Work Text:
An Unintended Journey
It was a little after midday on the fourteenth of Berkon when Octavia retreated to her quarters, finally done with the day's training- and after a very illuminating conversation with Gül- she was relieved to finally be on her own. Or, as alone as she could be when flanked by her loyal servants. Both watched her silently as she retrieved the ornate censer she'd bought in the city and the velvet bag of Black Spice. Chalk was fetched next, and to be sure of her safety warding circles were prepared about where she sat. When she was satisfied with the geometry of her work- she began to prepare the censer.
It was strange to be in the cabin again, without Chérie. And so she kept it dark. Only a few oil lamps at low light, as she remembered her home. The coals smoldered, and their gray white smoke drifted upwards assaulting her senses. She closed the censer and wiped her eyes. In a few moments the smoke began to darken, a rich, earthy scent permeated the room. Calming herself, she began to breathe deeply, inhaling the spice laden smoke and holding it in her lungs for several seconds before exhaling.
A strange calm came over her, and she surrendered to it. A feeling like she was submerging in water- or pulled on the wind. Disorienting. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was greeted with the dim light of a forest at twilight. Before her the corpse of a fire smoldered into embers. She felt stone and branches behind her back, and could see the curve of an old stone wall emerging from the corners of her vision to half encircle the small camp.
She was alone.
In the silence. There was not even a bird nor cricket to interrupt the eerie calm. Slowly she stood, glancing about. This was not entirely what she expected- then again, she had tried her best not to have any expectations going into a strange drug trip. It was just more surreal than her prior experiences, and a little unnerving. The forest was alien, dim pale light filtered through dark wood trees, dancing along the horizon. The trees were tall and ancient pines. A thin layer of fog crawled along the forest floor.
‘First things first’ she thought to herself, ‘Do I have my magic.’
A flick of her wrist reinvigorated the fire, as her magic coaxed it to life. Relieved, she turned to examine her surroundings more fully. In a semi circle behind her was a crumbling wall, perhaps once part of a tower whose fallen stones were covered in moss and vines. The world was dim, the colors muted- but she could see and that was enough for her.
“Phō̂s” She spoke in the old tongue of her order, commanding light to bloom from her palm. It’s faint glow cast long shadows, much longer than they ought to- she thought. The trees loomed ominously in the twilight, with her orb of light bringing color back to the world she could see the bark was a deep rich brown- almost black. The trees were spaced apart, almost symmetrically like someone planted them with intent. The mist at her feet did not recede, rather it broke on the tree trunks like waves, crawling directionless- guided by an intangible wind.
“Hello?” She called out to the woods- but the woods did not echo back to her. They remained silent, watchful. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She reasoned to herself- and set out through the trees. The walk was eerie. Things crunched beneath her feet - branches, twigs or leafs she didn’t know, she couldn’t see them through the mist. Halting her stride, she reached down and grabbed a fistful of the forest floor. Brining it up to where she could see she found a fistfull of twigs and pine- and amid them a fractured, bleached white bone. How fascinating. She thought, and plucked the fractured bone from the pile, slipping it into her pocket.
She walked for what felt like miles, although it didn't feel like very long. A strange distortion in her perception of things made her feel light headed. Up ahead she saw crumbled stone amid the trees. A cobbled path broken by age leading to a desolation of stone, what it once was might never be known but amid it she saw passage into shelter. She carefully made her way through the fallen stone, long since reclaimed by the wood. The shelter seemed to be what once was part of the desolate structure, but with the overgrowth now was more of a cave. She entered through a doorway of hanging vines, and into a crumbling cave of masonic stonework.
Moss grew on the walls, lichen and other creeping things. The whole of the interior was overgrown. She moved deeper in, down a hall, and came to a circular room. The green did not grow here, nor did anything creep on the walls. The room was lit by a campfire, and she saw that in the center- surrounded by stone pillars- was a shrine. A firepit built in the floor, now home to an old flame- flickering across well used embers. There sat a woman, posed on a fallen stone. She was dressed in grey, from head to toe. Over her head was a hood, and across her eyes a veil, and she sat still- as though one with the stone about her, staring into the fires dying light. Casually as she could Octavia moved to sit across from her, making sure to keep the hem of her vestments from the flickering embers. The woman looked up at her from behind her mournful veil.
“What brings you to this shade, you have not yet faded.” Her voice was soft, stiff- as though spoken through old and tired lips.
"I seek knowledge, as a rule of thumb. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?" Octavia returned, trying to keep her voice polite and free from the uncertainty she felt. The figure did not answer at first, but nodded silently- as though weighing her words.
"Knowledge is any pursuit- a hunt, a quest, a search. One always finds when one searches for knowledge, for anything experienced is knowledge gained. A good pursuit. An easy pursuit."
She raised an old crooked stick, fallen from an ancient pine and stoked the fire- kindling new life from it's old embers
"Where exactly are we Madame?"
"Between." The old crone nodded once more. "In the shallow lands."
"Hmm. And who are you madame?" Octavia pressed - her fascination piqued now, she needed answers.
"I am she." Came the cryptic, illogical answer. "But a whisper, but a breath. A reflection in the ripple on the water. Nothing more." And as she spoke, a cold wind blew through from the hall- and chilled Octavia to the bone. The warmth of the fire then seemed all the more comforting.
"I am a Necromancer. I seek control over the forces of life and death." Octavia offered, hoping this might get her more answers.
"Many do, many do. They climb the stairs below, and enter the land of the dead. There they seek, there they find. Few return." The gray garbed lady waved at the stones about them.
"Do you know what it takes to survive and Return?" Octavia pried.
A smile played at the woman's lips. "Death."
“One cannot return alive?”
“An interesting thought.” The woman laughed, cold and hollow.
Octavia frowned, but pressed further. “What is your role in all of this?”
“In all things, dear child, my role is as it is. I am she. But a reflection, but a ripple.” Again, the cryptic unhelpful simile- Octavia pressed on asking again.
“A reflection of what, or who?”
“What a thought.” The woman replied. She pondered this, and was silent. A cold wind blew through the room once more, and Octavia shivered against its bite. She looked around, uneasy with the strangeness of the cave, and saw that her surroundings had changed. Where there was once a ruin of what might have been a tower, now appeared to be a large antechamber. Behind her a dozen paces from the fire was a dais, the steps leading up to it were covered in skulls. All placed in a neat, and organized manner to form paths up to what appeared to be a skull on a pedestal. She rose, curious and stepped up towards the dais. As she ascended her steps echoed about the antechamber. Coming to stand in front of the skull, she saw smoke pooling inside it, leaking from the eye sockets.
"Oh ye, Lady of the Path. Welcome, long awaited are your steps." a voice hissed from between its clenched teeth. "The way is laid out, the path is chosen, will you walk it?"
Octavia only hesitated for a moment, a thrill ran through her. Now this was more like it. “...yes.”
“Very well.”
There was then a great trembling in the floor, the stone beneath her shook as bones sprouted from the skulls on the dais- breaking through their jaws and ascending toward the ceiling, a harrowing sound- of breaking and fractured bone filled her ears as the bones reached for one another- hundreds of hands, linking hand to forearm seized each other forming a cylinder about the dais. The stone dais began to move- to descend- as the bones lowered it, hand over hand into the darkness below. Octavia marveled at the handiwork of the craft. Whoever constructed this - the spellwork was superb and an innovative way to create a passage. The descent was agonizingly slow- she spent it admiring the bonework. Running the formulae through her mind- one day she would arrive to such heights of spellwork. That was certain. She had no doubt of it. Then, after the third eon, the disc came to a halt- grinding against stone in loud agonizing protest- the bones receded - pulled back into the jaws of the skulls like serpentine tongues.
Before her is a pathway, soft dirt laden with old bones, one on another as though laid by a mason. There was no sky, yet there was no ceiling, just darkness above her, and as far as she could see. A pale light shone - illuminating sickly looking grass. She advanced along the path, carefully as she could. the path crunched softly, the only sound in the otherwise eerily silent path. As she continued, she saw stone break through the path- old stones, the skeleton of an ancient road. Broken by time, and given over to the grass and dirt along the path. She walked for sometime, before she finally saw something. A person- or, semblance of a person- walking through the grass. Their head was bowed, and they were wrapped in dirty black cloth, their path seemed aimless and they didn't seem to care where they stepped.
As she approached the figure, she could see clearly the withered flesh pulled taut over bone. The ghoul slowly raised its eyes to meet her, misty white meeting silver. It did not speak. Further, off the beaten path she was following she could see more figures, equally as despondent, wandering the hollow fields. She decided that it would be better to stick to the path- avoid the ghouls. The ghouls didn't seem interested in ceasing their wandering long enough to bother her as she continued her journey along the path. Soon however, she came to what appeared to be a small shanty town. Rounding a bend in a grassy hill, she found herself staring at half a dozen timber and stone buildings, withered with age- thatched and tarred roofs showing signs of recent repair. She did not immediately see anyone, but the path continued through the handful of buildings to a very old looking dock- which stretched out over a river of pure night- which danced and played tricks on the eye with its reflections. As she drew nearer she saw figures, hollow looking faces wrapped in bindings. Sitting on the porches or steps of various buildings. One appeared to be a tavern even, and she saw a ghoulish looking woman drinking from a glass bottle, sitting on the steps and staring out at the water. The woman blearily looked up as she approached, taking another long draft from the bottle.
"Do you speak? Where is this? What is there across the water?" Octavia asked, hoping to finally hear a voice after so much time alone. The woman looked at her forlornly. Eyes bleeding sadness from inside their mirky black pupils. "This is the Hollow... yes I can talk..." The words came out slow, her voice creaking like wood left to sit over many years.
"What is the Hollow, exactly?"
"This..." She gestured to the surrounding buildings with her glass bottle. "This desolate outpost, on the edge of the river... the final resting place for those who cannot pay for our souls passage..." she looked resigned and stared down at the ground.
"What is the cost?"
She sighed. "I was asked for gold... and I had none, for I died alone and no one was there to cover my eyes."
"How did you die?"
The woman looked up, blinking as she seemed to think for a long, empty moment. The timber buildings creaked in an unfelt wind. "I died a long time ago. I... don't remember... I... died in the desert. I do not remember why I was there alone. But, I remember the heat, the loneliness... the thirst."
"Would you do me the favour of guiding me towards the Ferryman?"
The woman nodded, and gestured to the docks. "This way..." She rose, and slowly walked towards the docks, dejectedly staring at its ancient wood. Octavia followed closely. The wood creaked under their feet as they crossed from the dirt road to the docks. In reality, it was more like one long pier than a dock- although it had a few barrels, crates and spools of rope laying about. Still, a lamppost near the water's edge illuminated the path to the end of the pier. As they moved down the pier itself, the dark waters began to ripple, and split as something surged upward from the depths. A boat- ancient looking and decrepit, covered in black tar emerged from the dark waters. About it's railing skulls were affixed, where old Olympian warships might host shields of those that sailed aboard. It's mast stood bare, without even a tattered sail. Aboard it, skeletons bustled about- wrapped in simple bindings, almost akin to the mummification wrappings she witnessed in the Tomb. A tall figure stood behind the wheel of the vessel, covered in dark black robes. Silver and Gold shimmered on its neck- a coif made of coins adorning its shoulders. The hands on the wheel were bound with wrappings, not a bit of skin showing.
The ship rose from the waters until it settled, docked at the pier. The robed figure turned to look down at the two women standing on the dock, as if waiting.
"This is the Ferry to the Underworld?" She called up to the figure. The figure silently beckoned her forward, to approach it. The woman at her side took another drink from her bottle, staring at the ship dejectedly. As Octavia approached, the figure held out a withered, bound hand expectantly. Octavia placed four pieces of gold in their hand. The figure looked down at the pieces, and with its other hand plucked two of them up, then held the remaining coins- cocking its head in question. Octavia pointed at the woman who escorted her. The figure nodded slowly and beckoned the woman onto the boat, but- her eyes cast downward- she did not notice the interplay and remained rooted to the pier. The figure took the coins, and its hands withdrew into its robes and when they returned to the wheel the coins were gone.
"Hark, drunken wastrel!" Octavia called at the woman and gestured her onto the boat.
She looked up, confusion plain on her sunken face. "But- I have not the fair, the wayfinder will not let me aboard his vessel?"
"I've paid you fool, make haste!"
Needing no more encouragement than that the bottle was dropped on the pier as the hollow woman leapt forward, over the skulls of the ship and onto its deck. Satisfied that it had it's cargo, the figure at the wheel gestured forward and the skeletons about the deck surged into motion and the ship lurched forward into the dark waters. As they proceeded into the dark, Octavia realized that the expanse of water was vast. Mist hung in the air, visible in the pale light that illuminated the hollow town, but as they set away from the pier they were venturing into darkness- to be lost in the mist. Thankfully, lights suddenly flickered to life about the vessel, lanterns lit with eerie blue fire, casting light about the deck and for a few feet off the bows
Octavia walked up to the figure steering the boat "Are you Charon?" She asked, mind racing at the possibilities this could provide her. The woman on the dock called them ‘wayfinder’ but surely the Ferryman could have many titles. The hooded figure turned to look at her, slowly, it drew its hood back, revealing a sunken looking face. Across its eyes, a veil of solid black fabric blinded it. Its mouth was sewn shut with silver thread, and its skin as black as coal. Although she could not see it's eyes, she felt it stare at her intently. Then it slowly raised the hood, and turned back to the wheel.
"I was wondering if you might solve a theological debate for me?" She pressed. The figure turned back towards her, silently staring at her.
"Are you a Servant of Hades?" The figure continued to stare, there was no movement from it. Octavia stared back. They continued to stare at one another for long, long moments. The ship cut through the dark waters- which were eerily calm and flat like glass, the only light coming from the lanterns the ship bore. The sound of creaking wood and clacking bone filled Octavia's senses. Dissatisfied that she would not find answers to her theological discussion with the husk of the Ferryman, Octavia turned to find the drunken wastrel. The woman was standing by the mast, watching the skeletons with awe- as though afraid she was in a dream and would soon wake up. She looked significantly healthier as Octavia approached. Blond hair hung down to her shoulders, where it curled delightfully. Her eyes were no longer black, but now a light soft blue, with silver-white irises that turned to Octavia with a look of gratitude.
"My lady..." The woman murmured.
"Do you have a name?"
"I... yes... I do." She smiled, and looked pleased. "I was known as Cyanea."
"Pleasure to meet you Cyanea"
"And... what name may I call you Lady?"
After a moment of thought Octavia replied "You may call me Lady Avalon, for the nonce"
She nodded. "Then I thank you, Lady Avalon. I thank you greatly, you are truly one with the heart of a Saint."
"High praise indeed. How long did you wait?" Octavia smiled, it felt good to receive such praise but she tried not to let it show.
"I... lost count. There are no days in the Hollow lands." A touch of sadness hinged her voice, as she glanced back at the darkness behind the vessel. "I lost count of the bottles I drank... of the others I met. Of watching them wither, watching the hope fade away."
"Would that I could help all of those stuck in your position. You know what awaits us?"
"I hope for halls of Asphodel personally... I... after all I lived through, wish for a peaceful afterlife. Spent amid other simple, and easy going folk." She nodded at the bow, as though indicating their destination. "I doubt the gods have deemed me worthy of Elysium."
"Even the Gods may surprise you now and again" Octavia offered gently.
She nodded quickly "I suppose yes, they can. They did send you."
"I suppose in a manner of speaking they did, yes"
Cyanea smiled, inclining her head in thanks once more. Octavia was quiet for a moment, listening to the creaking of the boat and the soft lapping of the still sea. Strange to have such an expanse of water and yet no waves. Curiosity got the better of her.
"I'm sorry to ask, but do you know the year of your death?"
"The year?" She looked back to Octavia with a distant expression. "I... was thirty six... so... it must have been... no... I... it was the-..." She appeared to struggle with her recollection for several moments. "The eighth year of the reign of Ilmaus. The fifth hundredth year of the Bronze City."
The name Ilmaus was meaningless to Octavia, but she did recall the name 'The Bronze City' as a moniker for the necropolis of Caispar. So named because of the domed roofs of its municipal buildings, which were capped with bronze spires. Other cities had held the moniker as well, such as the mythical City of Bronze- which also was called the City of Brass, a city which was said to have ascended into the heavens when the Dune Sea dried up. Such cities were clouded in myth and legends, and she did not put much stock in their truth, she felt that she must be referring to the Necropolis, before its fall.
"Fascinating, thank you."
They sailed onward, into the dark expanse and for a time nothing was said. The only sounds the creaking of bone and wood. After what felt like days- or possibly hours- the fog of darknessfwas rent as a distant light appeared on the horizon. It grew until it's form was clear- a lighthouse. Standing tall on dark rocky cliffs, overseeing a vast glassy still sea- the flame burning in its peak the only light for as far as Octavia knew.
Rounding the lighthouse, they came to a pier. All about were cliffs- rising insurmountably into the dark- where the light house stood like a silent guardian. The boat came to a stop at the pier, and Charon- as Octavia had decided he was- gestured for Cyanea to disembark, and she did so. Bowing low to the ferryman she lept to the pier, stumbling at first but gaining her footing.
Looking to the Ferryman she asked "Are you taking me further?"
The ferryman didn't answer, but the boat began to pull away from the pier and Cyanea called out. "Fare thee well my lady! I will never forget this kindness!"
Octavia waved in a demure manner, it was genuinely not a big deal but that it made such a difference to the shade made it seem… more significant. But soon the pier on which Cyanea departed was swallowed by the darkness once more as the vessel turned away. All was silent, and Octacia had naught to look at but darkness and pale reflections on the water, but soon she noticed something unsettling. The ship appeared to be sinking into the dark waves, slowly at first she almost didn't notice it, but then the waters of the glassy ocean rose up quickly as if to swallow the whole ship.
"What is the meaning of this, Ferryman?" She asked, gesturing quickly at the water. "Your boat is sinking"
The ferryman however, did not answer and the ship submerged. And to her amazement, the waters did not cover the deck- but surged over the mast - touching no part of the boat within, as strange and gnarled runes pushed up from the ancient wood like sores. She stood there, amid a ship submerged in dark water the color of oil, and was not touched by the waters.
She looked on in amazement and tried to study the runes, pulling her book from her satchel and readying to copy the runes - but… try as she might, putting pen to page did not reproduce the gnarled runes. They crawled at the edges of her memory, a visage she could not grasp but which she could not forget. They were there in her mind- and yet refused to be known to her. Her head throbbed and she found herself putting her pen away in defeat. The gnarled mast still standing before her, its runes protruding like knots in the wood.
"Bugger" She snapped the book shut, and shoved it back in the satchel. Her exclamation went unheeded by the captain and crew of the vessel, and for sometime- she could not tell how much, there were no measurements such as stars or sun with which to judge- she was simply submerged in a small bubble of light amid inky black liquid. But then, she felt a shift beneath her feet.
The ship began to rise steadily until it broke the surface once more. She raced to the bow. This time- she saw not a glassy lake of still water, but rushing water all about her. Flowing lazily forward carrying the ferryman's ship with it. There was light as well, she was thankful for- unused to being blinded by darkness. She could see rocky outcroppings- jagged obsidian that threatened anything that neared their shores. There was a vastness above her- not a sky, but she could see no ceiling. Simply a void that faded into the dark beyond her sight. Where the light came from, she could not tell.
Ahead, not more than a dozen meters she saw a long smooth pier made of black stone- not obsidian glass, but basalt she thought- and this is were the ship seemed to be delivering her. It came to a smooth stop, the railing just inches from the pier, and the ferryman stood still- and ever silent- watching her. Glancing up the pier she could see an archway atop a flight of stairs, but could not see over the harsh edges the river cut from the stone.
Octavia walked to the Ferryman and bowed very deeply. He inclined his head in return, and waved her toward the pier. She walked swiftly to the edge of the boat and hoped over onto the pier. Moments after she departed, the ship once more surged forward and sank beneath the water. She cast a piece of silver on the deck after her, just before it sank into the water. Ahead of her were the dark basalt steps, leading up beneath the arch. The stonework all appeared to be carved from the source. A single lantern hung from the archway, casting its faint reddish glow. Each pillar of the arch had an unfamiliar symbol carved into it- an undulating wheel indenting about small star-shaped glyphs. She pulled her book out again. Determined to have something this time. She thanked the gods as she sketched, and the glyph didn’t fade from her mind immediately. Sitting, she flipped through her spellbook- to the familiar rituals she oft used to read magic, and translate unknown texts. One ritual would provide her knowledge of all written language, the other allow her a glimpse into the arcane. Setting out the appropriate items- her bronze censer, chalk for the circles. Powdered silver and gold. She set to work.
~~~
She opened her eyes to an ambient haze of green- like a mist that covered everything about her. She blinked. It was a faint mist, crawling across the floor- clinging to the walls. Like a morning dew back in her home at the Bayliss Keep. Rising, she packed her things away. The chalk circles… would have to wash away. If it rained down here. She proceeded. As she crested the steps she found herself facing a short hall that, after a dozen paces, opened into a large courtyard. She proceeded carefully, keeping her eyes peeled. The courtyard was neat, well kept. Hedges of thorny bushes lined it, and a series of cobbled pathway's wound through it, she saw a bench, and a plot of flowers- with dark petals. Keeping to the left path, she approached the flowers- they were not a flora that she recognized. Dark red... almost black- with the texture of velvet. Stepping back, she turned to observe the pathways laid before her.
The bench faced east, and the path continued- both north and east towards a small fountain. She turned east, and followed the path flanked by the thorny hedges. As she reached the fountain, these hedges curved away, and it was clear they were trimmed to curve inward and form a circle about the fountain. The curves each housed a symmetrically curved bench, and on one of these benches- a woman sat staring at the water as it bubbled over the tiered levels of the fountain. The woman was dressed in dark form fitting robes, silver chains dangled from her wrists and neck, holding small gems- jade and amber, onyx and cerulean. Her face was sharp and angular, and her eyes were pale white, faint irises of silver gazed at Octavia- unsettling her.
Octavia bowed deeply, and held the bow "My Lady?"
"Rise child, tell me your name." Her voice was soft- like the graceful touch of moonlight. She held in her hands a single velvet flower, idly spinning it by the stem.
"Lady Octavia Holly hight Merrymoore nee Bayliss " Octavia said, rising out of her bow, trying not to meet her eye
"And pray, what brings such a young practitioner to this soothing space? Such a journey beyond the bounds of the flesh is neigh unheard of in these halls, and I fear you have sparked interest within me." Her voice was so soft it was almost swallowed by the burbling of the fountain.
"I am pursuing all paths open to me in order to fulfill my three personal tenants to become the preeminent and Mastress Necromancer of the Mortal Plane. Duty to my Lord, Promise to my Love, and my personal ambition."
The woman sat straighter, lowering the flower to her lap. "Ah, you wish to rise to such levels? Perhaps this is why Charon brought you to me." She said thoughtfully. "I ask, by what means have you traveled these paths? Verily this garden is not oft walked by the souls of mortals- departed or otherwise. You are a curiosity, and I would be delighted should you choose to enlighten me."
"I would beg the honour of knowing who addresses me, My Lady. Alas either way, I will detail you in full, my journey from a Mountainside Castle to the Tomb of Osiris, to you here, for the time being"
"I have many names," She said "I am known differently across the realm of Atlas... and yet- you have found me in an intimate place, betwixt the realms. Therefore- you may know me as the Lady of Crossroads, Narcissus." She smiled
Octavia bowed again "My deepest pleasure to make your acquaintance My Lady. How may I serve?"
"Please, tell me your story practitioner." she smiled and waved at Octavia to sit on the stone bench. "You promised the account of how you came to be here- by what means you came to traverse these paths."
Octavia perched on the edge of the bench, stiff backed, and did her best to briefly summarize. "I first gained interest in the human body and the principles that animated it from spending so much time with the Court Maester at Castle Bayliss. I was an Outcast of a Noble child and I sought refuge with a man of Hades. He also assisted me in learning how to alter my bodily chemistry. But it wasn't until I met a strange Woman out in the Swamp, wandering around looking for something to do as an angsty teenager. She was a Witch of sorts and I pestered her
until she allowed me to observe and learn from her. These two teachers of the traditionally "darker" elements of Arcane Aptitude were my inspiration and base for a Necromantic Career. I left home and had some adventures with a Mercenary Company I founded, before realizing what I needed most of all was the ability to truly raise the dead. Not just to program puppets but to rejoin the departed Soul with the Useless Flesh. I researched the topic and found tell of the Tomb of Osiris, lost apparently. Well, nobody seemed to have looked very hard for I found it and delved into it and overcame its manifold challenges, and unlocked its mysteries. I have that power. And within that Tomb I found this powder. Like the Continental Drug in nature but black. Designed, I think, by the Necromantic Tenders of that Tomb; Iris and Anubis. Or one of their skilled servants perhaps. I took it, perhaps foolishly and it's led me here. As some sort of spiritual-metaphysical echo of my physical form."
The woman listened pleasantly, nodding along and spinning her flower. "A fascinating tale you have spun for me, but I am curious. I'd know more about this Spice, and the sorceress you call your love." She stopped to sniff her flower, as though ensuring its scent was kept. "Surely you didn't come all this way seeking her soul? Perhaps a remedy? I cannot decide if you are brave or foolish to let love drive you to such dire measures."
"Forgive me My Lady, I came all this way seeking only what I might find. Your company has been a pleasant boon bestowed upon me by Fate. I plan on restoring my Love by mine own hand. Once I remove the wretched curse a foreign deity bestowed upon her body. In truth my Ambition and Faith have always driven me down this path, I am merely lucky that my heart's desires are one and the same. Necromancy and my Love need not be divorced" She hesitated, and caught herself from looking up- stifling the conversational instinct to meet the eyes of the Lady.
"The Spice is a drug common in those Desert lands but this black variation, unheard of. The sorceress I call my love is a Wit, a Charming lady whom I did not trust until she betrayed my every value. She was a foolish bint" She continued.
The woman stilled, and looked at Octavia curiously. "Tell me, child of the elves. Do you consider all deities of foreign domain wretched?" She gestured with the flower.
"I do not, my Lady"
"That is good." She nodded. "Be careful of that prejudice, many mistakes have been made believing all gods abide by mortal boundaries."
"As for spice- I know it intimately, all herbs and remedies are mine to know. I do not however- know of a mixture that would grant a soul the ability to cross the dead sea and enter these cross roads. You say this spice was black?" She seemed curious again. (edited)
"Yes, My Lady. From the Tomb of that Dead God who cursed the empty body of my Love. Though I suppose I should thank him at least once, since his concoction has led me to enjoy your presence and attention."
"Flattery," She smiled "Is becoming of you. You speak of Osiris? Who the lupine Anubis rose to un-life through the sacred arts? Curious. Perhaps I have been away too long..." She became thoughtful, and stared at Octavia for several long moments.
Octavia willed herself to meet her eyes and then bowed her head "It was his Tomb I delved, and Anubis' secrets I recovered"
"And what knowledge of the Ancient One have you claimed, young practitioner?"
Before Octavia could reply- a cold wind blew through the courtyard. Frost clung to the edge of the fountain and the flower in the woman's hand began to wilt and die. Her eyes lit up, and she rose quickly turning to face the north path.
"My Lady...?"
Around one of the hedges came a dark figure- clad all in black robes, a veil over her face- her skin painted black, with streaks of white about her face in the visage of a skull. Before her a cold wind blew, and the garden hedges wilted and frosted over- but behind her, following in her wake the hedges bloomed green, budding with new flowers- and green sprouts pushed their way through the paved stone path. Her smile as she saw the waiting woman was bright enough to blind, and she flung herself forward with open arms
"My flower!" The women embraced- forgetting Octavia's prescience as they kissed passionately. As they kissed, the wilted flower bloomed once more- the velvet petals turning a bright purple. Octavia’s heart nearly stopped as she recognized the woman. She averted her eyes- after a moment- and fell to her knees. Head bowed.
"Oh my sorceress- how many eons has it been? I have lost count- what is this you have for me?" The skull faced woman gushed, still not acknowledging Octavia. The Lady of the Crossroads stepped back, and presented the flower.
"Μια βιολέτα για την αγάπη μου - το αστέρι μου στον ουρανό, η Περσεφόνη" Her words were melodic, and cryptic a tongue unfamiliar to Octavia. She remained in her reverent position, but was unable to resist a tiny bit of peeking up from under her hood and lowered gaze. The skull-faced woman kissed the other once more, taking the flower and placing it against her bosom, where it transformed into a crystalline brooch- that shimmered in the strange reddish light. She reached once more for the Lady- and it was then that she noticed Octavia. "My sorceress- where did... why is this one here?"
"She is seeking knowledge, I believe. I did not bring her here- she came by ferry. Is she one of yours? She wears your iconography." The pale woman responded.
"Yes, she is... dear Octavia... why have you come here?" The Lady asked, gesturing for Octavia to stand before her.
Octavia stood, keeping her head bowed "My Lady, it is my greatest honour. I did not know that the black concoction from that Tomb would render me before you, though it is my utmost pleasure and sincerest gratitude that it has led me to you and my deepest regret that I may have disturbed you. I merely thought to continue my Quest, which I daresay you know of."
"Not content with the secrets of Anubis?" The Lady smiled, caressing Octavia's cheek- and her touch was cold as ice, but left Octavia flushed, her blood rising to her face. "So you come seeking my Sorceress? Is that the nature of things?"
Octavia leaned her face into her touch, while keeping her eyes downcast and her hands clasped "Your Ladyship. I did not know what I sought. I merely jumped into the darkness. My love of the mortal plane, my own Sorceress love...one of the Dead Gods...Osiris, has cursed her body, rendered it a desiccated wreck...but no Most Holy Lady, meeting you here, in favourable light is it's own retrospective goal and reward both"
"Such blind devotion to love... Or perhaps bravery, determination." She murmured, her fingers trailing Octavia's jaw and coming to rest on her chin. "Love of mine- is she not worthy of your blessing? It is not oft given, and I do not ask you bend thy will nor criterium, only you consider this young and devoted practitioner of our arts."
Octavia's eyes shivered shut at her touch. The pale woman turned to Octavia and gazed upon her, and under her gaze Octavia felt naked- seen. All that she was laid bare before the eyes of the moons themselves. She spoke, her voice hollow and distant- her eyes glassy and pale. Her voice was hoarse, and low- and her word quick, hurried and breathless "Lo, all creation tremble- all creation fear- arisen is She- Queen of the Damned. In her hand I see Seven Spires of the Star - A crown of Agony and Bliss adorns her- The dead supplicate at her feet, and she blesses them with breath- tremble oh mighty cathedrals of the West- Cry out oh temples of the east! Oh how the foundations tremble- For She is ascended for She is the Dark Star in the Sunlit Sky! Kings bow before her and are wrought to shame! Withered men on iron thrones, bow! Bow before the Hand of Death!"
And then- there was silence. Octavia realized that her body was trembling, and did her best to still herself.
The Lady looked to her pale sorceress- patient and ever waiting, the fountain seemed to have stilled as well. Refusing to interrupt the words of the divine.
"This path is woven with the wings of fallen angels- and the blood of saints. Do you wish to walk it, child of the craft?" Her voice was once more smooth, like liquid moonlight, and she was nearly whispering. "Either you will become, or you will unravel. Is this your path?"
"Yes My Lady"
"Very well- you are a mirror to me, and I cannot deny you your request, I hope the path ends well for you- child of the craft. Please, give me the black spice." She held out a pale hand to her.
Once again the water of the fountain splashed in its endless cycle, as The Lady leaned down to whisper in Octavia's ear. "Be a doll and do as she asks, won't you?"
"Oh Love of Highest Ladies, She of the Crossroads" Octavia pulled the black spice from her bag and held it out "I will render unto you what you ask of me exactly as you ask of me. And I beg you bless me with a blossom of your choice, and if my impertinence offends, destroy me where I stand"
The pale woman paused, taking the velvet bag in her hands as she reached forward, and turned her wrist, opening her hand to reveal a small purple flower, offering it wordlessly to the young woman. Octavia reverently took it and pulling a glass jar from her satchel, stowed the flower- daring to cast her eyes up to Persephone, then Narcissus, then back to Persephone, then back down.
The Lady of the Crossroads poured the black spice into her hand, and murmured something, a musical language that nearly sang with each utterance. As Octavia watched the spice swirled about her palm, and then with a deep breath the Lady blew the spice forward into Octavia's face.
She coughed violently, closing her eyes as a piercing pain wracked her throat- she felt the hardwood floor of her cabin beneath her- and then, the corpse of Octavia Merrymoore opened its eyes.
~~~