#Tamur Priest of the Raven

[tendertenebrosity]

I was kind of sitting on this one until I had written the preceding scene that explains how we got into this predicament, but that seems unlikely to get written any time soon and this is my out-of-context-drabble series, and I wanted to introduce my new OC, so. Required context, I suppose, is: the forest told its servant to do something he objected to, and bad and naughty quasi-immortal instruments get put in the lake until the forest isn’t angry anymore. Masterpost for these guys is here.

It left me in the lake, under the water, for... honestly, I tried to figure it out later and I never could. Maybe weeks?

When the vines finally loosened around me, I was still too lodged in the mud of the lake to really move much, and it didn’t occur to me to try. So whoever it was had to grab me under both shoulders and heave me upright, into air and light and sound.

My chest had stopped trying to reject the water ages ago; so I hung from the hands that held me and didn’t cough or wheeze. I think my eyes were open; I didn’t blink. Honestly, if it had been me I would have assumed I was a dead body.

I felt like one.

By the time the person had pulled me out onto the bank, I was starting to catch on, to move my limbs and try to hold my head up under my own power. I could hear the person talking, but I didn’t register anything they were saying; fingers, shockingly warm, touched my neck and the side of my face.

They pulled me over onto my front, and I guess my body figured I was going to be alive after all so I might as well try and get the water out. I coughed and spluttered, pushed myself up with my shaking forearms, and dragged in breath after breath of burning air. It probably would have been more efficient to just hang me upside down.

The stranger made encouraging sounds and held me upright. I think they might’ve asked me a couple of questions; I was too out of it to respond.

I couldn’t see. I could only barely feel my arms and legs. The person moved around me in a blur of colour, only easy to pick out because they were wearing a garment that was bright red.

After a little while, they picked me up bodily and carried me away from the mud of the bank, and I was pathetically, exhaustedly grateful.

Time slipped away from me again, until the person in red said something as they were propping me up somewhere, in a sitting position. It was warmer here; the sensation of air against my dry skin was disorienting and unfamiliar. I scraped together enough of my mind to register words. “… you hear me?”

“Yhs,” I managed to mumble.

“That’s really good.” Their voice was deep, with an unfamiliar accent. “Stay with me.”

Something heavy and soft was wrapped around my shoulders; the material was coarse against the bare skin of my forearms and my neck.

Red moved in my field of vision again. “Here you go. This will help.”

I took the thing they pushed into my hands without really understanding what it was; they wrapped my fingers around it with theirs before letting go.

It was a cup, earthenware glazed red and orange in patterns, and warm. The smell hit me in the next moment like something tangible; some sort of stock or broth, savoury and hot. I was suddenly much more awake.

“Go slow,” the person said.

I nodded, wordless, and sipped the broth. It was the best thing I had ever had. I didn’t recognise anything specific, herbs or whatever, but… oh. I could feel the warmth spread through my chest and belly. How long had it been since I’d had anything hot to drink or eat? How since I’d had anything at all, actually?

As I sipped, slowly, I started to come back to myself. Or out of myself, possibly.  The blanket I was wrapped in was woven in patterns, too; I spent a little while tracing them with my eyes as I struggled to focus.

I managed to look up from the cup and my own lap, in little pieces. There was a fire in front of me, leaping orange-red and radiating heat against my face and arms. A metal frame sat over it, with a round metal pot. The structure that was looming to the right was a low tent made of leather.

I curled my toes, cautiously rolled my shoulders and flexed my fingers. I was dully surprised that nothing hurt. Outside the circle of firelight, night was falling, the soft calls of animals ringing through the early darkness that fell underneath the roof of the canopy.

Underneath the wool blanket that was wrapped around my shoulders, I had another lying over my lap and legs; under that I suspected I was still barefoot and in the ragged shirt I’d gone into the water in. I could feel the layer of mud drying against my skin.

The person in red got up to tend the fire, pulling the pot towards them with a hook to check on it.

Of course. The fire. My mind was clearing enough for me to be alarmed.

“Hey,” I croaked. “Be… be careful with fires, here. You have to… the wood, it isn’t…”

The stranger looked up at me, and smiled, and I got my first good look. A man, maybe a little less than thirty, with amber skin and thick, straight black hair pulled away from his face. His eyes were black and the corners crinkled with the smile.

“It’s all right, we have permission for fires,” he said. “Thanks for the warning, though. How are you doing over there?”

“I - mm.” I looked down into the cup. My hands were shaking where they were wrapped around it. “Permission? You have - who from?”

“The forest,” he said.

I shuddered and nearly dropped the cup of broth. “What - How? You kn-know about the… Did it speak to you?”

“No, not to me,” he said. “Gods don’t really like to speak to humans that aren’t their devotees; I understand it’s a bit difficult for them.”

“I - okay - but -”

“It spoke to the Raven, though. They’re still talking now. I -” He sat back on his heels, and lifted a hand to his head, raking his fingers through the hair at his temple. The red coat was woollen, reached his knees and was crossed by a wide leather belt. He looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, that’s a lot of information. Isn’t it?”

“No - yes, no, how do… How do you…” I stabilised the cup against my knee, swallowed against the knot in my throat. How do you know about all of this? How did you find me? Did the forest give you permission to interfere with me, too?

“Well, let’s just step back a bit, then,” he said gently. “Can I ask for a name for you? Is that all right?”

“I...” I hunched my shoulders under the blanket, suddenly overwhelmed. “Ciaran,” I said, all at once, as if I thought somebody was going to stop me. Maybe the forest. I don’t know. “I’m Ciaran. My name’s Ciaran.”

He smiled, and those eyes crinkled again. “It’s good to meet you, Ciaran.” He laid a hand on his chest. “I’m Tamur. I’m the junior priest of a god called the Raven.”

Another god? That raised almost as many questions as it answered.

“Tamur,” I repeated, thickly. I took a deep breath, let it out. Water crackled somewhere inside; oh, ugh, did he know about that? About my lack of a heart? He had to. What was he going to think? “Okay.”

“We’re just passing through,” Tamur said. “The Raven and I, I mean. It didn’t know the forest god was still here, but since it is they got to talking, and we learned about you.”

Wait, when he said ‘devotee’, did he mean he was like me?

Or, well. Probably not that much like me. My hands were shaking again.

Tamur got to his feet and started to circle around the fire towards me.

“How are you feeling, Ciaran?” he asked. He looked worried. “Are you - ”

I managed to put the cup down in front of me without spilling any of it, before I lost it. I covered my face with my hands and absolutely hated the keening noise that came out of my mouth.

“Oh,” I heard, and Tamur sounded genuinely distressed. “I’m sorry, Ciaran, did I - is there anything I can…”

He was being so nice. That was what undid me. The hot broth, the blanket around my shoulders that was heavy and warm, having someone human in front of me to talk to and to call me by name - all of that, yes, but he spoke so gently.

The last - weeks? Months? I didn’t even know how long it was before I’d spent that time under the water - had been such a parade of horrors. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore. Things crawled and trickled inside of my ribs, and the joints of my limbs felt fresh and tender like healing scars, and the spaces inside my mind were huge and cold, reeling and echoing with disbelief and disgust.

And now I sat here, with what was probably somebody’s favourite blanket over my filthy mud-encrusted legs, and that somebody looked at me with worried eyes and talked to me like I was something precious and fragile.

I tried to smother the ugly noises, in a way I hadn’t when it was just me and the forest. Who cared what the forest thought, but the first person to touch my hands and face in fucking months was going to see what an absolute mangled wreckage I was, and I cared about that.

I felt a cautious touch on my shoulder, just an instant before it moved away. The red blur I could see between my cracked fingers seemed to indicate that Tamur was kneeling in front of me, his hand out over my shoulder like he wanted to touch it again.

“It’s all right,” he was saying. “Oh, Ciaran, I’m sorry. I should have expected. Just breathe. It’s all right.”

I couldn’t get enough breath to say that I wouldn’t have minded if he touched my shoulder - and anyway how do you say that?

It was easy, though, to let myself pitch forward, blanket and all, so that my head smacked awkwardly into his shoulder and I had to catch myself with one hand on his leg.

If Tamur was surprised, he recovered quickly; he wrapped his arms around my shoulders as easily as if he’d been raised beside me with my cousins and my brother. The red coat smelled like smoke and some sort of sharp herb and underneath that, human. I breathed it in as I cried.

Tamur’s hand smoothed the blanket over my back, a slow pressure from between my shoulderblades down over my ribs. Up and down in a soothing rhythm. “I know. I’m so sorry. It’s all right. Shhhh. You’re going to be all right. ”

I wasn’t. There had been no possibility of me being ‘all right’ for weeks. But he squeezed my shoulders like he believed it, and maybe I could too if I just sat here long enough.

[tendertenebrosity]

Masterpost for the Hollow is here. This is something of a sequel to here.

As we walked, I started to feel a prickle at the back of my neck. It was the first time I’d had any sort of acknowledgement from the forest since it had put me in the water.

It put a sick pit of dread in the pit of my stomach. I made sure I was never too far from Tamur - I didn’t see any reason it couldn’t summon a mouthpiece with him around, but it seemed to be reluctant.

I knew I was going to have to talk to it eventually; I’m not stupid. And Tamur had been trying to help me through what I was going to say. Maybe it wouldn’t be angry anymore. Maybe it would consider the matter over with. I wouldn’t know until I spoke to it.

Just… not yet.

But the prickle didn’t dissipate as the day wore on. It got worse. And by the time we set up camp that afternoon, I could feel the forest’s presence weighing down on us.

Tamur kept looking up at the canopy, his forehead creasing. He could feel it, too; maybe not as well as me, but he could feel it. “Um, Ciaran,” he said apologetically. “I think… I think the forest would probably like to talk to you without us around.”

I cast him a panicked look. I know, I was trying to pretend I hadn’t noticed.

He was looking at me sympathetically. He gave a little shrug and flick of his eyes, as if to say, I’m sorry, but you have to go. I can’t help you with this.

The Raven shuffled its feathers and made a little grumbling noise in its throat. Was I imagining that it was giving me the exact same look? Possibly.

Don’t make me, I wanted to plead with them both. Don’t leave me alone with it.

But they were right; even if the Raven was inclined to help me, it couldn’t put my heart back in my chest or un-speak the words I’d spoken in the forest’s centre.

I managed a forced smile. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll just walk up the hill a little way. Won’t go far.”

Tamur reached out and squeezed my shoulder as I passed. “Brave heart, Ciaran,” he said softly. “You’ll do fine. I’ll make you some tea when you get back.”

I nodded, smiled even though I felt sick. I turned away from the camp, and slowly picked my way up through the trees, choosing my footing carefully amongst the tumbled stones and wet leaves. I still didn’t have any shoes, and the last thing I wanted was to slip and break something. As I got further away, I heard a hushed conversation start up, between Tamur and presumably the Raven.

Once I reached the top of a little rise, and was out of sight and sound of the camp, I stopped. And waited.

The force of the forest’s regard intensified; it had been strong down near camp, but up here the weight of it felt like it was crushing me. It didn’t speak. It just loomed.

I couldn’t help but let my head bow underneath that weight. I stood there, feeling light-headed and sick with terror, waiting for it to say something already. Every tiny noise sawed at my nerves until I could have screamed just from the tension. Of course it was still angry, of course. Why would I think it wasn’t?

Nothing.

My nerve broke.

I swallowed hard, and went to my knees. Awkwardly, hurting them as I fell.

“I - I’m here,” I said to the shivering silence. I forced the words out past my unwilling throat. “I was - I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry?”

A rustle, a flicker of wings. An owl, pure white, landed on an outcropping of stone further up the hill.

“You are recovered from your punishment,” it said. It wasn’t a question, more of a statement.

I shivered. Don’t put me back there. Don’t put me back in the dark and the cold where I can’t breathe. Please. What do I have to do to make sure you don’t do that to me again? “I am. G-great forest god.”

“Honorifics from you do not move me.”

I swallowed again. It had been worth a try. “Okay. Okay, I, I know.”

“As for your other statement. That you are sorry.” It fixed me with deep yellow eyes. “Are you?”

I let my gaze drop. Oh, no.  

It’d been listening. Tamur warned me. Or maybe it could just tell.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to say that I was; to repeat my lie. Terror and resentment boiled in my chest, and I was a little impressed that the resentment was still holding on. There was such an awful lot of terror.

I couldn’t. Those people were dead and they didn’t deserve it; none of us deserved it. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t just and… if I said that I was going back into the lake again, wasn’t I?

“I, I, I understand that I shouldn’t question you,” I said, miserably. “I know why you… why you’re angry. It’s just. I just.” I took a deep breath. “I just can’t! It wasn’t right!”

I didn’t give the owl any chance to interject; I needed to finish. It might be the last thing I ever said to anybody, so damned if I was going to stop before I was done.

“I know that I, I disobeyed, and I’m sorry you’re angry,” I said, tripping over the words. “But I couldn’t do what you wanted. If you asked me again right now, I still don’t think I could! I’m not sorry!”

My outburst rang out among the trees, louder than I’d expected. Fuck. I’d said it. The exact thing I knew that I shouldn’t say.  

My hands shook; I grabbed a fold of the shirt Tamur had loaned me and twisted it, my shoulders tensed as I waited for the blow to fall.

Nothing came. The owl sat there and looked at me, and the wind lifted the branches all around in a roar, and nothing happened.

“Please,” I said. I choked on the next few words; on my resentment and humiliation, but now I’d said my piece, the terror won out over them. “I - please, don’t hurt me any more. Please.” My voice cracked. “I’m doing the best I can.”

The wind died down. The owl moved; turned to preen a wing feather, almost languid.

“The Raven is much smaller than I,” the owl said. “But it has a wealth of experience of humans.”

I caught my breath, startled by the change of subject. Hope flickered. “I… yes?”

“We have had much discussion, the last few days, on the subject of humans and their… strengths and limitations,” the owl said. It fluffed itself up, then smoothed, all of its feathers settling into place with eerie coordination. “I find it is correct on this much: I am pleased that you chose not to lie to me.”

Utter confusion.

“You… are?”

“Yes.” The owl hopped, flew up over my head into the trees. “Go back to them. You will travel with the Raven priest as far as the eastern border. We will speak more on the journey; do not wait so long to be alone next time.”

That was it?

I craned my neck around, but the owl was… gone. The wind that played with the branches just seemed to be wind; I no longer felt like I was being pressed down into the earth.

I let myself sink down onto my heels and then into a seated position, ignoring the rock that stabbed me in the calf. I felt shaky; dizzy with relief. My cheeks were cold; I lifted a hand to swipe away the tears that ran down them.

I had not thanked the Raven enough.

When I came down the hill again, around the thicket of trees, Tamur was sitting by the fire mending something. His head jerked up as I stepped on something that crackled.

“Ciaran!” he exclaimed, his face alight. He put the mending aside hastily and stood. His eyes searched my face. “You’re back! Are you well?”

“Yes,” I said, still a little dizzy with relief. I scrubbed at my cheek, hoping he couldn’t see tear trails. “I’m fine. I spoke to the forest - it, I think it’s over. It doesn’t seem to be angry… it said I should travel with you to where you’re going. I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” Tamur said, briskly. “Of course! Now - I promised you tea! Where did I put it?”

You weren’t sure, I thought, watching his back as he dug through the pack. You hid it okay when I left, but now I’m back… you thought there was a decent chance I wasn’t coming back down that hill in one piece, didn’t you?

But there was nothing you could have done about it.

The Raven sidled up to the fire. Its glossy beak tilted as it looked from Tamur, to me, and back. It chuckled deep in its feather-ruffed throat.

I wondered what it had said to the forest.

[tendertenebrosity]

Masterpost is here. You have not missed a piece, I am just posting pieces at random and without context.

When the vines finally loosened around me, I was still too lodged in the mud of the lake to really move much, and it didn’t occur to me to try. So whoever it was had to grab me under both shoulders and heave me upright, into air and light and sound.

My chest had stopped trying to reject the water ages ago; so I hung from the hands that held me and didn’t cough or wheeze. I think my eyes were open; I didn’t blink. Honestly, if it had been me I would have assumed I was a dead body.

I felt like one.

By the time the person had pulled me out onto the bank, I was starting to catch on, to move my limbs and try to hold my head up under my own power. I could hear the person talking, but I didn’t register anything they were saying; fingers, shockingly warm, touched my neck and the side of my face.

They pulled me over onto my front, and I guess my body figured I was going to be alive after all so I might as well try and get the water out. I coughed and spluttered, pushed myself up with my shaking forearms, and dragged in breath after breath of burning air. It probably would have been more efficient to just hang me upside down.

The stranger made encouraging sounds and held me upright. I think they might’ve asked me a couple of questions; I was too out of it to respond.

I couldn’t see. I could only barely feel my arms and legs. The person moved around me in a blur of colour, only easy to pick out because they were wearing a garment that was bright red.

After a little while, they picked me up bodily and carried me away from the mud of the bank, and I was pathetically, exhaustedly grateful.

Time slipped away from me again, until the person in red said something as they were propping me up somewhere, in a sitting position. It was warmer here; the sensation of air against my dry skin was disorienting and unfamiliar. I scraped together enough of my mind to register words. “… you hear me?”

“Yhs,” I managed to mumble.

“That’s really good.” Their voice was deep, with an unfamiliar accent. “Stay with me.”

Something heavy and soft was wrapped around my shoulders; the material was coarse against the bare skin of my forearms and my neck.

Red moved in my field of vision again. “Here you go. This will help.”

I took the thing they pushed into my hands without really understanding what it was; they wrapped my fingers around it with theirs before letting go.

It was a cup, earthenware glazed red and orange in patterns, and warm. The smell hit me in the next moment like something tangible; some sort of stock or broth, savoury and hot. I was suddenly much more awake.

“Go slow,” the person said.

I nodded, wordless, and sipped the broth. It was the best thing I had ever had. I didn’t recognise anything specific, herbs or whatever, but… oh. I could feel the warmth spread through my chest and belly. How long had it been since I’d had anything hot to drink or eat? How since I’d had anything at all, actually?

As I sipped, slowly, I started to come back to myself. Or out of myself, possibly.  The blanket I was wrapped in was woven in patterns, too; I spend a little while tracing them with my eyes as I struggled to focus.

I managed to look up from the cup and my own lap, in little pieces. There was a fire in front of me, leaping orange-red and radiating heat against my face and arms. A metal frame sat over it, with a round metal pot. The structure that was looming to the right was a low tent made of leather.

I curled my toes, cautiously rolled my shoulders and flexed my fingers. I was dully surprised that nothing hurt. Outside the circle of firelight, night was falling, the soft calls of animals ringing through the early darkness that fell underneath the roof of the canopy.

Underneath the wool blanket that was wrapped around my shoulders, I had another lying over my lap and legs; under that I suspected I was still barefoot and in the ragged shirt I’d gone into the water in. I could feel the layer of mud drying against my skin.

The person in red got up to tend the fire, pulling the pot towards them with a hook to check on it.

Of course. The fire. My mind was clearing enough for me to be alarmed.

“Hey,” I croaked. “Be… be careful with fires, here. You have to… the wood, it isn’t…”

The stranger looked up at me, and smiled, and I got my first good look. A man, with clear amber skin and thick, straight black hair pulled away from his face. His eyes were black and the corners crinkled with the smile.

“It’s all right, we have permission for fires,” he said. “Thanks for the warning, though. How are you doing over there?”

“I - mm.” I looked down into the cup. My hands were shaking where they were wrapped around it. “Permission? You have - who from?”

“The forest,” he said.

I shuddered and nearly dropped the cup of broth. “What - How? You kn-know about the… Did it speak to you?”

“No, not to me,” he said. “Gods don’t really like to speak to humans that aren’t their devotees; I understand it’s a bit difficult for them.”

“I - okay - but -”

“It spoke to the Raven, though. They’re still talking now. I -” He sat back on his heels, and lifted a hand to his head, raking his fingers through the hair at his temple. The red coat was woolen, reached his knees and was crossed by a wide leather belt. He looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, that’s a lot of information. Isn’t it?”

“No - yes, no, how do… How do you…” I stabilised the cup against my knee, swallowed against the knot in my throat. How do you know about all of this? How did you find me? Did the forest give you permission to interfere with me, too?

“Well, let’s just step back a bit, then,” he said gently. “Can I ask for a name for you? Is that all right?”

“I...” I hunched my shoulders under the blanket, suddenly overwhelmed. “Ciaran,” I said, all at once, as if I thought somebody was going to stop me. Maybe the forest. I don’t know. “I’m Ciaran. My name’s Ciaran.”

He smiled, and those eyes crinkled again. “It’s good to meet you, Ciaran.” He laid a hand on his chest. “I’m Tamur. I’m the junior priest of a god called the Raven.”

Another god? That raised almost as many questions as it answered.

“Tamur,” I repeated, thickly. I took a deep breath, let it out. Water crackled somewhere inside; oh, ugh, did he know about that? About my lack of a heart? He had to. What was he going to think? “Okay.”

“We’re just passing through,” Tamur said. “The Raven and I, I mean. It didn’t know the forest god was still here, but since it is they got to talking, and we learned about you.”

Wait, when he said ‘devotee’, did he mean he was like me?

Or, well. Probably not that much like me. My hands were shaking again.

Tamur got to his feet and started to circle around the fire towards me.

“How are you feeling, Ciaran?” he asked. He looked worried. “Are you - ”

I managed to put the cup down in front of me without spilling any of it, before I lost it. I covered my face with my hands and absolutely hated the keening noise that came out of my mouth.

“Oh,” I heard, and Tamur sounded genuinely distressed. “I’m sorry, Ciaran, did I - is there anything I can…”

He was being so nice. That was what undid me. The hot broth, the blanket around my shoulders that was heavy and warm, having someone human in front of me to talk to and to call me by name - all of that, yes, but he spoke so gently.

The last - weeks? Months? I didn’t even know how long I’d spent under the water - had been such a parade of horrors. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore. Things crawled and trickled inside of my ribs, and the joints of my limbs felt fresh and tender like healing scars, and the spaces inside my mind were huge and cold, reeling and echoing with disbelief and disgust.

And now I sat here, with what was probably somebody’s favourite blanket over my filthy mud-encrusted legs, and that somebody looked at me with worried eyes and talked to me like I was something precious and fragile.

I tried to smother the ugly noises, in a way I hadn’t when it was just me and the forest. Who cared what the forest thought, but the first person to touch my hands and face in fucking weeks was going to see what an absolute mangled wreckage I was, and I cared about that.

I felt a cautious touch on my shoulder, just an instant before it moved away. The red blur I could see between my cracked fingers seemed to indicate that Tamur was kneeling in front of me, his hand out over my shoulder like he wanted to touch it again.

“It’s all right,” he was saying. “Oh, Ciaran, I’m sorry. I should have expected. Just breathe. It’s all right.”

I couldn’t get enough breath to say that I wouldn’t have minded if he touched my shoulder - and anyway how do you say that?

It was easy, though, to let myself pitch forward, blanket and all, so that my head smacked awkwardly into his shoulder and I had to catch myself with one hand on his leg.

If Tamur was surprised, he recovered quickly; he wrapped his arms around my shoulders as easily as if he’d been raised beside me with my cousins and my brother. The red coat smelled like smoke and some sort of sharp herb and underneath that, human. I breathed it in as I cried.

Tamur’s hand smoothed the blanket over my back, a slow pressure from between my shoulderblades down over my ribs. Up and down in a soothing rhythm. “I know. I’m so sorry. It’s all right. Shhhh. You’re going to be all right. ”

I wasn’t. There had been no possibility of me being ‘all right’ for weeks. But he squeezed my shoulders like he believed it, and maybe I could too if I just sat here long enough.