Sacred odors then were notably complex. As in the graves of would-be saints, the smell of sanctity often mingled with the stench of decay and death. Ancient cities, Thurkill wrote, were characterized by “the stench of human excrement, refuse and disease, accompanied with soothing floral scents and perfumes.” Sacred smells like frankincense and myrrh were used over the centuries to demarcate sacred space—but also to disinfect and disguise putrid areas. […]
This gave holy smells a fundamentally paradoxical nature. In a world where breathing foul-smelling air was seen as the cause of many diseases, incense was seen as a barrier against illness, and, with its holy associations, against demonic possession. But equally, powerful scents could be used to disguise a deeper decay, or to tempt the pious with worldly delights and bodies. Even bad smells had an ambiguous quality. After all, the rotting stench of a starved ascetic’s mouth was simply more proof of his profound holiness.
It’s this ambiguity about smell, […] that gives scent its power as a theological tool. In addition to its flexible moral significance, the experience of an odor often reflects our understanding of divinity. Like God, smell can surround you from an indeterminate source, filling spaces with its invisible presence. But unlike sound, which might do the same, to experience a smell it must first be taken within, in an act–breathing–that is both life-giving and volitional.
—John Last, The Centuries-Long Quest for the Scent of God, Noema Magazine
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[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage]
[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 + 3 AU]
Characters: Mal Volari, Bakshi, Daenarya, Ittar (mentioned), Iliana (mentioned)
Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!OC), Bakshi x Ittar
Book: Blades of Light & Shadow III, Chapter 8
Word Count: <1,300
Rating/Warnings: General, no warnings that I can think of, somewhat angsty
Synopsis: Mal tries to decide if he can trust Bakshi, while discovering more than he expected. (This takes place in my Blades 2 + 3 AU)
Background Info: In my Blades 2 AU, Daenarya was pregnant at the end of book 1. She is pregnant when Valax takes her (though no one knows it at the time). While Daenarya is taken, Mal prays to Bakshi and Ittar when he has nothing left (Shadows of Hope) which is referenced here. Daenarya gave birth to Iliana before "dying" in book three. Iliana is the Realm Walker, not Daenarya.
Did he trust zir?
No.
How could he?
Ze possessed her.
Did it matter that ze had been trying to help?
No.
Should it?
Eh— trust really wasn't his thing.
Not before her, at least.
Mal shook his head, kicking a stone in front of him only partially listening to the group as they rested, waiting for Tyril and Daenarya to finish training.
He had never believed in the old gods. Not the new ones either, for that matter.
All of it was just a way to control people. Make them believe in something. Fear something. So they wouldn't realize what their so-called churches and temples were really doing.
His hands balled into fists, his lips pressing tightly together.
Solerne.
And he was only one. Probably not even the worst of them. How many others were there that used the people they pretended to serve and protect?
He could never put his faith in any of it.
No temple.
No gods.
No light or shadow.
No elements.
No prayer for a better life.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had tried it once and only once. It had proved fruitless as he had expected.
There was just today. And what you made of it.
Bakshi's glance caught his, zir eyes seeming to peer into him as if ze could see what he had been thinking. Mal was caught off guard. Could ze read minds? Could ze know what he thought? Mal searched the old god's face for any recognition of what he was thinking but ze had already turned away.
He exhaled a sigh of relief, though he wasn't sure why he even cared.
He didn't believe in zir.
Mal gazed down the path waiting for them—the path that would bring them closer to Elhalas...
Elhalas... and most certain doom.
Just another day.
A smile pulled at his lips as his gaze swept over his traveling party. His life had changed so much since meeting them all. It was hard to remember what it was like before them. This group of strangers became his closest friends. His family. If it weren't for her, he wouldn't have any of them. He wouldn't have a reason to fight what was ahead. She gave him something to live for, something to hope for, someone to put his faith in when he had never believed in anyone or anything before.
"Love is a thread that binds those together, your love—a cord that holds the realms together."
The old god's words caught him by surprise. His gaze narrowed on zir. "I'm not a child. I don't believe in fairytales, which is all you are."
"You're a stubborn creature," Bakshi stated, his lips pulling up in amusement as he studied the small man beside him. "You've seen more than most of your kind, and yet, still refuse to believe."
"I believe in her."
The god's eyes glowed in reverence. "The day you and she met—" ze paused a moment, remembering. "Ittar and I felt a pull, a call, a promise—something we hadn't in a long time. It was just a whisper of what could be, but as your path's met again and a connection grew between you, the louder the song grew."
"Don't pretend to know anything about us."
Bakshi continued ignoring the human's words. "The love you shared became a melody of healing. It brought hope of a depth of love we feared lost. Hope made it easier to resist Nifara."
"Sure," Mal scoffed, unable to accept this truth. "Ittar looked filled with hope. I guess our love made them want to turn us over, huh?"
The god's face fell at a truth ze hated to admit. Ittar was lost...for now. Ze had to have hope. Ze saw glimmers of their true self in some moments. Ze would free them from the hold Nifara had on them.
"It's more complicated for Ittar. When life has been cruel to you and stripped away a hope you once had—belief is that much harder to attain."
"They tried to kill us! How would that help our love," Mal protested, pushing his shirt aside to reveal the gash across his chest left by Ittar's paintbrush.
A heavy sigh left zir lips. "Love is complex. It is not always calm and peaceful. It can be a tempest, perilous and roaring. When one leads with their heart and lets emotions grow unchecked, those same emotions that bring joy, hope, and love become unstable and unpredictable, it can drive one to act out of emotion rather than thought. A notion I trust you to understand."
"So what? I'm just supposed to believe everything you say? Follow you? Trust you?" Mal questioned defensively. Trust really wasn't his thing.
"No."
The god's response caught him off guard.
"You must only believe in her. You two are set apart. I dare not change either of you, not even in what you believe."
Mal considered zir words. His gaze fell on Daenarya training in the field with Tyril and his heart swelled. Believing in her was the easiest thing. She had showed him how to have hope.
"Why didn't you save her?"
The question weighed on Bakshi.
"I asked you to bring her back.
I — I prayed to you.
Begged you.
Pleaded with you.
When I had nothing left.
You didn't come.
How can we... How can I trust you now?"
The god let the mortal share his pain, he had felt it all too closely. "What we can do here is limited. Crossing realms was not possible."
"How convenient for you."
"We—I—I protected what I could. What mattered most."
"Stop with the riddles! Can you ever just say what you mean?"
"A child of a love like no ot—like few others." Bakshi smiled sadly. No others wasn't quite true. Zir thoughts were filled with Ittar. Being parted from them was the hardest thing ze had to endure.
"Iliana?"
"In the shadows, it was all I could manage." Bakshi nodded, zir eyes glimmering with hope once more. "The child is special. I trust you've only begun to discover as much."
This left Mal with more questions, but for now, he had none to ask. His heart was heavy. He wanted to believe in their victory, but the hardest part was hoping that when this was all over that they'd return to their daughter. They had such little time with her before they were taken.
"Hey!" Daenarya ran over, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. "Did you see that? I made it snow!"
"I did," he said softly, brushing her hair from her face.
"Wanna see it again?" When he didn't answer right away, she pulled back, noticing the pain in his face. "What's wrong?"
"Do you think we'll see Iliana again?"
Her eyes fell shut and she rested her forehead against his. Her thumb brushed tenderly over his cheek as she cradled his jaw. "I have to believe we will."
"How can you always be so strong?"
Daenarya stifled a chuckle. "I'm not. I just have hope. I believe in us. You. Me. All of our friends. I have to believe this isn't the end. We've overcome so much. We can do this too. I'll keep fighting to change what's happened because I have something to run toward. A future filled with love and laughter waiting for us—" Her lips brushed over his, kissing him softly. "We will see her again. I know it."
He nodded, leaning into the hope she had, hoping it could carry them both. "I love you."
"And I love you, Mal the Magnificent, my love, my heart."
A/N: While the polls were pretty much evenly split, it doesn't seem realistic for Daenarya to be 8-9 months pregnant in book 3, also the angst of her being left behind is so good, so Daenarya official gives birth to Iliana before book 3. She might be engaged to Mal at this point to, but I'm still working on that.
A/N #2: I didn't edit or revise this so please forgive any mistakes. I hope I got all of the pronouns right for Bakshi and Ittar, if you notice a mistake in pronouns, please let me know so I can correct it.
A/N #3: I hope my faith in Bakshi is not wrong 😭 I have loved zir and Ittar's story since learning of them in book 1.
Something I found extremely funny was Bakshi's name.
In Hindi, it means something like "grantor" and is a very common surname too. I don't know if the writers just thought that Bakshi sounded cool as a name or some kind of research was done.
Then I remembered that Ittar ALSO has a meaning in Hindi: perfume. (I'm not sure if it is Hindi or Urdu)
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Making ittar or natural perfumes produced by distilling flowers, herbs, plants or spices over a base oil, which takes on the scent of the raw material / Photo Eileen McDougall x Al Jazeera
