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
She stands like a god in the water.
She stands as if carved by adoration.
The holy water ripples where it lips at her limbs. Its mirrored surface shatters with the droplets that drip as tears from her hips. Tenebrae thinks he hears them above the hiss of the waterfall. They each hit the water and chime like a bell calling him to worship. They fall as regularly as a heartbeat.. He dare not know whether it is his or hers. Or maybe, he hopes, it is Caligo’s and she is coming to reprimand her wayward son.
But Caligo does not come and the final droplet falls from Boudika’s stomach. The echoing silence of its wake leaves the Disciple bereft. Her eyes glow like moons, cradled in the delicate contours of her wicked face. Her hair glows in tongues of flames unquenched by the cascading waterfall.
The smoke to her fire; Tenebrae stands, tall and dark, amidst the swelling plumes of his black magic. He leans across the water to reach her, touch her, to drag her out -
She sinks, with a smile that is not ugly but feral, immoral. The water swallows her and she stops when the water laps at the tops of her cheeks, her upper lip. Boudika lingers no more a goddess than a leviathan, watching, waiting. Impatient, riled, the kelpie swims to the opposite bank and Tenebrae mirrors her. She did not come to him as he demanded but slips, silken, from the water. His whitebright eyes watch her rise, divine, again.
The sacred pool cuts between them. It settles, mirror still in her absence. Tenebrae did not know how tightly she held his breath until it escapes his lungs with a gust. “Thank you,” the Disciple groans. Relief untangles the knots of his being with gentle hands. It unwinds him… until he looks at her again.
Holy water gleams sacred and crystalline along her skin - the monk looks away. He keeps his gaze on the lupine glow of hers. Together their eyes are starlight and moonlight, a moon painted sea and a shadow filled land. Boudika spits his name as a curse and Tenebrae can only wonder how it might sound as a prayer.
His wounds twinge as he moves, as he prowls along the bank of the water’s edge. Never does he stop watching her, never does he cease moving, stalking, fuming.
Her ire flies across the water on wings blistering and bright. It is a wonder the river does not ignite like gasoline. She berates him and he wonders if is this a new kind of war where shadow weapons are useless. Boudika educates him, this girl with her ravenous smile, but oh, her pupil is unwilling.
“It is holy.” He breathes, as if strangled, as if she holds his breath again. And maybe she does, for as he looks at her he questions what is really to be revered this night. The creature across the water is untameable and savage. Already he knows the violence of her teeth, already he knows the dangers of her smile. And none are as perilous to monks as the taste of her skin upon their lips.
“It is holy.” Tenebrae repeats, less a warrior than a monk desperate to preserve the sanctity of his beliefs. “Boudika,” He ignores how his murmur sounds like a prayer and more alive than Caligo upon his lips. He swallows down his ire and it is not like the ichor of the sun but bitter and wanton. She bristles like a cat, he sees the way it makes her spine stiffen. He regrets that he has watched her long enough to tell the difference.
“This is Caligo’s sacred pool. We guard the water as it passes into the shadow of her temple and is made sacred.” The monk indicates to where the silver water slips beneath the shadow of the cavern.
“Come here.” He says and prays Boudika won’t. That she will stay away, that Caligo will refuse to have her sacred pool tainted again. He is fast realising he may not be so lucky. But at least he can watch her cross the black water and see that she does not linger in the pool.
And what would he do if she refuses? Would he beg upon his knees that she cross? Would he dare to cross the water and drag her back? Or, would he rejoice if she refuses and be thankful that she does not come close to him, where he can taste the salt of her skin?
“Please.” Tenebrae says, for it is better than a sword and it is better than begging.
They say she was born from the sea.
And that she is just as lonely
and just as willing to swallow the world.
And that she is just as lonely
and just as willing to swallow the world.
@Boudika
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