Chapter Text
Bluesky for all your yelling at me needs: https://bsky.app/profile/abowlofapples.bsky.social
Make sure you read the Author’s Notes in their entirety for this one. Preferably before commenting.
———————————————
It would be sunset soon.
While the huts weren’t precisely on the beach, they were beach adjacent. The point was, you could sit in the doorway and see the ocean. It was about the only frill they had. No furniture, running water was . . . debatable, and the less said about the toilet, the better. Even the door was secured only by a roll down canvas curtain, which, yes, it did have locking bolts, but also, anyone with a reasonably sharp knife could walk right in.
Beatrice sat crosslegged in the doorway of her hut and painted the ocean, her brush strokes neat and short, more like lines than anything.
Piece by piece, line by line, forming a foundation and then building on it. Methodical, purposeful, that was who Beatrice was. Admittedly, she no longer was tightly wrapped in it as she had once been, but some things that were ingrained never truly faded.
She was living her life, but it was not the life she truly wanted. That life was brown hair and . . . no, best not to think about it.
She resumed her painting, gentle, deliberate brushstrokes to capture the warm tones of the sand, the contrast of the darker brown of the palm trees and the green of the leaves. With grace, she washed in the shadows, then the blue of the ocean, rapidly turning to gray as the storm rolled in - wait.
With an almost grimace, Beatrice pulled her easel and watercolors further inside the door as a veritable wall of water approached and passed over, leaving the ramp soaked right up to the door and a few drops that had splashed in.
That was . . . unusual. Beatrice was familiar with fast moving storms, especially here in South Asia, but . . . there was someone standing at the base of the ramp. A woman, brown hair, dressed in an oddly eclectic mix of clothing. What appeared to be some sort of roll was strapped across her back and the handle of some sort of weapon or tool stuck up from it. There was also a square shaped crossbody bag. Perhaps more importantly, she was shifting her weight in a familiar manner and . . . “Ava?”
The sound of her name was like a starter’s gun and she ran up the ramp, hitting her knees in front of Beatrice, her face lit up with a smile that seemed as bright as the sun. “Hey, Bea,” she said.
“Ava! Ava?” Beatrice’s hands came up and then froze, not sure if she wanted to hug her, kiss her, shake her, or just feel her, feel that she was real, feel . . . “How do I know you’re really Ava?” Beatrice demanded.
Ava sat back on her heels. “Suppose that’s gotta be answered first.” She thought for a moment, lips pursed. “The last thing I said to you before going through the portal was ‘I love you’. In the Alps, you brew your tea to precisely two eleven degrees, one and nine tenths teaspoons milk. You sleep on the left side of the bed so that you were between me and the door and you have an absolute hatred of any documentary made by Emmerson Roulette. Like, I have seen you slam the laptop shut the moment he or even his name show up on screen. The blanket on the bed was more of a very thin patchwork quilt covered in daises. You take one minute fifty-nine second showers, unless it’s a hair wash day, in which case, it’s four minutes even and you shower at night. Hair wash day is Mondays and Thursdays and you enjoy brushing out your hair. Like, it’s meditation for you. Hm. Oh, and your favorite seasoning on chicken is the Red Pepper Chili from the market stall near the bar.”
Those were . . . correct. She had never precisely timed her showers, but that was dead on how she took her tea, and she didn’t think anyone, even her Sisters within the OCS knew that. They simply hadn’t paid that close attention. But Ava had. Ava did.
Ava loved her and she . . . “Ava, I . . . Oh God, Ava!” She pulled the other woman to her in a tight hug, almost bone crushing. “I love you,” she almost sobbed. “I love you and I didn’t say it back and I should have, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never said it before you went through, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you.” She broke down into tears. “I love you.”
She felt Ava’s lips against her cheek. “I love you, Beatrice . . .” She pulled back, looking Beatrice in the eye. “What is your last name? You’ve never said.”
Beatrice smiled. “When I took my vows, I changed my name as well. So Seaworth, my full name is Beatrice Seaworth.”
“Awesome,” Ava agreed, and then they kissed. Slow, simple, sweet. “Now, Ava said, “I want to hear about everything you’ve been up to.”
“And I want to hear about what you’ve been up to,” Beatrice said. “How did you get back? What happened over there?”
Ava shook her head. “You first. I’ve had enough of the Other Side. I don’t even want to think about it right now.”
Beatrice nodded, and began to talk, about the aftermath of Adriel, the fallout. Reinstating Vincent, which caused a brief scowl on Ava’s face, and the effort of rebuilding the OCS, though without the Halo, it was unclear how effective they would be.
They made canned soup over an electric hot plate, and Beatrice talked about her decision to leave the Order, how she’d been making her way east to Taiwan, where part of her family lived. Less out of a desire to see them and more because it was a place to go and she couldn’t think of anything else.
They fell asleep on Beatrice’s thin mat, arms about each other and content.
————————————————
For the first time since Switzerland, or perhaps ever, Beatrice slept soundly, untroubled by bad dreams or restlessness and awoke feeling refreshed and at peace which promptly vanished when she realized Ava was gone.
Leaping to her feet, she looked around the hut in a panic. Had it been a dream? Had she snapped? Had last night been some sort of hallucination? Had —
Ava leaned back through the doorway. “Hey, Bea,” she said, “you looked like you needed the sleep.”
“Ava!” Beatrice exclaimed, running to the door and hitting her knees as she pulled Ava close, burying her face in the crook of her neck. “I thought . . . I thought . . .” She could feel tears on her cheeks, running down to fall onto Ava, to . . . “You’re here.”
Ava’s hand smoothed her hair, “I’m here, Bea,” she said softly, gently, “I’m right here.”
After several moments, Beatrice’s emotional maelstrom quieted down enough that she raised her head to look at Ava, who met her gaze with shining eyes and a soft smile. “What are you doing?”
“Taking the advice of a a little Spanish town full of very smart people,” Ava said, nodding out the door. Beatrice looked, seeing part of the sun peaking over the distant horizon.
“After a long night, the best thing to do is watch the sun rise,” Beatrice said, understanding immediately.
Ava nodded. “Feliz dia nuevo.”
“Feliz dia nuevo,” Beatrice agreed. She shifted position to sit with her, wrapping her arms around Ava’s middle, resting her head on her shoulder and Ava snuggled in closer. Together, they sat there in silence, watching the sun rise, the sky changing color, and the light brightening, warming their faces.
When the sun had cleared the horizon, Ava sighed and rested her weight against Beatrice. “I needed this,” she said softly, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” Beatrice said.
“Mmmm,” Ava agreed, pressing against her and then getting to her feet. “But now, it’s time to go.”
Beatrice got to her feet. “Where are we going?”
Ava stared at her. “What? No, Bea, I—“
Beatrice pressed her finger to Ava’s lips. “You told me to live my life, the life that I want. That life, I have come to realize, involves you. As you have re-entered it, then I will live that life. Next, you promised me an explanation for where you have been and how you came back and I will hold you to that. Third, I love you and that means standing at your side, through thick and thin.” She held Ava’s gaze. “Now, where are we going?”
Ava stared at her, and then jumped into her arms, kissing her, her mouth hot and wet, and Beatrice’s hands slid up her sides, then around to her back, pulling her tightly against her, molding her to her, their bodies so tightly together not even a drop of light was between them.
“Okay . . . I want to do that some more,” Ava said when they broke apart. “Certainly with less clothes. Or even none.”
“I accept those terms,” Beatrice said, gulping in air.
Ava pulled her in for another kiss. “Fuck, I love you,” she said, “but here is not a good place for that. There needs to be a bed, music, wine, flowers? Fuck if I know - romance shit.”
The “but” put Beatrice’s mind back in order. “I love you,” she said, reveling in how easy that felt to say, to mean, “and . . . well yes.” She looked around, grateful that she’d done most of her packing last night. “Let me finish packing.”
Packing was the work of a moment, as was securing the curtain and locking it into place. Then they headed up to the street proper, a quick detour to drop off the key, and they were on their way arm in arm.
“We need a body of water,” Ava said, “or a large creek or river, flood channel, something like that.”
“There’s a shallow river in a park not too far away,” Beatrice said.
“Sounds good,” Ava agreed, and they altered course. “So, the full explanation is long and I want to save it for when we get to Cat’s Cradle because holy hell, I do not want to go over it more than once.”
“Short version?” Beatrice asked.
“I’m a god,” Ava replied simply and Beatrice stumbled.
“What?”
“Yeah. See, everyone’s right, but no one is specifically right, make sense?”
“Well, yes,” Beatrice said, “but Ava, what do you mean, you’re a god.”
“God, spirit, elemental, whatever you want to call it. I’m the Daughter of the Storm and Sea, Bea.”
Beatrice opened her mouth, but could only sputter.
“Yeah,” Ava sighed. “Apparently Shintoism is closest to how things actually work, so that’s the terms we’re gonna use. Not claiming to be Japanese or anything, but the terminology is . . . sufficient.”
“Uh, yes - you studied Shintoism?”
Ava shrugged. “I wasn’t always on social media when we were in the Alps and we watched enough Ghibli movies that I got curious. So when Reya was explaining it to me, well, it hit me.”
Beatrice nodded. “Right. So . . . god.”
“A god. I need to stress that part. Not divine, exactly, and still me, but definitely not mortal. Or human.”
“But . . . you died.”
“Yeah. So basically, at least according to Reya - Mom and Dad took mortal forms to live mortal lives, which meant they had a mortal child, and Mom was a very mortal human when the crash happened - she didn’t have time to really see the car coming, much less go god mode. So when the Halo revived me, it maintained my mortal status, because well, that was the profile saved, so to speak. Am I making sense so far?”
“Sense enough,” Beatrice said, because while the words were making sense, she was beginning to understand the concept of consuming alcohol to deal with things. Which was terrifying.
“Okay, so, because gods are a life form, they have DNA, and that was still lurking around in my genetic code. So when I got to Reya, the first thing she did was rip the Halo out, but it also triggered that DNA. Which then put Reya in the position of having to actually explain shit to me and boy is she pissed about it.”
“Ah . . .?”
“Yeah, again, trying to keep it short, but Reya is basically a noble whose estate is on the border and if it was up to her, she’d ignore us entirely. But between my . . . promotion, and the fact that Jillian Salvius is actually smart enough to grasp the math behind the portal means that she has to actually acknowledge that we might be getting to the point where we can cross the river, so to speak. Still following?”
“Yes.”
Ava nodded, rubbing her face with her hand. “Now, Reya is one of nine Exarchs. Exarchs are those who hold a piece of a . . . machine with an intelligence and awareness of its own.”
“The Halo,” Beatrice realized.
“Yep. Reya and Adriel teamed up to lock the other Exarchs away because they were making noises about combining their Halos to go out into the wider universe and take over, which violated the whole point of Reya breaking it up in the first place.”
Beatrice stumbled again. “But then that would make the Halo Bearer . . .”
“Bingo!” Ava singsonged, “and once the Exarchs were locked up, Adriel turned on Reya to take her Halo. With two Halos, he could then take out the other Exarchs one by one. At which point, no one left who could stop him. But when he tried to take Reya’s, she took his, he took hers, and he fled to Earth, meeting Areala, and the rest you know.”
“I’m starting to wish I didn’t,” Beatrice said.
Ava laughed. “That makes two of us,” she told her, squeezing her arm. “The Holy War is going to be when sooner or later, the other Exarchs start breaking free and from there, it’s gotta catch ‘em all. Everyone but Reya wants to put the Machine back together, and Reya wants everyone to get fucked and leave her alone.”
“Is it bad that I’m at least somewhat sympathetic to her position?”
“No, I get it too. But that’s the short version. So the thing is, and please don’t be mad at me, I’ve been back for nearly a year.”
“What?” Beatrice asked in a flat voice as they entered the park. As she had mentioned, the centerpiece of the park was a shallow creek with a white wood bridge over it.
“Yeah, I came back in Avalon. The Avalon. King Arthur and all that. Thing is, the only way on or off Avalon is the Mists of Avalon, which as the Daughter, I can call upon. But,” Ava raised a cautionary finger as they stepped onto the bridge, “the thing about using the Mists to travel is that Avalon doesn’t send you where you want to go,” a thick heavy mist erupted off the water and consumed them, then just as quickly faded, leaving them standing at the side of the road in the middle of some dark woods, “Avalon sends you where you need to be.”
Beatrice hurriedly pulled on her jacket as it was a lot colder here than in South Asia. Wherever here was . . . oh.
Ava turned to look at her. “I’ve been bouncing around the world like Carmen Sandiego, Bea. Meeting people, other gods, helping them, learning from them, learning about myself. A whaddyacallit, walk-a-something. But anyway, let’s figure out where we are.”
“We are in Romania,” Beatrice said, “two kilometers from the Red Robin Hostel.” She pointed behind Ava. “And the word you’re looking for is ‘Walkabout’, a journey of self-discovery.”
Ava turned around. Behind her, a large wooden sign written in what Ava assumed was Romanian and illuminated by lamps. “Holy shit, Bea, you can read Romanian?”
“No, but my phone has a signal and Google,” Beatrice told her.
“Fuck,” Ava said, smacking her palm to her face, “how come I never thought to do that? Could have saved myself so much time.”
“Do you even have a phone?”
“Well, no, but still.”
Beatrice pulled her close and pressed her lips to her forehead. “We’ll get you a phone so you can.”
For a moment, they stayed like that and then Ava sighed. “All right. Whatever needs doing here is probably at that hostel, so I guess we start walking?”
“We start walking,” Beatrice agreed, taking her hand.
——————————————
Red Robin was more like a roadside stop. A broad flat half circle of pavement for parking, then a row of picnic tables at its edge, then buildings housing beds, showers, and plenty of shops and food stands. It was just past dawn, and the stands were already open and unleashing a riot of smells.
“You know, I get it,” Ava said, “pavement is easier, less mud, better for tires and stuff, but at the same time, there’s something about gravel. Like, that crunch under tires or your feet. There’s probably a word for it.”
“Probably,” Beatrice agreed, “do you have any idea why we’re here?”
“Nope,” Ava said, “usually the reason makes itself apparent pretty quickly, but once I was in Tokyo for a week before anything happened.”
“Ava?!” At one of the tables, a man had stood up, staring at them. He was curly haired and good looking, even pretty. “Ava, that is you, right?”
“Never mind,” Ava said and then louder, “JC?”
“Ava!” They ran at each other, clutching each other tightly in a hug. “God, it’s good to see you,” JC said, and then his face creased in fury. “What the absolute FUCK, Ava? You . . . the wall, the flaming . . . thing. I want some answers!”
“Yeah,” Ava said, “I . . . yeah, you deserve to know.”
“Ava,” Beatrice warned.
“Bea, he saw Lilith get taken, he deserves to know.”
“Ava, he’s not . . .” Beatrice trailed off as she remembered that technically, her oaths to the OCS and the Church no longer applied.
“Not? Not what?” JC demanded, eyes wild, “how the hell . . . waitaminute, you were there too.” He stepped forward, “If anything, you need to-“ Ava stepped between them, hand on his chest.
“JC,” she said, “I’m straight up not fucking around when I say this; Bea literally knows twelve different ways to kill you with her bare hands. You do not want this level of shit. Back off.”
Something in her face or voice must have gotten through to him, because he backed away until he was next to the table again.
“Damn, you find the weirdest people to hang out with, don’t you?”
With a start, Beatrice realized that JC hadn’t been alone. Next to where he’d been sitting was a woman, long black hair, hawklike nose, strong jawline.
“Chanel?” Ava gasped, “Holy shit!”
Chanel smiled. “You mean hot shit. Look, Ava, glad to see you, but yeah, you got a fuckton of explaining to do.”
“I do,” Ava agreed, “it’s why I’m here, apparently.’’
“‘Apparently?” JC demanded, “goddamnit, stop talking in riddles!”
“Shh!” Ava hissed as Chanel grabbed his arm and pulled him down.
“Quit drawing attention, babe,” she said, rubbing his shoulder.
Ava’s face lit up in delight. “‘Babe’?” Beatrice’s stomach growled. “Ooh, yeah, you didn’t get breakfast this morning.”
“I’m fine, Ava.”
“Like hell,” Ava retorted, “go get some food.”
“Ava, all I have is Indonesian currency, I don’t think they’ll take that in Romania.”
“There’s one of those currency exchange machines over there,” Chanel said, jerking her thumb towards the center of the row of buildings. “No idea if there’s an actual human in though. Or if it even works.”
Ava pulled at the strap of Beatrice’s pack. “Leave your bag here, Bea, we’ll gossip until you get back.”
Beatrice nodded and shrugged out of her pack. “What would you like?”
Ava shrugged. “Milkshake or something. I don’t need food anymore, so just get me something to hold so I don’t look out of place. You can have it afterwards.”
“The fuck?” JC and Chanel asked in unison.
Beatrice nodded, bending her head down to briefly kiss Ava before heading off.
“You don’t need food anymore?” JC asked.
“Yeah, where the fuck does that come in on the weird scale?” Chanel asked.
“Believe it or not, it’s one of the least weird things to happen since you last saw me,” Ava said, shrugging out of her own pack and sitting down across from them.
“Let me guess,” JC said acidly, “you want to wait until she gets back before explaining.”
“Wouldn’t you in my shoes?”
“Yeah, if I knew what those fucking shoes were.”
“Ten minutes at most,” Ava said, “Bea doesn’t fuck around with food choices.” She leaned forward. “Now, what the heck butt is up with you two? JC said the Crew drifted apart.”
“We did,” Chanel said when it became apparent that JC wasn’t talking. “A few months later, I ran into him in Ibiza and we got to talking and traveling together. Then one night, that talking . . .” she shrugged, “became more.”
“Good,” Ava said firmly, “you’re happy?”
“Yeah,” Chanel said, “there’s been some adjustment, but yeah, we are.” She threaded her fingers through JC’s and squeezed, smiling at him when he looked at her and his expression softened.
“Yeah,” he agreed, and then huffed a noisy sigh, shoulders slumping. “Sorry,” he said to Ava, “but just . . . it’s been months, more than a year of wondering what the fuck all that was and . . .”
“Hey, I get it,” Ava assured him, “I’m still asking what the fuck and I lived through it.”
“We’re gonna need to be drunk for this, aren’t we?” Chanel asked.
“It might help,” Ava said with a grin, “might not.”
Beatrice returned a few minutes later with a platter and two cups, one steaming, one clear and full of ice and little beads. On the platter was a foil wrapped burrito, already cut in half and a stack of napkins. “You said you didn’t need to eat,” she told Ava as she sat down to her left, “not that you couldn’t, and I doubt you would turn down a burrito.”
“You know me too well,” Ava said with a grin, taking the cup with ice as Beatrice positioned the platter so it sat between them. She took half the burrito, unwrapping it and taking a big bite. “Mm,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “Fuck that’s good.” Another bite. “All right,” she said, swallowing. “So, believe it or not, the day you met me, I’d just come back from the dead.” From there, she sketched in her life story, such as it was, the history of the Halo, the truth about Adriel, and the OCS’ role in everything, ending with her crossing over through the portal.
JC and Chanel stared at her with the same slackjawed expression.
“Fuck me with a cheese grater,” Chanel said, “I honestly think it would hurt less than my head right now. Holy shit.”
“How can everything make such perfect sense and I’m still more confused?” JC asked.
“Like I said, I lived it and I’m still asking what the fuck,” Ava agreed, finishing her burrito. She took her cup and slurped down a quarter of it. “But that’s just part one, we’re on part three at the moment.”
“Three? What the fuck happened in part two?” Chanel asked.
“I went through the portal to the eighth dimension, briefly lost the Halo and then found out I’m a god as defined by Shintoism,” Ava said nonchalantly.
There was another round of slackjawed staring.
“You know what, I’ve reached my weird limit,” Chanel said, “time to get fucking hammered because I am so far outside my comfort zone that . . . fuck. Outside it. Beer.” She stood up and resolutely strode towards the stands.
“Yeah, sorry,” JC said, “but . . . I really do want to hear more, but . . . I need to process.” He got up and followed Chanel.
“So are we done?” Beatrice asked Ava
Ava shook her head. “No, not yet. I . . . I get this feeling when I’ve done whatever it is I need to do and the Mists won’t answer me until it’s done.” She sipped from her drink. “I think . . . I think that they need to come with us.”
“So this is a two part mission,” Beatrice nodded.
“No protesting?” Ava asked curiously.
“I’m still not comfortable with revealing information to outsiders,” Beatrice told her, “but yet, I too am an outsider, and perhaps its apostasy to say so, but I’m following you on this.”
“Yeah, that’s a thing, isn’t it? Bea, do you like need a priest or something to talk to about . . . us?”
“No, not us specifically,” Beatrice said, “God brought us together and I believe that this is the path I’m meant to walk. If I’m to be punished for loving you, then He is not the God I believed him to be.”
“If loving me is wrong you don’t want to be right?”
“An accurate summation,” Beatrice agreed. She sipped her tea. “More to the point, I rather suspect that our particular relationship - you being a god - is, to borrow a phrase, far above the average priest’s, or any officiant’s really, pay grade that they will not wish to touch it.”
“You’re probably right,” Ava agreed.
“Oh, still here.” JC and Chanel had returned. Each one had a plate with some sort of pita bread sandwich on it, some crisps, a bottle of water, and then the biggest beer bottles Ava and Beatrice had ever seen.
“That’s an interesting assortment,” Ava observed.
“Hangovers stop being fun after the first couple of times,” Chanel said, “you either learn to drink on a full stomach and have water on hand, or embrace the bad pain.”
“Fair,” Ava shrugged. She leaned her head on Beatrice’s chest and closed her eyes. Almost automatically, Beatrice put her arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly against her and Ava made a happy noise as she did.
Time passed in the sounds of the hostel and JC and Chanel eating and drinking.
Beatrice sipped her tea, savoring each drop.
Chanel burped, wiping her mouth. “So now what?”
“Ava and I are on a walkabout of sorts,” Beatrice said, “and yourselves?”
“Fuck if we know,” Chanel said, slumping over the table. She idly drank her beer. “We’ve been bumming around Europe backpacker style. Not like either of us can really get a job without bringing down seven kinds of shit on our heads. Turns out drifting around squatting in rich people homes and shit does fuck all for your resume.” She poked at her plate. “I don’t suppose the combat nuns are hiring.”
“I like ‘tactical nuns’,” Ava said without opening her eyes.
“Ooh, yeah, that is better,” Chanel agreed.
“Most likely,” Beatrice agreed, “but we - they - are actual nuns. You would have to take Vows. Including chastity.”
“Yeah, like fuck that’s gonna happen,” Chanel said with a harsh laugh.
Beatrice cocked her head. “Exactly what are your skillsets? Ava told me a little bit about her time with you, but it was mostly either the Arq-Tech party or JC’s cooking.”
“JC’s a hacker and coder,” Chanel said, “helluva cook. Me, I was the one who did all the fast talking back in the Crew and picked out clothes when we needed them. I can sew well enough, but not enough to go pro. We’ve mostly been surviving on odd jobs and shit. Like I said, we’ve been backpacking and bumming. Which also isn’t as fun as it used to be.”
Beatrice thought for a moment. “Ava and I are using a travel method that while it will take you somewhere, but that somewhere is where you need to be, not where you want to go.”
“Wait, are you asking us to come with you?” JC asked, “for what, more freaky ass magical shit?”
“Ava is here to give you closure,” Beatrice said, suddenly full of absolute certainty. “I’m here to convince you to come with us.”
“What in the hell makes you think any of that is closure?” JC demanded. “If anything, it’s more and more questions. I mean, fuck.”
“That does encapsulate the situation,” Beatrice agreed.
“Okay, seriously. Is this a tactical nun thing or do you really talk like that?” Chanel asked.
“I like it,” Ava said, opening her eyes, “I could listen to Bea read the phone book.”
Beatrice smiled. “I come from . . . upper class society and was educated in very exclusive schools. A certain manner of speaking was required and . . . action was taken against those who didn’t. At the time, I had, or felt that I had, let those around me down enough that speaking as they demanded was a small price to pay. It’s become a habit I’ve never tried to break. People tend to listen to it, and that’s useful.”
“Makes sense,” Chanel agreed and then sighed. “Fuck it, JC, let’s go with them. God knows freaky ass magic shit has to be better than what we’ve been doing.”
“We cannot guarantee your safety,” Beatrice said, “Ava and I will do our best, but I cannot make any promises.”
Chanel shrugged. “Honey, there’s people out there ready to beat me to death just for living as me. My safety is at risk no matter where I go.”
JC groaned, head in his hands. “I just wanted to . . . fuck.”
“We do plenty of that,” Chanel deadpanned.
Ava burst out laughing, which set Chanel off, Beatrice covered her mouth to hide her own laughter, and JC glared at them, but he was smiling slightly.
“Fuck all of you,” JC grumbled.
“Been there, done that,” Ava said. She pointed at Chanel, “you are currently doing that, and as for Bea, you are never doing that.”
JC gave Beatrice a startled look, perhaps deciding if he did find her attractive or perhaps remembering what Ava had said earlier about her knowing twelve different ways to kill someone with her bare hands. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Gay as all hell?” Chanel asked her.
The reflexive denial almost escaped her lips, but Beatrice fought it down and answered honestly. “Yes, though admittedly, accepting that part of myself has been, and is, a process.”
“You and me both,” Chanel agreed. She held up her bottle. “To self-acceptance and the shitty ass journey getting there.”
“Hear hear,” they chorused, raising their own drinks.
———————————————————
JC and Chanel didn’t have much and had been planning to leave later that day anyway, so it didn’t take long to pack up before turning in the key and then they headed for the woods, each couple hand in hand.
“So like, how does this work?” Chanel asked, “is there a chant or something?”
“Nope, just need some water or some other place for mist to form,” Ava said, “out of sight is a bonus.”
“Like thick trees where moisture from overnight is still present.” JC said.
“Bingo.”
They stepped off the pavement and into the woods, wet leaves noisy under their feet. There was still a little bit of frost on them and after a minute or so, Ava nodded. “This will work. Join hands, everyone.” Everyone joined hands. “All right, remember, eyes and ears open. I have no idea where we’re going or what the weather will be.” Mist boiled up around them and then dissipated.
“The Secret Garden?” Chanel asked, looking around.
They stood at the edge of an ornamental pond. There was a large stone wall behind them, and the lawn had been clearly manicured and cared for. A tree had part of the pond in shade, and the air was still cool and the sky less blue than it had been.
“Still dawn here,” Beatrice said, “we’ve gone west.”
“If I hadn’t seen you arrive, I’d be calling the police.”
“Oh shit,” Chanel said when they’d turned to see who’d spoken.
Standing in the doorway was Doctor Jillian Salvius, a cup in hand. “That said,” she continued, “an explanation is expected.” Her eyes landed on Ava. “I’m going to need a drink, aren’t I?”
“It doesn’t help,” Chanel said.
————————————-
They repaired to the lounge, which was apparently just a smaller living room. There, Ava gave a shortened version of events to Jillian, focusing mostly on the threat posed by the Exarchs, but the scientist nonetheless had her head in her hands by the end.
“Bloody hell,” she said to Ava, “you really don’t do things by halves, do you?”
Ava grinned and shrugged. “Seems to be my stock in trade.” Her expression sobered. “Hey, you guys go clear out to the kitchen, I gotta talk to the doc one on one. Personal stuff.”
Beatrice nodded and rose, Chanel and JC with her, though she gave Ava a slightly worried look as they left.
“Ava?” Jillian questioned as Ava dug around in her pockets for a moment before finally taking something out.
“Okay, so like I said, we’re on a walkabout, and Avalon sends us where we need to be. I think I need to be here, now, because you’re ready.”
Jillian arched an eyebrow. “For?”
“Reya’s people are the warrior type and let me stress, to them, this is a compliment of the highest order.” She handed Jillian what looked like a circle with a sword through it and the circle had wings. The whole thing was rendered in gold and silver and mounted on some sort of narrow column with a broad base. “They call it ‘The Warrior’s Mark’. Micheal gave his life to save his people and stop Adriel. His name is Honored, and the name Salvius is also Honored for having such a warrior in its House.” She laid her hand on Jillian’s shoulder. “To them, this is a good thing. I know you . . . disagree.”
“You have mastered understatement it seems,” Jillian said, her throat tight, eyes tearing up. “Ah . . .”
“I’ll be in the kitchen with the others,” Ava said, rising. She squeezed Jillian’s shoulder once and left, closing the lounge door behind her.
Jillian looked down at the mark in her hands. Part of her, the scientist, marveled that she was holding something created in eight dimensions, rendered down to four, but it was quiet, lost in the roar of fresh pain, fresh grief, a dam broken.
Curling around the mark, Jillian Salvius laid down on the couch and sobbed, grieved, letting the emotion, the pain, bottled up over months, even years, flow out from her in a way she’d never done with anything else.
Even the rage, formed in the wake of a mother battling her child’s disease, of the guilt, of the pain of loss, found, and then loss again, flowed from her, tears and everything else, pouring out, staining the couch, the carpet, her clothes.
She did not care.
Damn Reya! Damn them all! How dare they even think some trinket made up for what they had cost her! How dare they send someone back with it instead of handing it to her directly.
Cowards! All of them!
Damn them! Damn Cowards! DAMN THEM ALL!
Time stopped meaning anything, stopped mattering. Nothing mattered.
She cried and cried. Great, wet, tearing sobs that wracked her entire body, straining her vocal cords with the effort, the weight, pain and grief rendered anew.
Eventually, the tears stopped flowing, the pain not so much leaving as it felt like a dog in a sunbeam, flopping over and going to sleep after a long walk.
Slowly, Jillian became aware of the world again. How the light through the windows was different, how she felt different, emptier. Pushing herself upright, she gazed out the window before she noticed that the cups of tea were missing and a glass of water, capped with foil, had been left in their place. Suddenly conscious of her dry throat, she drank, enjoying the coolness as the water went down.
Standing on slightly shaky legs, she left glass and foil where they were and went to the door. As it opened, what might be the most delicious smell ever hit her nose and as though it had grabbed her by the chin, she found herself following it down the hall to the kitchen. Chanel and JC stood at the stove, JC stirring a pot as Chanel watched, while at the sink, Beatrice and Ava washed dishes.
It seemed as though Jillian should be more surprised that a god was doing something so domestic, but if Jillian had learned anything about Ava Silva, it was that the young woman so very rarely did what was expected of her and, perhaps, dishes were a way for her to stay grounded to humanity.
“Hey, Doc,” Silva said, glancing over her shoulder, “have a seat. JC’s cooking up some stew.”
“Chili bean stew,” JC said, as though making an important point, “with diced chicken.”
“You’re just in time,” Chanel added. She led the way to the kitchen table, which had already been set. Bowls, glasses of milk, and even napkins. Chanel led her to sit at the head of the table then went back into the kitchen.
Moments later, the others emerged. Beatrice with salad bowls, Ava with a large plate of sliced bread, still steaming and a roll of butter that appeared to have some sort of herbs in it. Chanel brought out a huge bowl of salad and right behind her was JC, carrying a steaming pot.
Working efficiently, the stew was ladled out, the salad served, and the bread plated. It was a fine meal and Jillian was surprised to find herself suddenly ravenous. However, she restrained herself long enough for the others to be seated on each side of the table, and Beatrice to briefly say grace.
“No talk right now,” Ava said, “let’s eat.”
The stew was amazing, a mix of savory meat and just enough kick to it that the milk was a vital necessity. The salad was a standard garden salad, but some sort of homemade dressing had been artfully laid over it. As for the bread, the herbs in the butter, which was something called compound butter, were revealed to be JC’s own custom blend; a mix of crushed garlic, ground parsley, grated parmesan and a few others.
“My God,” Jillian said, setting down her spoon, “this is. . . amazing.” She stared at the empty dishes. “When I researched you and the Crew, there was nothing in there about this.”
“Researched?” Ava asked.
Jillian gave them an ashamed look. “After the Arq-Tech party, I was deadset on finding you after seeing security footage of you activating the portal. I recruited - no, I’ll be honest - I forcibly conscripted them to help me find you.” She looked at JC and Chanel. “Sorry.”
“And then there was no point, because I came to you for help anyway,” Ava said.
“Yes, exactly.” Jillian said. She sighed. “I can get very single minded and I was taught to chase my goals with ruthless efficiency. But of course, that’s a reason for why I pressganged you, not an excuse.”
“Yeah, well, morally, nobody at this table has clean hands,” Ava said, “and believe me when I say that shit stinks.” Seeing several slightly confused looks, Ava hunched her shoulders. “It’s a god thing, okay? I wish I could shut it off.”
“Yes, you said gods were a life form of sorts,” Jillian said. “I would like to collect some samples from you, if you’re willing.”
“Yeah, that’s . . .” Ava plucked a hair from her head, held it out for all to see, and let go. The hair seemed to crackle in mid-air, and then vanished. “Human form, not human. Apparently my parents could go full human, but that’s . . . outside my powers . . . right now.”
“I see.” Jillian dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “What will you do next?”
“Continue my walkabout, I guess,” Ava said. “Every place Avalon has sent me, I’ve learned something, helped people. I can’t let the Exarchs come here, that’s for sure, but I also don’t know how to keep them out. Like I told Bea, Reya wants nothing to do with us and if it was up to her, she’d ignore us entirely.” She took a drink of milk and sat back in her chair. “I never left her capital, hell, barely left her whatever you want to call it - castle, manor, big place - but it seemed like their society is based around the idea that the nobles are only in charge by the will of the people and the . . . Royalty is only there to have a central authority and the nobles can overthrow them with cause and pick someone else. I think. I dunno, I’d rather leave that shit to Bea. Me, I punch, see if the problem is solved, punch again if not. Repeat as needed.”
“Feudalism of some sort,” Beatrice agreed. “Adriel said to Reya that she was a tyrant, and that he refused to tolerate her unjust rule. She didn’t dispute it.”
“That might explain why she broke up the Machine,” Jillian said, “decentralize it. Though it seems odd that she would put the other pieces into the hands of those who would want it for conquest.”
“Or they used to be allies and they went apeshit,” Chanel shrugged.
“No, they were all enemies,” Ava said, “the way she told it, after dividing up the Machine, she gave one to the Royalty, kept one for herself, and then gave the other seven to other nobles, each of them evenly matched, but also hated each other to the point where they can’t even maintain their alliances long enough to do anything without stabbing each other in the back. That Adriel went for her first instead of the others came as a surprise, which is why she locked the others behind the shield. Apparently, they can’t even work together long enough to break out of the shield.”
“Not to mention, the Royalty knows she is loyal, which grants her political capital,” Beatrice agreed.
“That’s why I leave the thinking to you, Bea,” Ava said with a smile.
“But the shield can’t last forever,” Jillian pointed out, “or you wouldn't’ be worried about the Exarchs in the first place.”
“Ding ding ding,” Ava said, pointing at her, “whoever takes the Machine takes the universe and more to the point, Reya preferring to ignore us entirely is because she’s one of the nice ones. That we had a Halo at all has put us in the crosshairs. The Exarchs themselves are a problem, the Royal Court is worse. At least half of what I’ve been doing as I travel is trying to line up a unified front among the other gods centered around the Halo. So far, the only ones even coming close to wanting to consider it are the Norse, and even then, I got the impression that if they did accept, they were more interested in one-upping the Egyptians and the Greco-Romans than actually taking things seriously.” She huffed. “Probably doesn’t help that I’m the new kid on the block.”
“So you brought the Halo back with you?” Jillian asked.
“Yep, and the only other thing I’m gonna say about it right now is that its somewhere only I know about and its gonna stay there until the time is right.” She looked at Beatrice. “Sorry, Bea, but if shit goes sideways, you can’t be forced to tell ‘em what you don’t know.”
“I know,” Beatrice said, but she looked a little bit hurt, even angry at the idea that she would ever betray Ava.
“She’s right,” Chanel said, “you’re an ex-tactical nun, surely they covered torture resistance and how there’s a limit to what you can take.”
“Well yes,” Beatrice agreed, “but-“ She broke off as Chanel held up a finger.
“I’ve been to the museums,” she said levelly. “I’ve seen what the Inquisition did to people. Everyone breaks.” Beatrice opened her mouth. “Everyone,” Chanel stressed. Her mouth thinned to a line. “There is a point where you will say anything, do anything, for even a moment’s respite. They can break you, they will break you.” There was something in her eyes that suggested she’d had at least a taste of that. “Trust your girlfriend, your ignorance is your best defense right now.” She leaned over, slumping against JC, who put an arm around her shoulders, his hand coming up to stroke her hair.
“What is your plan for the Halo?” Jillian asked.
“The Halo is useless to us without an Exarch,” Ava said, “which, again, for the same reason I just gave Bea, is all I’m going to say.” She sighed. “I think at least part of my walkabout is not only to give me what I need to properly defend Earth, but work out how the Exarch will fit into it, as will the other gods. There needs to be a symbio . . . oh . . .” She looked at Beatrice.
“Symbiosis?” Beatrice suggested, “symbiotic?”
“That one,” Ava said, “a symbiotic relationship between the Exarch, the gods, and humanity.”
“And you’re all three,” Jillian said.
Ava and Beatrice blinked at her. Then looked at each other, then both stared at her.
“She’s . . . she’s right,” Beatrice said, “you’ve been human, a Halo-Bearer, and now a god. M-maybe this is . . .” she made a gesture, as though to embody everything, “part of a . . .”
“You realize you’re sitting at a table with two atheists, an agnostic and a god,” Chanel pointed out.
“Honestly, Chan, I’m kinda reconsidering the atheist part,” JC admitted, “I mean . . .” he gestured at Ava, who smirked slightly.
“Okay, fair,” Chanel admitted, “but also, all this shit about the Daughter, gods, Exarchs, who told you about that?”
“Well Reya d- . . . fuck.”
‘Bingo,” Chanel said, “bitch sounds like a liar through and through. I mean, hell, you even said she convinced the doc’s kid to sacrifice himself and turned him into a bomb.” Then, realizing, she quickly turned to Jillian. “Sorry, not trying to . . . sorry.”
Jillian dabbed at her tears with a napkin. “It’s fine, and you . . . you are not wrong.”
“So like, everything Ava said is a lie?” JC asked, “I mean, not because she was lying, that she was lied too.”
Ava held her hand over Jillian’s empty milk glass and a small dark cloud formed under it, then rain spilled from the cloud, pouring down into the glass, filling it entirely.
“Water vapor and moisture from the air around us,” Ava explained as the cloud vanished. “Conjuring water takes more energy than it needs to.”
“I don’t think everything Ava was told is a lie,” Beatrice said, “Reya did lie to her, of that I have no doubt, but the best lies are built around truth.”
“Two parts truth, one part lie,” Jillian agreed. “The Machine, the Exarchs, and wanting nothing to do with us, those are most likely the truth. The rest of it, we must take the policy of Trust but Verify.” She sipped the water. She could taste the remnants of the milk, but it was surprisingly cool and tasted excellent.
“Yeah, but how the fuck do we do that?” Chanel asked.
“Okay, this is moving into Smart People territory,” Ava said, standing up. “JC, let’s start getting these dishes washed.”
“I’m a Smart People,” JC protested.
Ava circled her finger around the table. “Smarter than these three?”
JC looked from Ava to Beatrice, Chanel, and Jillian. Ava, Beatrice, Chanel and Jillian looked back.
JC stood up and grabbed the stewpot. “I’ll put the coffee on,” he said, “you start grabbing dishes and stuff. Be right back.” He hurried out.
Ava laughed softly as she began to stack bowls for easier carrying.
—————————————
Jillian pushed open the door to Micheal’s room, stepping in, but not turning on the light. She’d not been in here since Micheal had been transferred to Arq-Tech and he’d needed a few things. Micheal as an adult had slept here, but aside from a small duffel on the floor by the bed, there was no sign of his presence, that he’d been here at all. Feeling tears form in her eyes, she set the Mark on the dresser and turned away.
For a moment, it seemed as though Micheal, man and boy, were sitting side by side on the bed, smiling at her and then she swiped the tears away with her sleeve and they were gone.
She left the room, closing it behind her. One day, she knew, she would have to deal with the room. Not today though, not today.
No, not today.
She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve once more and headed back downstairs. At her office, she entered, closing and locking the door behind her. The portal sat in the corner and even from here, she could see that it was not connected to power, but the emitters were lit, and the event horizon flickered. Marching over, she stood in front of it, arms crossed.
“Reya,” she said, almost spitting the name, “you took my son, used him, got him killed and for that, I will never forgive you. You say he is Honored, I spit on that.” She took a breath. “If I ever believe anything you say, it’s that you would prefer to ignore us and I feel the same about you. So when this is over, I will find a way to put up a barrier between our worlds and I suggest you do the same.” She stepped closer, stopping at the base of the steps, staring into the flicker as though she could see Reya on the other side. “Because if you ever set even one foot on this world ever again, I promise that the first thing you feel will be my hands around your blasted throat if it takes my last breath to do it.”
For a moment, there seemed to be eyes looking back at her and then they dipped and the flickering vanished, the emitters winking out with a sort of finality and Jillian knew on some level that no matter what, no one would ever be able to get it working again.
Going to the tool chest, she wheeled it back to the portal and selecting a screwdriver, she began to take it apart.
Just in case.
————————————
NOTES:
Just to reiterate, the concept of nature spirits and gods is not exclusive to Shintoism. Celtic and Pagan myth, for example, also have them, and so do many others. In the case of this ‘verse, as Ava says, Shinto is the most accurate in terms of language and names. Nothing in this fic is intended as cultural appropriation and If anyone has a better way to put it, please, let me know.
Feliz dia nuevo, Spanish: “It is a new day”
Always remember, we exist in four dimensions; Height, width, depth AND time. People always forget that time is a dimension. It’s when you get into the fifth dimension and above that things get weird. I should probably make a joke here about the Koala from Star Trek: Lower Decks or something about a cosmic walrus, but meh.
I dedicate the scene of Jillian’s grief to Beyoushe.
Compound Butter: https://www.allrecipes.com/article/what-is-compound-butter/