The Darkest Hour | TheDarkestHour / CatscratchFever browse

(continued from Me Myself and Seabhac]

Gillian awoke to the smell of coffee and toast. Her body betrayed her, however, unwilling to move... broken by exhaustion. The sheets were too comfortable, too warm. They carried the scent of comfort and love, of peace. Far too intoxicating to rise to the the simple call of...

..."Soooo, how was it?" her own voice asked, with lips not her own.

Ginger at the edge of the bed, swirling a cup of black coffee in one hand a plate of buttered toast in the other.

Gillian snagged a slice of the toast and sat up against the headboard.

"Rejuvenating," she replied, after thinking about it for a moment. "His touch is a balm to me. I...I think I needed that, on several different levels. I..." She trailed off and shook her head, dismissing the rest of her comment, and fell to munching her toast.

"Ginger," Gillian said softly, after another moment of contemplation, "I understand why you left. I just wanted you to know that I miss you, inside my head."

Ginger helped herself to some toast, "That's because I was the smartest thing inside that otherwise empty melon." She shrugged, "We're still bound, you and I. Just not as intimately as before. I get snippets. Feelings." She crunched on the toast, "You've probably been too tired to hear me. Busy, busy girl."

Indeed, Gillian felt something. An emotion not her own. Trepidation. Ginger was holding something back.

Gillian narrowed her eyes. "What are you hiding? There's something you don't want to say."

Ginger touched her chest, her mouth dropping in abject horror. "Me? Hiding something? You wound me." A pause, then a shrug. "Well, not so much hiding as wondering how to ask this."

She looked away, sucking on her teeth. "I'd like to become you. At the school. You know. If we live and all."

Gillian looked at her incredulously. "Why? You were never much interested in academics. Why would you want to be me and not yourself? We're, like, polar opposites. And what if I want to go back to school too?"

"Well, for one, I look like you, so being 'me,' is kinda out," she replied. "Unless I posed as your smokin' hot twin, 'cause - let's be honest - I make this look good." She munched on her toast, grinning.

"You could cut your hair, or dye it a different color for starters--"

"But think about it. You've got access to Creation, Kitten. Like you'll want to stick around her for another two or three years, when you can go to any library or school that's ever been built... like evar!

 And for another one-word reason... Seabhac.   There's going to be a

boatload of traveling and bow-chickka-wawa. In the Courts, probably. And you know what they say about Chaosians and that tentacle-lovin'."

Gillian made a face.

"But, if I stick around, I can get your diploma while you're away getting your tires rotated," she added, wriggling her eyebrows. "I promise I won't be too slutty. Just moderately slutty."

She finished her toast, "I'm just looking out for you, my little sardine." She smiled ever-so innocently.

"Interesting term of endearment, Ginger. Sardines were a favorite thing for you to eat when you were a cat."

Gillian crossed her arms. "No deal. Lord Feldane is paying for my tuition and I am obligated to finish what I started. Me. I'm obligated. Not you posing as me.

"I still don't know why you're so interested in the University when hanging out in Amber City seems like it would be infinitely more appealing to you."

Ginger lay back on the bed, wiggling her toes. “Well, seems part of your annoying interest in academics stayed with me. I want to graduate. Maybe sleep with one of my professors. Get knocked up. Married, blah, blah, blah.”

She smiled upward, “I don’t know kid. I’m mortal now. A small life seems like a good place to start… living.”

Gillian decided to call her bluff. "All right. I can talk to Seabhac and I'm sure we can set you up as my...identical cousin. You can attend University, get a degree, sleep with a professor, whatever. If you want a job, I'm sure you could work for Sid and Mury. You can start living your mortal life and see where it takes you."

Ginger fluttered her hand, "Now listen. No need for you to completely hog your life is the... Wait. What?" She sat up, staring back at Gillian suspiciously.

"When did you become so openminded? Who. Are. You?"

Gillian snorted and rubbed at her eyes. "Knowing you're probably going to die soon changes one's perspective on things, I suppose. Ginger, this is a conversation we should be having AFTER everything. I really can't think much beyond the next few days.

"Speaking of which, you know what we're up against and what we're planning to do. Do you have any more knowledge regarding the Nyx that can help? Is there anything you can think of that we've missed?"

Ginger wriggled her toes a bit, "The Nyx. Not really. When I wasn't looking smoking hot as a cat, most of my life was spent in the Wake. I mean, there's rumors, sure. Even the Dead and Not-so-Dead talk. It's all we have to do. She created the Abyss; that much I know. Or the Abyss ~is~ her. Things get fuzzy in there.

"What I do know for certain is that when an immortal needed to die - which some of us do - we went into the Labyrinth to find her. If you survived her guardian, you could find... oblivion. Otherwise, you just got recycled. And trust me, Kitten, the karmic compost pile is not a place you want to end up on."

She folded her busy legs under her, trapping them. "Talk to Temnal. He probably knows more than he's saying. His people worship the bitch."

Gillian sighed and dropped down to bury her face in the pillows. "Are you planning to stay or run for the hills?" she asked, her voice muffled. "Not judging. Just curious."

Ginger sat up, giving Gillian a harmed look. "You actually have to ask me that, Gilly?" In all their history, Gillian couldn't recall the Familiar ever calling her by that name.

She opened an eye and looked at Ginger.

"My place is beside you. It always will be, even when we're apart. I didn't enter into our arrangement lightly. And I'm not about to let someone I love face death alone."

Gillian reached over and took Ginger's hand in her own. She thought to say thank you, but it seemed somehow to her that it would just sully the moment, like it did when she asked Ginger whether she'd stay or run.

After awhile she said, "Talk to Temnal, huh? Raina warned me about him. Said she'd seen his dreams and that he'd turn against us because he's bound to the Nyx through his Duk'zarist blood. Said it was his destiny."

Ginger frowned. "Their men are born solely to be fed to the Nyx. It's in their nature to sacrifice themselves to keep her sated. If he's dreaming it, which I don't doubt, it's probably the Nyx calling to him. When she Manifests, he might not be able to resist her." She flexed her hand like a paw, "He's cute and all, but he might need a dagger up the strap before long. You know. Cover your bases."

Gillian closed her eyes and sighed. "Can you impersonate me? Enough to fool someone who's met me?"

Ginger made a rude noise with her lips, "Pfffbbbbt. I've sent enough time in that limited skull of yours to know all your quirks and such. You're about as deep as a mud puddle, kitten."

She grinned broadly, "So, who do I get to sleep with?"

Gillian laughed as she rolled out of bed--she couldn't help it. She was pretty sure Ginger was joking, but on the other hand she wasn't completely sure, which made the whole situation just that much more ludicrous.

"I'm going to go track down Temnal," Gillian announced as she stretched. "Holler if you need me for anything. You know how to get ahold of me."

Ginger meowed lazily, squirming on the bed. "Happy-happy-joy-joy. Yumminess, here I come."

She collected the plate and headed downstairs. Gillian could have sworn she saw a flick of a tail, as Ginger turned the corner.

Gillian took a few minutes to collect her thoughts. She shaped the image of Temnal in her mind, thoughts and memories becoming her ink and quill. The Trump Sketch formed... and was empowered a moment later.

Her Desire reached out, finding him...

<Gillian?>

<Yes. Do you have time to talk? Is this a convenient time?>

<We're more or less in wait mode here,> Temnal assured her. <Malachi is about to speak with the King, and I should probably keep half an eye on that, but...>

<I probably will have more information to share with you once Malachi talks with the King and I talk with Sand,> Temnal admitted.

Gillian cut the contact and sighed.

Time flowed like fine literature - an endless stream of words and ideas, punctuated only by the vague interruptions for bodily need and concerns. Concepts like day and night bled into obscurity, lost beneath a haze of ideas and concepts and ceaseless frustration and discoveries.

Gillian distantly recalled arriving in Athenaeum. How long ago? Days? Weeks? Maybe more. The importance of chronology had long since surrendered itself to the task of erudition.

And, when one was an Immortal, time mattered little anyway. Something to be halted at a whim.

But even a God possessed limits, and she'd begun to reach hers. She found herself waking from fits of sleep, dragged down by exhaustion and lack of food. Not that her servants didn't try to attend to those needs - plates of rice balls and refreshing teas left for her. She'd just ignored them in favor of words and dark prophesy.

In her search for the Nyx's secrets, she'd learned of hideous and unsettling things. Too many horrors to count, each stripping away a wet strip of her mind.

She'd learned of the Cube - a strange creation of stone, glass, and living materials worshiped deep in the Abyss, rumored to be a fragment of the Nyx. Its mere presence warping Reality, drawing mind and soul into Achlys and oblivion.

She'd learned of the Achlytides - children of primordial darkness, half-human, half caterpillar - born in the great reservoirs of water and filth far beneath the Courts of Chaos. Fervent worshipers of Achlys and the Nyx, all devoted to sacrificing the World to her endless hunger.

The Zeloths - skinless humanoids that may once have been Chaosians - that patrolled the tunnels and halls of the Abyss.

The Servants of Cairath - madmen twisted by the Nyx into creatures of steel, bone, and blood - who haunted the underworld, able to open portals into the sewers and underground of any city in Creation.

The Duk'zarist - the Shadow Souls - who once where a Great House of Chaos; who descended into the Labyrinth to offer blood and flesh to Achlys. Indeed, they were the Guardians of the Labyrinth, endlessly patrolling all roads to Achlys and masters of Ktonor - City of She Who Waits Below. Oblivion is their only salvation, and their magical power over Time & Space and Madness absolute. Only their females are allowed to live and rule; the males given over to the Blind Bull - the Nyx's true protector.

And, of course the Nyx; She of Many Names, She Who Waits Below, Achlys. Some believe her to be a Shining Eye, a formless cloud of chaos, or a swollen female body ceaselessly birthing darkness. Her dreams touch any and all within Creation - infesting thoughts and hopes with the desire for Oblivion. Indeed, her dreams twist and devolve many - inspiring madness - and making the Weak her own.

Time and again, Gillian finds the words - "She Who Waits Below demands sacrifice to keep the gate shut. Beyond Achlys is Nothing."

Gillian found herself in a very foul mood. Damn Bob, anyway. And Eric. And her father too, while she was at it. Damn them all to the deepest, darkest pits of the Abyss.

She slammed shut the tome in front of her, raising a cloud of dust, sputtering the nearby candle, and bringing Molly running at the sudden commotion.

"Mistress?"

Gillian waved her away. "I'm fine. Molly, I need to leave."

Molly's face fell. "When?"

"Soon. Now." Gillian looked deep into her mostly empty mug and finished off the wine in one swallow. It was sweet and promising, like ripe fruit on a midsummer's day. Would she ever enjoy another Solstice festival? Great Unicorn, now she was becoming maudlin.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Mistress?"

Gillian set down the mug and stared at the girl's fresh face. If she--or someone--didn't take Oberon's place very soon, then not only would Amber be consumed, but so would Athenaem. And all the books. And Molly.

"Yes, I suppose I did," she replied. "Not the answer I wanted, but an answer nonetheless. I suppose it will have to do.

"Molly, I don't think I'll be back. You'll make sure Pythia takes care of the library, right?"

Molly stared back at her, wide-eyed.

Gillian stood and kissed the girl gently on her forehead. "Goodbye, Molly. May you live to a ripe old age and have lots of doting grandchildren. I, Minerva, you give my blessing."

Yeah, it was a bit presumptuous, but why not? She did create the shadow after all and Molly had called her Minerva first time they'd met. It felt like closure.

Gillian turned away and brought to mind the infirmary where she'd left Vialle, creating a trump of the room in her mind in minute detail. When it was ready, she stepped through.

As she'd begun to learn, sketching a place took longer than a person - the arcane connection more difficult to establish. But with time and effort, Gillian shaped the room into being and opened a silvery doorway for herself.

The infirmary room smelled like death - all copper and antiseptic - only made worse by the cramped space. Vialle rested on the bed, unnaturally pale, her skin the color of sea-foam.

Beside her, Flora rested in a hard-backed chair. The Princess appeared haggard, worn; perhaps, even more disturbing than anything else in the room. She did not wake at Gillian's arrival.

Gillian sighed. Her earlier verbal snottery with Flora at the family dinner seemed petty now. And so very, very long ago. She wondered briefly if she would feel as tenderly toward Fiona when she saw her next.

Probably not.

She looked around, surprised that neither Random nor Rhea were at Vialle's side. After a moment, Gillian came up beside Vialle opposite of Flora and gently felt for Vialle's radial pulse.

Steady, if weak, the Queen's pulse warmed Gillian's fingers.

"I'm not quite dead," Vialle said tiredly. A strained smile curled her green lips, blind eyes meeting Gillian's gaze. "I have you to thank for that. So, please don't look so grim."

Gillian smiled back. "If I may be so bold," she said in a low voice, as not to wake Flora, "how would you know what I look like?"

“There are many appearances, Ms. Talbot,” Vialle said. “Each a collection of unique brushstrokes. Yours is one of sparkling gold, rose, and lavender with whorls of silver. Too much silver. But perhaps that shall change in time.”

She smiled, “So, why have you sought me tonight, my dear.”

Gillian was still parsing the "too much silver" statement. "What? Oh, I was curious how you were faring. I hoped to be able to offer a word of encouragement. And I hoped to find the king here."

"He is in the Yellow Room," she said. "Attending to state business and preventing an apocalypse no doubt. As is my daughter." A proud smile warms her pale features. "I would have expected you to be there. Your visit is most welcome."

With careful instinct, she took Gillian's hand. "Tell me what troubles you, Gillian. May I call you Gillian?"

"Of course you can call me Gillian," she replied softly, then lapsed into an uneasy silence. After a moment she sighed.

"I'm willing to put myself in mortal danger in order to send the Nyx back to the Abyss," Gillian stated, looking into Vialle's unseeing eyes. "I'm pretty sure I'm even willing to even die."

She paused and the image of the Hanged Man trump came back suddenly to her mind's eye: barbed chains...flayed face...mouth curled in an endless scream...

Gillian swallowed, and her voice wavered. "I am not sure, however, I'm willing to take the old king's place and suffer eternal torment, even if it's for the sake of everyone else."

Vialle smiled knowingly, "Yes, such a sacrifice would be daunting to anyone. And certainly not something that would be asked of you, Gillian. It is why I fear for my husband so... he weighs the same troubles, at this very moment.

"But, may I ask, why you believe that fate awaits you? Surely, there are other ways to resolve this."

Gillian took a moment to weigh her next words carefully.

"Dworkin told me that the Nyx can neither be stopped nor defeated. But apparently she can be appeased. He implied that the reason the Nyx was able to destroy the First City was because it had been unprotected. As I understand it, what forced the Nyx to return to Achlys after destroying the First City was the Deepwalker's sacrifice of their essence to appease her. Which brings me to Cybele's True Trumps.

"The True Trumps are intimately tied to the Primal Pattern, and as such are representations of creation itself. Each one contains its own special power that's associated to its meaning in the Major Arcana. The Hanged Man trump, the one Dworkin implied to me was necessary to fix this mess, as you know represents surrender, and acceptance, and most of all sacrifice.

"When Cybele originally drew the Hanged Man, he was an iconic old knight in rusty armor. Even though I know that magically-speaking the Hanged Man is not based on an actual person, when I look at the trump now I see Seabhac in the upright position, and I see myself in the inverted position in Oberon's previous role."

Gillian shrugged. "Maybe I'm trying to make something that's highly allegorical too literal. Maybe anyone who holds the card will see themselves and what they hold most dear depicted there."

She paused then, struggling to put her thoughts and feelings into words. "Regardless, I don't feel I can pass the card to someone else--I am tied to the True Trumps. Besides, if I entertained the thought of passing it off, I believe Random would pull rank and snatch it because he strongly feels that responsibility as king." Gillian shook her head vehemently. "I cannot abide him sacrificing himself in that way despite what he might wish--Amber needs him too badly."

The words were left unspoken, but implied: But not me.

"I've gone over this and over this," Gillian continued, whispering, "but I come up with nothing new. The Nyx really, really likes sacrifice."

Vialle nodded, patting Gillian's hand motherly. "Gillian, all will make sacrifices. Some greater than most. It is the nature of life and death. Even tonight, men and women paid the ultimate price for Amber. And never knew why. They simply did. Others will do so again. Possibly my husband. Maybe even my daughter. There's no helping it."

She fought to smile, "That does not mean we must do so unnecessarily."

With a deep hiss, she struggled to sit up. "Trumps are tricky things, as you know. They draw upon the nature of something or someone. But they are also their own Entity, I think." A sly smile. "I've always wondered why Trumps of the Fallen did not fade in Power. And do many Trumps diminish the person? I don't believe so."

She asked, as if knowing the answer, but did not wish to be presumptuous.

Gillian nodded slowly, pondering Valle's words. "I think I see your line of reasoning. Let me tell you what I know so far and see if we can reconcile it. Perhaps you will have further insight.

"First, what Dworkin has told me. Granted, it may only be partial truth, but I don't think it's outright lie. Also, even though it's Dworkin, we need to entertain the possibility that he's just plain wrong.

"So...Dworkin told me that the Nyx is coming, that she can't be stopped, that she can't be defeated, that it has nothing to do with strength, ability, or power. It was Dworkin that pulled the Hanged Man from his deck and put it in front of me. He then implied that the First City was destroyed because it hadn't been protected like Oberon had been doing for Amber. I asked him: So essentially we need someone to become the new and improved Hanged Man in the next 72 hours or we're all obliterated? And he replied: That sums it up nicely. When I asked how the Deepwalkers banished the Nyx after the First City was destroyed, he told me they sacrificed their essence to appease the Nyx and became mortal."

Gillian ticked the upcoming points off on her fingers. "He said the kind of sacrifices the Nyx liked were essence, spirit, souls, and shadows. And cheesecake. He added cheesecake but I don't think...anyway.

"Second, what I know about the True Trump version of the Hanged Man. Cybele's True Trumps are designed to invoke the Major Arcana, as I said earlier. It will only work if the sacrifice is made when my life is truly in danger. If I use the card in its upright position, I don't know exactly what the sacrifice will be, but I think it will have something to do with my blood. It will release an incredible blast of power, like an atoning flame. If I use the card in the inverted position, again, I'm not sure of the exact nature of the sacrifice, but I will condemn myself to eternal suffering and in return any corruption will be cleansed."

Gillian paused and took the queen's hand again. "Vialle, if I understand you correctly, you don't think I will be harmed while invoking the trump? Well, at least not permanently?

"But the things I don't understand are how this trump is going to do anything at all to the Nyx. Dworkin pretty much as said that it couldn't. Perhaps it's not the Nyx, but instead the Way through which she's coming to us that the trump can affect.

"Which kinda brings me back to the inverted position. I use the card, become the new Seal, the Nyx gets her sacrifice, and the Way is closed."

Vialle wondered about this for a moment, lightly patting Gillian's hand. Her blind eyes remained focused on something beyond them, a point the young woman couldn't possibly hope to understand.

In the end, the Queen spoke in a low, polite tone. "I have lived amongst the Royals long enough to witness their bravery, wisdom, and compassion. But I have also witnessed their cruelty, indifference, and pigheadedness. For all their age and power, they remain stuck in their own limited vision of things.

"My daughter once told me that the Hanged Man represented sacrifice, yes... but also the ability to see things from a new perspective. Inverted, the Hanged Man actually stands, free of pain. Free of trials. And, thus, gains no wisdom. I suspect there is something of that in your True Trump, as well. As any burden can be passed to another, yes?"

Something stirred in Gillian's thoughts at this. Something dark and spiteful. Yes, there was truth to the Queen's words. The inverted Trump represented the eternal suffering of Man. And what greater power was there than to inflict suffering upon another? To perpetuate the cycle of torment, if only one had the cowardice to do so.

Still speaking, Vialle squeezed Gillian's hand, "I encountered King Oberon only briefly. But in that short time, I recognized a man... set in his ways, shall we say? He had very little time to respond to the threat to Amber. Brand's machinations threw everything into chaos. So, what if he did what he always did... used a shark to kill a minnow? He created this seal you mentioned, at the cost of his life. Valiant, yes. But was it truly necessary? And did it truly work? Did he not simply leave his burden for you and your friends to eventually bear?"

The Queen smiled, "What if you found a way to use this True Trump's upright aspects to fulfill your desire? Utilize the positive aspects of sacrifice, even though the risks may be greater. You're a smart woman. Sad, yes. All that silver in you. But smart." Her hand reached up and lightly touched Gillian's cheek.

"Sacrifices do not need to be an ending, Gillian. That's far too easy a way out. I once thought of taking my life, rather than risk hard sacrifice. It would have been much easier to walk into the Deep Roads of Rebma and die rather than be... an insult. Nothing more a punishment inflicted upon a foolish man. A man known for his cruel ways.

"But I walked the harder path. I embraced the unknown. And in the end, I discovered a new life. So will you."

A pained, but mirthful laugh. "Trust me, my dear. If you had to put up with my husband's humor, you'd realize I am an expert on eternal torment."

Gillian's mother had reprimanded her, back when Gillian was young and prone to brooding and not particularly mindful that as a servant a certain control over one's emotions was expected, that she should smile whether she felt like it or not. Gillian had thought that advice stupid at the time, but she smiled at Vialle's joke and found sharing this small moment did help to smooth some of the more jagged edges of her current mood.

"You've given me a lot to think about," Gillian said. "I'm glad I talked to you before...well, before everything starts happening."

She stood and straightened the blanket over Vialle's shoulders. "Be well, and hopefully there will be a time in the near future when we can sit and have tea surrounded by lots of flowers and pretty things and I can ask you more about how you 'see' people."

Vialle smiled, "I believe we shall meet again, Gillian. And be good friends for a long time to come." The smile broadened, "Thank you for visiting me. And thank you for my life."

She sank back into the bed, sighing heavily. Her features slackened as the effort of speaking began to take its toil. "Please watch over my family? The duty should fall to me, but I think sleep is all I can manage at this point."

"I will do my best." Gillian kissed the queen's pale hand and placed it gently back on the blanket. "Take good care of her, Flora," she said as she turned to leave.

[Continued in Dead Mans Hand]