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
As Tenebrae climbs steam curls, languidly, from his skin. He has not slowed in his ascent. Up and up he climbed, driven onward by penance. No longer does he feel his limbs, for they are already bitten numb by the cold. They have worked through the agony of climbing, the bite of the mountain’s icy wind - that sinks deeper than Jack Frost’s grasp, than Boudika’s teeth- He exhales sharply and forces himself up higher, faster, stronger. Tenebrae has not stopped fleeing her since she leapt into the sea.
Though his limbs are numb, the Disciple leaps and bounds, working his way up the mountain like a lion born within its crags. He has lived within such ranges since Caligo called her Stallion’s home. He has been trained to live in such climbs and so, even if he was not chased by the hounds of penitence that snap and claw as his ankles, his breath would never thin.
The snow falls in flurries. It descends white, white upon the ground. His shadows stream behind him, sinking everything into endless black. But before him, above him, is the whitecapped peak of Veneror and he ascends to it as her snow storm kisses the heat from his wearying body.
Snowflakes settle into the whip-wounds along his spine. Oh what bliss their touch is upon such fevered skin! They turn crimson with their touch. They turn to blood-stained water, but in their melting they steal the heat from his skin. They leave icy kisses that sooth the sting as well as any balm.
Twenty, Balliol had said, with his lips drawn into a grim line. Or as many more as you think is befitting of your failure to honour your vow to Caligo. So Tenebrae ascends the mountain with not twenty open lashes parting his sinful flesh but thirty; one for every tooth Boudika pressed into his flesh. Her bite is yet another sorry wound about the young Disciple’s throat and Balliol, Abbot of Caligo’s Disciples, regarded it positively, Another fine warning, Tenebrae. We have all been tempted and paid our prices for it. Let these scars, the Abbot said, of Boudika’s bite, of the marks of Tenebrae’s self-flagellation, be a reminder to you and your brothers of why we pledge ourselves to Caligo and the punishments that come of breaking our pledge.
The darkness pressed her fingers along the broken flesh of Boudika’s bite. It trails like a lament and Tenebrae feels the song of betrayal the darkness sings into his wretched wounds. He teeth had grit together, his breath short, but he keeps his eyes upon his Master and the shadow panther that stalks behind him. To show your brothers of your repentance and that you still hold honour in your vow to Caligo, pilgrimage to Veneror and repent to Caligo before the other gods. Show them that her Disciples are still loyal to her. Uphold your vows to Her and to your brothers Tenebrae and show that you value us, our values, our goddess by returning to us within 72 hours.
And so Tenebrae steps at last from snow to moss at the open mouth of the gods’ temple upon the 36th hour of a 48 hour journey. It was not just a pilgrimage but an ordeal designed to bring him to exhaustion and beyond. Darkness seethes with his mood, it claws its way before him, billowing out into the temple. Oh how easy it would be to renounce Caligo then! How blissful to rest and never return to the Disciples, to cast aside his destiny and find whatever girl he chose and look without guilt, to love a girl other than his goddess…
But Tenebrae does not. His love of Caligo burns, deep, deep, deep. He craves her like his tongue craved water. He might dare to stop, beside the water of Oriens’ temple and drink of his font. He does. He comes to the first and lowers his lips to drink. The water is cold and holy and blissful upon his parched throat. His gashes twinge with longing and he would bathe, if he could, if there was enough water there.
He is still consumed with need, with assauging his thirst when light blooms. It grows and grows and grows and beats back his darkness. Tenebrae lifts his mouth from where it desecrates Oriens’ sanctuary and turns his gaze upon the source of Solis’ light.
There a lion stands, much like the one that stood sentinel during Solterra’s interregnum. That lion was all the Disciples spoke of in the time it took for a new king to ascend the Solterran throne. It was the return of a god, the essence of Solterra and here, here it stands within Veneror. It glows like the sun, its heat evaporating the holy water that still clings to Tenebrae’s lips.
“I have not eaten for days.” Tenebrae murmurs as he looks upon the lion and his eyes - soft as moonlight when he entered - begin to glow bright, bright, bright as he swallows down the cat’s light. Shadows bloom, they meet with the light smothering, choking, dissolving.
“I did not know such a feast awaited me here.” He breathes, his shadows undulating with his words. The Stallion Made to Swallow the Sun, steps forward and darkness curves a smile along his lips. Maybe this is close to what Boudika felt, to scent his blood his skin upon the air to want, to need, to eat, to live. Maybe they were not different at all, this monk and the kelpie-girl. But Boudika is so far from his mind - at last. This is what he was made for. How could he ever need a girl when all of him was darkness against light?
The Sovereign’s words cut through the warring air where darkness and light meet in blistering red and shattering gold. Tenebrae slowly turns his gaze from the Solterran’s lion to drink in the King himself. “Forgive me, your Majesty.” Tenebrae murmurs repentant as his skull dips, his half moon sigils blazing light.
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