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 his whispered questions fade into the darkness the only sounds that remain are the merry crackle of the fire and their mixed breath. Tenebrae watches as his words not just tumble into her ears, but are absorbed across every inch of her skin. He can nearly hear the way her soul howls. He can nearly feel the splitting scream of the osprey as it swoops alone along the lonely contours of her veins. Boudika’s whole being sings with her feral loneliness. Tenebrae watches her, every piece of this loneliness she unveils for him. It becomes a portrait in his mind, the dark wash of watercolour streaks, wet with the blood and tears of her striving.
She shakes her head, no. The monk expected it. Changing him would never make him more inclined to stay. Yet he feels the desperation in her admission. It tastes something like sorrow and defeat. And then…
He made me.
Those words hang in the air. The meaning behind them, the way she breathes that small sentence with trembling lips. Tenebrae does not know how to hold them or negotiate their meaning. His father was… made. Without his becoming Tenebrae would be not exist. Father and son were and are committed to Caligo for their creation. The Disciple loves his goddess, he does not doubt it, he does not question it for a moment but… Was it love in the same way? Was being made by Caligo any different than being made a kelpie? Boudika existed before her becoming. Tenebrae’s father was… nothing until he was. Were they the same?
“I am not sure what that means, Boudika.” Tenebrae confesses gently. “Does that mean it was something deeper than love or…” And he does not know how to name it and maybe that is it. Is it belonging, or duty, or love, or devotion to Amaroq that laid those words across her tongue. He settles for another question, “If he returned, would you go to him? Would you leave everything?” Me? Us?
At once he regrets the words. His asking is foolishness. Tenebrae hopes she would say yes, because he knows he should not keep returning to her. He should not have come to the sea this night intent on losing himself within her. She is magnetic, he knows it from the way his eyes have not strayed from her, they way they want and want and want.
Say yes, Boudika. Save both your souls.
Or were they only ever fated for one of them to always be damned?
There is a rumbling beneath where his lips press upon the smooth column of her throat. His brothers had warned him of his recklessness. They had tried to beat it out of him as a child and yet it still weaves its way within him, it still fights against the binds that chain him to the order. Maybe he is always set to fight, to battle who he is, what he is.
His teeth are blunt where hers are sharp. His teeth are nothing like Amaroq’s and yet she shivers, yet she pulls away when their bodies become too hot, when the air between them is electric with friction and desire.
There is a low strangled cry that passes her lips and it sounds like despair. He breathes and his breath is smoke in the fire of their touching.
But what does that staying mean? The words are bolder, louder, blunter compared to the timid sound of her voice before. This is a Boudika he knows better.
He blinks and time seems to stretch itself with the gesture. He breathes draconic again and his magic billows, ripping along the groove of her throat. Tenebrae watches the way his shadows caress her and there, a scar below her jaw, small and neat. A lover’s bite. A turning, claiming scar.
What does that staying mean? What was he? A monk. He reaches forward to touch that small scar just as she reaches for the scars along his back. Many of them belong to her, his flesh broken because of his want of her. Her lips press to the uneven skin of his back and a shiver shudders along his back. The Disciple’s back arches remembering the pain, feeling the hypersensitive skin warming at her touch.
Her touch sets him ablaze - how many times had he returned to her whilst his back still wept red with his punishment? The bite of a whip seems to echo, joining with the cry of the osprey in her blood. “I am a monk.” He says and how many times has he offered it up like protection? It offered him no level of defense. He hid in plain sight, it was little more than chocolate before Boudika’s fire. It melted even upon his tongue.
“When the gods had fallen apart, Caligo made the Stallions to keep her darkness total, to be her company, to fight the sun for, with her. When she made peace with her siblings she set her Stallions loose. They each left and bred and upon the birth of their sons they ceased to exist. For years Caligo was silent until she called the Stallions’ sons back to her. We came and she created the Night Order. We do not know how many Stallions she made and how many sons will keep being born - each original Stallion only has one. Mortal women cannot survive the birth of a Stallion’s son. So we have no family except other monks of the Order.”
He sighs softly, ‘When I came to Caligo was a yearling and began my training. At the age of 3 I took my pledge to become a Disciple. I swore to not have any sexual relationship and to ensure no relationship becomes more important that the one I have with Caligo. I am married to my goddess.”
For so long he says nothing but feels the touch of her lips across his spine. He wonders what those scars look like. “Those scars are from where I whipped myself because I saw you and wanted…” He gives a small laugh. It fades starkly in the firelight and silence consumes it. There is nothing, nothing, until:.
“I saw you and wanted to break my vows to Caligo. You make me wish I was not a monk, Boudika.” His voice is raw, the honesty of his words like a stone shattering in his chest. He feels like broken pieces, each one scarring him. They are worse than the whip marks beneath her lips.
He smiles, remembering her impish remark. His lips suddenly reach for her scar, pressing upon the point where she became a kelpie. At once they are an ouroboros, their struggle never ending, their connection eternal.
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