The Stars Where We Lay
Stories Told Beneath the Dark Sun
The garden at night has a particular sound: the soft chirping of insects, the gentle whisper of the breeze rustling through flora – the light splash of the fountain, water running. It smells of flowers and green and mist – the same mist that lingers on Samael’s skin as he lies in the grass, fingers wrapped in Cain's, watching the sky.
It seems absurd, if he thinks of it in too much depth – absurd to be in the dirt, grass tickling the backs of his hands. It is beneath him – that’s what Isis would say, what Astaroth would say as well. If he’s honest, he would say the same thing, and yet.
He listens to the music of the wind now, watching the lamplight dusting over Cain’s face, turning his pale skin to moonlight, his silver hair like a halo of stars around his face. There he is, then – the only person who could pull Samael down to the ground, to this place where the grass stains his cloak and his fingers brush against the tips of fingers far more delicate than his own.
He reaches over, pushes a stray lock back from Cain's face. "Are you satisfied, then? You have cast me onto the ground to roll in the mud." His harsh words lie – his soft tone speaks true. For a moment, he wonders if he might be misunderstood... but Cain laughs and that worry falls away. It's always like that.
"Yes, I'm very satisfied." Cain's fingers tighten their grip. "It's hard to see you when you're standing up." He laughs. An exaggeration, to be sure, but not wholly untrue. It is a function of their substantial height difference, and the fault of Samael's Siv-Surasi blood. His father, Gorgo, had been nearly eight feet tall.
It has been some months since Cain's arrival at Samael's court – months since he had settled into his place in Etonar to Sakia – and he continues to approach this world, so mundane to Samael's eyes, with some degree of wonder.
The first day that he arrived here, Cain had looked around the courtyard with his grey eyes wide, half-ready to topple over. Until that moment, Samael had not considered what it meant to be pulled from the streets of Gaean and brought to the heart of Amaya. Cain was easy to impress, he thought at first, and he was right by his own metric. Even so, after the shock of that first day, Cain had never taken much note of the luxury, or the decadence.
Samael hadn't thought himself so easy to impress in turn, at that time. Yet... it has been some months since Cain's arrival, and Samael finds himself approaching the mortal with some degree of wonder, too.
"It's so peaceful here," Cain says. His voice is barely more than a whisper. The fingers of his free hand flex slightly, digging into the grass and dirt beneath him where he lies. Around them, the light filters through the translucent petals of Agu-Abos and Tabu-Sampur. It dapples the grass and makes the garden glow. Cain says, "It's nothing at all like the gardens at home."
"At home," Samael repeats. He raises his head, his gaze tracking from the sky to Cain's face. "You are home." There is a taut string of tension hidden in his voice, like the ripple that runs down his back.
"I am." Cain rolls onto his side. His silk clothes will be hopeless come morning, but neither of them take much note of it. Cain says, "Listening to your voice is like hearing thunder sing." His face is serene. Calm. He is always this way – to be in his presence carries the sensation of dousing one's burning hand in cool water. At times, too much so – in moments it behooves one to burn. Even so... Samael wouldn't change him.
"You knew gardens in your Atria?" Samael drags his fingertips down Cain's side. "...ah, yes. Perhaps I remember something like that. Tell me of your gardens, then."
Cain laughs, a low sound half-aimed at himself. "I wouldn't call them mine. I only passed through them from time to time while running errands. It was a quick shortcut between the merchant residences and the commercial district." He closes his eyes, as though trying to remember some long-faded dream. Is it as easy as that to forget those things you leave behind?
Cain says, "Yes, the red bushes and white blossoms, the purple and pink vines. Trees, too, of course." He opens his eyes again. "They were nice? I never had very much time to stop and appreciate it... also, there were always people around. Well, that's the same everywhere in Atria." He pauses. "You have better flowers than they did."
"Of course," Samael says, automatically, and lies down again, back against the grass. Overhead, the sky is blue velvet and black organza lit by diamond stars and the Dark Sun.
Cain moves closer, rests his head against the edge of Samael's shoulder. "The sky is different here, too," he says. "In Gaean, the stars are not nearly so bright. I wonder why."
"Light and smoke," Samael says. He had noticed it during his diplomatic trip there months ago – the same trip where he found Cain. A tedious sidenote to his life overall, but it was not without its pleasures. Or its lasting benefits. He had not liked the air nearly so much as he liked Incaendium's, however. Mortals have a love of industry it seems – factories and billowing black smoke. It was primarily present in Atria, to be fair. Even so, he wrinkles his nose. "You have far too much noise in those cities of yours, as well. Noise and machines – like those trains of yours."
"Incaendium has trains, too!"
Samael waves a hand. "Yes, but not nearly so many. We do not need these things, and so we do not have them."
"Well," Cain says, "Incaendium does have a lot more magic..." It may be an acknowledgement, or a defense.
"That is no excuse. Look up." Samael raises his hand to gesture at a corner of sky. "How can a man live his life beneath the dulling of such a sky? During my stay in Atria, I did not see the first of the lovers' lives. Without these things, how can one know the story?"
There is a beat of silence, and then another.
Cain says, "What story?"
The fountain turns up a cloud of mist that shimmers in the moonlight. Samael furrows his brow as the coolness settles on his skin.
"It seems," he says, "That I was correct. You know nothing of the old stories. Do you even know the names of the constellations?"
It's silent, then, for the span of a breath and then another. Samael hears Cain's breathing,and feels his grip slacken just slightly. It's a shame on Samael's name that his heart aches the way it does when Cain pulls away even an inch.
"No," Cain says, "I guess I don't. I don't know much, really. You know that."
Another wave of shame washes over Samael. Of course Cain knows nothing. He was born to nothing. Until they met, he had barely managed to keep himself off the street – most of the time. The life he had lived for his twenty years had been difficult and bereft of even necessities. Certainly, he had begun learning since arriving in Amaya, but even now there is so much lost ground to regain. Why would he spend time learning about stars?
"Well," Cain says then, "I'm not completely ignorant." He points to the sky. "The cat. The runner. The bat. The drowned. I admit I don't know all of them... but people tell stories even in the gutter."
Samael opens his mouth. Perhaps he should apologize. Instead, he says, "Cat? Drowned? What in Empirica's name are you talking about?" He says the words before it occurs to him how silly they are. Cain is from another realm, another culture, another world, more or less. Perhaps his stories are not the same. So he reaches over and takes hold of Cain's wrist and whispers, "Show me these stars."
There is a moment of quiet.
"It's hard to pinpoint a certain group of stars, you know." Cain says, softly. "But..." He shifts slightly. "I have so little to give you. A few stories aren't much to ask... particularly given how short they are."
He takes a deep breath, and begins.
A hush falls between them, broken only by the soft sounds of water and wind. Overhead, the stars shimmer; Samael narrows his eyes slightly, trying to capture the memory of lines drawn in the darkness.
Cain takes a deep breath. "What do you think?" He seems almost tentative. ...insecure again. It's natural, Samael knows this. Cain is young, just into his 20s, and still adjusting to the differences between the two of them, and the worlds from which they arose.These things will fade. It takes time. Even so, it is mildly disturbing to see his companion so off balance.
For the moment, Samael taps the center of Cain's forehead and huffs. "The stories are both simple and silly... and obviously inaccurate to history. However... as lore around which a Realm might build its understanding of the world goes, they are... charming." His shadow stretches across the nearby cobblestones. He pauses. "You need not look so concerned. Even had I disliked the stories what difference does it make to you? You did not invent them."
"I guess that's true." Cain rubs the place where Samael had tapped him. "Still... as gifts go, a good story is better than a bad one."
"Hm. That is fair, yes." Samael chuckles. He seems to laugh too often, these days, and too easily. "And 'tis true that your stories are different than mine. They are sweet – as befits men whose lives are too short to achieve true understanding, or to grapple with the dark. Sura lore is different than this. It is grand... and passionate, and often tragic... as befits our nature. Yet, our stars tell stories as well."
"The lovers? You mentioned them." Cain rests against Samael's shoulder again. His hair shimmers like metal in the moonlight and the hand Samael holds inside his own is so soft. It had taken months to remove the callouses and stains of his life before Amaya. Cain says, "Would you tell me?"
A tightness lingers in Samael's chest. He looks to the countless points of light overhead, encased within a dense ring of stars. Cain hadn't mentioned the Cycle – not even by another name. He wonders if Gaean's smoke blots out too much to see it clearly. How sad it would be to live beneath such a sky.
"Very well," Samael says. "But first, the elements of our tale: The Crown and the Heart, lovers whose souls seek one another throughout time in perpetuity. The Obstacle, which is the force which separates them in each life... and the Cycle which keeps them trapped in its grip." He shifts his position slightly, drawing his companion closer to him – the coolness of his presence, the warmth of his skin... the sweet, light scent of lilywater... they are soothing. They give tonight a dreamlife quality, hazy and a little too comfortable.
"The tale begins with the first life - the spark which began the cycle.
"Much like most of what we know to be history, it began during the War. Then, the Dei had sent a winter storm to swallow portions of Incaendium, including the village of a certain sura who would become The Heart. That night, the Heart wandered the forest outside their village. Food had become scarce, but the forest still teemed with life. There, in the dark of the trees, they came upon a person.
"This was a Dei of the first generation... and the one who would become the Crown. Faced with the Heart, the Crown was intrigued. They spoke for hours in the snow, and when morning came, they promised to meet again. And so they did, for months, for years... more. They met in secret as their people warred with one another and blood stained the snow.
"When the war finally came to a close, they fled to Gaean, hoping to escape the limits of their kind... but there were Celestials and Kasura still lost, trapped outside the Golden Cage... searching for a way home. They were angry - frustrated... and hungry for vengeance. That being the case, it is hardly surprising when that two troops from either side, locked in the last throes of war with one another, spotted a celestial and sura together, they were enraged.
"The Heart and Crown were attacked. The Crown opened a tear in space to escape, but it was too late. Injured beyond mortality, they managed to crawl through the portal into the space between spaces. They did not return.
"It is said that their spirits, trapped in the empty space, still seek to live out their dream, even now."
Samael takes a deep breath. He looks down. Cain's face is locked somewhere between awe and sorrow.
Samael says, "And the lovers' wheel begins its ceaseless turning. I cannot tell you the stories in order, for there is no known order to be told. So we simply choose a place and then begin."
At his side, Cain grows quiet, and still. Samael grows quiet as well.
The story of the lovers is well known in Incaendium. Less so, it seems, in Gaean. More than that, Samael wonders if he had overestimated the sorrow that Cain could bear on his back. These stories... they are sad. But to Samael, they are also typical of the world. Strange how a man who came from so little could nonetheless seem so naïve.
He coughs. "There are more stories, you know. They have lived a countless number of lives – certainly we do not know them all. However..." He shifts, moving their positions enough that he can lean over Cain from above and look at his lover's face. He himself could be made from starlight and moonbeams, Samael thinks. And then, "I think we've had our fill of melancholia for one night."
Cain looks up still – to Samael's face now, rather than the sky. His hand strokes idly down Samael's back, and he says, "How terrible. How sad." He bites his lip along the edges. "The Obstacle, in the end, is only..."
"The cruelty of life. Of fate. Of people as well, yes." Samael says. "Celestials and mortals alike have long accused the kasura of cruelty... a charge that is not without merit. Yet, that charge is applicable to all creatures with the will to act and think. Was it not the Celestials who struck the first blow in the great war of Realms? Were they any less savage than the kasura who tore the lovers' first lives apart and thew them into the spiral? Now..."
Samael goes quiet, one hand cupping Cain's cheek.
"Now those souls could have manifested anywhere." His thumb brushes Cain's skin, soft and steady. Samael's hands never waver, they never shake like Cain's do at times. That's endearing, too, though Samael is loath to say as much. Even now, calm as he seems, Samael's heart pulses quick and erratic inside his chest. His hands do not shake, but he has been off-balance since the day they met. He is simply excellent at pretending otherwise.
"Samael..."
"Yes?"
Cain's hand rests above Samael's heart, now. Feeling its beat. He says, "Do I... make you nervous somehow?" A beat of silence. Red floods his cheeks. "...your heart. I ask because of your heart." He closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be presump—"
"Do not apologize." Samael's voice is little more than a whisper, now. He drags a finger down Cain's neck, resting over the pulse point, too. "It is an interesting story, is it not? Two souls, destined for one another. Fated to meet, and to burn before the cycle begins anew… caught inside an endless dance until the end of time itself." He pauses. "The Crown, a lonely leader of men. The Heart, who brings light into the darkness of The Crown's isolation. Born in separate places, seemingly at odds... until those odds melt away like ice above a bonfire. Happiness for a moment, before the fall."
He exhales softly.
"Perhaps we were they, in another life. You and I. Unlikely though we may be, we find ourselves here."
Cain exhales a soft breath. Likely he does not know whether to take that as a warning. "Samael," he says again, and then nothing else. He does this, sometimes, when he needs a moment to think. Samael thinks, too – in this case, he ponders what it means that he has noticed this. That he could name a dozen incidents without a second thought.
"Samael..." Cain says the name as though he is tasting it. "I don't know why you're so fond of me. You've given me everything. And yet, I have nothing to give back."
"Things," Samael says with a scoff. "I do not need things from you. I have all the things I could ever desire in a thousand human lifetimes. You bring with you everything that I ask you to give. It is inherent to your nature. Your being."
"....what? What do I... bring?"
Samael presses a finger to the tip of Cain's nose. "Think on it," he says.
Beneath him, Cain closes his eyes. Even now, Samael misses the moonlight in their depths. "If we are the lovers... well, I don't suppose you were serious about that. But if we were... that would mean that we're doomed, too."
Samael leans his forehead down until it rests against Cain's. He inhales the lily water, and a touch of vanilla – the essences Cain favors at present. He smells like fields of flowers and warmth in the cold night.
Samael says, "My heart, have you forgotten so soon who I am? We would not bow. We would rewrite the history. Grasp it and pull it from the stars itself. If destiny dares stand between us, then I must simply conquer it, as well." He is quiet for a moment, and then he whispers, "The heavens will forever hold a hole where your image should go. The night may grow deep, but it matters not... for I will never let the skies steal your light away, my dark star."
Romance/Mythology
Summary
In the early days of their complicated romance, Samael and Cain watch the sky during a Dark Sun event.
Notes
Click the lines too.
At a Glance
See Also
Header
A representation of the Heart and the Crown before the starry sky.
Profile Pic
A romantic image of Samael and Cain.
Challenges
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