Savage Divinity

Total Word Count: 8194



And that was when he realized he didn\'t recognize anything around him. There was still fog, still the mire in the air, thinning but present…and yet he could recognize nothing. No landmarks, no currents that spelled out where home was. He was lost, he realized. Asher trembled at the thought. Lost, alone, in a remote location where he could be of no use to anyone!

The thought killed him.

Against better judgment, he did what no soldier should ever do, what no soldier in his right mind would ever do – he shouted to the empty winds, letting the fog smother and dampen his voice as it would, as long as he could speak plainly. I\'m here! Where are you? When are you? Come find me, won\'t you?

Again and again his words rang out until his body, already exhausted from the flight, gave out on him entirely and he collapsed into the sleep of the dreamless, dropped so deep into it, nightmares and wishes sounded the same pounding on the door.



He can\'t be Vilyte – he\'s too small.

Well, he isn\'t full neodemons, if that\'s what you\'re implying.

I wasn\'t saying anything of the sort!

Yeah, just thinking out loud, hmn…?

"Wait, he\'s moving –"

"Try not to wake him…"

Asher\'s eyes flickered open. His first glimpse was of red hair, burning brightly against the backdrop of cream silken walls of a tent. His second was of the face of the owner of the red hair – a sharp, firm face, carved of marble and alabaster stone.

"Where am I?" he croaked. His voice snapped on the highest note – still a really low note for normal, but so high for lungs and vocal chords used to bellowing out commands on a field.

"Reson – he\'s speaking to us," one of them crowed nervously, out of the line of sight of Asher\'s vision.

Reson…well, that had to be the redhead, he decided, seeing how the one with the red hair was the one to jerk his head slightly in response. "I can hear him as well as you can, Royal," the one called Reson replied.

"Vilyte Reson –"

Vilyte? The Vilyte? Asher had been growing steadily relaxed, feeling a sense of almost camaraderie among these, but now –

"You\'re Vilyte." He didn\'t bother asking. There was no other place beyond the General of Ten for Vilyte in Ten. In Sempra, however…

If I\'m in Sempra, I\'m as good as dead, Asher realized. They don\'t just capture Angel-stock – they kill them! Or maybe experiment first, but they won\'t let me go free. It was terrifying to think of the poking and prodding and the wires that might attack to him.

I don\'t want to be hurt! he wailed internally.

"Is something the matter?" The voice was too friendly to belong to the Vilyte – Vilyte! – Asher thought. It had to be someone else. But when he looked for someone else, there was no one, and so it did have to be Vilyte Reson… Plain Reson.

Vilyte was a title as much as part of a name. It was to show honor or affection. He would not use it, not to address his enemies, not to address those who would tear Heaven apart. He was beyond such things.

"Nothing," Asher answered stiffly. "Nothing is the matter."

That earned him a few odd looks, but he hardly cared. Odd looks were little when compared with a failing world. Looks meant little when compared with lives that were to be lost or saved. Let them look, let them stare. As long as he was still around to watch out for his troops and to protect them as best he could…

"Something is the matter. I can sense it." That was Reson again, the redhead resting amiably on the edge of the bed Asher was tucked into, just as if they were the closest of buddies and not deadly enemies.

Asher wanted to demand an explanation. How can you sit so close to me without hatred, and yet slaughter my kin every day? he wanted to find out. His mouth opened, his throat worked, but he spoke no words. After a moment, Asher closed his mouth and looked away from the redhead, figuring the best solution at present was to simply ignore, and pretend. Maybe he would be left alone if he did that. Mayhap it would be they would leave the room, abandoning him to his own devices.

He wouldn\'t mind it.

Reson, the infuriatingly intriguing Reson, didn\'t move, however, and even with his face turned away, Asher could feel the questioning violet eyes peering at him, wondering and waiting.

"Reson –"

Asher and the redhead looked up at the same time, attention directed to the tent flap, looking out at another Vilyte, this one rather frail looking, if Vilyte could be said to be frail at all.

"Coris, what are you doing here?"

Another name to put with another face. Asher duly took note. Maybe he wouldn\'t need to use the information, and maybe it could save him one day. This "Coris" was fragile in bearing. He looked like a strong wind could snap him in half, yet at the same time exuded an air of competence unlike anything Asher had ever seen.

"I suppose I could ask you the same," the one called Coris murmured, entering and closing the tent flap behind him before staring critically at Asher. Asher himself flushed hotly under that gaze. He hated people looking at him like he was a creature in a zoo.

"What do you want?" Reson\'s voice was the voice of a long suffering student, not that of a soldier to a commander or even a friend to a friend. It was a peculiar distinction, and as Asher took it in, he began to wonder where exactly he was.

Everyone who was Angel-stock knew how vicious the Vilyte were, and what they would do to the half-blooded. Vilyte were murderers, the ones tearing Heaven apart because they could not accept differences. So why aren\'t I dead yet? Asher couldn\'t help but wonder. It was nearly unfathomable that there could be differences among these inhuman enemies, that one could slaughter at random and another expend effort to save.

The thoughts that were running through Asher\'s head were making him feel nauseous. He didn\'t want to think so in depth about it. He was a commander, not a poet or a philosopher! He had no use for such possibilities. Anything that disrupted his work had to be gotten rid of, including stray thoughts.



Reson wasn\'t sure what to think of this newest acquisition. He\'d found him lying out in the fog, unprotected, exhausted. The Vilyte had considered his options. It was obvious, to him at least, that this wasn\'t a Vilyte like he was. It was something quite different – the coarser, less refined body of one of the Angel-stock. He had had reservations about taking the catch back with him and not just killing it on the spot, but there had been a brief flickering of eyes that had kept him from doing away with the life. What life deserved to be disrupted in that manner, anyway? He wouldn\'t destroy…not this.

And so he\'d brought back the creature – he couldn\'t call it anything else, after all! – and put him in the bed in which he resided now. The Angel-stock seemed disoriented upon wakening. It was a state that put some charm back on its face, Reson decided.

To him, the Angel-stock had no name, and would, for the time being, remain nameless. Names were dangerous things…they forged attachments, and Reson knew he could scare afford to become attached to anyone, much less an apparent enemy deserter.

He\'d had his hands full enough just with observations until the Angel-stock had awoken. And once the Angel-stock was awake, it took him a whole lot of self control to keep from simply smacking it back to sleep. The glares were not friendly at all, and the whispers of the other Vilyte crowding around the bed didn\'t help at all.

Where am I?

Questions…of all the daring things – a question had to be the worst, asked with the brazen anger overflowing from eyes that were more pupil than iris.

From behind Reson, he could hear the words jumping from mouth to mouth of the other Vilyte. They were shocked that it was speaking, that this Angel-stock possessed enough similarities to them to be able to form words.

We\'re not that far removed, he thought in annoyance before growling at them. Then his name, and the title –

You\'re Vilyte.

Reson sighed inwardly. So, it hadn\'t expected that, had it? Well… He was set to make a scathing reply. Of course he was Vilyte – they all were, if it came down to that – and this thing, this Angel-stock just had to learn to live with that. Because it\'s not going to change a thing.

It was when Coris arrived, completely out of the blue, not asking as he pushed into the tent, that set things into a bit of turmoil, Reson decided. Having his mentor enter without asking permission was, in and of itself, nothing strange. Coris did so quite frequently, if it came down to that. It was the reaction that came from the Angel-stock that bothered the Vilyte soldier.

The Angel-stock withdrew completely, becoming a mere extension of the bed, almost as lifeless as if it were dead already. Eyes that had been mostly bright faded to a dull stupor as the Angel-stock turned further and further into itself, paying less and less attention to what was going on around it.

The behavior disturbed Reson beyond measure. He shooed the rest of the Vilyte from his tent – with the exception, of course, of Coris – and shut the tent flap securely. Coris seemed to sense something wasn\'t quite right because the Song Master joined him at the edge of the bed, staring at the unresponsive Angel-stock with curiosity.

"Is this what you brought back, then?" Coris asked after a silence.

Reson nodded.

"Well…you could have done worse, I suppose," the Song Master answered. "He\'s not in good shape, though."

"It wasn\'t in good shape when I found it," Reson retorted. "It was worse than it is now."

"Don\'t call him an \'it,\'" Coris reprimanded sharply. "No matter what else you\'ve been taught, this is as much angel as you or I."

Reson glared. "Except for the fact that you and I are pure-blooded."

The Song Master shook his head. "No…neither of us is pure of blood. What they don\'t tell you, what they never will tell you, is how the first angels came here… And I won\'t tell you either, if it comes to that," he put in, "but you can absolutely not believe that you are entirely angel. There are only four in Heaven who can boast the title of Vilyte without having reservation of any sort."

"The Archangels, I know."

"Yes…the Archangels." Coris sounded tired, weary. For a moment, Reson hesitated. Then he gathered himself together.

"If you want me calling the Angel-stock \'him\' instead of \'it,\' I\'ll do it," he grumbled. "But I still don’t see why."

"One day you\'ll understand," was all that Coris would say. One day. One…day.

"When?"

One day.



The words followed Reson around the rest of his day. One day. One day. One day. Just one, and then he\'d have all the answers? Was that how it was supposed to work? He doubted that was true in any way, shape, or form. One day didn\'t give the answers to everything. It gave answers to little pieces of the puzzle, a bit at a time.

So absorbed was Reson in his own thoughts, that as he made his way around the Vilyte camp, he accidentally ran into someone. Apologizing profusely, he backed off, only to stop when he realized it was – of all people – Nemsohiriel.

"V-v-vilyte Nemsohiriel!" he exclaimed. "W-what a pleasure to see you –" Inwardly, he was wondering if perhaps someone had hunted the Vilyte General out and informed him of Reson\'s acquisition of a non-Vilyte – and to top it off, one of the Angel-stock – and requested that the Vilyte General see to it that the problem was taken care of. He wouldn\'t put it past some of the seedier seeming ones…

"Don\'t play at words." Nemsohiriel cut him off mid sentence.

Reson gulped, wondering if this was where things ended.

"I\'ve been looking for you," the Vilyte General continued, seeming to be quite oblivious to the fact that Reson was the next thing to speechless. "Come – walk with me." An order from the Vilyte General himself? Reson couldn’t ignore it, or simply pretend he hadn\'t heard. Resigned, he nodded and fell into step beside the black haired male.

"Purple koala bears eat pumpkin pie on Sunday," the Vilyte General said pleasantly.

Reson started in confusion. "Sir?"

"Don\'t be so formal with me," Nemsohiriel instructed, sounding slightly annoyed. "It\'s just that you need to understand things that have been beyond you for a while."

How do koala bears have anything to do with what\'s going on in Sempra and Ten? Reson wondered, furrowing his brow in his state of deep thought. That makes absolutely no sense… Even as he continued to puzzle it over, it still made no more sense than it had before. Koala bears and heaven didn\'t go together. Finally, he shook his head and looked up, making eye contact of a sort with the Vilyte General.

"I don’t get it, sir," he admitted, quite honestly.

Nemsohiriel surprised him with a laugh. "I\'d be quite disappointed if you did. It\'s not supposed to make sense." His mirth filled eyes darkened considerably. "You\'d be surprised at the number of oddments who pretend to understand everything I say, and attempt to make sense of it. \'Oh, Sunday, sir! So it must mean –\' Or, \'It\'s the pie! The last thing He ate before He was killed –\'. The lot of them. They disgust me."

Reson couldn\'t decipher the meaning of that any better than koalas, pumpkin pie and Sunday, so he elected to remain silent.

Nemsohiriel shook his head. "I\'m not making sense now; forgive me," he said gravely. "Here is what I mean to say… I have tried many things with many Vilyte, and have been disappointed with many of them. They have no sense of what will impress any more. These…" He stopped, as if searching for words. Reson let him search. It gave him time to think, to process.

If I wasn\'t supposed to make sense of his riddle, then what was I supposed to do with it? And, more pressing, Why does the General of Sempra want to talk to me? We had an agreement, that was all. I said I\'d speak for him, to his soldiers, and inspire them as best I could – where did I ever say that I would…

Would what? Walk with the General? He knew that there were many who would have jumped at the chance. No matter that they were warring. There were always those among the elite who thought that their chances of improving their lives only lay with gaining higher position. Even out here, among the deserted wastelands that were the boundary between Sempra and Ten – the no-angel zone, as it were – they still jockeyed for position as the favorite of the Vilyte General.

And for what? Reson was outraged at the very thought. We are fighting! We are dying and all these others can think about is bettering their positions? What were they brought up on? There is nothing for us if we cannot stand together, and we will not stand together if there is anything approaching dissention in our ranks, whether it be fighting for food, song or higher position.

"These masses have not an idea of what it is we are here for." So the general had found his tongue. The words were an uncanny echo of Reson\'s own thoughts.

"What do you wish for me to do, Vilyte Nemsohiriel?" he asked humbly. There was little he really could do without express orders, as it were. He could speak, he could fight, he could capture the enemy and sequester him away in his own rooms…but not without cost, and not without endangering himself.

"Hmn?" Nemsohiriel appeared to have been distracted. After a split second of pause, the Vilyte General drew himself back together. "Nothing, nothing… You need do nothing, Vilyte Reson."

So formal…what is on his mind now? Reson couldn\'t help but wonder. He also couldn\'t help but wonder how the Vilyte General\'s mood changed so quickly, so drastically. It was like a seesaw, dipping back and forth from generally easy going to the much harder, more aggressive, then to the absentminded. There was no set pattern, really. It seemed to be the whims of fate, or whatever passed for fate inside the Vilyte General\'s head.