"It wasn't a criticism, believe me." What could he say? He wasn't all that good at the reassurances. So Solomon said nothing as Valkyrie helped him out of the car, but he felt very extremely vulnerable having only one person to lean on to find his way. Every dip and rise and pebble in the ground underfoot seemed to be huge, and it took a great deal off effort not to shuffle along like a ... well, like a blind man, though Solomon had never seen a blind man who did shuffle simply because they had all the tools they needed to not shuffle.
The sorcerer reigned his thoughts in, lightened his grip on Valkyrie's shoulder, and smiled blandly. "I've always suspected it's the Elemental influence," he said. "The one element they've never quite managed to tame is that of earth. Obviously, it's a sign of their compensation issues."
The smile became more business-like. "More seriously, most of the sorcerers' important places were built centuries ago. Skyscrapers were a mortal impossibility back then, and would have drawn far too much attention. Our buildings are underground simply because mortal architecture wasn't advanced enough for us to put them anywhere else and still have them hidden. Entrances shift and doorways change over the years, but their locations stay the same."
As he spoke, they moved down the alley, and Solomon felt the drag on his arm just before they paused. There was a faint grind of iron, something he knew he wouldn't have heard two days ago and which he assumed was the door, and then Valkyrie tugged him around. If he recalled, there were steps here ... yes. Gingerly Solomon felt for the wall, and then slid his foot forward for the first.
He glanced down automatically, saw the way Valkyrie's soul washed across the floor at her feet, and exhaled slowly. The lifestream caught on living things, but souls touched magic. And there was magic in this place. A lot of it. It was enough to give him some sense of its dimensions, even though he wouldn't be able to see any debris in his path. Something as steep as a stairwell was discernible, at least.
It still took far too long a time to get down into the corridor, and when Solomon automatically placed his hand on the inside wall to steady himself from the descent, the feel of the carvings made him freeze.
He'd forgotten. Or not forgotten, exactly, but it hadn't been in the forefront of his mind when he knew where he was going that there was a magical history carved on these walls. It was hidden and ridiculously ostentatious in the way most magical things were, but Solomon had always approved of them being there. The past ought to be remembered.
It was just that he couldn't remember the details. And now he never would. Because it struck him, at that moment, that he would never be able to see them again. Not unless he asked Saint Raphael to heal his sight properly, and he couldn't do that. Not after what he'd said, the pride they'd all shown in him. The idea of disappointing the Archangels and their Master filled him with a deep, abiding dread. He couldn't ask for that.
So he'd never see the carvings again. He'd never see anything ever again.
And even though it had been his choice, in that moment it struck him as it hadn't throughout the day just what that meant, and he had to stop, head lowered and throat working, to gain control of that sudden, sharp stab of loss.
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The sorcerer reigned his thoughts in, lightened his grip on Valkyrie's shoulder, and smiled blandly. "I've always suspected it's the Elemental influence," he said. "The one element they've never quite managed to tame is that of earth. Obviously, it's a sign of their compensation issues."
The smile became more business-like. "More seriously, most of the sorcerers' important places were built centuries ago. Skyscrapers were a mortal impossibility back then, and would have drawn far too much attention. Our buildings are underground simply because mortal architecture wasn't advanced enough for us to put them anywhere else and still have them hidden. Entrances shift and doorways change over the years, but their locations stay the same."
As he spoke, they moved down the alley, and Solomon felt the drag on his arm just before they paused. There was a faint grind of iron, something he knew he wouldn't have heard two days ago and which he assumed was the door, and then Valkyrie tugged him around. If he recalled, there were steps here ... yes. Gingerly Solomon felt for the wall, and then slid his foot forward for the first.
He glanced down automatically, saw the way Valkyrie's soul washed across the floor at her feet, and exhaled slowly. The lifestream caught on living things, but souls touched magic. And there was magic in this place. A lot of it. It was enough to give him some sense of its dimensions, even though he wouldn't be able to see any debris in his path. Something as steep as a stairwell was discernible, at least.
It still took far too long a time to get down into the corridor, and when Solomon automatically placed his hand on the inside wall to steady himself from the descent, the feel of the carvings made him freeze.
He'd forgotten. Or not forgotten, exactly, but it hadn't been in the forefront of his mind when he knew where he was going that there was a magical history carved on these walls. It was hidden and ridiculously ostentatious in the way most magical things were, but Solomon had always approved of them being there. The past ought to be remembered.
It was just that he couldn't remember the details. And now he never would. Because it struck him, at that moment, that he would never be able to see them again. Not unless he asked Saint Raphael to heal his sight properly, and he couldn't do that. Not after what he'd said, the pride they'd all shown in him. The idea of disappointing the Archangels and their Master filled him with a deep, abiding dread. He couldn't ask for that.
So he'd never see the carvings again. He'd never see anything ever again.
And even though it had been his choice, in that moment it struck him as it hadn't throughout the day just what that meant, and he had to stop, head lowered and throat working, to gain control of that sudden, sharp stab of loss.