IRON GOD | 2: Empyrean

[18] Xigon: Hold Close This Sacrament {I}

 After Azvalath and Jai-Lag left, Xigon opened Kiiri's old book and lost himself in the pages he knew so well by now. Poetry, stories, information and musings on various topics she'd had found interesting for one reason or another – it was all compiled here. The illustrations were just as precious to him now, messy as they were. In hindsight, he hated that he'd ever scolded Kiiri for doodling in her reports.

The only thing he hated in this well-loved tome was the last chapter.

Kiiri had seemingly taken to her second ascension very well. Upon waking, she'd asked for her favorite tea and for fresh ink to write. He and Qila had seen that as a good sign, at least until Kiiri spent the next four days and nights writing a chapter in a script no one could read – complete with uncharacteristically vivid illustrations – before dying at her writing desk, inked quill still clutched in her cold hand.

He spent much of the rest of the night poring through that grim enigma of a final chapter. The script was recognizable as writing of some sort, but it wasn't from any language that had ever existed. He looked instead at the illustrations, which seemed to have no common theme. First an anatomical diagram of an eye, again labeled in that bizarre writing.

Then a rabbit calmly drinking from a pool of its own blood. Trees tangled together at the branches and roots. Children showing each other their own torn-out hearts. A gravebird taking flight. And the last image – Kaosaan. White eyes wide and fervid, immense teeth dripping red froth, jaws wide open in what could be a scream of agony or ecstasy or both.

Xigon traced the teeth with his thumb. He didn't see Kaosaan like this, but in any image he reviled her. He'd deny her until he couldn't anymore. He'd hold his walls strong. His sacred duty.

His door swung open and startled him.

"I did knock." Ami looked exhausted. Her face was pale, grayish almost, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Xigon sighed. "Not loud enough." Then he turned his chair to face her. "You look like absolute shit."

Ami shrugged. "Thanks?"

"I'll admit." He reached over and slammed the book shut. "Your pain medicine is so effective I can hardly believe it. I half-wonder if you're using it to hold me hostage."

"There are a lotta lower-maintenance hostages I could take, y'know." She shoved a dark vial into his hand. "Swallow it and get up."

He scowled.

"I need your wheelchair," she said, as if that would convince him at all.

He hummed. "No you don't."

"I told you, I'm going to work on it. That clicking front caster's got to be annoying, and keep sitting on that worn padding and you'll get pressure sores if you haven't already." Ami shook her finger and grinned. "I could check you for 'em if you just take off your–"

"Don't even think about it." Xigon braced himself against his desk and stood up. "Otherwise you'll need your own chair."

Ami's eyes widened in what looked like starstruck delight. She still looked unwell, though. Curious, Xigon looked into her with his power. At first glance, nothing seemed different from before, except that the dark tendrils were maybe just a bit tighter.

"You're sick." He said it without any doubt.

Ami shrugged. "I've been called worse."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Ami," he pressed. "You know that."

She ignored him. "Take your medicine, old man."

Xigon shifted to sit on top of his desk and uncorked the vial. It smelled the same as before. Not that he cared all that much if it were spiked on a day like today. It was nothing he hadn't endured before. He downed its contents and watched Ami crouch down to scrutinize his wheelchair. Her heat flickered in bizarre patterns, like fireflies drowning in black tar.