"It's all he needed to do," Merlin answered, his eyes still on Solomon and face pale. Rafe had settled on his haunches a few feet away from the ex-Necromancer, eyes on the man, making his patient presence small like someone trying to woo out a frightened animal. Gabe had stepped close to Skulduggery to lay a steadying hand on the detective's arm.
Merlin dragged his gaze away to look at the girl, and didn't hide the self-recrimination on his face. "It's a reflection's purpose to be looked into, Valkyrie, and this one was but one in a maze of many. Reflections have gravity all on their own." He managed to summon a grim smile. "Nietzsche said, 'When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you'. He was speaking metaphorically about good and evil, but he may as well have been talking about reflections. There's a reason people used to believe mirrors stole one's soul."
Corrival was standing with a frown where the Cleaver had been, hands out as if to catch its remnants, but there was nothing left. "Why did it do that?"
"It's a copy," Rafe said without shifting his gaze from Solomon. "A single reflection might have been strong enough to hold a soul like Bliss's, but the Cleavers' power is spread too thin among them. A vessel like that is too small to contain him."
For a moment the new Grand Mage absorbed that silently, decided he had no objections and didn't particularly want to think too deeply on it, and then nodded. He moved to Solomon's side, crouching and laying a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't fatherly, exactly. More like something he would have done during the war. A genuine concern for someone under his direct command, which Solomon, technically, now was.
"Still with us, Solomon?"
Solomon was somewhere between there and not. His eyes were closed but he was vaguely aware of the presences around him. He couldn't focus on them enough to actually pay attention to their actions at all. His head and mind were pounding with a swirl of facts and emotions; about all he could do was breathe, and that was barely keeping him upright.
He'd given up his magic. He'd tried to use it just then. He knew he had, but only reached the awareness of that fact and then had to let it go spinning away.
He'd given up his magic.
He had no sight.
He could see the lifestream, not just now but for always. Always he would be aware of this pounding, rainbow current around him. He'd be able to see things like the Cleavers. Like the Scream. The beautiful and frightening largeness of the angels. He wouldn't be able to stop. Never again.
He had no magic and he was blind and he was on the cusp of insane thanks to the lifestream, and he had been elected a leader of Ireland.
And Skulduggery Pleasant was Lord Vile. Don't forget that. No, don't forget the fact that he had been the most powerful, most terrible Necromancer in history, and Solomon could remember with keen awareness when that Necromancer had tried to kill him.
So he had no magic, he was blind, on the cusp of insanity, been elected a leader of Ireland and one of his employees was the most powerful Necromancer in history, and also happened to be courting an Archangel, because God was real.
For some moments Solomon let these collective facts sit in his mind. Each one enough to break a man on their own. Each one almost too large to contain. Solomon gathered them up, and held them, and let them overwhelm him completely.
He heard Corrival's voice, but at first didn't answer. The facts were too great. The facts were too great, and yet someone--Ravel--was next to him. Awkward, withdrawn, but still there and steady. Corrival's hand was grounding on his shoulder. Beyond them, Ghastly and Valkyrie and Tanith and Fletcher.
People there. There were people there, people who weren't Vile or Merlin or angels. Just ordinary people, relatively speaking, like him.
Could he handle Merlin? Yes, he thought so. Merlin was surprisingly ordinary in manner, if not soul. He could handle Merlin.
Could he handle the Archangels? He could handle Saint Raphael ... Rafe. Rafe was amusing and personable. He was also powerful beyond imagination. Could Solomon handle him being powerful beyond imagination? The ex-Necromancer turned that concept over in his mind. Skulduggery was more powerful than him just as was. Most people were more powerful than him right now, actually. Solomon thought he could accept that. He could accept that part of Saint--of Gabe, too.
Most people were more powerful than him right now, because he had no magic and no sight. Could he handle that? Well, even if he couldn't, he'd figure out how to. He'd be damned if he'd let Tenebrae win that one.
Could he handle the lifestream? No. Not alone. But he wasn't alone. He laid that puzzle-piece of himself over the top of the others, not quite fitting, yet, but with potential to.
Could he handle Skulduggery being Lord Vile? He could do that.
Could he handle Skulduggery being Lord Vile, and remembering fighting him, and that sheer overwhelming terror, and how he had survived? That part, he was less sure about.
There were some other facts there. Facts like Skulduggery courting an Archangel. It was a strange, warped thought Solomon felt would become more palatable with time, so he left it alone. Facts like God being real. Strangely enough, that fact didn't feel terrifying at all. Not the knowledge of His existence. What Solomon should do about it was somewhat more so, but not Him being there.
He couldn't fix what he should do about it right now, though, so he let it go. Let go everything he couldn't change.
Solomon exhaled shakily, didn't inhale for ten heartbeats, and then did. And then exhaled again. With each breath he looked at those facts fully, accepted the ones that didn't quite fit, and finally felt stable enough to answer. His voice came out hoarse and unsteady. "Undetermined as yet."
no subject
Merlin dragged his gaze away to look at the girl, and didn't hide the self-recrimination on his face. "It's a reflection's purpose to be looked into, Valkyrie, and this one was but one in a maze of many. Reflections have gravity all on their own." He managed to summon a grim smile. "Nietzsche said, 'When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you'. He was speaking metaphorically about good and evil, but he may as well have been talking about reflections. There's a reason people used to believe mirrors stole one's soul."
Corrival was standing with a frown where the Cleaver had been, hands out as if to catch its remnants, but there was nothing left. "Why did it do that?"
"It's a copy," Rafe said without shifting his gaze from Solomon. "A single reflection might have been strong enough to hold a soul like Bliss's, but the Cleavers' power is spread too thin among them. A vessel like that is too small to contain him."
For a moment the new Grand Mage absorbed that silently, decided he had no objections and didn't particularly want to think too deeply on it, and then nodded. He moved to Solomon's side, crouching and laying a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't fatherly, exactly. More like something he would have done during the war. A genuine concern for someone under his direct command, which Solomon, technically, now was.
"Still with us, Solomon?"
Solomon was somewhere between there and not. His eyes were closed but he was vaguely aware of the presences around him. He couldn't focus on them enough to actually pay attention to their actions at all. His head and mind were pounding with a swirl of facts and emotions; about all he could do was breathe, and that was barely keeping him upright.
He'd given up his magic. He'd tried to use it just then. He knew he had, but only reached the awareness of that fact and then had to let it go spinning away.
He'd given up his magic.
He had no sight.
He could see the lifestream, not just now but for always. Always he would be aware of this pounding, rainbow current around him. He'd be able to see things like the Cleavers. Like the Scream. The beautiful and frightening largeness of the angels. He wouldn't be able to stop. Never again.
He had no magic and he was blind and he was on the cusp of insane thanks to the lifestream, and he had been elected a leader of Ireland.
And Skulduggery Pleasant was Lord Vile. Don't forget that. No, don't forget the fact that he had been the most powerful, most terrible Necromancer in history, and Solomon could remember with keen awareness when that Necromancer had tried to kill him.
So he had no magic, he was blind, on the cusp of insanity, been elected a leader of Ireland and one of his employees was the most powerful Necromancer in history, and also happened to be courting an Archangel, because God was real.
For some moments Solomon let these collective facts sit in his mind. Each one enough to break a man on their own. Each one almost too large to contain. Solomon gathered them up, and held them, and let them overwhelm him completely.
He heard Corrival's voice, but at first didn't answer. The facts were too great. The facts were too great, and yet someone--Ravel--was next to him. Awkward, withdrawn, but still there and steady. Corrival's hand was grounding on his shoulder. Beyond them, Ghastly and Valkyrie and Tanith and Fletcher.
People there. There were people there, people who weren't Vile or Merlin or angels. Just ordinary people, relatively speaking, like him.
Could he handle Merlin? Yes, he thought so. Merlin was surprisingly ordinary in manner, if not soul. He could handle Merlin.
Could he handle the Archangels? He could handle Saint Raphael ... Rafe. Rafe was amusing and personable. He was also powerful beyond imagination. Could Solomon handle him being powerful beyond imagination? The ex-Necromancer turned that concept over in his mind. Skulduggery was more powerful than him just as was. Most people were more powerful than him right now, actually. Solomon thought he could accept that. He could accept that part of Saint--of Gabe, too.
Most people were more powerful than him right now, because he had no magic and no sight. Could he handle that? Well, even if he couldn't, he'd figure out how to. He'd be damned if he'd let Tenebrae win that one.
Could he handle the lifestream? No. Not alone. But he wasn't alone. He laid that puzzle-piece of himself over the top of the others, not quite fitting, yet, but with potential to.
Could he handle Skulduggery being Lord Vile? He could do that.
Could he handle Skulduggery being Lord Vile, and remembering fighting him, and that sheer overwhelming terror, and how he had survived? That part, he was less sure about.
There were some other facts there. Facts like Skulduggery courting an Archangel. It was a strange, warped thought Solomon felt would become more palatable with time, so he left it alone. Facts like God being real. Strangely enough, that fact didn't feel terrifying at all. Not the knowledge of His existence. What Solomon should do about it was somewhat more so, but not Him being there.
He couldn't fix what he should do about it right now, though, so he let it go. Let go everything he couldn't change.
Solomon exhaled shakily, didn't inhale for ten heartbeats, and then did. And then exhaled again. With each breath he looked at those facts fully, accepted the ones that didn't quite fit, and finally felt stable enough to answer. His voice came out hoarse and unsteady. "Undetermined as yet."