estdeus_innobis | The years flow by like water, and one day men come home again.

Entry tags:

iblis,
tez

The years flow by like water, and one day men come home again.

The Carnival
June 3

Three years. Nearly, anyway. I've been angry the whole time.

I wanted to know why we left. I wanted to know why he didn't come and find me. I wanted things to be alright with Syl again. I wanted - want - to find a way to punish Management for what they did. I wanted things to be right. I wanted to go home.

The Carnival used to be home. It's not any more. I realised that soon after we left town. Leaving hurt, like something tearing in me. And even if I wasn't missing - people - things weren't how they used to be. I can't do the sort of show I used to, and if I could I don't like people looking at me, now. Working as a roustie's been different from being a turn.

I couldn't leave, so I wrote. Letters to Valmont and Alice, long and rambling, talking about what I saw and some of what I felt. And I sent - things, to Iblis. I started writing to him, one night in some nameless place when I missed him so much it hurt, and when I touched the paper after I could feel that pain throbbing out of it. I burned it and buried the ashes, but a while later I put that same longing into a carefully-pressed flower, a reminder of another time, and sent that.

I never got a reply, but I sent other things, from time to time. My anger like a spring-coil in a page torn from a book. Fear, as a kind of dry joke, in a handful of dust. I never sent any letters, just - moments. Pieces of myself. I don't know if he got them.

And now I'm back here and he's still caught in me like a fish-hook. And I want to see Valmont and Alice, and Glass as well (I stole a book for her once and sent it, delicate drawings of herbs). Other people, maybe. His child. I'm twenty now, in this body at least, and I look more like a man.

And I think I know why we've come back. I have my own plans now.

[OPEN]

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I feel it at once, the tight tug of him, the vibration through the wire. Beneath that, the low hum of the carnival, different magics rippling through the town. Management have come back, and they and I will have words anon, for I never gave them permission to leave.

For now, however, I put on the body I burned for him once, in all its pale and untouched beauty, and I walk to where he is, my face lit up with the light of righteous fury.

He looks ever-more human now, smell of mortal work on him, body ageing in a way it did not, before. I hate it. From here I can hear his heart beat, and I think of taking his veins apart piece-by-piece so his blood will circulate no longer.

"You," I say, as I approach, and slap him in the face.

My whole body feels like it leaps when I see him. A line I read somewhere, about something else entirely: Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army with banners.

He slaps me hard: "You."

My ears are ringing and I smile at him in a way that feels like it burns my face more than the slap. Happiness. "Yes," I say, and put my hands on either side of his face. "I missed you, I missed you so much."

His hands are warm and dry against this body's skin. I can feel its heart throb.

"If you missed me, then why did you hide yourself?" I say. "Why send me your stupid gifts," I have them all, still, "and blot yourself out? How did you do it?" I ask, for that infuriates me too, that I do not know how he hid himself so completely, that I could feel no trace of him, that if not for his gifts I would have thought him dead and gone - not like a god, but like a mortal, into dust.

I stare at him. "I didn't. Why didn't you come and find me?" Blot myself out? "I wanted you to come." I suppose I could try to hide that from him. I've been angry, and hurt, and lonely. "I wanted you."

"There was no mark of you on the earth," I say. Is he toying with me? But his face is too open, too stupidly human in its confusion. I feel my eyes narrow. "Management," I say, and my voice is very cold. "They hid you from me." That they dared to try is infuriating; that they could do it is even more so. My nostrils flare, and I reach out and press the palm of my hand against his chest. I can feel the promise threaded through him, even in this new body, that binds him to them. "I should break your contract. Why did you not ask me to?"

My heart is trembling, I think, under his hand. "I went to them and asked what they wanted, for me to leave, and they said my love for you. I wouldn't. The next day we were gone." And I was dragged along like a dog on a leash. Should I have asked him first? "They said - a bargaining chip. I'm not happy with them." I say it mildly. When I'm with him, I remember that I could shatter worlds.

"I hope you don't have too many plans for them," I add, and cover his hand with my own. "I want to - own myself," I say.

My fury is becoming something cold and hard now, diamond bright within my chest. They bargained with his love for me. For me.

"I hope you don't have too many plans for them. I want to - own myself."

"Could you end them?" I say to him. "Once, perhaps..." I feel his heart beating beneath my hand. "Now you are weak," I say simply. "Come with me, and I will cut away what binds you to them."

"Now you are weak."

"For now." I'm thoughtful: I remember how being around him makes me more.

"Come with me, and I will cut away what binds you to them."

"They said that," I say. "That they would cut you out of my heart. They knew I would say no. It - wasn't a fair bargain." That not fair has been sitting in me all this time. My fingers tighten on his hand and then drop away. "Yes," I say. "Alright." I wouldn't have said yes three years ago. A lot has changed.

"For now," he says, and I smile at him sharply. Then he agrees, and I nod.

"Come, then," and I take his hand, link my fingers through it. We walk through the carnival, a strange sort of sight: a tangle-haired tanned boy and a youth of white and gold.

I take him to a quiet place on the riverbank. I hear the distant drone of a wasp's nest, the steady presence of the water. The air is warm and soft as new milk.

"Do you trust me?" I say. There is no reason that he should. But he will let me do this, anyway.

Even with everything else, I feel very happy as we walk. The carnival lot could almost have been anywhere we've been in the world, but now we're back by Excolo's river, where so much happened that I can sometimes-remember, and his hand's in mine.

"Do you trust me?"

I look at him for a while. What does he mean by trust? I don't have a belief that he wouldn't hurt me, deliberately or not. I don't think I can predict what he'll do, or that I'm safe with him at all. I trust him to be what he is, and I'm willing to put myself in his hands. So: "Yes," I say, quite simply.

I nod, and open his shirt, put my hand back on his chest. His skin is warm and fragile and human. I hate it and want it, as I have always done with him. And then I push my way into his thoughts, a hard penetration. I know it hurts him. I can taste his pain. I have missed this, I think.

I breathe in loudly, almost a whimper. I remember - sometime (http://estdeus-innobis.livejournal.com/39325.html?thread=1103773#t1103773), my hands against the brick of a wall, his penis pushing into me as hard as this. That was easier, that was just my body. My thoughts are less willing to give way, especially that deep black god-place in me. But I shudder and shake around him and let him have the pain of it: offering it, like the gifts I sent him. There's a comfort in having him in the lonely places inside me.

I can feel everything he has felt, these past three years. I let it move through me, taste his sorrow and anger and fear. I hold his little joys in my mouth, let them pass through my fingers. It is time that was lost to me, and now I have it.

Passing beyond that, I go into his darker places, where I can still smell jungle. Threaded through them, the greasepaint and sawdust of the carnival. Here, yes. Here he made a promise. The knot is very tight and elegant, and as I start to unpick it, it reknots, tighter and more elegant than before. It is fine and beautiful work.

I have a gift for destroying beautiful things.

It hurts him, of course. But soon he will be free.

It hurts. Oh, it hurts. It feels like he's unpicking the fibres of my muscles, the membrane of my veins. Whatever it is he's undoing has been part of me for longer than this body, much longer. But it doesn't hurt as much as dying did, which still has me waking up from nightmares.

I'm sick at some point, from the pain. I can't see well, with it hurting and with him so deep inside me, but I can taste the acid of it in my throat, smell it in the air. I think of Management fiercely. They shouldn't have asked for what they did. They shouldn't have made me leave. I won't be their tool, whatever it takes.

إبليس‎, I say, inside my head. إبليس‎, إبليس‎. Yes.

He vomits, body twisting under my hands, but I am relentless. I will have him free, and at last it is done. He is limp underneath me, and I carry him to the water and wash the vomit from his skin and clothes. My hands are quite tender.

"You are free, now," I say, smiling. "Of everything but me."

Cool water, and somewhere the glare of the sun. I blink away tears.

"You are free, now. Of everything but me."

I wipe my nose on my sleeve. "I could have been free of you," I agree. "Would you have destroyed me?" I smile up at him, though it's shaky. Have I ever seen him find something so difficult? It makes me thoughtful.

"Yes," I say, without hesitation, even though it gives too much away. My hand holds his head above the water, and I lean down and kiss him very lightly.

My smile gets brighter when he says that. Then he kisses me, lips very soft, and I sigh. This is - nice, and it would be nice if we could stay like this. Even if we're not what we look like, though, it's still real in its way. "I do love you," I say, though I don't need to, not when he's been inside me like that, not when I refused to give him up for Management. "I'm glad I'm back." I think a bit more: "Thank you." I reach up out of the water and tug a lock of his hair.

I laugh when he tugs my hair, strange childish gesture.

"I know," I say, to all of it, and I carry him out onto the bank, lie him down. "You cannot go back to the carnival now," I say. "Where do you want to go?" I sit on the grass beside him, wet clothes clinging to my skin.

"I don't know." I roll over on my back and look up at the sky. "I don't know if where I used to live is even there any more." I want to go and see Valmont, but I don't know if Hermia will have changed her mind about me in the last three years. "I'm sure there's somewhere. I can sleep in someone's barn or something if I have to, or just outside."

I wonder if Syl will be furious. I think she's given up the right to be, though. "I do feel free," I say, wondering. I suppose I don't even have to stay in Excolo now - he could find me if I went somewhere else. I'm not ready to think about that yet.

"How's your daughter?" I ask, turning on my side to look at him. "I thought about her. When I couldn't be with you, I wished I'd had your child, that time you talked about it. I'd have had part of you with me, then."

I laugh a little, quite gently, and touch his face.

"You would be a terrible parent," I say, quite fondly. "Rose is well. Her mother has a copy of the Kent body that lives with them, do you know? She claims they are blissfully happy." I shake my head. Wanda. "My daughter grows strong, and fast. She will be very beautiful, one day. And terrible, perhaps." I smile and stroke his hair back. "I feel the end of things rushing in, now," I say, more quietly. "I am... glad you are here, for the time that is left."

"Just a body?" I stare at him a bit. "Does it talk?" And then I grin: "Our child would have been beautiful. Think of the things I could have taught it." It's an enjoyable and ridiculous thought. "I'm glad she's well. I thought I should have sent her something, too, but I didn't think Wanda would let her have it." What would I have sent her, anyway? Baby clothes? I shake my head against the grass.

"I feel the end of things rushing in, now. I am... glad you are here, for the time that is left."

I prop myself up on my elbows and look at him. "Yes," I tell him seriously. "I am, too. I think I - have to be." I don't understand all the things deep in me. "And I...wouldn't want you to be alone." I shrug, because I know I'm ridiculous.

"Rose gave it a soul, after a fashion. She is a very gifted child." I smile, thinking of her.

"I am, too. I think I - have to be. And I...wouldn't want you to be alone."

"I am always alone," I say gently, leaning over him. "I will be alone at the end." But when I kiss him, pushing him slowly back into the grass, it is something like thanks.

After a fashion? Interesting. I see how he smiles when he thinks of her. If it wasn't his child I might be jealous. I feel strangely proud instead, though I don't have any reason to.

"I am always alone. I will be alone at the end."

When he kisses me it's like warm sun. It hasn't been like that between us since a long time before I died. There's a memory somewhere of vines in a room, him crowned with leaves. I shrug a little: "I will be there, then, when you are alone." I put my arms up round his neck. "Whatever else," I promise, because he's always been wise enough not to trust my nature, "I'll be there." I tug him down further and kiss him again. I'm very hard. I smile against his mouth, remembering when I was with him last, when this body was new to me.

I think of all the ways he could betray me. Has betrayed me. He will do again, I am quite sure of it.

"I'll be there."

"I know," I say again, and return his kiss. He is hard underneath me. "Do you remember the things you did with this body, before you died?" I ask. "You liked this one particularly. I burned it for you, when you died."

"Some of them. It's easier to remember here. I ate its heart once." We must have looked even stranger together then. I touch his face thoughtfully, imagining it burning. "Did it hurt when you burned it?"

I smile when he talks of eating Brant's heart.

"I forced you," I say, "and then you ate it. We had met only once before, and you were still too stupid with humanity to recognise me immediately the second time. But matters changed for you after that." It is a fond memory.

"Did it hurt when you burned it?"

"Yes," I say. "Of course it did not have to." I do not have to feel pain in this body, or anything at all. "But it would not have been a sacrifice without it." I kiss his fingertips. "Ask for what you want now, and perhaps I may give you it."

I smile when he says it hurt. I understand sacrifice, even now.

"Ask for what you want now, and perhaps I may give it to you."

His promises are always careful.

I think about it for a little while, fingers touching his lips. In the end I shrug. "This," I say. "It's enough. I thought maybe I'd never see you again. Though I didn't let myself think of that much. Will you kiss me again, though? You never thought I was ambitious enough," I add. I remember that. "And I was more - worthy of you, then. This self is small and broken." I look down a bit, at my legs, both my feet. More whole in some ways, I suppose.

"It's enough. I thought maybe I'd never see you again." He says he lacks ambition; he always has.

"I have had enough ambition for us both, I suppose," I say, and lower my head to kiss him. "Because you have asked for nothing, I will give you something great, though only for today." He refused to cut me out of his heart. And I... I think of the things that have passed between us. I think of how he betrayed me so terribly and by accident, and how I can give him a gift that will also be a curse to us both. It is fitting, I think. And so I lie back on the grass, and take his hand in mine as we lie side by side, and without warning I plunge into his mind, find the magic of what he did to us before, and draw it out into myself. It hurts, quite terribly, for an instant, as I will myself to forget, to push my own self back into the corners of this body for a handful of hours. In this pain there is an awful kind of ... relief. To be only this - thing of blood.

*

"Oh," I say, blinking my eyes open. My face's wet with tears, how strange! My arms and legs feel heavy as I try to move, and I roll over to see a handsome and familiar face.

"I know you," I say, frowning, and I reach out and trace his cheekbone with my fingertips. "Micah," I say, and smile quite brightly. I remember him.

I feel him do...something. A strange little change in his face, a deep uncomfortable tug down inside me where he's pushed himself. He's crying.

"I know you. Micah."

I remember Val, how it felt to lose him. It hurts less, after three years, but it still hurts. I wish I understood less about what Iblis just did to us. "Yes," I say, and more uncertainly, reaching for the name: "...Brant?"

I will give you something great.

I don't mean to waste it, then. I roll over a bit so that I can catch his fingertips. I can be Micah, for a bit, for him. Later is later. And his bottom lip is very pretty, so I lean in and bite it very gently.

Brant. Yes, that sounds right. He bites my lip, and I breathe in hard through my nose.

"Oh," I say, surprised. But it's familiar, too. "It feels like... a long time since you did that," I say, uncertain. I touch his face lightly. "I ... missed you, I think. I think I remember that. I wanted you to... come home. To me." I frown a little. "Where did you go?"

My chest hurts a bit, because he missed me. Because he says it. And he sounds like I feel a lot of the time, confused and without all his memories. "Where did you go?"

"Too far away," I say. "I didn't want to. Can I kiss you again?" I'm not going to let the world be bigger than this right now. I can be quite determined when I want to be. "You're very beautiful." I say that with a lot of feeling, leaning into his touch.

I laugh when he calls me beautiful.

"Am I? I don't remember. Isn't that strange?" I smile at him, because although I feel confused it's not bad, exactly. "You can kiss me. I remember I liked that." I put my arms around him, open my mouth under his. Yes, I remember this, and I sigh a little. "You looked different before," I say. "But you're always my..." a name swims up, and then away before I can remember it. "Micah," I finish, for lack of a better name. "Aren't you?"

My throat feels thick. "Yes," I say. I don't ask him if he's mine. "I love you," I say simply. Any kind of regret can wait for later. I'm not going to waste this. I roll over so I can lean over him and kiss him properly.

And then I sit up. "Do you want to stay here," I say, "or would you like to - go somewhere? I just want to spend time with you." I stroke his hair back. It's so fine against the palm of my hand.

I smile very brightly when he says he loves me.

"I'm glad you do," I say. I don't remember if I love him. I touch his face again. It seems like he would be easy to love - but I forget about that as he kisses me again, and I open my mouth under his, letting him in.

"Do you want to stay here, or would you like to - go somewhere? I just want to spend time with you."

"I don't know where we'd go," I say. "I don't remember. You can take me somewhere," I say, and sit up again. "Why are our clothes wet?" I laugh a bit, because it seems strange.

"I puked on myself." It's not very romantic. "You helped me wash. It's a warm day, though. They'll dry."

I stand up and hold out my hand to him. "Come on," I say. "We can go into town. I haven't seen it in years." I don't think anyone would recognise me, except maybe Valmont. Three years was a long time for this body. I've got a bit broader and my face has changed. Micah's body is getting hairier than the old one was, too.

"Are you ill?" I put my hand to his forehead; the skin feels warm and dry. I take his hand and go with him; it feels comfortable to walk like this. As we go over the bridge hand in hand, a group of boys shouts "fags!" at us, and shoves me into the side of the bridge as they pass. I feel my face crumple. Why would they do that? Something buried deep inside me roils, but I can't remember what it is I'm feeling, and it subsides into confusion.

I see his face change, and I think at the boys: I could kill you. I would eat your hearts and the marrow of your bones. I'm stronger than them, and I can move faster, faster than this body should. I tip the one who pushed him quite easily over the side of the bridge. I could have done far worse. I will, if they keep this up.

"Go away," I tell them, low and fierce. I put my arm around him.

He moves so fast. I think I remember seeing it before, but it still thrills me. There's a splash as one boy hits the water, and then Micah's back beside me, his arm warm around me. I lean into him, and watch the other boys back away and then run.

"You're very brave," I say solemnly to Micah, and kiss him. I smile again, because - "I feel safe with you." I put my hand in my pocket, and I find coins there. "Will this buy food? I think... I'm hungry." It feels like an unfamiliar sensation.

That will hurt later. For now I kiss his cheek. "I won't let anyone hurt you," I promise him, "not today." It's the most I can promise, isn't it.

"Will this buy food? I think... I'm hungry."

"Yes." It's strange to feel worldly next to him. "And I have money too," though not much, given my job now. "We'll get food. There used to be places..." The memories are still quite strong. "Town's bigger now," I say as we walk. I tip my face up to the sun for a moment. I wish I could always look after him like this. I have a flicker of a memory, the old Brant's wickedness, and wonder if that's in him now. Maybe I'll find out later.

"It's interesting," I say, looking around the town. "I've been here before. Sometimes with you," I say. We pass an alleyway, and I stop and look down it, rub my head. There's a memory pressing the back of my mind, but I can't draw it out. "It was raining," I say thoughtfully, and then walk on.

We get to a cafe, and it's so strange inside, it makes me laugh.

"I want all the pie that this can buy," I say solemnly, putting my money on the table in front of the waitress. "For both of us. You should save your money," I say to Micah. "Because..." I rub my face, trying to remember. "You just lost your job."

I've never been young and mostly-human and in love, not like this. It would be strange enough even if Iblis wasn't buying me pie.

"Thank you." I think about the alley, and the rain. I wonder how much he remembers. "I like pie." A part of me is amused, the old part of me (the old Tez?) at the two of us, god-monster-things here like this. I like pie.

I could imagine this was our home, the town, and we were nothing more than we seem. I smile at him: "Do you want coffee?"

"I want... a milkshake." I smile at him very brilliantly, I can feel it. When the drink comes it's cold and sweet, which seems right on a warm day. I stroke his fingertips where his hand rests on the table. "I haven't seen you in so long. I've forgotten so much. Do you mind?" I turn his hand over so I can stroke the palm. "I remember... Having you inside me," I say, matter-of-factly, though I can feel colour come up in my face, just a little. "Sometimes you liked it to hurt, didn't you? Did I like it, too?"

At least I don't blush. "Yes," I say, my voice low. My skin is prickling. "And - I don't mind. I forgot a lot too, before." I sip my coffee. "What else do you remember? About me?" I'm curious.

Him being almost shy like this makes me feel - strange. Protective, and...and. I want to take him to bed and have a great deal of sex with him.

When he says yes I nod, thoughtful.

"I think I remember that." I feel like something else slots into place, and I sit up straighter. I remember... I remember a part of me that smiled slyly at him and pulled him down in a field. When was that? "I remember..." I shake my head. "I don't know. Except that I know you better than anyone else does. That you... let me inside you. Not just in a sex way. In here," and I touch his temple. "I don't know how. I know you love me. I know I... want to be with you." I sip my milkshake. "Do you remember a lot? About me."

I want to be with you. Something to hold onto. I lean into his touching fingers a little.

"I wish I remembered more," I say. It's honest. I don't want to remind him of who he is - not just because it would ruin this, but because it would make him sad, and he deserves this, a time without his great despair. "You used to be sadder. I'm glad you're not now." I lean over the table and kiss his mouth lightly. I don't care who sees. "You helped me remember, when I forgot everything."

I take his milkshake and have a sip, make a bit of a face, and then I laugh, because we're ridiculous. This is ridiculous. There was never a day as perfect as this, since the beginning of worlds. "The things you've done to me... You beat me bloody with a chain, once. I remember that."

"You helped me remember, when I forgot everything."

"And you'll help me," I say confidently. "And we'll be together." I can't see why we wouldn't be. So everything will be alright.

He doesn't like my milkshake, and I laugh at him.

"The things you've done to me... You beat me bloody with a chain, once. I remember that."

I laugh, a little shocked, though I feel my body stir.

"I don't remember that. I remember that you liked my blood." I tip my head back and stroke my throat. "You can bite me here later. I remember your teeth." I remember it hurting, now. It makes me get hard.

"For as long as you'll let me," I agree, keeping any sadness out of my voice.

What he says about biting him makes me growl softly without meaning to. "I want to." I look at the length of his throat. I remember this body of his better than the others, I think, except maybe Danika, who I saw after I died. I laugh: "You had a riding crop once. I remember." His blood. All of me's yearning towards him, not just my penis.

Cont here (http://estdeus-innobis.livejournal.com/477511.html)

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The years flow by like water, and one day men come home again.

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