Here Shines the Sun (30 page)

Ovid looked at Karinael and mouthed the words, “My Sanguinastrum,” then he turned and followed after his masters.

Karinael and Hadraniel stood there a while in silence, watching as the barn burned. When it was finally reduced to its smoldering frame in the stillness of the night, they began to hear the whimper of children and the cries of babies from the cellar. Certain the people were all right, they then set to work putting the rest of the village to the torch.

When they had finished the moon shown high above and the single, lone star glimmered in the north-west. Karin’s hand found Hadraniel’s and they walked together through the forest, down the only small path that led away from the city. For a short time only silence remained between them. Hadraniel could feel Karinael’s Caliber from without and within him, that strange way it had always played upon him like no other Saint’s Caliber ever had. He took what he could of its warmth and comfort, but she had little to offer right now.

Hadraniel’s mind raced with ideas both frightening and terrible. In his heart he knew Leviathan Hydra did not buy Karinael’s little show. And what was possibly worse, Ovid knew their secrets. Ovid could not be trusted. Hadraniel had no doubt he wanted to get his Sanguinastrum, but for what ends that laid in Narbereth, he had no idea. Nor did he want to know. But Hadraniel was certain of one thing: once Ovid got his Sanguinastrum he would betray them.

“We should leave, Karin.” he said at last, his words soft in the surrounding night. Ahead the forest began to open up. The trail led up a hill where, at the top, what looked like a pair of thin and straight saplings were silhouetted against the moon.

“We can’t.” said Karinael, her voice subdued by the same gloom that Hadraniel could feel from her Caliber.

Hadraniel stopped on the trail. He took her hands in his. “Karin, she knew we were lying. We can’t go back. For all we know Gatima is sending the word to Sanctuary to have us recalled right now. And if that happens, everything falls apart. Erygion will be exposed.”

Karinael chewed on her lip for a moment, her eyes turned down.

“Let’s leave.” said Hadraniel, his voice taking on a more urgent tone. “Let’s just be together. Me and you and none of this. We’ll find a place and we can stay there.”

“Hadi…”

“I can’t lose you.”

Karinael looked up at him. “We’ll find Erygion. We’ll ask him what to do.”

Hadraniel breathed out deeply. She was finally understanding their danger, he thought. He nodded.

“What do we do in the meantime?” she asked.

Hadraniel moved his fingers down her cheek, peering into her eyes. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips. She returned it, more forcefully. His arms wrapped around her, his hands moving down her unremoveable breastplate and finding the smooth, tight leather of her bodysuit upon the small of her back. His hands continued downward, over the smooth plates of star-metal at her waist, and then stroking the back of her leg where only her leather bodysuit covered.

Karinael’s lips locked upon his. Her hands moving over the chest of his breastplate. Her hand found the back of his neck, then her fingers ran through his chrome hair. “I love you,” she breathed, and his hungry lips began to trail down her neck.

“Saints of the Generous Hand,” came a voice.

Karinael and Hadraniel started at the sound and turned around. Standing upon the hilltop, between the two tall saplings set against the moon, was Saint Ithuriel of the Violet Fires. He strode forward, and Hadraniel realized that they were not saplings, but his two tall pikes stuck into the ground. From the scabbard at his side he drew forth a long, narrow-bladed greatsword whose handle, hilt and blade formed something like the shape of Aeoria’s four-pointed star. Its black star-metal glinted ominously in the moonlight.

“Holy Father restores my soul,” he spoke as he came down the path, his voice droning with a frightening edge of passion. “He guides me in the path of righteousness for His name’s sake. Though I walk upon roads shadowed by death, I fear no evil, for I am my brother’s keeper and He is with me. His name comforts me. He prepares a table for me in the presence of my enemies. My cup overflows.”

Hadraniel drew his star-metal broadsword. “Karin, run!”

“What?”

“Run, now!” he said, pushing past her as Ithuriel strode with ardent purpose toward them, flourishing his sword as he continued chanting his prayers.

“Hadi—”

“Run!” Hadraniel pushed her hard with one hand, gripping his sword in the other. He crouched in a defensive stance and then sprang forward, his sword whirling.

Star-metal cracked like thunder in the night. Hadraniel’s sword swept up and down as he tried to press in on Ithuriel, but the sapphire-haired Saint was deft on his feet and gave no ground, even as his own large sword crashed against Hadraniel’s.

“I dwell in the house of Sanctuary,” chanted Ithuriel, whirling his blade and deflecting Hadraniel’s. Purple sparks of star-metal lit his calm face. “Only His love and virtue pursue me.”

Hadraniel spun, sweeping his sword in but Ithuriel flourished his blade and the two swords were deflected in an ear-splitting crack.

“I walk in Holy Father’s hand and He provides for me.” Ithuriel spun in, his sword whirling like a tornado, and it cut across Hadraniel’s breastplate, staggering him as more purple sparks exploded. “For He is my shepherd, and I shall not want.” Ithuriel’s sword came down in a deadly, angled arc. Hadraniel tried to raise his own sword but the motion was clumsy and slow. In that split second Hadraniel knew that Ithuriel’s blade would get beneath his and his eyes clenched as he prepared to feel the bite of star-metal in his neck. But then there was a crack of star-metal against star-metal as Karinael whirled in, her sword raised against Ithuriel’s.

Karinael yelped as the force of the strike knocked her sword down hard and it thundered upon her own pauldron. Hadraniel recovered quickly and moved in with all the ferocity he could muster. His body was alight in golden Caliber energy. His blade moved up and down, in and out as Ithuriel parried each attack with skilled precision. Ithuriel too was encompassed in a bright, white glow of Caliber that washed out the sparks as star-metal weapons exploded against each other with every attack. Then Ithuriel spun in low, sweeping his sword out at the last second.

Hadraniel shifted, trying to dodge the attack, but he felt the sting of star-metal as the leather bodysuit at his abdomen split. He tumbled back, rolling up to his feet to try to gain distance, but Ithuriel was already back on him. Hadraniel could not look down, but he could feel the warmth of blood trickling beneath his bodysuit and every motion made his belly burn.

“Hadi!” screamed Karinael, coming in at Ithuriel with her sword out before her. Between each exchange of blows Hadraniel could catch a brief glimpse of her. Her Caliber was swirled with yellow, gold and white light. It wavered unsteadily as she came at Ithuriel, her sword raised for a scything attack.

Ithuriel pressed in on Hadraniel, his sword sweeping froward, forcing Hadraniel to leap back where he stumbled, falling to a knee. In that moment Ithuriel spun, his sword whirling around at Karinael. It deflected off Karinael’s breastplate with a tremendous boom and she was thrown backward. She landed upon her back, her heavy breastplate tearing up the ground as she slid. He moved in on her, his sword flourishing as she scooted back on her butt, her own sword raised clumsily. She screamed, and the swirling, unsteady colors of her Caliber suddenly coalesced into a brilliant glow.

Something welled inside Hadraniel and he felt it radiate into his Caliber. It was not his hate or fear, but rather, it was something more profound. It was an essence of life, of vigor, and in it he could feel Karinael, but also others he could not quite place. It was like a number of unknown souls were invading him and bolstering him, and although he could not comprehend all that he felt, he was certain that the strongest of the sensations was Karinael. And it was terrifying in how pure and whole her very beingness pervaded his body, and how brightly it made his Caliber glow.

And then Hadraniel realized it was not his Caliber that burned brighter. It was his Star-Armor. It was no longer black; no longer felt heavy upon his body. It was as if it were now made of pure light; as if its surface was that of a very star. Even his sword radiated with this uncontrolled energy.

He shot to his feet and the world around him was a blur. His Caliber and his armor burned and he felt as if he were being consumed by the sun. The landscape became darkness; a hazy nothingness. Yet there before his eyes shown Karinael, and she looked more real to him than anything else. She was upon the ground and her armor blazed like a star. She dropped her glowing sword, holding her hands before her face as she was consumed by energy. Even Ithuriel gave pause.

And then in the sky two stars flashed. They were stars that Hadraniel had never seen before. His whole life the sky had never contained but a few pathetic dozen, and now there was but one left. Yet, for a brief moment, two new stars flashed in the sky. A few others, outshined by those two, then made a brief appearance, and something like a great serpent was traced in the sky in white light. It was a constellation.

And then it was gone.

Hadraniel was upon Ithuriel now. Ithuriel spun to meet him. Their swords cracked in an unceasing chain, sparks flying. Hadraniel snarled as he pressed his new-found advantage of speed and power upon Ithuriel. In Ithuriel’s blue eyes Hadraniel could see confusion and disbelief, but he could not dwell upon his countenance long. He pressed his attack, feeling Ithuriel’s Caliber becoming increasingly unsteady.

And then Karinael screamed. She was still upon the ground, her body and her armor burning like a sun. Fierce rays of white light blazed out from her. She held her hands out before her and they radiated with light too intense to look upon. Her eyes found Hadraniel’s, and he faltered in his attacks. They burned with an ethereal, amber plasma that drifted up like smoke from a fire. “What’s happening to me?” she screamed.

“Karin—!” Hadraniel called out to her but he was cut short as Ithuriel’s star-metal boot impacted his wounded stomach. Pain drove the breath from his lungs and made blackness take his vision for a second. He stumbled down to a knee and in that moment he felt suddenly cold. His armor no longer blazed, and although his Caliber still shown brightly, it was nowhere near the same intensity that it had been. Then he felt his sword knocked from his hand. There was a huge impact upon his breastplate as Ithuriel’s sword cracked against it, and Hadraniel tumbled.

“What witchcraft do you heretics wield?” called Ithuriel, storming toward him. “Apostates! Servants of the Devil!”

Hadraniel struggled to his knees and then felt a powerful blow upon the back of his breastplate and he was knocked down to the ground.

“Servants of Apollyon!” shouted Ithuriel. “Blasphemers and heretics! I shall purge thee from the lands!”

Hadraniel felt the cold burn of star-metal wrap around his wrists. Handcuffs. He looked up from the ground. Karinael was there. The fires of the Caliber that had once surrounded her were fading, and although her armor still radiated white light, that too was dissolving to blackness. Her eyes found Hadraniel’s and through the amber plasma that still wafted from them he could see her eyes. Tears streamed down her face as she sat there. “What’s happening to me?”

And then Hadraniel felt Ithuriel’s boot impact his face, and there was darkness.

— 11 —

Agana

The castle room was dark. A pair of low-burning gaslamps upon the wall cast some yellow-green light but did little to brighten the naked, gray stones of the bedchamber. The little girl Agana sat with her legs crossed upon the cold, stone floor, humming a somber melody as she poured some tepid, red liquid from a pitcher into a tiny, porcelain teacup. The purple drapes of her curtained bed fluttered briefly with the warm breeze from a summer storm and the gaslight wavered, causing the shadows to dance across the stones of the walls. Lightning flashed, filling the room with an instant of bright, white light. Agana stopped her humming and looked up to the dark rafters of her vaulted ceiling. She smiled as thunder shook her tower room, rattling the teacups and saucers upon the floor.

“Here you go, Samuel.” said Agana, gently placing the filled teacup upon the saucer next to her dolly. She filled her own cup with the same red liquid. She smiled fondly upon the tiny doll sitting across from her. Its pale, naked, shrunken body was propped up against a pillow and it leaned in gruesome rigor to one side. Its head was bent slightly, revealing a few wisps of hair clinging to its ghastly, blue scalp. Its milky, sunken eyes reflected in the red liquid of the teacup.

Agana sipped at her cup. “Perhaps we can stroll the garden today, Samuel?” she said. Another warm breeze fluttered her curtains, filling the room with the scent of rain. “It’s wonderful weather for a stroll.” She dipped her finger into the cool, red liquid and swirled it as thunder rumbled the castle again. She licked at her finger as she stared down at her dolly. She breathed deep and pursed her lips into a frown. “You have to eat your lunch, Samuel.”

But Samuel just sat there.

Agana breathed out loudly. “You’re sick, aren’t you?” she said with contempt, shaking her head. She put her teacup down so hard the saucer cracked beneath it. “You dollies are always getting sick. Look at you, you’re skin and bones. I make you a nice lunch and you just sit there.” Agana sat up on her knees and leaned over, picking up her doll’s cup and tipping it to its mouth. Thick, red liquid dribbled down its lips and pattered upon the floor.

“Drink!” Agana’s grip on the cup tightened. Her little knuckles turned white.
“I said drink!”
she shrieked and grabbed her doll around the back of the head and smashed the cup to its blue lips. She tilted the neck up and the head rolled back as she poured the contents of the cup down its throat.

“There you go, Samuel. You’ll feel much better now that you’ve eaten.”

Agana sighed as she held the frail thing in her arms for a moment. Her lips pursed into a little smile. She gave Samuel a kiss and it left a red, wet print on its forehead. She sat her dolly back up against the pillow. Its head flopped forward and red liquid flowed out its mouth, pooling upon the floor in front of it.

Agana poured the last of the pitcher into her own cup, but there was only enough to fill it half way. She sighed and looked over at the peasant boy who laid upon the floor nearby, his neck was crooked and twisted at a macabre angle. She took the pitcher and scooted over to him. He was dressed in a drab, brown outfit and his pale, blue hand was cold as Agana lifted it up. The deep gash in his wrist was wet and sticky, but Agana couldn’t get any more blood to flow out, even as she stroked his arm. Agana looked at the old man who lay upon the floor next to his boy. Her lips screwed up in displeasure. Old-man blood was always so salty and bitter.

Agana stood up and straightened her white dress. She stepped over the old man’s corpse and padded barefoot across the room to her dresser, leaving a trail of bloody footprints as she went. Upon the top of her dresser was a silver hairbrush and she worked it through her long, dark hair as her own blue-black eyes peered at herself in the mirror. Lightning flashed again, filling the room with intense, white light. Crimson blood streaked her pale cheeks and red lips and flowed down the front of her white gown.

“It’s such a nice day for a stroll, Samuel.” said Agana. She brushed out her black hair until it all rested nice and straight, curling up just at her shoulders. “Maybe mommy will let us go to the park again. Maybe we can get there early so the other children won’t all have to go home right away. They always have to leave when I get there. Nobody can ever play with me.”

Agana set the brush down on her dresser and slipped on her shiny, black shoes. Then she skipped over to her dolly and snatched it up off the floor by one arm. It dangled from her hand as she tiptoed over to the large, oaken door of her room.

“Shh,” whispered Agana to Samuel. She gently placed her hand upon the brass knob and turned it ever-so-gently until she heard the soft
click.
Then she opened the door just a crack and peered out into the dank, shadowy corridor beyond. She looked down at Samuel and her bloody cheeks stretched into a smile. She took a slow, deep breath and then swung the door wide and jumped out into the hall. “Boo!”

Saint Ophelia of the Many Tears made a little show of being startled and then looked down at little Agana with those large, round, obsidian eyes of hers. Her thin lips spread into a smile. “Hello Agana.”

“No fair! You knew!” said Agana, stomping her foot.

Saint Ophelia laughed, her voice like a raven song. Her hair was the color of wet coal and hung to her shoulders where it curled up just at the very ends. “You have to be quieter than that to sneak up on a Saint.”

A warm storm-wind swept down the corridor. Lightning flashed from the barred windows, casting the hall in striped shadows. There was a tremendous rumble of thunder and then another burst of lightning, and its light danced upon the glassy-black Star-Armor that Ophelia wore above her white, leather bodysuit. Her breastplate was smooth, narrow and round and conformed well to her lithe frame. Upon her shoulders were pauldrons that swept up with wing-like flourishes. The armor upon her arms and legs were smooth, but curled up with elegant, feather-like embellishments. At her side, in an oiled, black scabbard, hung her star-metal sword.

“Do you want to come and watch me play with the other girls?” asked Agana. “I want to go to the park.”

“Hmm,” said Ophelia. “We went to the park yesterday. I don’t think the other children will go back there for a while. How about something new.”

Agana’s lips screwed up as she thought. Then her face brightened. “I could have a tea party with one of the boys.”

Ophelia leaned forward and peered into Agana’s room. “Didn’t you just eat lunch?”

“Yes, but me and Samuel are still hungry.”

“Okay,” said Ophelia. “We can play that game.”

Agana’s face lit up with a smile. She giggled and hopped, her doll flapping in her hand. She jumped again, but this time when she landed the arm of her doll broke off and the thing fell to the stone floor with a patter, a nub of bone and half-rotten gore exposed at the shoulder socket.

Agana stopped and looked down at her doll, still holding its stiff arm in her hand. She looked up at Ophelia, her eyes welling with tears. “My dolly broke! My dolly broke!”

“There, there,” said Ophelia, scooping Agana into her arms. “We’ll go ask your mom if we can get you a new one.”

“Oh thank you, Ophelia! Thank you!” Agana threw her arms around the Saint’s neck and hugged her tight.

A ragged song drifted through the cold hall as Ophelia set Agana down. Thunder rumbled as they walked hand-in-hand, and warm lantern light came into view down the corridor.

“Hi Saint Tiffany!” called Agana, waving.

The grimy Saint didn’t pause her throaty tune. She simply smiled beneath the black hood of her cloak as she walked with her lantern, its iron pole clanking on the stone floor with each step.

Agana ran up to her. “My dolly broke and Saint Ophelia is going to ask my mom if we can go get another. Would you like to come with?”

“I’m sorry child,” breathed Tiffany. She swatted at the air around her head, as if shooing away unseen flies. “Too much work to do.”

“Maybe later I can come to the cemetery and help you sing to the dead?”

Saint Tiffany looked down at Agana with her amber eyes. She placed a dirty, gloved hand to her mouth and smiled, almost looking as if she were ready to cry.

“Two of them for you in her room.” said Ophelia as she walked up to them.

Tiffany looked at Ophelia and nodded, swatting around at her head. She began breathing her songs again and walked off, dragging a hand over Agana’s shoulder as she went.

Ophelia stared at her as she passed. “Freak.” said Ophelia under her breath.

“Is Tiffany feeling all right?” asked Agana, looking up to Ophelia. “She seems sad today.”

“She’s fine, honey.” said Ophelia, taking up Agana’s hand. “Let’s go find your mom.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“Mommy! Mommy!” cried Agana as she threw the heavy doors to the King and Queen’s chamber open and rushed into the dimly lit room. “My dolly broke!”

“Shh, my darling,” came the ragged voice of King Verami. He sat in a rusty, old wheelchair beside the Queen as she cradled a baby wrapped in blankets in her arms, humming a soft and somber melody. Verami wheezed a breath as his blue lips smiled at Agana. “Your mother is trying to get your brother to take a nap.” Sparse, black hair dangled over the King’s scalp from beneath a golden crown that seemed too heavy for his skeletal face and fragile neck. Despite the kingly black and red robe he wore, he looked little more than bones slumped in his wheelchair.

Queen Loretta gently stroked at the baby’s face as she rocked slowly in her chair. Loretta was a graceful, full-figured woman in a deep, purple gown. Her face seemed cold and pale against her long, flowing black hair and the silver crown upon her head. Her red lips frowned as her dark eyes stared down at the little baby in her arms. “Go to sleep, child. Go to sleep.”

Agana tip-toed over to the King and Queen. “Mommy, Samuel broke!” she whispered, holding the rotten creature up by its remaining arm. “I wasn’t even playing rough! Saint Ophelia said we could go find somebody to have a tea party with and I was jumping and his arm broke off!”

“There, there, child. It will be all right.” said Loretta, wiping the tears from Agana’s face with a delicate finger.

The soft chimes of Ophelia’s star-metal boots entered the room and Loretta and Verami looked up at her. “I told Agana I would ask if it would be all right if we went out and got her a new one.” said Ophelia quietly with a little smile.

“Oh please, mommy!” begged Agana, hopping up and down. “Please!”

Loretta smiled at Agana. “Of course, dear. Of course.”

“No.” King Verami’s voice was little more than a hoarse crackle. “Not right now. Saint Belphegor tells me the townspeople are becoming riled.”

“But daddy!”

“I’m sorry, my dear.” cracked Verami. “We’ll get you a new one. Just not right now. We have to let tensions ease.”

“Aw!” whined Agana, stomping her foot. She threw Samuel to the stone floor and its head made a sickening crack.

Saint Ophelia knelt beside Agana and put an arm over her shoulders. “We can still have lots of fun today. There’s lots of games we can play.”

Agana stomped her foot again and frowned, but pressed herself into Saint Ophelia. Ophelia smiled and gave her a hug.

“Thank you, Ophelia.” said Loretta. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Ophelia stood up and rubbed at Agana’s shoulders. “It’s no bother to me. Me and Agana have lots of fun.”

“Now, if only you knew how to get a baby to sleep.” said Loretta. She breathed deep and sighed. She looked down at the baby in her arms and shook her head.

“Loretta has been trying for an hour to get him to sleep.” croaked Verami. “I, I don’t think he will sleep.” He looked up at Ophelia, his sunken eyes relating an unspoken message to her.

“Hmm,” hummed Ophelia. “Let me have a look at the little darling.” She leaned over Loretta and stroked at the baby’s cold, pale cheek. It was little more than a bag of bones wrapped in a blanket, and its blue eyes were almost devoid of color as it stared lifelessly at the ceiling. “I see what the problem is.” said Ophelia. She wiped her hand gently over the baby’s face, closing its eyelids. “There you go.”

Loretta smiled tenderly at the child for a moment and then looked up at Ophelia. “He’s died, hasn’t he? He wouldn’t drink from me and he’s dead. Just like all the others, isn’t he?”

Ophelia glanced at the rows and rows of shelving on the far end of the chamber. They were heavy with dozens of large mason jars, each containing a baby. Those on the higher shelves were mostly just bones with rotten, black dust settled to the bottom. Upon the lowest shelves the bodies were pale, decomposing flesh melting off withered frames. Ophelia breathed deep as she turned her black eyes to Loretta. “I’m sorry.”

Agana came close and looked at the baby. “Mommy, when can I have a brother? I want a real brother.”

“I know, Agana. I know.” said Loretta. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have one soon.” croaked the King.

“But you always say that.” said Agana. She pointed across the room to the shelves. “But all my brothers and sisters die.” She looked at King Verami, her dark eyes smoldering in the low gaslight. “Mommy’s vessels are empty and it’s all your fault!” She stomped her foot.