shaken in my faith: master of illusion - part four
update! dialogue-heavy as always, but i think there's some semblance of a plot in this one, and it may actually be moving forward! a little longer than usual, so please bear with me :/
parts one, two, and three in case you want to catch up!
Shaken in My Faith: Master of Illusion - Part Four
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This is a gift; it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
-Florence + The Machine, Rabbit Heart
…
The boy who would become Jadeite - he never thinks of that other name now - was barely eighteen when he first set foot in the Hindu Kush, and claimed dominion over every country east of its peaks. He built a palace of glass at the crossroads of the Middle and Far Eastern lands, and there he welcomed a guest. The most formidable leader of men in any part of the world, the kingmaker who would change his destiny, though the boy didn’t know that yet.
He sensed that icy stare piercing deep, as he strode toward the loosed animal - felt it far more than the cheers and whoops of his peacocked court. The struggle was brief. When blood spilled freely over his arms, and the creature’s pupils dilated full black, he wondered if he’d passed some unspoken test.
“I’ve seen kings of the northern islands sacrifice men and not beasts, and yet tonight’s ritual proved strange to my eyes,” Kunzite commented later as they watched dancers turn their painted feet. “The animal came to you willingly, as though it welcomed its fate.”
“It was young,” he laughed in response. “Too young to know uncertainty, much less fear it.”
“As are you.”
“Dangerous in of itself,” the boy continued lightly, as though none had spoken. “Like anything that’s never been wounded. Never been defeated. It’s - ”
“Unpredictable,” Kunzite murmured in completion.
With that, he drained the dregs of his unwatered wine and stood, head and shoulders above most of their company.
The hand extended was firm. Warm. So now were the silvered eyes.
“I will remember that. Welcome, Jadeite.”
The boy inclined his golden head, and others milling nearby gossiped eagerly, curious why their young king acknowledged the welcome of an unknown guest in his own palace.
…
More and more, Jadeite thinks Rahi akin to that animal. Akin to him, though they are so different. Perhaps she doesn’t understand what drove her to reach up and caress his face before the Fire, what stakes could by lost by it, but she doesn’t retreat from her action. That fierce will guiding them, once fixed upon its course, has something of predestination in its unshakable surety.
As days pass, the Far Eastern king doesn’t forget the purpose to which he’s come, but pushing her too hard now would upset the delicate balance they’ve struck. So instead, they allow themselves to forget about Senshi and spies for this interlude. Often Jadeite must be storyteller enough for them both, and yet her eyes impart their own rapt eloquence.
It’s heady, thrilling - how he alone coaxes her low laughter, how she impatiently swats away his teasing with her hand. Sometimes, he seizes it, cool fingers crushed in his grip, and she doesn’t jerk away, testing him with the throw of her shoulders, the heat of her smile. Rahi does nothing archly or accidentally; there’s not a deceptive part of her body, and so he finds his own desire mirrored in even her subtlest gestures.
She comes unafraid, and they circle each other without wavering or retreating, knowing the inevitable collision will be less gentle than this. Privately, he must confess that Nephrite has some wisdom (well concealed) under all that brawn. For Jadeite no longer knows who is the beast, and who is the blade.
…
The only sense left to him is sound. In nothingness, he hears nothing closing in all around him, a yawning black mouth without tongue or teeth.
Jadeite awakens with a strangled gasp, disoriented and unseeing in the dark. He reaches up reflexively, hurls the intruder beneath him, thumb digging into windpipe.
The general barely registers the candles suddenly blazing into being, his nightmare still clinging to him like acrid smoke from their wicks.
But his prize makes no attempt to free herself, sharpness of her hip biting into his inner thigh. Jadeite focuses half-dazed upon the rough hand wrapping her long throat. He can already see where the bruises will yellow, even as his thumb traces those hazy shapes.
And yet Rahi’s gaze tangling unashamedly with his - is strangely unfazed.
“I think you’ve the touch of Midas, sometimes.”
The sound of her voice does it. He kicks his feet over the opposite side of the mattress, breathing too hard. Buries his face in trembling fingers, in a bid to keep them from her skin.
“Why’s that?” he manages brusquely.
Gauzy robes twist around calves and slip from shoulders. As she rises, Jadeite’s eyes fill darkly, her unconscious sway like a kick in the teeth.
“Desiring what you shouldn’t,” Rahi fiddles absently with the communicator, and the general raises an eyebrow. Is she talking about him or herself? “The insolence to take it anyway.”
“Midas was bold, you must admit that. Doors only stay shut to cowards.” He crosses the floor quickly, stops her movement with a hand over hers. “And it’s an odd hour that you’ve come to open mine.”
“Get dressed and come along,” the witch-queen orders peremptorily, knuckles flexing under his. “There’s something I must show you.”
“Couldn’t you have a servant summon me?” he murmurs, and feels with pleasure how she leans into him, with neither coyness nor cognizance.
“Phobos and Deimos might have woken you with a knife in your belly, so I came myself,” she answers. Probably accurate. Thankfully, no sign of the harpies since Phobos caught them by the Fire.
“But where are the rest?”
Her tone hardens. “I have little use for servants in the first place. Especially those who watch me too closely. The Council’s eyes have no place here.”
He wisely avoids that subject. “Next time, you might send another instead of ambushing me yourself. I’ve survived too many assassination attempts, you know. You’re lucky I don’t keep a weapon in my sleep.”
“I need no weapon to defend myself, certainly not from you,” Rahi returns coolly. “And I didn’t ambush you. I knocked. Several times. You were…” her brow furrows slightly. “Dreaming too deeply.”
Jadeite remembers.
Though it’s as garbled as all waking recollections are. A tangle of scarlet on loathsome wind, shafts of flame blossoming from abscessed carcasses at his feet. And then a great nullity, more terrible than all the macabre parade before it.
“Not likely. I never dream,” he tells her. “Give me a few minutes, and I will join you outside.”
…
Having navigated every dim tunnel of her citadel, they finally emerge upon a spacious balcony. Open to the Martian horizon, washed in umbered daybreak. Here, the Far Eastern king can appreciate just how loftily her fortress rises above all else. The world below their feet is nothing but bare sky and rock, like Kailash of legend.
Even under this seemingly boundless sphere, Jadeite finds a barren harshness to the landscape, an eerie lack of motion. Driest air has no flavor, and dusty stone no give. Of course, the great life domes remain the other planets’ mightiest displays of their magic, but as far as the general’s concerned, they blanch in comparison to Earth’s jeweled verdancy.
“Here upon the highest peak,” he observes. “Where Mars made a home like his father’s.”
The Oracle glances over. “I’ve heard yours is in the mountains as well. Walls of glass seem boastful. To say the least.”
“They call it the palace of illusions,” Jadeite’s gaze remains fixed upon the rusted cliffs. “As my enemies learn the hard way.”
She’d probably ask more, but then - “Look - !”
“That’s what I wanted to show you.” The general follows her pointed finger. “Do you see - see those blemishes on the sun’s surface?”
A rising sun more distant than he’s accustomed to. “Who hasn’t? They’ve been there for years.”
“Obviously,” the witch-queen sniffs. “But since when, exactly?”
“Six or seven years ago, perhaps,” the Far Eastern king’s mystified as to where her line of inquiry goes. “On Earth, they were considered inauspicious at first, but…”
“But…” she prompts.
“Nothing came of it. We celebrated enough that year to last us a lifetime, I’d say.” His voice warms to the memory. “My commander finally took a wife, and those revelries lasted…far longer than they should’ve.”
Neph throwing bags of gold to any wench who’d show the resigned groom her tits. Zoisite purring such poisonous gossip into little Thetis’s ears that she blushed for days. And he more richly decorated than the richest bride, to boot. Endymion, whole face aglow as he threw his arms around Kunzite, now his brother by blood. “But their wedding brought me before the Prince for the first time. And then…the five of us bound together an alliance. Such that none on Earth had ever honored before.”
“Can it be a coincidence, Jadeite?” her voice is soft, but steady. “That as the last of the Shitennou joined the Golden Court, the first of the Senshi awoke among us?”
The Oracle rests her elbows on the balustrade, expression distant. “There are…forces working around us that we can’t command. Things awakening that haven’t slept long enough - ”
“I don’t believe in superstitions,” Jadeite interrupts her, even as the talons of the Fire lengthen before his mind’s eye.
“You should.” Her knuckles whiten over the railing. “I’ve discovered why your borders swarm with Martians, Jadeite.”
…
Contours of the other planets’ governments are mostly unstudied on Earth, and Jadeite’s knowledge of the Martian Council comes only from spotty intelligence and what he’s gleaned of his subjects, who set up similar elder authorities when they first arrived in the Far East, long before anyone can remember. Still, he knows enough. If the Oracle is the voice of Mars, a remote icon - then the Council is her interpreter, envoys to her people. They find and raise her to rule; the first men she sees when her eyes spark, and the last when they finally smolder out. Personally, Jadeite finds it ridiculous, that old men make any pretense of obeying a girl they’ve reared almost from birth. Perhaps in a time before recollection, the Council faithfully followed their Oracle’s will, but it’s clear that Rahi’s relationship with them has been contentious since her tongue found words to sting with.
“Banished.” The general feels her eyes scraping his face, where more of his feelings show than he would prefer.
Outside, a dust storm gathers and brings oddly early evening. From her cautious tone, his features must bear accord with its wild fury, how it pounds its fists against the fortress’s walls.
“Tensions have never run higher,” the witch-queen explains quietly. “We’ve heard talk of Earth-magic, where none was before.” She doesn’t check if he’ll deny it. “The Senshi drill harder every day. Mars wants to be ready for - for - ”
“Your Council extorts their allegiance. To fight if - when war breaks out,” he finishes bluntly.
She nods. “From all Martians. So those who refuse to swear the oaths…”
A muscle tics annoyingly in his temple. He resists the urge to ram a fist into it. “Seven years of this. There must be well over a hundred thousand outlaws in the Far East by now.”
“Less in the beginning - but their numbers on Earth increased as paranoia on Mars did,” Rahi continues darkly. “My advisors load more ships every day with those they’ve labeled defectors. And - and they’re easy to point fingers at, Jadeite. Most of them…don’t take kindly to orders. Convicts, prisoners - ”
Jadeite inhales sharply. “Sending us your criminals - ”
“ - wherever they choose to go…my Council pretends not to know or care.”
“Wherever they choose - ” he breaks off. “What other planet will harbor them? Is the Far East to become your penal colony?”
Rahi’s chin edges forward. “They go there because of the Martian legend, not because we send them - ”
“Or because everyone knows it’s a lawless land ruled by a bastard king, isn’t that right? With your one hand, you fill our cities with this garbage - and with your other, you mass your alliance’s finest armies against Earth,” Jadeite can tell when her eyes widen that there’s now unaccustomed fire in his, too. “Because we dare to gain strength, and you’d have us always on our knees, wiping our fucking chins - ”
“Believe me, Jadeite, I didn’t know!”
“Then end it!”
“I would if - ! Do you expect I’d turn a blind eye to something like this?” Rahi bursts out furiously, and of course she’s not lying. But he needs a target right now, badly, and her easily roused temper makes her too convenient. “I’m with my Princess more than my people! How must that look? My advisors do things they would never dare to, were I not bound up so closely with the Moon!”
Oh, he’s tired of stagnant stone halls, this place without a fleck of real blue or green to it. Of nightmares that break his rest and the feel of her both too close and too far. His customary temperance is fraying too quickly, and he can’t do a damn thing about it. “Does the Moon sanction this as well?”
“The Queen has little authority in Martian matters, and the more time I spend with her, the more I become a figurehead.” The Oracle’s shoulders sag. “All my life I’ve never seen the Council so hysterical. Ignorance and suspicion make them mad.”
The Far Eastern king scarcely hears her, forehead resting in his shaking palm as he tries to tease some logic out of his skittering thoughts. Endymion would offer his own carefully considered counsel, if he were here. Would look him in the eye and tell Jadeite he trusted him. The general needs a measure of faith more than anything right now.
“I must go back.”
“And do what?” Rahi demands as he jerks away from the opposite wall, raking through disheveled hair. “Tell your Prince? You could do that from here.”
“If your Council had their way, we barbarians would never find out your treachery!”
“They don’t know what I’ve told you, Jadeite,” her voice is hushed. “And they don’t tell me what company to keep. Stay.”
“I have what I came for.” His, by contrast, is raw. “It’s time I returned to my kingdom and my liege.”
Her signet ring knocks against the door behind her, a metallic clang. “My responsibilities aren’t less than yours. A few days won’t change anything.”
“You haven’t much talent for deception, do you? I’d be packed off tomorrow, if your flames could answer all you want to ask of me.”
She blanches slightly. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Can you deny it?” As he might have expected by now, Rahi holds fast as he advances on her with all the deliberation of a baited bull. “If only your Fire could give you what you seek. We might have found more pleasant ways of drawing each others’ blood.”
“I won’t ask you again - ”
“Why? Too proud?” he taunts as he comes to a halt, perilous inches away. Her faintest leap of breath, a tremble of the lips that makes him wet his own, against almost maddening hunger. “If you tell me why you really want me to stay, I might accept - ”
“You will accept.” In dusk falling dimly around them, the Oracle’s irises glitter like torches of a distant city. “You already have.”
Jadeite has no real sense of who closes that fraught space.
It’s his palms crushing silk to the hollow of her spine, yanking handfuls of hair back as he opens her soft mouth to his. But it's her fingers curling precisely at his neck, scorching the flesh; her stomach brushing his straining cock before pulling back, forcing him to helplessly follow. The wan sliver of twilight between their bodies winks out when Jadeite catches her hips and hauls her up against the door.
Her gasp against his lips makes him wonder with the dreamy abstraction of a man who doesn’t care anymore. Makes him wonder if she’s more - or less - afraid than even he knew.
Less, he finds, when long legs part enough for him to brace her weight over his hard thigh, where he feels heavy heat, hears the moan in her throat that flickers his eyes open. This close, her irises appear so vivid that he imagines he stands in the primeval heart of her, like the red-pouring sun. When his eyelids fall shut again, that same heart flops moistly against his hand - spasms in his grip like an eviscerated fish.
Jadeite’s hands fall nervelessly from her body.
Rahi immediately slides down the door’s length, arms tightening instinctively around him. “Jade - ?” she exhales.
He swiftly averts his face from hers, panting harder than he should.
In the awkward silence that ensues, she swallows audibly. “Was…did I…?”
“ - what?” and it takes the shaken general a second or two to understand, before the completely foreign note of uncertainty in her voice suddenly makes sense to him. A self-conscious flush high on her cheekbones is barely visible in lamplight.
The general snaps out of his stupor, focusing once more upon the girl watching him with apprehension. “ - Ah - no, it’s nothing to do with you,” his low chuckle is slightly pained as he reaches for her again. “No, you’re…”
Jadeite bends his blond head to hers.
“…far beyond anything I imagined,” he breathes into her ticklish pulse. Feels her melt satisfyingly back into him, and then immediately tense again.
“But then what…?” muffled against his collarbone, but Jadeite hears the wary note, and resigns himself. An unguarded moment, lost by his error.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” the assurance is strained and unconvincing to even his ears. “Just…a memory of something.”
“Was it - was it your nightmare?” and suddenly his face is between Rahi’s palms. Though her breath is still hitching from their closeness, those eyes search his without girlish timidity. “This morning, you were just this…” she digs for the word. “Distraught.”
“As I said, I don’t have dreams,” Jadeite grits out the untruth, cursing how she makes a bullseye of it every goddamn time. “There was no nightmare.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she hisses unexpectedly. “I saw your face when I woke you! You know I don’t have much patience, and even less for liars.”
The hands around his jaw are uncomfortably hot as the Oracle forces him to meet her hellish stare.
“It’s your turn to choose, Jadeite.”
And before the general can seize her, she’s slipped too easily from his arms and slammed the door shut behind her.
…
Her face on the screen isn’t at all expected, but still welcome nonetheless. Weary lines around his eyes relax.
“Shirking your lessons as always, princess?”
Thetis giggles. “Lord Zoisite owes me a bet. I knew you’d say that. Shall I fetch him?”
“Where is he?”
“The dungeons.”
“Ah,” the Far Eastern king thinks better of sending a teenager below to observe Zoisite’s particular brand of handiwork. “Why don’t you keep me company instead?”
“You look tired, my lord,” Thetis stretches her fingers toward the screen as though to touch his, and then draws them back hastily. “Lord Nephrite says the Martian women are very fatiguing.”
“Does he, now?” the general struggles to conceal his quivering lips. “No, Thetis, I’ve just been…having nightmares of late.”
The girl sits up in alarm, nearly knocking over the device altogether. “But you don’t ever dream!”
“No, Jade,” a soft voice emerges behind her, cool and sure as a knife through marrow. “You don’t.”
A hand brushes Thetis’s dark head, and Jadeite just barely catches a flaking rust-hued spot under an adorned knuckle. “Run along, little one. But don't think we're done practicing - I want to see pools, not puddles.”
She nods obediently, scurries off, and then eyes like sharp green glass meet directly with flaming blue.
“You’ll have to do something about her,” the druid king remarks offhandedly. “The girl’s more in love with your pretty face every day.”
“I’ve no interest in children, and our commander’s stepchildren besides,” the satire of Zoisite complimenting a pretty face is not lost on him. “Turns my stomach to consider it, so let’s move on. I need to talk to you.”
“Of course,” the younger general’s lackadaisical manner changes utterly, all dead seriousness before Jadeite can even blink. “What’s this about you dreaming again?”
“The first nightmare happened the evening I reported to Kunzite. I…thought it peculiar, but assumed it was a fluke of some sort. And then…last night…the same vision…” he trails off.
“You haven’t dreamed in…it must be, what, a dozen years now? And have you ever dreamed the same thing twice?” Zoisite’s tone is incredulous. “Is it something to do with Martian magic?”
“Exactly my point. I think…” he sucks in a deep breath. “I think these nightmares come from the Fire.”
The druid king’s earful of silver glints as he tilts his head curiously. “Isn’t that a question for the Oracle?”
“It is and it isn’t. I’ll be brief, as I don’t have much time. Listen closely.”
“Speak.”
…
During a far earlier conversation, as they strolled in her (pitifully artificial) garden, Jadeite managed to extract a little information from the reticent Oracle on a subject that attracted him. One that always had, actually, since his father told him about it first, and especially after experiencing it himself. The Fire.
“I always believed only the Oracle could divine its shapes.”
She shrugged gracefully. “Mars is the star of omen, and the Fire its heart. Everyone who steps onto this soil feels that power, whether greater or lesser. Waking or sleeping, we all see things. I’m just the closest to its core.”
“Like my Prince to Elysion,” he reasoned.
“You’d know better than me. But that’s why my dreams and visions almost always predict accurately. Only I can fully bend the Fire to my will.”
“And what about the things others see?” Another subject close to Jadeite’s heart, as he recalled the demon he’d found grinning in those flames.
“Those, too, can be prophecy. Sometimes. But they usually tell more about the seeker than what he seeks. His fantasies instead of his future.” The witch-queen shifted uncomfortably. “Many Martians go mad, for the Fire will rule you if you don’t rule it.”
“Like any great power,” the general mused, reminded of his own tricks.
…
He quickly sketches his whole understanding of the Fire, expecting that the younger man will fill in the right details and ask the correct questions. Their conversations are often like this, hummingbirds darting from bloom to bloom, for the golden general’s always had to think quickly on his feet, and Zoisite’s sheer analytical force is unmatched by anyone else he’s met. The Far Eastern king’s no great schemer, only sharply observant; he realizes his shortcomings, and so turns to his friend’s cold, clear-eyed counsel.
And of course, his irises don’t even flicker when Jadeite describes the gruesomeness of his nightmares. The other reason he seeks out the unsqueamish royal executioner.
“I don’t remember all the details at once, only haphazardly as hours pass. How dreams often are. And what I do remember is…unwise for me to reveal to her,” he recalls Rahi’s careful scrutiny.
“I can understand why,” Zoisite agrees slowly, mulling over his words. “But you said yourself that your nightmares may not actually predict anything…”
“What if they do?” the Far Eastern king counters. “What if they predict some invasion of Earth?”
“And it’s tactless to inquire if they might murder us all in our beds?” he smiles disarmingly. “Or maybe the Oracle will assume the reverse? That we mean to attack them?”
Jadeite’s laugh is unpleasant. “I’m not sure she’d reach either conclusion. The witch-queen can’t spy anything in her Fire, apparently - not where I’m concerned.”
“Intriguing blind spot,” Zoisite murmurs. “So the less she knows about you, the better. I see your game.” He leans in, fiery curls meshing with his lashes. “You’re sure these aren’t the dreams of your childhood? Illusions turned loose upon their master, before you learned to control them?”
“I’m sure, because…” Jadeite tries to decide if he should drop another anvil, and figures he’s in deep enough now. “Zoi, what I saw in the Fire - and what I see in my nightmares. They’re the same devil.”
“You saw the Fire? For yourself?” His lips curve in a way the Far Eastern king doesn’t exactly like. “The Oracle must have become terribly fond of you.”
Jadeite’s senses sharpen too late. “She and I have…an understanding,” he responds warily.
“Indeed,” Zoisite smirks, taking his time. “The Martians I’ve…conversed with have been very informative. She must be much lovelier than the wrinkled hag you met as a boy. And not much older than Thetis, isn’t that right, Jadeite?”
He’s still for a moment. “Fuck you, you - ”
“You can lie to those two - the Prince, maybe. Not me,” the other laughs blithely. “Thumbscrewing out secrets is a fond pastime of mine. Did you forget that I’ve been dealing with your Martian infestation since you left?”
Jadeite calls on whatever drops are left in that once famously full reservoir of patience. Today has been a very trying day. “Have you told anyone, you preening piece of shit?”
“That the Oracle is a girl instead of a crone, or that you’re probably fucking her?” he snickers. “Why else would you keep her youth from us?”
“Don’t talk, druid king. I’ve heard of your freakish northern ceremonies. You’ve probably taken corpses and who knows what else to bed.”
Amusement still plays around the corners of Zoisite’s mouth. “Really, I hope you haven’t. With her, I mean; the corpse is something quite different. It’d be rather impolitic, what with her vow of chastity and all. Diplomatic suicide.”
“Your faith in my judgment is inspiring.”
“It’s not that,” the younger general replies quietly, lacing thickly jeweled long fingers together, changing his mood like his baubles. “It’s just - you have an insolence. A way of rushing to meet fate. And then, a way of brilliantly cheating it.”
Jadeite cracks his shoulders. “The second time I’ve been called too bold today. What do you suppose the life of a general is? A real one, not a lord sitting in his castle and disemboweling men in shackles?”
Zoisite ignores the provocation. “So you’ve the audacity to seize what you want. Maybe you haven’t learned yet that you shouldn’t want everything. You know your limitations. Not your limits.”
“Should I have limits? Because I was born a whore’s son and not a king?”
“Your words, Jade, not mine.” Light dances off his torc as he leans back. “For once, Neph was right - and he doesn't even know what I do. You’re too far in this fire. Let’s pray you can escape as you always have.”
When Jadeite regains use of his voice, it’s lethally calm. “Round up as many Martians as you can find in the capital. Don’t harm them. I mean to deal with them myself upon my return.”
“I thought Kunzite already told you. They’re not spies.”
“I know what they are,” he smiles grimly at Zoisite’s look of surprise. “Perhaps you can interrogate them - gently, Zoi - if you wish to learn more.”
The other man considers. “At least tell me about this - this Senshi of the Moon. What is she to your Oracle? Are Martian and Lunar interests so closely aligned as - ”
“My secrets will remain mine, this once.”
The device blanks at Jadeite’s touch.
So much for that. His nightmares remain his too, and with nothing else to show for it.
…
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…
is it wrong that i imagine their communicators to be like little iPads? probably >_>
Stuff to know.
by the way, i’m not making any claims of historical accuracy here. i haven’t even really placed this in a time period - i’m gonna go ahead and say it’s pre-civilization as we know it, a la manga silmil, but i like picking up fun little mythological and geographical threads from real timelines, so it’s going to be all over the place :D
Hindu Kush - range of mountains between central Afghanistan and northern Pakistan. “Kush” usually translates in some form to “killer” (awesomely cheerful name for a geographical feature)
Midas - everyone knows about the guy who wished for the ability to make everything he touched gold, and then accidentally turned his food, water, and daughter into solid metal, but just in case…oops? Interestingly, there’s also a myth surrounding Midas and the Far East (sort of). Midas rode into town on a wagon…just as the townspeople had decided their king would be the next guy who rode into town on a wagon. The new king dedicated his wagon to their god as a sort of tribute, and tied it to a post. Whoever could untie the knot, it was said, would become the next king of Asia. Historically, this next king was to be Alexander the Great…
Kailash - part of the Himalayas in Tibet. Mountain said to be the home of Shiva (Mangala’s, or Mars’s father)
Palace of illusions - a reference to the glass palace built by the heroes of the Mahabharata, the Pandava princes…it was mostly glass and water, and they laughed hysterically at the sorry fuckers who stepped on glass in their swimming trunks, and then walked into pools with all their clothes on <3
Torc - twisted metal necklace, looks like a collar, worn in early Celtic Europe (think Gaul, Saxony, Belgica, Britanica)
parts one, two, and three in case you want to catch up!
Shaken in My Faith: Master of Illusion - Part Four
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This is a gift; it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
-Florence + The Machine, Rabbit Heart
…
The boy who would become Jadeite - he never thinks of that other name now - was barely eighteen when he first set foot in the Hindu Kush, and claimed dominion over every country east of its peaks. He built a palace of glass at the crossroads of the Middle and Far Eastern lands, and there he welcomed a guest. The most formidable leader of men in any part of the world, the kingmaker who would change his destiny, though the boy didn’t know that yet.
He sensed that icy stare piercing deep, as he strode toward the loosed animal - felt it far more than the cheers and whoops of his peacocked court. The struggle was brief. When blood spilled freely over his arms, and the creature’s pupils dilated full black, he wondered if he’d passed some unspoken test.
“I’ve seen kings of the northern islands sacrifice men and not beasts, and yet tonight’s ritual proved strange to my eyes,” Kunzite commented later as they watched dancers turn their painted feet. “The animal came to you willingly, as though it welcomed its fate.”
“It was young,” he laughed in response. “Too young to know uncertainty, much less fear it.”
“As are you.”
“Dangerous in of itself,” the boy continued lightly, as though none had spoken. “Like anything that’s never been wounded. Never been defeated. It’s - ”
“Unpredictable,” Kunzite murmured in completion.
With that, he drained the dregs of his unwatered wine and stood, head and shoulders above most of their company.
The hand extended was firm. Warm. So now were the silvered eyes.
“I will remember that. Welcome, Jadeite.”
The boy inclined his golden head, and others milling nearby gossiped eagerly, curious why their young king acknowledged the welcome of an unknown guest in his own palace.
…
More and more, Jadeite thinks Rahi akin to that animal. Akin to him, though they are so different. Perhaps she doesn’t understand what drove her to reach up and caress his face before the Fire, what stakes could by lost by it, but she doesn’t retreat from her action. That fierce will guiding them, once fixed upon its course, has something of predestination in its unshakable surety.
As days pass, the Far Eastern king doesn’t forget the purpose to which he’s come, but pushing her too hard now would upset the delicate balance they’ve struck. So instead, they allow themselves to forget about Senshi and spies for this interlude. Often Jadeite must be storyteller enough for them both, and yet her eyes impart their own rapt eloquence.
It’s heady, thrilling - how he alone coaxes her low laughter, how she impatiently swats away his teasing with her hand. Sometimes, he seizes it, cool fingers crushed in his grip, and she doesn’t jerk away, testing him with the throw of her shoulders, the heat of her smile. Rahi does nothing archly or accidentally; there’s not a deceptive part of her body, and so he finds his own desire mirrored in even her subtlest gestures.
She comes unafraid, and they circle each other without wavering or retreating, knowing the inevitable collision will be less gentle than this. Privately, he must confess that Nephrite has some wisdom (well concealed) under all that brawn. For Jadeite no longer knows who is the beast, and who is the blade.
…
The only sense left to him is sound. In nothingness, he hears nothing closing in all around him, a yawning black mouth without tongue or teeth.
Jadeite awakens with a strangled gasp, disoriented and unseeing in the dark. He reaches up reflexively, hurls the intruder beneath him, thumb digging into windpipe.
The general barely registers the candles suddenly blazing into being, his nightmare still clinging to him like acrid smoke from their wicks.
But his prize makes no attempt to free herself, sharpness of her hip biting into his inner thigh. Jadeite focuses half-dazed upon the rough hand wrapping her long throat. He can already see where the bruises will yellow, even as his thumb traces those hazy shapes.
And yet Rahi’s gaze tangling unashamedly with his - is strangely unfazed.
“I think you’ve the touch of Midas, sometimes.”
The sound of her voice does it. He kicks his feet over the opposite side of the mattress, breathing too hard. Buries his face in trembling fingers, in a bid to keep them from her skin.
“Why’s that?” he manages brusquely.
Gauzy robes twist around calves and slip from shoulders. As she rises, Jadeite’s eyes fill darkly, her unconscious sway like a kick in the teeth.
“Desiring what you shouldn’t,” Rahi fiddles absently with the communicator, and the general raises an eyebrow. Is she talking about him or herself? “The insolence to take it anyway.”
“Midas was bold, you must admit that. Doors only stay shut to cowards.” He crosses the floor quickly, stops her movement with a hand over hers. “And it’s an odd hour that you’ve come to open mine.”
“Get dressed and come along,” the witch-queen orders peremptorily, knuckles flexing under his. “There’s something I must show you.”
“Couldn’t you have a servant summon me?” he murmurs, and feels with pleasure how she leans into him, with neither coyness nor cognizance.
“Phobos and Deimos might have woken you with a knife in your belly, so I came myself,” she answers. Probably accurate. Thankfully, no sign of the harpies since Phobos caught them by the Fire.
“But where are the rest?”
Her tone hardens. “I have little use for servants in the first place. Especially those who watch me too closely. The Council’s eyes have no place here.”
He wisely avoids that subject. “Next time, you might send another instead of ambushing me yourself. I’ve survived too many assassination attempts, you know. You’re lucky I don’t keep a weapon in my sleep.”
“I need no weapon to defend myself, certainly not from you,” Rahi returns coolly. “And I didn’t ambush you. I knocked. Several times. You were…” her brow furrows slightly. “Dreaming too deeply.”
Jadeite remembers.
Though it’s as garbled as all waking recollections are. A tangle of scarlet on loathsome wind, shafts of flame blossoming from abscessed carcasses at his feet. And then a great nullity, more terrible than all the macabre parade before it.
“Not likely. I never dream,” he tells her. “Give me a few minutes, and I will join you outside.”
…
Having navigated every dim tunnel of her citadel, they finally emerge upon a spacious balcony. Open to the Martian horizon, washed in umbered daybreak. Here, the Far Eastern king can appreciate just how loftily her fortress rises above all else. The world below their feet is nothing but bare sky and rock, like Kailash of legend.
Even under this seemingly boundless sphere, Jadeite finds a barren harshness to the landscape, an eerie lack of motion. Driest air has no flavor, and dusty stone no give. Of course, the great life domes remain the other planets’ mightiest displays of their magic, but as far as the general’s concerned, they blanch in comparison to Earth’s jeweled verdancy.
“Here upon the highest peak,” he observes. “Where Mars made a home like his father’s.”
The Oracle glances over. “I’ve heard yours is in the mountains as well. Walls of glass seem boastful. To say the least.”
“They call it the palace of illusions,” Jadeite’s gaze remains fixed upon the rusted cliffs. “As my enemies learn the hard way.”
She’d probably ask more, but then - “Look - !”
“That’s what I wanted to show you.” The general follows her pointed finger. “Do you see - see those blemishes on the sun’s surface?”
A rising sun more distant than he’s accustomed to. “Who hasn’t? They’ve been there for years.”
“Obviously,” the witch-queen sniffs. “But since when, exactly?”
“Six or seven years ago, perhaps,” the Far Eastern king’s mystified as to where her line of inquiry goes. “On Earth, they were considered inauspicious at first, but…”
“But…” she prompts.
“Nothing came of it. We celebrated enough that year to last us a lifetime, I’d say.” His voice warms to the memory. “My commander finally took a wife, and those revelries lasted…far longer than they should’ve.”
Neph throwing bags of gold to any wench who’d show the resigned groom her tits. Zoisite purring such poisonous gossip into little Thetis’s ears that she blushed for days. And he more richly decorated than the richest bride, to boot. Endymion, whole face aglow as he threw his arms around Kunzite, now his brother by blood. “But their wedding brought me before the Prince for the first time. And then…the five of us bound together an alliance. Such that none on Earth had ever honored before.”
“Can it be a coincidence, Jadeite?” her voice is soft, but steady. “That as the last of the Shitennou joined the Golden Court, the first of the Senshi awoke among us?”
The Oracle rests her elbows on the balustrade, expression distant. “There are…forces working around us that we can’t command. Things awakening that haven’t slept long enough - ”
“I don’t believe in superstitions,” Jadeite interrupts her, even as the talons of the Fire lengthen before his mind’s eye.
“You should.” Her knuckles whiten over the railing. “I’ve discovered why your borders swarm with Martians, Jadeite.”
…
Contours of the other planets’ governments are mostly unstudied on Earth, and Jadeite’s knowledge of the Martian Council comes only from spotty intelligence and what he’s gleaned of his subjects, who set up similar elder authorities when they first arrived in the Far East, long before anyone can remember. Still, he knows enough. If the Oracle is the voice of Mars, a remote icon - then the Council is her interpreter, envoys to her people. They find and raise her to rule; the first men she sees when her eyes spark, and the last when they finally smolder out. Personally, Jadeite finds it ridiculous, that old men make any pretense of obeying a girl they’ve reared almost from birth. Perhaps in a time before recollection, the Council faithfully followed their Oracle’s will, but it’s clear that Rahi’s relationship with them has been contentious since her tongue found words to sting with.
“Banished.” The general feels her eyes scraping his face, where more of his feelings show than he would prefer.
Outside, a dust storm gathers and brings oddly early evening. From her cautious tone, his features must bear accord with its wild fury, how it pounds its fists against the fortress’s walls.
“Tensions have never run higher,” the witch-queen explains quietly. “We’ve heard talk of Earth-magic, where none was before.” She doesn’t check if he’ll deny it. “The Senshi drill harder every day. Mars wants to be ready for - for - ”
“Your Council extorts their allegiance. To fight if - when war breaks out,” he finishes bluntly.
She nods. “From all Martians. So those who refuse to swear the oaths…”
A muscle tics annoyingly in his temple. He resists the urge to ram a fist into it. “Seven years of this. There must be well over a hundred thousand outlaws in the Far East by now.”
“Less in the beginning - but their numbers on Earth increased as paranoia on Mars did,” Rahi continues darkly. “My advisors load more ships every day with those they’ve labeled defectors. And - and they’re easy to point fingers at, Jadeite. Most of them…don’t take kindly to orders. Convicts, prisoners - ”
Jadeite inhales sharply. “Sending us your criminals - ”
“ - wherever they choose to go…my Council pretends not to know or care.”
“Wherever they choose - ” he breaks off. “What other planet will harbor them? Is the Far East to become your penal colony?”
Rahi’s chin edges forward. “They go there because of the Martian legend, not because we send them - ”
“Or because everyone knows it’s a lawless land ruled by a bastard king, isn’t that right? With your one hand, you fill our cities with this garbage - and with your other, you mass your alliance’s finest armies against Earth,” Jadeite can tell when her eyes widen that there’s now unaccustomed fire in his, too. “Because we dare to gain strength, and you’d have us always on our knees, wiping our fucking chins - ”
“Believe me, Jadeite, I didn’t know!”
“Then end it!”
“I would if - ! Do you expect I’d turn a blind eye to something like this?” Rahi bursts out furiously, and of course she’s not lying. But he needs a target right now, badly, and her easily roused temper makes her too convenient. “I’m with my Princess more than my people! How must that look? My advisors do things they would never dare to, were I not bound up so closely with the Moon!”
Oh, he’s tired of stagnant stone halls, this place without a fleck of real blue or green to it. Of nightmares that break his rest and the feel of her both too close and too far. His customary temperance is fraying too quickly, and he can’t do a damn thing about it. “Does the Moon sanction this as well?”
“The Queen has little authority in Martian matters, and the more time I spend with her, the more I become a figurehead.” The Oracle’s shoulders sag. “All my life I’ve never seen the Council so hysterical. Ignorance and suspicion make them mad.”
The Far Eastern king scarcely hears her, forehead resting in his shaking palm as he tries to tease some logic out of his skittering thoughts. Endymion would offer his own carefully considered counsel, if he were here. Would look him in the eye and tell Jadeite he trusted him. The general needs a measure of faith more than anything right now.
“I must go back.”
“And do what?” Rahi demands as he jerks away from the opposite wall, raking through disheveled hair. “Tell your Prince? You could do that from here.”
“If your Council had their way, we barbarians would never find out your treachery!”
“They don’t know what I’ve told you, Jadeite,” her voice is hushed. “And they don’t tell me what company to keep. Stay.”
“I have what I came for.” His, by contrast, is raw. “It’s time I returned to my kingdom and my liege.”
Her signet ring knocks against the door behind her, a metallic clang. “My responsibilities aren’t less than yours. A few days won’t change anything.”
“You haven’t much talent for deception, do you? I’d be packed off tomorrow, if your flames could answer all you want to ask of me.”
She blanches slightly. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Can you deny it?” As he might have expected by now, Rahi holds fast as he advances on her with all the deliberation of a baited bull. “If only your Fire could give you what you seek. We might have found more pleasant ways of drawing each others’ blood.”
“I won’t ask you again - ”
“Why? Too proud?” he taunts as he comes to a halt, perilous inches away. Her faintest leap of breath, a tremble of the lips that makes him wet his own, against almost maddening hunger. “If you tell me why you really want me to stay, I might accept - ”
“You will accept.” In dusk falling dimly around them, the Oracle’s irises glitter like torches of a distant city. “You already have.”
Jadeite has no real sense of who closes that fraught space.
It’s his palms crushing silk to the hollow of her spine, yanking handfuls of hair back as he opens her soft mouth to his. But it's her fingers curling precisely at his neck, scorching the flesh; her stomach brushing his straining cock before pulling back, forcing him to helplessly follow. The wan sliver of twilight between their bodies winks out when Jadeite catches her hips and hauls her up against the door.
Her gasp against his lips makes him wonder with the dreamy abstraction of a man who doesn’t care anymore. Makes him wonder if she’s more - or less - afraid than even he knew.
Less, he finds, when long legs part enough for him to brace her weight over his hard thigh, where he feels heavy heat, hears the moan in her throat that flickers his eyes open. This close, her irises appear so vivid that he imagines he stands in the primeval heart of her, like the red-pouring sun. When his eyelids fall shut again, that same heart flops moistly against his hand - spasms in his grip like an eviscerated fish.
Jadeite’s hands fall nervelessly from her body.
Rahi immediately slides down the door’s length, arms tightening instinctively around him. “Jade - ?” she exhales.
He swiftly averts his face from hers, panting harder than he should.
In the awkward silence that ensues, she swallows audibly. “Was…did I…?”
“ - what?” and it takes the shaken general a second or two to understand, before the completely foreign note of uncertainty in her voice suddenly makes sense to him. A self-conscious flush high on her cheekbones is barely visible in lamplight.
The general snaps out of his stupor, focusing once more upon the girl watching him with apprehension. “ - Ah - no, it’s nothing to do with you,” his low chuckle is slightly pained as he reaches for her again. “No, you’re…”
Jadeite bends his blond head to hers.
“…far beyond anything I imagined,” he breathes into her ticklish pulse. Feels her melt satisfyingly back into him, and then immediately tense again.
“But then what…?” muffled against his collarbone, but Jadeite hears the wary note, and resigns himself. An unguarded moment, lost by his error.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” the assurance is strained and unconvincing to even his ears. “Just…a memory of something.”
“Was it - was it your nightmare?” and suddenly his face is between Rahi’s palms. Though her breath is still hitching from their closeness, those eyes search his without girlish timidity. “This morning, you were just this…” she digs for the word. “Distraught.”
“As I said, I don’t have dreams,” Jadeite grits out the untruth, cursing how she makes a bullseye of it every goddamn time. “There was no nightmare.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she hisses unexpectedly. “I saw your face when I woke you! You know I don’t have much patience, and even less for liars.”
The hands around his jaw are uncomfortably hot as the Oracle forces him to meet her hellish stare.
“It’s your turn to choose, Jadeite.”
And before the general can seize her, she’s slipped too easily from his arms and slammed the door shut behind her.
…
Her face on the screen isn’t at all expected, but still welcome nonetheless. Weary lines around his eyes relax.
“Shirking your lessons as always, princess?”
Thetis giggles. “Lord Zoisite owes me a bet. I knew you’d say that. Shall I fetch him?”
“Where is he?”
“The dungeons.”
“Ah,” the Far Eastern king thinks better of sending a teenager below to observe Zoisite’s particular brand of handiwork. “Why don’t you keep me company instead?”
“You look tired, my lord,” Thetis stretches her fingers toward the screen as though to touch his, and then draws them back hastily. “Lord Nephrite says the Martian women are very fatiguing.”
“Does he, now?” the general struggles to conceal his quivering lips. “No, Thetis, I’ve just been…having nightmares of late.”
The girl sits up in alarm, nearly knocking over the device altogether. “But you don’t ever dream!”
“No, Jade,” a soft voice emerges behind her, cool and sure as a knife through marrow. “You don’t.”
A hand brushes Thetis’s dark head, and Jadeite just barely catches a flaking rust-hued spot under an adorned knuckle. “Run along, little one. But don't think we're done practicing - I want to see pools, not puddles.”
She nods obediently, scurries off, and then eyes like sharp green glass meet directly with flaming blue.
“You’ll have to do something about her,” the druid king remarks offhandedly. “The girl’s more in love with your pretty face every day.”
“I’ve no interest in children, and our commander’s stepchildren besides,” the satire of Zoisite complimenting a pretty face is not lost on him. “Turns my stomach to consider it, so let’s move on. I need to talk to you.”
“Of course,” the younger general’s lackadaisical manner changes utterly, all dead seriousness before Jadeite can even blink. “What’s this about you dreaming again?”
“The first nightmare happened the evening I reported to Kunzite. I…thought it peculiar, but assumed it was a fluke of some sort. And then…last night…the same vision…” he trails off.
“You haven’t dreamed in…it must be, what, a dozen years now? And have you ever dreamed the same thing twice?” Zoisite’s tone is incredulous. “Is it something to do with Martian magic?”
“Exactly my point. I think…” he sucks in a deep breath. “I think these nightmares come from the Fire.”
The druid king’s earful of silver glints as he tilts his head curiously. “Isn’t that a question for the Oracle?”
“It is and it isn’t. I’ll be brief, as I don’t have much time. Listen closely.”
“Speak.”
…
During a far earlier conversation, as they strolled in her (pitifully artificial) garden, Jadeite managed to extract a little information from the reticent Oracle on a subject that attracted him. One that always had, actually, since his father told him about it first, and especially after experiencing it himself. The Fire.
“I always believed only the Oracle could divine its shapes.”
She shrugged gracefully. “Mars is the star of omen, and the Fire its heart. Everyone who steps onto this soil feels that power, whether greater or lesser. Waking or sleeping, we all see things. I’m just the closest to its core.”
“Like my Prince to Elysion,” he reasoned.
“You’d know better than me. But that’s why my dreams and visions almost always predict accurately. Only I can fully bend the Fire to my will.”
“And what about the things others see?” Another subject close to Jadeite’s heart, as he recalled the demon he’d found grinning in those flames.
“Those, too, can be prophecy. Sometimes. But they usually tell more about the seeker than what he seeks. His fantasies instead of his future.” The witch-queen shifted uncomfortably. “Many Martians go mad, for the Fire will rule you if you don’t rule it.”
“Like any great power,” the general mused, reminded of his own tricks.
…
He quickly sketches his whole understanding of the Fire, expecting that the younger man will fill in the right details and ask the correct questions. Their conversations are often like this, hummingbirds darting from bloom to bloom, for the golden general’s always had to think quickly on his feet, and Zoisite’s sheer analytical force is unmatched by anyone else he’s met. The Far Eastern king’s no great schemer, only sharply observant; he realizes his shortcomings, and so turns to his friend’s cold, clear-eyed counsel.
And of course, his irises don’t even flicker when Jadeite describes the gruesomeness of his nightmares. The other reason he seeks out the unsqueamish royal executioner.
“I don’t remember all the details at once, only haphazardly as hours pass. How dreams often are. And what I do remember is…unwise for me to reveal to her,” he recalls Rahi’s careful scrutiny.
“I can understand why,” Zoisite agrees slowly, mulling over his words. “But you said yourself that your nightmares may not actually predict anything…”
“What if they do?” the Far Eastern king counters. “What if they predict some invasion of Earth?”
“And it’s tactless to inquire if they might murder us all in our beds?” he smiles disarmingly. “Or maybe the Oracle will assume the reverse? That we mean to attack them?”
Jadeite’s laugh is unpleasant. “I’m not sure she’d reach either conclusion. The witch-queen can’t spy anything in her Fire, apparently - not where I’m concerned.”
“Intriguing blind spot,” Zoisite murmurs. “So the less she knows about you, the better. I see your game.” He leans in, fiery curls meshing with his lashes. “You’re sure these aren’t the dreams of your childhood? Illusions turned loose upon their master, before you learned to control them?”
“I’m sure, because…” Jadeite tries to decide if he should drop another anvil, and figures he’s in deep enough now. “Zoi, what I saw in the Fire - and what I see in my nightmares. They’re the same devil.”
“You saw the Fire? For yourself?” His lips curve in a way the Far Eastern king doesn’t exactly like. “The Oracle must have become terribly fond of you.”
Jadeite’s senses sharpen too late. “She and I have…an understanding,” he responds warily.
“Indeed,” Zoisite smirks, taking his time. “The Martians I’ve…conversed with have been very informative. She must be much lovelier than the wrinkled hag you met as a boy. And not much older than Thetis, isn’t that right, Jadeite?”
He’s still for a moment. “Fuck you, you - ”
“You can lie to those two - the Prince, maybe. Not me,” the other laughs blithely. “Thumbscrewing out secrets is a fond pastime of mine. Did you forget that I’ve been dealing with your Martian infestation since you left?”
Jadeite calls on whatever drops are left in that once famously full reservoir of patience. Today has been a very trying day. “Have you told anyone, you preening piece of shit?”
“That the Oracle is a girl instead of a crone, or that you’re probably fucking her?” he snickers. “Why else would you keep her youth from us?”
“Don’t talk, druid king. I’ve heard of your freakish northern ceremonies. You’ve probably taken corpses and who knows what else to bed.”
Amusement still plays around the corners of Zoisite’s mouth. “Really, I hope you haven’t. With her, I mean; the corpse is something quite different. It’d be rather impolitic, what with her vow of chastity and all. Diplomatic suicide.”
“Your faith in my judgment is inspiring.”
“It’s not that,” the younger general replies quietly, lacing thickly jeweled long fingers together, changing his mood like his baubles. “It’s just - you have an insolence. A way of rushing to meet fate. And then, a way of brilliantly cheating it.”
Jadeite cracks his shoulders. “The second time I’ve been called too bold today. What do you suppose the life of a general is? A real one, not a lord sitting in his castle and disemboweling men in shackles?”
Zoisite ignores the provocation. “So you’ve the audacity to seize what you want. Maybe you haven’t learned yet that you shouldn’t want everything. You know your limitations. Not your limits.”
“Should I have limits? Because I was born a whore’s son and not a king?”
“Your words, Jade, not mine.” Light dances off his torc as he leans back. “For once, Neph was right - and he doesn't even know what I do. You’re too far in this fire. Let’s pray you can escape as you always have.”
When Jadeite regains use of his voice, it’s lethally calm. “Round up as many Martians as you can find in the capital. Don’t harm them. I mean to deal with them myself upon my return.”
“I thought Kunzite already told you. They’re not spies.”
“I know what they are,” he smiles grimly at Zoisite’s look of surprise. “Perhaps you can interrogate them - gently, Zoi - if you wish to learn more.”
The other man considers. “At least tell me about this - this Senshi of the Moon. What is she to your Oracle? Are Martian and Lunar interests so closely aligned as - ”
“My secrets will remain mine, this once.”
The device blanks at Jadeite’s touch.
So much for that. His nightmares remain his too, and with nothing else to show for it.
…
…
…
…
…
is it wrong that i imagine their communicators to be like little iPads? probably >_>
Stuff to know.
by the way, i’m not making any claims of historical accuracy here. i haven’t even really placed this in a time period - i’m gonna go ahead and say it’s pre-civilization as we know it, a la manga silmil, but i like picking up fun little mythological and geographical threads from real timelines, so it’s going to be all over the place :D
Hindu Kush - range of mountains between central Afghanistan and northern Pakistan. “Kush” usually translates in some form to “killer” (awesomely cheerful name for a geographical feature)
Midas - everyone knows about the guy who wished for the ability to make everything he touched gold, and then accidentally turned his food, water, and daughter into solid metal, but just in case…oops? Interestingly, there’s also a myth surrounding Midas and the Far East (sort of). Midas rode into town on a wagon…just as the townspeople had decided their king would be the next guy who rode into town on a wagon. The new king dedicated his wagon to their god as a sort of tribute, and tied it to a post. Whoever could untie the knot, it was said, would become the next king of Asia. Historically, this next king was to be Alexander the Great…
Kailash - part of the Himalayas in Tibet. Mountain said to be the home of Shiva (Mangala’s, or Mars’s father)
Palace of illusions - a reference to the glass palace built by the heroes of the Mahabharata, the Pandava princes…it was mostly glass and water, and they laughed hysterically at the sorry fuckers who stepped on glass in their swimming trunks, and then walked into pools with all their clothes on <3
Torc - twisted metal necklace, looks like a collar, worn in early Celtic Europe (think Gaul, Saxony, Belgica, Britanica)