SPN fic: "Gleaner of Souls" Part 2.1/5, 887 words, PG, WiP
Part one is here.
This is labeled as 2.1 because Part 2 ended up being broken up in several sections as I was writing it. I know the decimal numbering is confusing; when this is finished and goes up on AO3, these will be all separate chapters. But for now, I have the parts demarcated like this for plotting reasons. I guess think of it as Act 2, Part 1?
2.2 is nearly finished and will be up before the end up the week; 2.3 is about halfway done. Then it's on to 3.1, which I haven't done much on yet, so it'll take a while.
Michael took all Lucifer's bloodline, yea, even those who were also of Michael's, and slew them. He caused their souls to be placed beyond the Garden in Heaven and he put their bodies into the roiling fires at Earth's center so that Lucifer could not make them whole and thus use them.
With no vessel to contain him, Lucifer could not walk the Earth, and for a time there was peace.
But it so happened that some of that bloodline fled from Michael and hid their children in the households of others. In this way one child lived, who was Lilith.
Lucifer came to know of Lilith. But Lilith was not fully suited to him and not of age. Lucifer therefore refashioned her body and soul, working and twisting within her until she could open to him fully. Lucifer made to enter Lilith, and in that instant Michael rushed forth and bled her.
He cast her soul into the Cage which had been made ready in Hell. Lucifer went in after, and the door was shut fast, and many Seals laid over it. And thus Lucifer was imprisoned.
Manakel goes to her island in the Sargasso Sea, where once she collected humans like stones from the shore. Each were selected for their peculiar shapes and round edges, their flushing color, the noises they made as they tumbled together. The resonance of their souls, too, was vital; it rattled through lacunae of bone, quivered through layers of flesh both tender and tough, and prickled at the seat of each fine hair. Manakel need not agonize her devotees by gripping their bare souls. She could sup well enough on these emanations and take the energy she needed, being so far from Heaven and other angels.
In return, Manakel kept her humans well on the island. There were snug houses and broad shores, bright toothsome fish and lush gardens, looms for flax or furred beasts, and full-bellied boats. She took many vessels of her own and divided the presence of her burden among them. Her devotees idled as they liked or trod the dark places of continents where many foul beasts fell before them.
For a time, Manakel was content, though Michael had commanded all angels be gone from the Earth; though Lucifer sulked in his Cage, roiling out poisonous schemes; though Gabriel styled himself pagan and called her not sister; though gods shunned her in the throes of their twilight; though the depths and the darkness still nipped at her flesh.
Then, after centuries, Michael turned an eye to her island, and did not like what he saw. He felled the trees with a murmur; he spoke again and her stone houses tumbled; he called her aberrant with such harsh words that every human on the island fell down and died. He named each of her heroes rambling on the continents and bade her to put them to death. Then all was silent, for Michael had gone away again to Heaven.
And so Manakel buried all her humans and was alone.
Why not rebel? Lucifer asked then, hearing her wails through the water.
because my obedience angers him more, replied Manakel. It was a terrible thought, enormous and coiled upon itself like a snake. She did not believe it was hers; surely it bubbled directly from some unknown ether through her lips, and the rest of her was not culpable.
You are unwell, said Lucifer, smiling.
That was some centuries ago. Her island is barren now, dotted with broken-up stones and a ship still stuck slant in the beach where Michael scuppered it.
Manakel crouches beneath the ship's curving bow and scratches a hole in the sand.
Bury my bones with my sister's, says her vessel, abrupt and unwary, as if she has just woken up.
yes, you have told me, Manakel answers. but hush, child, it is not time for that yet.
She presses the bowl into the little grave and scoops wet sand over it until her bones are snug and all covered up.
Her vessel, Marina, sings a soft snatch of song and goes quiet again.
Manakel perches on the up-ended bow, barnacles slicing her flanks, and calls out to Michael. She tells him of Lucifer's vessel, of the rumblings she has heard from Hell's gates, of the stain she sees spreading across the land. Michael does not answer. She prays until the sun has chased the moon and her vessel awakens again to complain about the noise.
Marina says her own prayers, snide and blasphemous, and will not hush. When was the last time he answered you? she asks.
when i stood on this beach in your grandmother's skin and begged him not to take her from me, and he answered 'no.'
Manakel does not say this. She jumps to the beach and pads inland to the last hut with a roof. She stands below the mossy lintel and says, i must leave you for a time. rest, and tend your needs: there is a stream and low-hanging fruit three paces from the door. here is a soft couch to lay upon, a cask of wine, and some novels.
Shoo, shoo, says Marina. Or I won't say yes when you come back.
Manakel leaves in a burst of light that peels the moss from rocks.
Part 2.2 is now up
This entry is cross-posted from http://kayliemalinza.dreamwidth.org/332512.html (
comments.)
This is labeled as 2.1 because Part 2 ended up being broken up in several sections as I was writing it. I know the decimal numbering is confusing; when this is finished and goes up on AO3, these will be all separate chapters. But for now, I have the parts demarcated like this for plotting reasons. I guess think of it as Act 2, Part 1?
2.2 is nearly finished and will be up before the end up the week; 2.3 is about halfway done. Then it's on to 3.1, which I haven't done much on yet, so it'll take a while.
Michael took all Lucifer's bloodline, yea, even those who were also of Michael's, and slew them. He caused their souls to be placed beyond the Garden in Heaven and he put their bodies into the roiling fires at Earth's center so that Lucifer could not make them whole and thus use them.
With no vessel to contain him, Lucifer could not walk the Earth, and for a time there was peace.
But it so happened that some of that bloodline fled from Michael and hid their children in the households of others. In this way one child lived, who was Lilith.
Lucifer came to know of Lilith. But Lilith was not fully suited to him and not of age. Lucifer therefore refashioned her body and soul, working and twisting within her until she could open to him fully. Lucifer made to enter Lilith, and in that instant Michael rushed forth and bled her.
He cast her soul into the Cage which had been made ready in Hell. Lucifer went in after, and the door was shut fast, and many Seals laid over it. And thus Lucifer was imprisoned.
Manakel goes to her island in the Sargasso Sea, where once she collected humans like stones from the shore. Each were selected for their peculiar shapes and round edges, their flushing color, the noises they made as they tumbled together. The resonance of their souls, too, was vital; it rattled through lacunae of bone, quivered through layers of flesh both tender and tough, and prickled at the seat of each fine hair. Manakel need not agonize her devotees by gripping their bare souls. She could sup well enough on these emanations and take the energy she needed, being so far from Heaven and other angels.
In return, Manakel kept her humans well on the island. There were snug houses and broad shores, bright toothsome fish and lush gardens, looms for flax or furred beasts, and full-bellied boats. She took many vessels of her own and divided the presence of her burden among them. Her devotees idled as they liked or trod the dark places of continents where many foul beasts fell before them.
For a time, Manakel was content, though Michael had commanded all angels be gone from the Earth; though Lucifer sulked in his Cage, roiling out poisonous schemes; though Gabriel styled himself pagan and called her not sister; though gods shunned her in the throes of their twilight; though the depths and the darkness still nipped at her flesh.
Then, after centuries, Michael turned an eye to her island, and did not like what he saw. He felled the trees with a murmur; he spoke again and her stone houses tumbled; he called her aberrant with such harsh words that every human on the island fell down and died. He named each of her heroes rambling on the continents and bade her to put them to death. Then all was silent, for Michael had gone away again to Heaven.
And so Manakel buried all her humans and was alone.
Why not rebel? Lucifer asked then, hearing her wails through the water.
because my obedience angers him more, replied Manakel. It was a terrible thought, enormous and coiled upon itself like a snake. She did not believe it was hers; surely it bubbled directly from some unknown ether through her lips, and the rest of her was not culpable.
You are unwell, said Lucifer, smiling.
That was some centuries ago. Her island is barren now, dotted with broken-up stones and a ship still stuck slant in the beach where Michael scuppered it.
Manakel crouches beneath the ship's curving bow and scratches a hole in the sand.
Bury my bones with my sister's, says her vessel, abrupt and unwary, as if she has just woken up.
yes, you have told me, Manakel answers. but hush, child, it is not time for that yet.
She presses the bowl into the little grave and scoops wet sand over it until her bones are snug and all covered up.
Her vessel, Marina, sings a soft snatch of song and goes quiet again.
Manakel perches on the up-ended bow, barnacles slicing her flanks, and calls out to Michael. She tells him of Lucifer's vessel, of the rumblings she has heard from Hell's gates, of the stain she sees spreading across the land. Michael does not answer. She prays until the sun has chased the moon and her vessel awakens again to complain about the noise.
Marina says her own prayers, snide and blasphemous, and will not hush. When was the last time he answered you? she asks.
when i stood on this beach in your grandmother's skin and begged him not to take her from me, and he answered 'no.'
Manakel does not say this. She jumps to the beach and pads inland to the last hut with a roof. She stands below the mossy lintel and says, i must leave you for a time. rest, and tend your needs: there is a stream and low-hanging fruit three paces from the door. here is a soft couch to lay upon, a cask of wine, and some novels.
Shoo, shoo, says Marina. Or I won't say yes when you come back.
Manakel leaves in a burst of light that peels the moss from rocks.
Part 2.2 is now up
This entry is cross-posted from http://kayliemalinza.dreamwidth.org/332512.html (
comments.)