T E N E B R A E
On my body, the grace of shadows
and in my heart: all Hells
and in my heart: all Hells
Winter comes early to the mountains. It howls in its corners and prowls round its crags. The cold creeps upon the white temple that gleams like bones - a cage of ribs in which Caligo’s heart is housed.
Tenebrae does not feel the cold, not as he leeches his brothers’ magic and pulls darkness down to smother the temple and guard it from the press of winter’s groping grasp.
He stands guard, a statue in the deepest reach of this great, ornate ruined basilica. Its hellenic beauty steals the breath of his lungs each time he climbs up and up until the air grows so thin that he is left breathless and gasping. Yet it always abates for trained he is to endure the heights of mountains - where else are they to commune with Caligo? The Night Order, placed here to defend their goddess and her Court. The Night Order, placed here to remind the world what darkness is and swallow the light out of the sky.
So it is his duty this night, to stand and listen to the thrum of life below, where toffee apples are passed between sticky fingers, where revellers dance in the pale moonlight and couples kiss in golden firelight. Up here he is to hear it all. Up here he is to be removed, to stand guard and remember that he is apart. Disciples are not to be tempted by the delights of the flesh, their love is Caligo alone.
How long has he stood here, shrouded in black with his star-bright eyes closed as he listens and does not move. Hours, his body cries, hours. It might even be days.
So it is, when she comes, this girl that walks like a ghost. This girl that burns as brightly as another he already knows. But there is no smile upon this girls lips as there had been upon Boudika’s. There is only a line and it is sharp and agonised.
The girl drifts as if a wraith, as if joy and love and delight have slipped from her body as easily as life. She floats beautiful and lost and he watches her, his eyes now open, twin stars that glow brilliant in his swallowing dark.
He moves and the shadows press upon him, fingers upon his cheeks his jaw, the muscles of his breast. But he moves through them as easy as air, they beg for a command, to be made solid. Tenebrae gives no such command and so they go and press upon her. They shy from her glow but dare to press upon her throat and settle in the grooves of her face, the curve of her flanks. They are bold and brave and his eyes blaze brighter as he chastens them back, back and summon more down, down until the darkness sighs and billows as thick as smoke, as deep as a chasm.
He moves as the girl does, keeping at right angles, watching as she drifts like a lick of flame between pillar and pillar. The air tastes of her agony which has filled up all the places love has left her empty, empty. He is glad he has vowed chastity, he is glad such love is forbidden to him - if this is what it makes of you.
The Stallion moves as she does, each step mirroring hers, his path an orbit about hers, until she moves to the centre of the temple where Caligo’s altar lies. Suddenly his magic is released. Suddenly shadows snap solid as a spear that reaches clean across her path. Black sparks fly as his shadow spear strikes stone. It is there for a moment and then gone, weary is he with his vigil. But there is no worry for Tenebrae is there before her. He stands adorned in the glory of darkness, his eyes aglow, his sigils blazing their ire.
“You cannot pass this night,” darkness murmurs to the phoenix who dares bring light to the temple. She glows crimson and gold before him. Her fire, her light, her sorrowful vivid, angry light, pushes against his darkness. Oh how darkness and light tangle like fingers pushing, pulling. Where once he wore a smile upon his lips for a girl with a trident and skin so brightly copper, he does not now for a phoenix girl. Not when the darkness feels the bruises of her agony and the cut of her starlight blood that pours from open wounds and banishes darkness with a stroke.
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