“Veil be gone, Divide undone;
We are the world and us are one;
Through time and space: We nurture all;
From root to fruit: We go beyond the wall.”
~
The colorful blobs are becoming familiar, somehow.
Jarl notices this as he glances around, taking in the now awe-inspiring-but-no-longer-overwhelming sight. There’s still no direction to the orbs of light’s dance, still no sense of up or down or right or left; but, strangely, Jarl finds he doesn’t quite mind them—not anymore.
“Did I/we not take you to Bailenac’ringy?”
The feminine voice echoes, same as it did the first three times the priest arrived. It’s soft and gentle, loving—almost—like a mother, and Jarl takes a small if startling comfort in it (right after jumping in surprise at it). “Yes, you did.”
“Then, why do you come from Castlegodry?”
The priest supposes that is a good question. If one likens the Trees and the Axis Mundi to a taxi and its driver, it probably WOULD seem rather odd. It’s like taking someone to church and then picking them up at the bar (although, this is no where near as embarrassing…). “I was looking into something,” Jarl quickly explains, remembering quite suddenly the consequences of the Trees loosing interest in their travels—their mission. “And it took me here.”
“O?”
“Yes!” The holy man nods, flustered as it feels once again like he is talking to himself. He glances at his hand, the only vague proof he has to the contrary, and studies it with desperate curiosity. He can feel Oak’s in his, their palms pressing together as they seem to be standing side-by-side, fingers almost entwined.
But yet: there is nothing there.
“Can you tell me about Red?”
~
“Red???”
Oak sounds unbelievably confused; and, for a dumb moment, Jarl cannot understand why. Then it hits him. Of course. How silly. Red is the name Jarl and co. have GIVEN him—the daemon that took Jasey.
It’s not his real name.
“The people in Bailenac’ringy told me they saw Jasey—you remember him, right? My little brother?” Everything, from the blobs of light to the priest’s own heart, seems to freeze at that thought: her forgetting. Jarl hopes she hasn’t.
“… the one you are looking for, yes?”
Jarl nods, relieved, “That’s him. The people there said he took a boat ride with a tall, dark, red haired man. No name. Hence us GIVING him the name Red.”
“Ah…”
Oak nods—or, at least, Jarl gets the feeling she does—and then they remain in an uneasy silence for a time. As Jarl debates whether or not he should repeat his question (would that be seen as insulting or something?), it occurs to him that he is actually growing accustomed to talking while moving in this strange space.
He isn’t entirely sure how to feel about that—about any of it.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it.
~
“I/We have carried a being or two of similar description…?”
Oak sounds hesitant and confused, as though she is unsure or uncomfortable with talking about others; or, perhaps, she is uncertain why she feels compelled to actually answer: she is an ethereal being, after all, and Jarl, being a mere mortal, should not be doing anything but begging her for help—that is: for travel.
And yet: here he is, asking for more.
(So much more… Is this greedy???)
And, for some reason, Oak gives.
(But why???)
~
“Bobby of Bailemore described him as: male—or a very tall and strong woman—about two meters in height wearing a long but thin cloak with a hood that’s always up over red hair and eyes.”
Oak hums, sounding resoundingly thoughtful. Jarl can feel a pressure coming and going against his knuckle, as though a finger is tapping against it even though his eyes still tell him nothing is there, as she thinks.
After a moment, she hums again.
This time, in affirmation.
~
“The description you and Bobby of Bailemore give fits that of Kane the Bounty Hunter.”
Jarl’s eyes widen and he can feel his mouth go dry as his breathe hitches in his throat. “K-Kane?”
Red’s true name is KANE.
The holy man can feel his hands (or at least one of them; it’s rather debatable if his right hand is shaking: Oak’s holding it—technically—still; literally) tremble at his side as the information absorbs into his brain. KANE. They have a NAME—a REAL NAME!
“Yes, Kane. He is a daemon, not too unlike your partner, Áesta—the one travelling with Ashwattha.”
“Yes!” The priest clenches his fist, squeezing (or perhaps not; it’s still hard to tell) Oak’s hand in his, and nods. “Gina Wittle O’ said he’s a daemon, too!”
“Gina, the Little Witch of Castlegodry? Yes, he often visits her for aid.”
Jarl huffs, feeling exhilarated. This is the same person, then: the same daemon that they’re talking about—that they’re HUNTING.
“What can you tell me about him?”
Is Jasey SAFE? (As he can be…)
~
Oak seems to consider her answer carefully before speaking.
“Kane of Bannow was a callous and loyalless human being. He disliked the British, the Romans, and the Normans when they invaded Ireland in 1169 (yes, making him almost a thousand years old); however, that dislike never stopped him from accepting money from them; nor did it stop him from killing his own folk. During the days of Henry II, he slayed his own kinsmen for a pound of the English king’s gold.
“And then he partied with it.
“Kane of Bannow’s lifestyle was mostly murder for hire (although he readily admitted to me, once, that it shouldn’t have been that way: bounty hunters are supposed to capture, not kill; he just… liked it). Then, he’d spend his earned riches on his personal vices: meat, miodh, and men.
“Thus, he became entwined with daemons.
“When he realized what power they had (and could therefore give to him), he summoned one. Hunting became not only easier for him, but also something he did alongside the daemon.
“They became friends.
“Through the daemon, Kane of Bannow died; and was later reborn Kane of Ancient. He mellowed.
“He grew kind.
“He is no longer who he used to be. He harms not whom he seeks.
“And, if you are asking me/us this for the reason I/we think you are…
“He has been nothing but gentle with Jasey… whom you seek… and who seems to like Kane muchly.”
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