From Tower To Caverns

<> Demiurge says "Okay, Aron. We last saw you at the Volcano, having just baptised your sword."

<> Aron nods. "And Aron, before he and Eduardo and Azalea and Phineas head out to see Daimon and company, is flying back to check on Usha and the other ex-demons."

<> Demiurge says "Okay. As far as you know, they were last around Blandine's Tower."

The burning volcano falls away beneath Aron, as he flies towards Blandine's Tower.

Aron wings towards the tower, making for the the Cherubim that are known to guard the doors.

The Cherubim both bow their wings to him.

Aron lands in front of the tower and approaches the Cherubim.

The nearer Cherub slouches slightly, lowering his bear-muzzle. He is a polar bear, pale as the tower that rises behind him. "Virrrrrtue?"

Aron bows from the neck. "I seek the newly come ones - Usha, among them specifically."

The Cherub growls, "I think that most of them are within. Some of those that have Redeemed have gone out to explore Heaven, with escorts. If you go inside, they are in the second room to the right, off the third corridor on the right."

Aron nods, again. "Thank you, Guardian." He salute, efficiently, and steps inside.

It is easy enough to find the room in question. The door is part-open, and the sounds of quiet conversation floats from inside.

Aron knocks on the door once, and then enters.

Inside, a group of angels - some of them clearly uncomfortable with new wings or posture - are talking quietly with several Mercurians and a Cherub. An Ofanite glances across, revolving slowly.

Aron smiles, despite himself. To the Ofanite, he says, "I did not mean to interrupt."

The Ofanite sings, voice shaking in uncertain cascades of notes, "Can I help you?"

Aron nods. "I seek Usha." He adds, after a pause, "And I wanted to see some others, as well. I have some stake in their wellbeing."

The Ofanite thinks. "Usha went to the Groves. She wanted to see them, after seeing the Archangel of War. A reliever went with her to guide her. Who else are you looking for?"

Aron shakes his head. "None in particular. I..." he pauses, sinking into thought. "Are they doing well, these newcomers?"

The Ofanite sings, nervously, "Yes. That is, we are. That is, I think so. I'm just... looking. At the moment."

Aron's expression breaks into a smile, again. "You are one of the new?"

The Ofanite spins an inner ring faster in answer. "I am, yes."

Aron nods. "I am pleased to see you, then. I was one of those who came to the false place to find you."

The Ofanite spins its ring again. "I remember you, M- sir. I remember your fiery sword as you fought for us, you and the Ofanite and the Mercurian and the Kyriotate."

The Ofanite says, slowly, "You gave us hope. I want you to know that." It glances to Azalea. "Both of you."

Azalea looks over the Ofanite, slanted. "That was quick. Have all of you made this your home, or did some return?"

Aron smiles, quietly.

The Ofanite slows. Quietly, it says, "Two that I know of did not survive. The others did. The Archangel says that we may seek other Archangels if we would rather serve them. She Redeemed us so that we would be free of Hell."

Aron nods. "Have you any thoughts as to where you wish to be?"

The Ofanite hesitates. "I am not sure. I do not know enough of the true Heaven. We have been told that we will have time to think about it, and will be allowed to speak to others and see what it is."

Aron nods. "You will. My name is Taroniel. If, some time, you have questions for me I will be glad to answer."

The Ofanite spins again. "Thank you."

Aron says, more gently than he is accustomed to, "And tell the others, also, that they can come to me if occasioned."

The Ofanite sings, "I will. Thank you. You are a Servitor of Dream?"

Aron says "Of Creation, in service to Dream."

Aron looks momentarily wry.

The Ofanite spins again. "Thank you."

Aron nods, and, looking pleased, turns to Azalea. "I was thinking to go to the Groves and see Usha. Will you come with me?"

Azalea shrugs. "Sure."

Aron's lips quirk. He departs the tower, and makes for the Groves.

It is a short journey - as, in Heaven, journeys are short if so desired - from the part of Blandine's Tower that rises in Heaven, to the eternal trees of the Groves. Distant sounds of combat below echo on the air.

Aron moves quickly through the trees, having no particular desire to spend too much time in the company of the Servitors of Wind.

Some kind of wargame is evidently in progress. A Seraph floats lazily, an obvious sash across his chest, and watches two souls ambush a young Cherub of War below. He flips a wing at the Malakite and the Ofanite.

Higher up, the branches of the Groves thrash in a hurtling flurry of air. A group of angels hover around the edges, wings and hair tossed by the winds.

Aron salutes, smartly, then approaches. He spends a few moments watching the exercise, and waiting for the Seraph to imply he is ready for conversation.

The Seraph glances down, shrugs with a hint of a wince, then nods across to Aron. "Afternoon, Virtue. What can I do for you?"

Aron says "There is a newly Redeemed Seraph - Usha - who came this way recently. I was looking for her."

The Seraph thinks. "Newly Redeemed by Dreams, with a reliever with her?"

Aron's smile catches his eyes but not his lips. He nods. "The very one, most Holy."

The Seraph nods. "She went on that way towards the main tents, and she said she was going down into the Caverns. Enthusiastic."

Aron raises his eyebrows. "The Caverns. Well, at least she's enthusiastic." He smiles. "Thank you."

The Seraph says, "No problem." It glances down at where the souls have managed to get the Cherub face-first in the dirt. "Excuse me, would you? He's definitely out of it."

Azalea just watches, silent.

Aron's posture implies laughter. "Of course." He waits for the Seraph to turn, and then heads down towards the tents, angling toward the side that faces the entrance to the caverns.

Azalea asks, quietly, "What are the caverns?"

Aron says "The domain of Stone."

There are a number of entrances to the Caverns throughout the Groves, but the one that Aron has chosen is certainly the most commonly used by visitors. It is a simple cave mouth, the stairs beyond leading downwards glinting slightly in the sunlight.

Aron rubs his chin. "There are those in the Caverns who are not - not as warm towards me as others." His smile is crooked.

Aron folds his wings back as he alights by the cave entrance. "If nothing else, this is as good a time as any for you to see the Caverns. Shall we?"

Azalea says "Of course."

Azalea, being in vessel form still, just walks in.

Aron nods. "Do you know for what Stone stands," he asks, as they enter.

Azalea says "No."

There are no obvious guards set on this entrance. The stairs wind downwards, great white crystals burning flamelessly in dark cup-holders against the walls. The stones are carved of granite, one shade blurring into another.

Aron walks down the steps slowly. His words echo off the dark stone. "Stone is the Word of permanence - it endures, supports and fortifies."

Aron says "David, a Virtue, is the paragon of that Word."

The steps curl downwards in a wide, loose spiral. A distant wave of air breathes cold and dry against the two angels, and a murmur of voices echoes.

Aron grows quiet, as the voices become apparent. "They prioritize strength and community above most things," he says, in closing before moving to the bottom of the steps.

Azalea says "Not the place for me, then."

Aron says "Nor me."

Beyond the end of the steps is a great arching hall, the roof embossed in an intricate pattern of lines, high above the heads of the angels that stand below. An Elohite is chipping at a small piece of marble in his hands. Two Mercurians are discussing a part of the floor's mosaic inlay, one having gone down on his knees to make some point. Smaller passageways lead off in the compass directions - or what might be compass directions - paved in marble, serpentine, beryl, and garnet.

Aron murmurs, "But they do know a particular beauty." He shakes his head, slowly, then waits to be noticed.

Azalea looks as though she'd like to ask something for a moment, but just shakes her head instead.

The Elohite glances across, then rises, movements slow and smooth. His eyes are a deep brown, and he cradles the piece of marble as he moves across.

The Elohite says, "You require assistance?"

Aron nods. Mindful of potential echoes, he murmurs, "We seek a Seraph named Usha, newly Redeemed by Dream. She might have come this way with a reliever in tow."

The Elohite nods. "I remember her, yes. She went down the serpentine corridor. You are barely five minutes behind her." The echoes murmur in the distance, catching the beat of some far-off chant.

Aron nods. "Thank you." He looks to Azalea, and then makes for the appropriate corridor.

Azalea follows in silence.

Again, the corridor seems empty. There is some sort of pattern carved into the serpentine of the floor, perceptible to bare feet, though not quite visible to the naked eye. The crystals on the wall burn with a greener flame, rising and falling.

As they continue down, two panels in the wall become visible, one on either side. Both are of a pale quartz, with a stylised sigil embossed on them, and both have Cherubim sitting beside them, crouching guardlike. From further on comes a brighter light, and the sound of voices.

Aron nods to the Cherubim. "Well met," he murmurs. "We seek the newly Redeemed Seraph, Usha."

The Cherub lifts its head from its paws. It has a dark, sleek panther body. "I do not know her name, but a Seraph passed just now."

Aron nods. "May we follow?"

The Cherub purrs, "Yes. You may."

Aron nods. "Thank you." He passes, then, and continues forward.

The Cherubim move their gazes to Azalea.

Azalea follows Aron, ignoring the Cherubim.

The passageway continues onwards, the weight of rock around them a constant presence, then opens into a room beyond.

The cavern that they enter is all of grey stone, granite and dark marble intertwined and interfolded so that the walls are patterned in serpentine ribbons of shading. Hearts burn in niches in the walls, set in dark hollows which are sculpted to resemble hands or paws or coils or wings. A large lion-Cherub is crouched near the entrance, two serpentine Relievers flittering around its head on pale silvery wings. A Seraph, clearly recognisable as Usha, folds pale wings and regards the Hearts curiously, another flame-scaled reliever perched on her shoulder.

Aron raises an eyebrow. "We've come deeper than I thought," he murmurs to Azalea before nodding to the Cherub.

Usha turns nervously, her wings twitching, then settles them as she recognises the two angels, and dips her head.

The Cherub returns a grave nod to Aron, and one to Azalea. "Greetings."

Azalea whispers back to Aron, "What does that mean?"

Aron replies, "Here are kept the Hearts of those who serve Stone."

<> Demiurge says "Well, some of them, at least. It's not that big a room."

<> Aron says "Roight."

Aron beckons to Usha, with a wave of his hand.

Usha approaches, movements graceful. Tentatively, she says, "Greetings, Servitors of Dream."

Aron offers his hands. "Usha," he says warmly - unusually so. "It is good to see that you are well."

Azalea offers nothing, merely gazing on Usha calmly.

Usha's form shimmers as she manifests enough of her Vessel to have arms. She takes the hands in a soft-palmed clasp.

Usha says, "I am glad to be well. I'm grateful to you both - and to the others."

Usha says, simply, "I hadn't realised how ill I was."

<> arcangel says "Usha, Angel of Understatement contender."

Aron clasps Usha's hands to him for a few moments before releasing them. "You are well, now. I hear you have been exploring Heaven."

Usha smiles more brightly now, and nods. "It was partly wanting to see it, and partly wanting to convince myself that the other place - was lies. You understand?"

Azalea says "Almost."

Aron nods. "I do."

Aron's lips quirk. "Azalea, also, is newly come to Heaven."

Usha blinks. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't realise. Have I said something that he's now going to bring up against you, Azalea?"

Azalea says "Not that I know of."

Aron says "You've said nothing wrong, Usha."

Aron says "So what thoughts have you, after your exploration?"

Usha twitches her tail, thoughtfully.

The Cherub reclines peacefully.

Usha says, "I'm not sure whether I want to serve Flowers or Dreams or War. The Archangel of Dreams Redeemed me, but Flowers was what I dreamed of. Yet War was..." She looks for words. "So very bright."

Aron nods. "You used to be a cook. There is a goodness in that, as well."

Azalea looks at Aron. "A cook?"

Usha tilts her head. "There is an Archangel of Cooking?"

Aron looks wry. "An Angel of Cooking, who serves Creation."

Usha says, thoughtfully, "I hadn't really considered Creation."

Azalea says "I used to send people nightmares of gluttony, warning them that God would hate them if they partook of their favourite delicacies. Inevitably, their faith faltered for a time, lost in dreams of forbidden mousse."

Usha blinks, then simply laughs.

Usha says, "That's *amazing*."

Azalea says "The 70s were an interesting time to be a Nightmare."

Usha says, "They weren't too bad to be a cook, either. Experimental cuisine was hotting up all over the place."

Azalea says "It's hard to see how a cook might benefit Hell, unless you were a very bad cook. Or the kind that would give you a pea and a bean and call it food art."

Usha twitches a wing. "I was the sort of cook who persuaded people into gluttony. They ate, they kept eating, they died bloated and hoarding and keeping food from others."

Usha takes a breath. "But that's over."

<> Azalea says "Ah. A Ukrainian baba."

Azalea says "The question is: do you want to continue with that career, but for the good of others - or would you like to start something new, and leave the past behind?"

Usha is silent a moment, thinking.

Usha says, "It seems a more positive action to use what I have been given against them, in some ways."

Azalea says "It seems so. But unless it was something you loved to do, it will not be so."

Usha twitches a wing again. "I loved cooking. I can at least talk to people who could use it, and see what difference I could make, I suppose."

To one side of the room, a particular Heart blazes up with light, and a whirl of motion forms in front of it.

The Cherub comes abruptly upright, and moves across, nose twitching.

Azalea says "Do what you love, then, if this is what you wish."

Aron listens, quietly. He looks both pleased and amused.

The whirl of motion forms into the body of a Mercurian, curled in front of the Heart as though asleep, wings fallen loosely to cover his face.

Usha nods. "Thank you for helping me think it through. I will."

The Cherub noses at the sleeping Mercurian for a moment, then murmurs to one of the relievers, who flitters towards the tunnelway that leads deeper into the Caverns.

Aron turns to watch the Cherub and the slumbering Mercurian. After a time, he says, "Do you wish help?"

The Cherub glances up, and shakes his head. Tersely, he says, "Trauma."

Aron frowns, and nods. "In the excitement of recent days, I sometimes forget that regular duty is a dangerous thing in its own right."

The Cherub snorts. "It's not something _you_ have to worry about, though."

Aron nods. "No, my brothers and I have a unique talent for dying."

Usha laughs, the sound surprised out of her.

The Cherub reaches across, and adjusts a wing so that the Mercurian sleeps more comfortably.

The Cherub says, "She will wake when she wakes."

Azalea asks, vaguely, "What happened?"

Aron nods, and watches the sleeping Mercurian for a time. He shakes himself out of a reverie, and moves to stand beside Azalea. He listens.

The Cherub glances up. "I don't know. Someone killed her Vessel. She'll tell us when she wakes."

Aron observes, suddenly, "I would not have expected a Mercurian to find herself in a situation of such bodily danger."

The Cherub shrugs. "It's unusual, but it happens sometimes. They don't always get a chance to contact help. Or sometimes there's no choice." There's an echo of something darker, perhaps memory, in its voice.

Aron raises an eyebrow in silent question.

The Cherub shrugs lion-shoulders. "Sometimes you just get cornered in a back street or you find you've jumped in front of a car. Know what I mean?"

Aron nods. "I do." He pauses. "Though generally it is she who does the jumping." He nods at Azalea.

Azalea says "I jump beside cars."

Azalea says "Some of us aren't suicidal."

The Cherub says, "Glad to hear it. It's bad enough having Malakim play yo-yos."

Aron shrugs black-feathered wings. "Out of that perhaps-suicide came Usha."

Usha looks as if she'd rather fade into the wall, but says, "I appreciate it."

Azalea smiles at Aron, a rare event.

Aron does his best not to show how pleased he is at the smile. He achieves some small degree of success.

Usha says, "Actually, I think I'm about finished here - thank you very much, Chabriel, I appreciate it - so should we be going?"

Aron says, to the Cherub. "I am a sculptor, Guardian, and these Caverns have reminded me of beauty. If there is anything ... particularly untoward about this Mercurian's vessel-death, and my help might be meaningful, well. My name is Taroniel."

Aron nods to Usha.

The Cherub nods. "Thank you. We'll remember that. My name is Chabriel. Go in unity, the three of you."

Aron says "And you, Chabriel. Go in light."

The reliever on Usha's shoulder sings a quiet note, and Usha turns to go through the passage leading back up, ducking her head.

Aron will, unless Azalea details, follow towards the exit.

Azalea merely follows, undetailed.

As they come to the large cavern at the exit, they hear again the distant throbbing of some subterranean psalm, the words hidden and only the faint beat and tone perceptible, echoing in the stone.

Usha climbs the steps, towards the light of day.

Aron follows, quietly.

---

Fiat Justitia