[PM to Join] Give up on the Light

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, 67 Roalis, 2719
Cliffs, to the South of the Rose

Aremu found himself turning, slightly, towards Lars. He kept his right arm against his side, still, hidden behind his body and the leg stretched out over the ground. They were not quite facing one another, both at slightly off angles, but it was easier, looking at him that way.

He had thought Lars would answer the question; he had tried to find one which would not ask too much of him, or at least not for more than he wanted to give. Aremu nodded slightly at the first part of the question. He, too, liked the sea and the warmth; it was cold in the Rose, very cold, in the worst parts of the year, but not nearly as bad as Vienda in the winter. He grinned a little at the comment about warmth in Mugroba, and half-readied himself to say something about it.

And then Lars kept going, offering a little more, and Aremu kept his eyes on the other passive’s face and did not look away. He hesitated, then, not quite sure what to say. Yes, he thought; here was all the confirmation he had not needed, and he was still not sure if he had wanted. But he had made the first inroads, in mentioning Brunnhold, and he did not mind –

He did not mind.

Aremu nodded. “Yes,” he said, softly, the last of his smile gone. To feel like a person.

He had no soul, they had told him, when he was found to be a passive. That was what it meant; that was why he would never feel the mona. He had no soul; he had no honor. He could never be a man, not as a galdor could; not, even, as a human could. He had been ten years old, and he had lived all his life believing that he was like the rest, and in a moment it was gone, and he knew himself for what he was.

The Mugrobi was quiet for a few moments, his chest rising and falling slowly. The warmth of the sun against his bare skin was pleasant; the heat soaked into him, and warmed him through. He took a deep breath, and he began. He did not want to force the knowing on Lars, but he thought – he thought it likely the other man did not know. He did not know if it would help or hurt him to hear about the imbala – about the Turtle – about Thul’Amat.

“It is different in Mugroba,” Aremu said, quietly. “I could tell you about it, if you like.” There was space between them, so much space, and Aremu felt the oddest desire to close it – to move closer to Lars. He did not; he thought perhaps it was better this way, to try and maintain the illusion of distance.

Aremu’s eyes fixed on Lars’s face, and he searched him for a moment, and he added, so soft that it was only a faint echo of words above the wind. “I cannot promise it will not hurt,” he said, as gently as he could. “I do not mind if you refuse.”

[Lars]

cliffs, south of the rose
roalis 67, 2719 ❁ late morning

Lars wondered if he had said something out of place, again, wondered again if he should have stayed silent like the better part of his mind had warned, if he should excuse himself and leave now, and leave Aremu to the rest of his morning in peace. He kept still, despite these thoughts, kept his gaze fixed across the little way and on the other man's form, slightly turned. Maybe it was the better option right now, if he did leave, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to stay, and take in as much of the sun as he could, a relief from the rains that had soaked them both through at their first meeting.

So he did.

And when Aremu spoke again, offering to give even more information about his home, Lars found himself nodding before he'd even thought it through, before the man had even finished talking. Of course he wanted to hear - he would listen to anything, if only to stay and feel welcome in someone's presence, but it truly did intrigue him beyond that simple fact. He'd heard rumors about how passives were treated in Mugroba, but he'd always dismissed them as wishful thinking and hearsay; Aremu knew the truth of it.

Lars straightened up a bit, finally, lifting his head from his knees, "yes, I would love to hear about it."

Cursing himself even as he did it, the passive scooted slightly closer, leaving the majority of the distance between them intact but removing some of it for better ease in hearing him - he settled against the ground, lying back against the grass as he'd seen Aremu doing before. He let his eyes wander, tracing the clouds as they passed by, chased by the wind. If he was at all nervous about hearing about the different treatment of their kind in Mugroba, he didn't show it, and seemed content to lie there and listen.

His hands met over his chest, bony fingers entwining themselves, thumbs tapping lightly against each other. It hadn't been so difficult to keep them still, before he'd come to the harbor, but nowadays he found himself moving his hands about more often than not, as if they had minds of their own and were fully determined to do nothing but move.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, 67 Roalis, 2719
Cliffs, to the South of the Rose

Lars agreed, and he came closer – just a little, inching across the dry grass. He lay back, then, resting back against the long yellow blades of grass, staring up at the sky. Aremu was glad; he thought perhaps it would be easier if they did not need to look at one another. He let his own gaze drift back out to the water, but he did not turn back away from Lars, and sitting as he was, he could not but see him in the corner of his eye, a faint glimpse of color between the yellow stalks, the impression of a man on the cliffside.

Aremu had offered to talk about it, but he had not yet thought of where to start. He studied the sea as he thought about it, and he did not rush; he took his time, slow and deliberate, because he wanted to get it right. He wondered what Lars had heard; he wondered if they whispered about Mugroba in Brunnhold the way they whispered about Anaxas and Bastia and Hesse in the Turtle. He thought it would be wiser if it were kept from them; he thought he, himself, would rather not know.

But Lars was here, in the Rose, and Aremu had warned him, and he had not hesitated.

“Thul Ka sits at the joining of three rivers, encircled in layers of walls to keep out the desert beyond,” Aremu said, softly. “In the middle of the city there is an island called the Turtle, with walls of its own, and three bridges joining it to the rest of the city,” he felt as if he were telling a story to a child; he felt the odd and unpleasant urge to find a blanket to lay over Lars, to tuck him in.

Aremu cleared his throat. “The Turtle is full of – imbali. That is what we are called, in Mugrobi. Not passives, not scraps. Imbali, and the word for one of us is imbala.” He looked down at himself, and brushed a scrap of grass from the knee of his pants. “Imbali live in the Turtle, and sometimes in the rest of the city or along the Turga River, and even on the Muluku Islands. We have husbands and wives and children, and they are imbali as well, most of the time, although we come from galdori too. We have land and shops and homes. We sell books and spices and bread, and whatever else you can imagine,” he was quiet.

“We,” Aremu said, slowly, “are apart, but we are not confined. We can live as close to how people do as we like,” he closed his eyes, now, and it was Aremu’s turn to rest his chin on his knee, to feel the sun. “We can attend Thul’Amat, the university of Mugroba. I did.” He swallowed, hard, and did not elaborate.

“In Mugroba, we prize honesty,” Aremu continued. “A galdor’s word – a man’s word – is his honor, but – ” He found his throat beginning to close again, and he held there, and pressed his forehead against his knee. He swallowed, hard, and forced himself onward. Speaking of it changed nothing; it was true even if kept silent.

“Without a soul, one cannot know honesty,” Aremu explained. “One cannot have honor,” His fingers tangled in the grass, and held, tight, and he passed along from those words, because he could not linger too long. “But you can have a life, all the same, and do the best that you can despite that. You can choose what to be, where to go. I am not… grateful, for having been born lacking, but I am grateful for that I could choose, no matter how poor my choices.”

Aremu found his eyes had opened again, and he turned his head from Lars, and fixed his gaze on the horizon, searching for the spot where the sea met the sky.

[Lars]

cliffs, south of the rose
roalis 67, 2719 ❁ late morning

The passive allowed himself to relax into the grass, eyes searching the skies for a moment before, ultimately, closing. He didn't need to add any pressure on the other man by looking at him as he spoke, and was content to just lie back and listen. Aremu spoke of Thul Ka again, of the rivers that joined at - what was it he'd said? - at the heart of all life, and he wondered what that meant, but he was too curious about everything else that came from Aremu's mouth to ponder the single sentence.

The Turtle. Imbali. And Aremu was... imbala. Did that mean that Lars, too, was... that? Imbala… perhaps it was simply because he didn't know the language, but it sounded softer, and less of a label as opposed to just a description. He wanted to try it out on his tongue, say the word himself and see if it felt any less harsh than passive but didn't, and allowed the man to continue on without interference.

He wished he could see these places before him, imagine them in their entirety - Thul Ka, the Turtle, the Turga River, the Muluku Islands. He wished he could imagine the scene in his head; passives living alongside or at least near galdori, living out their lives as Aremu said, but he couldn't. He wished to, desperately, but couldn't. He was doing the extent of it right now, living in the harbor alongside others, but it was a rocky position, and one he wouldn't dare risking. If things didn't work out here, then where would he go? If he was found out - not for being passive, but for the things he'd done - what would happen then? Back to Brunnhold? No, he supposed not. He was grateful for the Seventen's rather lacking presence in the harbor, because he did not wish to find out what fate could await him.

The mention of Thul'Amat - their university, he said - made Lars open his eyes, although he still remained quiet, not feeling any need to interject. It was perhaps more surprising to him that they'd let their passives attend school than it was that they let them marry or have children. Did that mean Aremu could read?

Of course it did, that was a foolish thing to wonder. Fionn had been able to read, Jamie had been able to read, everybody could and they hadn't even attended any university. He didn't voice that redundant question, because he didn't need to, and because he didn't want to make himself seem even more of a towhead than he already had.

It wasn't until the mention of a soul that Lars felt compelled to speak, glancing over to Aremu with a hint of confusion.

"A... soul?" he repeated, quietly, for he had heard the word before but had never understood its meaning, "is that a field?"

He was unaware of his misunderstandings, but it made sense to him all the same - they were only lacking in magic, were they not? So it made sense for that to be this soul - but he couldn't believe himself lacking honor, or honesty, because he might not have a field of his own but he had something. He could feel it, if he tried, he could feel it from Aremu, too. Were those not the souls he mentioned?

"....I'm glad that a place like that exists," Lars gave, and despite any measure of jealousy he felt for having been given the life he had here instead, he was not bitter.

"It's nice to know that not everyone, everywhere, is afraid of us - and that we're allowed value. I'm glad for it."

He found himself glancing over at the other man again, eyes sweeping over his bare skin, as if searching for something in his sudden curiosity.

"Do they... mark you, in Mugroba? When they find no field?"

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, 67 Roalis, 2719
Cliffs, to the South of the Rose

Lars’s question caught Aremu off-guard, and he was silent for a long time in response, long enough that Lars kept talking, offering up that Aremu had not hurt him – offering up that he was glad to know about Mugroba, that things were different somewhere else in the world. Aremu stared out at the distant horizon, and he still held the earth tight beneath his fingers, chest rising and falling slowly against his thigh.

Aremu felt the prickle of eyes against his skin, and turned, looking over and down at Lars. “Mark us?” He asked, not understanding, and glanced down at himself, frowning slightly. He looked back at Lars, then, and he did understand, abruptly, and he felt something churn in his stomach. “… No.” He said, after a moment, jaw clenching, and looked back out at the sea.

There was a little more silence between them, and it was not pleasant this time, not for Aremu. Lars’s question weighed on him; it deserved an answer, but there was so much to say in response to it – things that Aremu thought perhaps better left unsaid. But he had begun down the path, and Lars had asked – and he was an imbala too, and Aremu understood now that no one had told him. Better to know, he thought, even if he did not wish to be a bloody instrument wielded against the other man once more.

“Soul – is – it isn’t the right word,” Aremu said, slowly. “There is a word in Mugrobi which means… that which lets you have honor,” he closed his eyes again, and drew his second leg up, and wrapped both arms around them, covering his right wrist with his left hand, as if he could hide the lack. He was sorry, now, that he had turned towards Lars, but he felt it too selfish to turn away, and so he did not.

“The soul is – what you carry with you,” Aremu explained, “when you return to the cycle. Perhaps we could say it is the you which returns,” There was no judgment in his voice for Lars’ lack of knowledge.

“Your…” Aremu grimaced, faintly, against his legs, “your source of honor, as one might call it, is different,” he swallowed and he was aware, painfully, of the difference between knowing something and being asked to put words to it aloud. “It is that source of honor which we lack, not only a field. That is why we cannot reach the mona, why we do not have a field.”

Aremu held there, and he was shivering despite the warmth of the sun, clinging to himself on the cliffside. He thought longingly of that moment when he had climbed the rocks – when he had been afraid and it had been a fear he could control, mixed with the wild joy of its conquering. He kept his eyes closed, now, and wondered how they had marked Lars; he wondered if he still carried it on his skin, that mark, and how he managed his work if so. He did not ask.

[Lars]

cliffs, south of the rose
roalis 67, 2719 ❁ late morning

Aremu wasn't pleased with him - or wasn't pleased with his words, he couldn't tell, and he didn't think the distinction mattered. If he'd been wondering before if he should stop talking, now was his confirmation, and Lars turned his head away, looking back toward the Rose. He felt a creeping feeling at the back of his head, like fingers crawling upward into his hair, or perhaps like eyes burning into his scalp, he couldn't tell.

The explanation of soul made sense - somewhat, anyway, he was perhaps not as well educated on the matter of the cycle as others - and Lars didn't bother questioning Aremu any more on that matter. Those were things he didn't often think about, if at all - he thought of death, but not of returning. It was a wild concept, to him, and his family had never been all that religious or inclined to teach him about the way life and death worked. He didn't figure he needed to know; he'd find out when it happened.

What made less sense was the repeated mention of not having honor, or rather not having the capacity or the ability to have it. It was odd, and he wasn't sure he'd heard that idea before. Oh, he'd heard plenty of times that they were cursed, broken, what have you - but he'd never heard it defined in such a way. He'd heard that they didn't deserve the mona, but not that they didn't have the ability to deserve it, not that something such as a lack of honor kept them from bending the mona to their will.

He wasn't sure that he believed that. The lack of magic was a tangible thing, he could understand it somewhat, make sense of it in his head due to the clear distinction of field or no field, but... that was something else. Something more ideological, and he couldn't grasp it. He had honesty, he had honor - not that he was a great example of either, but he wasn't incapable.

But it felt wrong to deny the man's words, which he seemed to believe, and so Lars only offered, "that doesn't seem fair, to be told we have no honor and not have any chance to gain it."

It was all he said of that, sensing the subject a tough one for the other passive. He hadn't meant to strain him, but he hadn't known that the answers would be so melancholic. The imbali were free, in Mugroba, but still couldn't escape the bias. He supposed something was better than nothing, but he was tired of thinking that he was truly lesser. He was different, sure, and not as capable as he wanted to be... but not lesser.

Slowly, Lars pushed himself up on his elbows, back into a sitting position. A few strands of colorless hair fell into his face, but he didn't appear to mind, too preoccupied with his thoughts to care. He was quiet for a bit, looking to the horizon, lost in thought.

"Can you feel it, too?" the question fell like a whisper of someone else's words, his gaze still faraway at sea, "....next to me, here, can you feel it?" and the Hessean finally turned his head, observing the other with some strange emptiness. He looked back to the water and breathed deep.

"If you just concentrate, and tune everything else out...." the passive shook his head, then, eyes cast downward to his hands, a faint dusting of pink rising to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"I should leave you," nodded Lars, "I've probably taken up too much of your morning already. I didn't intend to keep you from your climbing."

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, 67 Roalis, 2719
Cliffs, to the South of the Rose

Not fair, Aremu thought, was a funny thing to call it. He said nothing; he had found his limit, the place from which he could go no further. He knew it, sitting there holding his legs, and he did not fight it, and did not try to speak.

Now Lars knew, if he had not before. Aremu did not think he understood. Did they not know, here in Anaxas, what they were? He could understand; perhaps it did not matter, the knowing, if you were caged without choice. Perhaps there was no point in hurting them worse. But Lars was free, and Aremu thought it mattered that he know the worst of himself, because he could still choose. They all could.

Aremu’s eyes had opened, but they fluttered shut again. Not fair, he thought, and he felt a slow burn of more than half-forgotten anger. He was a liar, and he made the most of what he had, Aremu told himself. He always had, and he always would. There were many paths up a cliff, even for him; he would find one and follow the line of it, and he would take himself as far along it as he could.

Aremu bowed his head again, and pressed his forehead to his knees, and slowly the shaking stopped. There was no point in being angry; he could not fight this, nor conquer the fear of what he lacked. He had not known it would be so hard to put words to it; he had not known the depths of what lurked, aching, in his chest.

Someone had explained to him once, hadn’t they? He couldn’t remember. It had not been so straightforward, of that he was sure. No one had sat him down and told him: we had thought you had honor, and now we know you do not. No one had -

But he had known. From the moment of his test he had known and understood. Perhaps that was why it had never needed explaining, because he had been made to understand long before what an imbala was. No - what an imbala was not.

Aremu exhaled, slowly, but he did not find himself ready to straighten up. He did not push for it either; he let himself take the time he needed. And so he was still curled up when Lars spoke again.

Aremu shuddered, one last time, and uncurled himself. He lowered his right arm back out of sight, letting the skin of his wrist brush the ground. His left arm found the dirt again, the nails of his hand already stained with it, and he turned to look at Lars as he spoke, frowning softly at his question.

Feel it? Aremu did not know what he meant - he did not understand. Lars met his eyes and he saw - he could not put words to it, but it sent a chill racing down his spine. Aremu frowned a little more.

And then the other passive blushed, and made as if to go.

“No,” Aremu said, shaking his head. He could not have said what Lars had asked of him, just now. “No. Feel what?” He shifted himself against the grass, coming closer to Lars, staring at him, searching the sharp, remote planes of his face.

“Feel what?” Aremu asked, softly, almost close enough now to reach out and touch Lars - but not quite, not quite, still holding a little distance between them, as if it could make a difference.

[Lars]

cliffs, south of the rose
roalis 67, 2719 ❁ late morning

A note of surprise reached Lars' face, the passive not having expected an objection, but somewhat pleased nonetheless that he'd found one. He was making a fool of himself, and it wasn't even of his own volition - he hadn't wanted to catch Aremu's interest again, he'd simply wanted to let the man relax and calm whatever negative emotions had overtaken him moments before, but here he was, coming closer and asking him to repeat himself.

He took another breath, searching his face for a moment and questioning if it was even wise to open his mouth again, when he wasn't sure what would escape it. Ultimately, he did move, but didn't stand up to leave; he moved closer, too, close enough that his knee brushed against the other passive's as he shifted over.

"I was -" unsteadily he began, clearly unsure, and ended up deciding to just offer the truth. Light eyes flicked upward, inspecting the man's face again, before he lifted a hand and raised it to his own collar, hesitantly pulling his half-buttoned shirt lower to reveal the scarred skin of his left bicep. If there had been a mark there before, it was burned beyond recognition, and various scars surrounded it - an attempt to draw attention away from the center and appear less deliberate.

"I'm not unlike many of our kind," he said, quietly, "Anaxas has little care for us, even if they tell themselves that they're helping us by making us slaves. There - there aren't more than a handful of galdori in Brunnhold that actually care, but..."

He felt a bit nervous again, then, and pulled his shirt to cover his skin, "I spent some time with a professor that did. And he showed me that we aren't... empty."

After taking a moment to think over his next words, Lars nodded to himself, subtly, and continued.

"Close your eyes, and just concentrate on me, beside you. You aren't looking for a field, or a glamour, but... there's something else. I've spent my life with other passives, and I never noticed it until I knew to look for it - it doesn't force itself on you like a field to make itself known, but it's always there, under the surface."

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, 67 Roalis, 2719
Cliffs, to the South of the Rose

Lars closed the last of the distance between them, close enough that Aremu felt the brush of the other man’s leg against his own. Yes, Aremu thought; there was little point in pretending. He didn’t pull away or shift back, aware of the way Lars’s gaze ad searched him, and not at all sure what the white-haired passive had been looking for. Aremu did not know if Lars thought he had found it, or perhaps decided it wasn’t needed.

Lars pulled his shirt down, and open, and Aremu’s gaze dropped to the scars on his left bicep. He did not know, but he assumed that this was where they had marked Lars, when he had been found to have no field – and that this scar – the place he had burned himself – that the pain had been easier for him to bear than the mark. Aremu thought he could understand that. He did not reach out with his hand to touch the scar, but he was conscious of the desire to do so, and more than a little worried by it.

Aremu looked back up to Lars’s face when he began to speak again, and he didn’t look back down at the muscle of the other man’s arms again. The strength of them against his slim frame wasn’t a surprise; Aremu had seen Lars drag a corpse through the streets of the Rose, and carry Niccolette from Voedale to Castle Hill, as if she weighed nothing at all.

We aren’t empty, Lars said, and now Aremu rocked back and away, putting some space between them, his breath coming hard and fast. He shook his head, slightly, swallowing, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. No, he thought – no, it was – but he could not think of why Lars would lie about such a thing, not here and now. Not empty, Aremu thought, and he pressed his hand to his face, and shook his head again.

“I… I’ll try,” Aremu said, slowly, lowering his hand back to the ground, and glancing back at Lars. He eased closer, again, slowly, settling back to where he had been. Aremu took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, sitting there. A little cloud had passed over the sun, overhead, and he felt it as the sun emerged, the slow renewal of warmth against his skin. He felt the breeze, too, dancing off the sea and whisking over his face, the faint tang of its salty smell. He could just hear Lars breathing next to him.

Concentrate on me, Lars had said. Aremu swallowed, hard, and tried to – concentrate on what? He had turned towards Lars already, and he turned even more now, slowly, his face set and frowning slightly, holding close to the other man. Concentrate on Lars, he thought, and he imagined the sheen of the other man’s hair, the way the wind tousled it – his voice, a little soft, the way his face had lit up when he smiled. And then he put all that aside, and tried to – tried to –

Was it there? Something - below the surface, like a faint echo. A sensation - distant, like the warmth of the sun on his skin - could he -

Aremu opened his eyes, slowly, his tongue flicking out to moisten dry lips. “I… I can’t…” His shoulders sank, slowly, and he shook his head, swallowing again, hard. "I can't,” He pressed his hand to his face again, shaking.

[Lars]

cliffs, south of the rose
roalis 67, 2719 ❁ late morning

Aremu rocked back and away from him, and he wondered if it was like hearing blasphemy, to him - if even considering the fact that he might not be empty was as hard to grasp as the concept of not having honor was to Lars. If it was like some curse against the things he'd been taught, and if he'd offended him by suggesting it. No guilt stemmed from the words, but he didn't wish to disturb him any more than he felt he already had.

But he was willing to try - and when he came back, turning even more in his direction, Lars was relieved.

He silenced himself, doing his best not to distract Aremu as he attempted to find it - to search for something that, by all logic, shouldn't be there. Lars, too, found himself concentrating on the other imbala (he found himself liking that word), though his thoughts were distracted, straying from one thing to the next, his heartrate slightly elevated at the idea that he was sharing this knowledge with another person. Fionn knew about it, too, he'd been there when the professors had shown them, but Lars had never spoken of it again. He'd never thought to tell.

Aremu didn't seem self-loathing, not in the general sense anyway, but he couldn't have the best sense of self-worth if he truly believed the things he'd said. That he was not a true man, that he was without honor, without honesty, that he was lacking. Lars had known many fellow servants that had thought along the same lines, even if the exact words had been different - they'd thought themselves cursed, or evil, or broken. Even Lars had believed it, once.

Then Aremu was shaking his head, and drawing his hand back up to his face - Lars opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing to say, for a moment. He didn't move away, even if the attempt had found little success, and absentmindedly he bit at the inside of his cheek.

"I couldn't feel any of them, at first," he offered, gray eyes still fixed on Aremu, "but I can feel yours. I don't have to think about it as much, now, to feel them."

He had the thought to reach out, to set a hand on Aremu's shoulder, or hug him, or something, but a nagging, unheard voice kept him in line.

"He called it a nexus," continued Lars, "he showed me, with some tool he used to measure fields. I... I saw it - maybe I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't, but I did. And I kept thinking about it, and I thought about it whenever I was in the dorms, or in the kitchens, or in the laundries, and soon, I... could feel it, too."

Lars let his gaze linger for a moment more, but thought to look away, then, and forced himself to look at his hands instead. They were motionless now, resting at his sides in the grass, only slightly calloused anymore. His hands were just as capable as any human's, or any galdor's, were they not? He felt himself sigh, the sound almost nonexistent, soft as it caught in the wind.

"Maybe it all sounds moony. Maybe it is, but I don't think that either one of us is empty."