wasn't. After a moment Solomon just felt relieved he didn't have to try to walk and rested his head on the Archangel's shoulder. The throb of pain all through his body, both from injuries and from muscular strain, eased just with the Archangel's touch. A moment later he felt warmer, comforted, as wings folded around him. Holding the bear on his lap, Solomon reached out curiously and found feathers under his touch, soft and humming. It made him smile without thinking.
Quiver came in and stopped short in the doorway, and Solomon had to look. Had to stare, really, not that anyone could tell. That tiny pilot light had grown into something bigger, something big enough to actually start affecting the shadows. It looked painful, actually.
"Thanks, Nathanial," Saint Gabriel said; Solomon tracked the ripples his voice made, the way they hit the blurry purple-red and made it still. "Hand it to Erskine, will ya? Fletch has the key."
What was--oh. Quite suddenly Solomon was glad he couldn't see what Quiver was holding, although if he could, Quiver wouldn't be holding it and it wouldn't matter. He was, Solomon decided, getting very close to being delirious from sheer tiredness.
He expected Quiver to leave after the exchanges were made. To his surprise the man stepped into the room, the fire in his soul still and steady but bright, and Solomon heard the door close. "You can see souls, can't you." It wasn't quite a question. "It's you who taught Solomon how to do so. You whom he was protecting."
"I showed him a different way," Saint Gabriel corrected, turning to stand beside Fletcher Renn. "Anythin' else is somethin' he did on his own."
"Who are you?" Quiver's voice wasn't quite even. Not quite the matter-of-fact tone Quiver usually displayed. The light flickered, but never actually dimmed.
"My friends and family call me Gabe," said the Archangel, "but on formal occasions my Daddy calls me Gabriel."
The last thing Solomon saw before Fletcher Renn whisked them away was the sight of the flame in Quiver's soul exploding into a searing bonfire.