Here Shines the Sun (44 page)

Gilbert opened his eyes and then wailed as he saw his wrist. He scooted away from her, crying.

“Come here, Gilbert.” said Agana. “We’re having a tea party with Jackson.” She took a sip from the cup. “Mmm” she hummed. She placed it to Jackson’s mouth and tipped. Crimson liquid filled the corpse’s mouth and then pattered out onto the floor.

“I don’t want to play!” cried Gilbert, holding his wrist to his chest, smearing his shirt with blood. Tears rained from his eyes. “Mama! I don’t want to play! Make them go away, Mama! Mama!”

“Son!” barked the father, his voice muffled as he held his bloody jaw. “Just play! Be done with it!”

“Go on.” said the mother, wiping at her eyes and trying to compose herself. She stood up from her husband and sniffled. She forced a smile at Gilbert. “Just play. It will be all right.”

Gilbert sniffled and scooted back toward Agana, clutching at his wrist.

“Would you like a sip?” asked Agana.

Gilbert stared at the floor, tears dripping from his eyes. He shook his head.

“Let’s play a game.” said Agana. “You be King Verami and I’ll be Queen Loretta and Jackson here can be Princess Agana.” She sipped at her tea and then set the cup down on the saucer. “Verami,” she said, making her voice as dignified and queenly as she could. “Pass me one of the pastries, would you, my dear?”

Gilbert sniffled and placed one of the sweet rolls on a saucer and handed it to Agana, all the while staring at the floor.

“Thank you, dear brother.” said Agana. “You look pallid today. Perhaps we should have the physician try a new liver?” She pretended to nibble at the pastry. She set it down. “Oh Agana, my dear. You must eat your lunch if you want to go play.”

“But it’s not fair.” pouted Agana as she moved Jackson’s arms, trying to give him some animation. “Why can’t I have a sweet roll like you and daddy?”

“Now, now, dear.” said Agana in her queenly voice. “You know you can’t have that. It will just make you sick. Now drink your lunch like a good girl.” She tilted the tea cup to Jackson’s mouth and blood dribbled down its chin.

Gilbert made a heaving sound and turned away.

Agana immediately snapped her head in his direction and scowled. “You’re sick again, aren’t you.”

Gilbert glanced up at her but didn’t say anything.

“You’re disgusting.” she said. “Your seed is as diseased and rotten as you are.” She glowered at the boy. “You have to say something!” she demanded. “You have to pretend you’re King Verami!”

Gilbert looked at her and swallowed hard. “I-I-I’m sorry. W-What should I say?”

“Stop stuttering!” shrieked Agana. She stood up and Jackson fell over, his head thumping on the floor. “You disgust me! You’re always so sick! You’re diseased and pathetic! You’re a pathetic little man! Why can’t you give me a child?! Why can’t you give our daughter a brother?!”

Gilbert flinched away from her.

Agana’s face twisted into an angry, red mask. She grabbed the sweet roll and whipped it at Gilbert’s head. “These are as dry and withered as you are!” Agana stormed over to him and grabbed his crotch, twisting. Gilbert wailed. “You’re pathetic!” She spit on him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” screamed Gilbert.

Agana released her grip on him and composed herself. She stood up straight and then walked to her spot and sat down again. “It’s not your fault.” she said coldly. She picked up Jackson and sat him on her lap, stroking his head. “We’ll get you a brother or sister, dear, I promise. Me and your father will try again.” She drank down the last of her tea. Then she sighed. “I don’t want to play this game anymore. I don’t like this game. I’m hungry.”

Gilbert sniffled and put another pastry on a dish for her.

“I can’t eat that. It’ll make me sick.” She swatted it away and the saucer fell to the floor, shattering. “Let’s play
How much blood do you have
.” said Agana.

Gilbert stared at her.

“Give me your wrist.” said Agana. “I say you have enough for five cups of tea. How much do you think you have?”

“No!” cried the mother. She ran to Saint Ophelia and collapsed at her feet. “Please! Please! You already took our baby! We have already paid our duty to Valdasia! Gilbert’s a sweet boy, he’s all we have left!”

Ophelia grabbed her by the hair and drew her star-metal sword from its scabbard. With a quick stroke the woman’s head came off and Ophelia tossed it aside as the body collapsed on the floor, spilling crimson everywhere. The husband howled in anguish as he jumped to his feet. He charged Ophelia but stood little chance. She flourished her sword and returned it to its scabbard before his head had even hit the floor. A second later his body lay atop his wife’s.

Gilbert began wailing. He stood up and began hobbling toward his dead parents but Agana grabbed his arm and pulled him down to her. She bit into his wrist and pulled her head back, tearing away skin, tendon and meat, exposing white bone. Gilbert screamed and struggled but Agana had a terrible grip on him and he could not escape no matter how hard he tried. A stream of blood poured down Agana’s dress and pooled in her lap as she brought the nearly severed wrist over her tea cup. It quickly overflowed. She held his wrist above another, filling that one and then another. Gilbert’s struggles weakened as his flesh lost all color. Moments later it was done. Gilbert lay lifeless on the floor amid gruesome puddles of blood.

Agana sighed as she looked at her filled cups. “Only four.”

“Well, you spilled a lot.” said Ophelia. “I’ll bet there were five.”

Agana hiked her shoulders and stared solemnly at the cups. Ophelia knelt behind Agana, brushing her hair with her hand. Agana sipped at her tea, all the while cradling Jackson in her lap as she held Gilbert’s colorless hand in hers, humming a somber lullaby. After she had drank her fill she looked at Ophelia. “I want to go home. I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Okay.” said Ophelia, taking her hand. “We’ll go home and have a nap. How does that sound?”

Agana nodded and wiped at her mouth and Ophelia helped her to her feet. Ophelia went to the door and peeked outside and looked around. It was still dark and cloudy but no more rain fell. The knights weren’t anywhere to be seen. Ophelia looked to the east, at the hill where the castle overlooked. A lantern was lit in the window of one of the high, crooked, abandoned towers whose spire was missing many red shingles. Agana started to walk past her but Ophelia reached down and blocked her with her arm. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Agana, hugging Jackson close.

Ophelia listened from the doorway: Boots on cobblestone coming around the back of the house. She scanned the rooftops across the street. Chimneys protruded from the golden thatch on all of them, but from behind one chimney she saw the barrel of a bolt-thrower poking out. Ophelia scooped Agana into her arms and whispered into the crook of her neck, “If something bad happens to me, you have to keep running. Don’t stop for anything. Make it to the hill. The trees will protect you. Hide in the secret tunnels like I showed you before, okay?”

“I’m scared.”

Ophelia stroked her hand through Agana’s hair as she scanned the streets and rooftops some more. “I’m going to carry you, but if something bad happens, promise you’ll run to the hill and you won’t stop.”

Ophelia felt Agana nod as her warm tears fell into her neck. She clutched Agana tight to her breastplate. Just as she was about to bolt from the door, she heard the back door of the cottage being kicked open.

JINK-JINK-JINK!—
bolt-thrower blasts rocked the house. The floor exploded in fragments and the cobblestone wall burst apart into clouds of dust. Agana screamed as Ophelia leapt with her from the doorway. Heads and bolt-throwers popped up from the rooftops. Ophelia rolled on the street, turtling herself up with Agana beneath her. She felt bolts explode off the back of her breastplate, sending painful shockwaves through her chest. She scooped Agana up and in a blinding aura of Caliber energy, leapt with her into an alley between two cottages.

JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK!—
the cottage walls next to them exploded; dirt was thrown up from the street; Ophelia felt the back of her right knee explode. She screamed and stumbled, nearly knocking Agana to the ground. She struggled back to her feet, but couldn’t get any support from her right leg. “Run!”

“I’m too scared!” cried Agana.

Ophelia grabbed Agana and with her star-metal bracer bashed through the wall of the cottage beside her. She fell inside with Agana, landing on toppled cobblestones just as more bolt-thrower fire exploded off the street and surrounding buildings.

“Shoot them! Shoot them!” Ophelia heard Sir Spengle shouting.

Inside the cottage a terrified mother clutched her two young children close. “Hurry,” said Ophelia, pushing Agana forward toward the back of the house as she hopped behind. Ophelia glanced back. She was leaving a trail of blood on the floor from her right leg. Her knee down to her calf was nothing but mangled meat and dangling tendons. She heard boots running toward the cottage.

“No more will our children be taken from us!” came the shout of a townsman.

“The reign of the Dire Mother and her little Vampire ends today!” yelled another man, closer.

Ophelia pushed Agana toward the kitchen and to the back door. She hissed in pain as she grabbed Agana close and balanced on her one leg. She encompassed herself in Caliber energy and then crashed her way through the door, tumbling with Agana into a back alley. To the right came a couple knights with a number of townspeople, all armed with bolt-throwers. They skidded to a halt and raised their weapons. To the left came more knights and townspeople. Ophelia clutched Agana, and with a grunt of pain leapt up, carried more by her Caliber than the strength of her leg.

Agana screamed as they bounded over a rooftop, the roar of bolt-throwers below and the whiz of the projectiles sailing past them in the air. They came down hard on a cobblestone street and Ophelia collapsed. Without hesitating, Ophelia picked herself up and grabbed Agana’s arm. She hopped her way down another alley between more cottages, ushering the crying Agana along.

Ophelia put a hand over Agana’s mouth, trying to silence her cries as she limped and hopped through the alley. From both ahead and behind she heard shouts, asking which way they went or if anybody had seen them. There were a couple sporadic
JINKs
from bolt-throwers. Then Ophelia came upon the backdoor of a cottage, and with a whack of her fist she bashed it open and pushed Agana inside. Ophelia tumbled in after her, falling upon the floor. She turned, struggling to kick the door closed behind her with her one good leg.

“Saint Ophelia I’m scared!” cried Agana. Then her eyes fell upon Ophelia’s leg. “You’re hurt! You’re hurt, Ophelia!”

“Move! Go!” said Ophelia against the searing pain in her leg. She clutched at the floor, trying to claw her way across the cottage’s kitchen. In the living room she saw a man and his wife standing there, looking at them with pale, terrified faces. The man looked to the front door of his house. Ophelia grabbed her sword and looked up at them from the floor. “Be silent! Don’t move!” she barked as severely as she could, though the pain in her leg was making her want to cry.

Then all heads turned. From next door came some shouts and a door was kicked in. “They’re not here!” “Try the next one! They’ve got to be somewhere over here!” “Block the streets! Men in every alley! Don’t let them escape!”

Crack!
Agana yelped and dropped Jackson as the backdoor was broken open. A tall, strong man came into the house. He had short, dark-brown hair and a thin beard. His brown eyes found Ophelia on the floor and he started. He trained his bolt-thrower down at her. Agana began crying and the man looked at her. He raised the gun, the barrel bobbing in his trembling hands. His lips quivered as he whispered the name, “Ursula.”

— 19 —

Eulalee

Saint Eulalee shivered. It was so cold and wet. Her eyes opened and were stung by frigid saltwater and blinded by darkness. Bubbles cascaded over her body and she looked down. Erygion the Standard Bearer was there, his eyes wide as he screamed into the black waters. Oily tendrils were wrapped around his legs and arms and they dragged him deeper and deeper into the endless abyss of the ocean.

Eulalee closed her eyes and felt her Caliber shine. Its white brilliance gave light to the waters, consuming her in a milky orb. She could feel Erygion’s pain and fear. Her Caliber intensified and she felt Erygion encompassed in it. She held out her hands to him. She felt his fingers slip into hers and together they rose. She let go of Erygion and felt his hands slip from hers as he continued to ascend above her. Her ears now filled with the roar of angry ocean waves. She looked down. Two terrible, yellow eyes peered up at her through the black water. A beak larger than she opened. Giant tentacles grabbed her limbs. She looked into the maw of her demise and screamed into the cold waters.

Eulalee shook her head, startled awake from her daydream. Her lungs burned as she engulfed the air. She looked around to see golden rays of sun cascading through the narrow, arched window of her dorm room. They left a puddle of light on the stone floor and warmed the back of her steel breastplate as she sat at her small, wooden desk. In her hand was a pencil. She puffed out a long breath and buried her face in her hands for a moment. Then she looked down at her drawing.

With flowing hand strokes she worked her pencil upon the sheet of parchment as she tried to get the curves of the beast’s tentacles just right. She ignored the two serpentine eyes she had already drawn, but felt them peering up at her nonetheless. She swallowed hard as she completed the graceful line with a flourish to make it curl in on itself. Beside her, a small yellow and black bird regarded her work with a tilted head before hopping onto the paper and pecking at the dust left by the pencil marks.

Eulalee smiled at the bird and set her pencil down. “Are you trying to tell me you’re hungry?”

Eulalee rolled up the half-finished picture of the sea monster. She didn’t think she’d finish this one. It was too nightmarish. Beneath it was the drawing she had started on yesterday: a great, black dragon. She liked dragons. Dragons were a far more tolerable subject than monsters from the deep. She slid open the drawer beneath her table and gently hid the new picture inside. The bird looked up at her and sang out. Eulalee couldn’t help but smile.

She sat upright in her wooden chair and stretched her lean arms upward as she yawned. The white leather bodysuit she wore was tight upon her young, limber body and made a rather pleasing sound as it expanded. She put her arms down and was about to give the bird a pet when there came a knocking on her door.

Eulalee felt her heart skip a beat and she jumped from her chair, nearly knocking it over. The bird chirped as she scooped it up and she bolted to her closet and flung open the door. Inside hung her few meager possessions: a couple extra bodysuits and some robes. A pair of shoes was on the floor next to her steel boots and on the shelves were placed the rest of her steel armor: the pauldrons, bracers and leggings. She also had a locked chest on the floor and she quickly kicked it to the back and tossed one of her robes over it. The knocking came upon her door again. “Um, just a minute!” she yelled as she quickly placed the little bird into her boot and shut the door.

Bare-footed, she padded across her small room to the wooden door and opened it just a crack until the chain of the lock was taught. She saw her own crimson eyes and short, crimson hair that framed her round face reflecting in a burnished, steel breastplate. Her eyes scanned up to see Saint Maximiel’s golden eyes looking at her. His thin lips spread into a smile.

“Hey Eulalee.” he said. He puffed out his bottom lip and blew his long, golden hair from his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, um, just drawing.”

“Can I see?”

She bit her top lip. At twenty-years old, Maximiel was her senior by five years and was one of the more powerful Saints Templars at Sanctuary. Despite the age difference, Eulalee’s Caliber still bested his by a great distance, although he was the only person able to keep up with her during training. As such, Saint Galizur always had her sparring with him and partnering with him and Maximiel seemed to take it all as a sign that they should be best friends. “Um…”

“Come on,” he said, pushing against her door. The brass chain tightened. “Let me in.”

Still biting her top lip Eulalee glanced over her shoulder at the closet. “Um…”

“Come on, I want to see what you’re drawing.” the little chain links began to stress.

“Um, ok, but just for a minute.”

Maximiel let off the door just enough that Eulalee could unfasten the bolt. Just as the chain came off, the door swung wide and Maximiel stepped in, closing the door behind him.

For twenty, Maximiel was a large man. His leather bodysuit conformed over the tight contours of sinewy muscles on his arms and legs. Like Eulalee, he wore his unremoveable steel breastplate, but unlike Eulalee, he wore the rest of his armor as well: steel gauntlets, bracers, leggings and boots. At his side hung his broadsword. Although all Saints wore unremoveable breastplates, only the elite Saints Templars had leather bodysuits and were allowed to wear the rest of the steel armor and carry swords. All the others at Sanctuary were Ecclesiastics and wore only gowns with their breastplates. The only Saints outranking the Templars were the Saints Caliber, and over them only Aeoria’s Guard. Eulalee hoped to make Saints Caliber one day. She definitely had the Caliber for it. However, Galizur and the rest of the Templars liked to constantly remind her that she was characteristically ill-suited for the role.

Maximiel raked a large hand through his long, golden hair and scanned her small dorm with his eyes. “These are all new.” he said, looking at the myriad of drawings and sketches hanging on the stone walls. Each was signed with her stellaglyph; her lithe, four-pointed star that was so similar to the Goddess, Aeoria’s. “What, you like, just sit up here and draw all the time?” He strode over to her bed, leaned over, and pulled one of the larger drawings off the wall. The parchment made a terrible ripping noise as it came off the hooks. He held it to his eyes. “All you draw are dragons?”

Eulalee hiked her narrow shoulders.

He tossed the picture on her bed and his golden eyes found her. “So, you want to hang out?” He smiled.

“Um…” Eulalee grabbed up the drawing from her bed and began neatly rolling it up.

Maximiel plopped down on her mattress. It was done up in plain white sheets with a red blanket nicely folded over the top. He patted his big hand on the side next to him. “Come on. Sit down.”

Eulalee walked the rolled drawing over to her desk and set it down, glancing at her closed closet door. “Um, maybe another time, Maximiel. I’m working on something.”

“Just another stupid drawing probably.” he said. “Come, sit down next to me.”

Eulalee turned around and looked at him. She bit her top lip and sighed. “Okay, but just for a minute.”

Maximiel smiled as she gently sat herself on the edge of the bed beside him. He scooted over to her, his breastplate clanging against hers. She felt his large arm wrap over her shoulders. His other hand rested on the top of her right leg. “So, you been training on your own any?”

Eulalee stared at the floor and shook her head. “No. Not really.”

“Aw come on,” jabbed Maximiel. His hands squeezed at the top of her arms. “I can feel some muscles.” His hands began stroking up and down the sheer leather of her arms. “Oh yeah, you’ve been doing those sword swings I showed you.” His hands began massaging at her biceps. “Does that feel good? Here, let me rub your back.” His hand slid over the small of her back and began rubbing.

Eulalee squirmed as she sat. “Um, no, I’m fine, Maximiel.”

“Look at you, always acting so tough! Come on, let me just rub those muscles out for you.” He turned on the bed to face her and his hands began caressing at her shoulders.

Eulalee folded her arms over her chest as she stared at the floor. “I’m fine, really. Please.”

“Oh, I like to hear ‘please’.” he said, licking his lips. His hands slid down over her breastplate. “What do you think is under these? Why do you think we can never take them off?” His hand went toward her belly.

She scooted away from him but he pressed over to her.

“Here, feel my arms.” he said. He raised his left arm and curled it, causing the leather around his bicep to scrunch as it balled into a sinewy mass.

Eulalee shook her head. “No thanks.”

“Oh come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and placing it on his flexed muscle. He rubbed her hand over it a few times. “Yeah, you like that?”

Eulalee felt her cheeks flush and she brushed her hair over her ear as she snatched her arm back over her chest. “It’s… it’s nice, Maximiel. But I’ve got some work to do.”

“No you don’t.” he said. “Come on, I just want to hang out. We’re partners, you know. We have to stick together.” His hand fell on her leg and began stroking at her thigh. “You know, you’re pretty young to be a Templar already. After I receive my Call to Guard, maybe I’ll apprentice you.”

“That would be nice, Maximiel.” said Eulalee. She wished the bed were a few feet longer. There was nowhere else for her to scoot over to.

“You know, when we’re out there, out in the field, we can do whatever we want.” said Maximiel. “Would you like that? To do whatever you want with me?”

“Um… well, I don’t know.”

“Well first you have to make Saints Caliber.” said Maximiel, still rubbing at her leg. “If you want to make Saints Caliber you can’t be shy. I can show you how to not be shy.”

Eulalee stood up and walked over to her desk. “Okay, maybe you can show me another time. I need to get back to work.”

Maximiel walked over to her desk and scooped up the picture she had been working on. It was of a black dragon swimming through space, his claws clutching at a star as if it were an apple to be eaten. “How come you draw dragons all the time? It’s kind of a weird thing to do.”

Eulalee hiked her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Maximiel tossed the drawing back onto her desk. His lips curled into a smile. “Yes you do. Come on, tell me.”

Eulalee bit her top lip.

“Come on,” said Maximiel. “You got a thing for them or something?”

“I… I see one in my dreams sometimes, I guess.”

Maximiel laughed. “For real? That’s kind of fucked up. You know what I dream about? I dream about you sometimes.” He stepped over to her and wrapped his big arm over her shoulders. “I do. I’m not afraid to admit it. You’re attractive, you know. And I got a thing for Saints with red eyes. You know, when I apprentice you as a Saints Caliber, you’ll be my student and you’ll have to do everything I say. I’ll protect you out there and show you the ropes, but you’ll have to obey me. You’ll have to do whatever I tell you.”

“Um, okay. We’ll see.” said Eulalee. “I’ll see you at training this evening, okay?”

“Hey, what’s that sound?” asked Maximiel. He walked over to her closet.

Eulalee felt her heart race and cringed as he opened the door, his body encompassing the entire frame. His golden eyes scanned around and he took down one of her bodysuits off the hanger. He held it to his nose for a moment. There was a chirping coming from her boot. He tossed the bodysuit to the floor and bent over and reached into her boot. “What’s this?”

Eulalee sighed as he pulled out the bird.

He laughed as he held the little thing up in his meaty hand. “Why do you keep birds in your closet? You pull out their feathers at night or something?”

“No,” said Eulalee. She walked over to him and took the bird from him. “I found him out in the yard yesterday. I healed his wing but he still can’t fly.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Maximiel. “Stupid thing’s wing is probably messed up. Hey, you know you can’t keep pets. If they find out you’ll get in trouble.”

Eulalee hiked her shoulders as the bird perched on her finger. She pet its back softly. “I like him. He’s neat.”

“Neat?” laughed Maximiel. “What’s neat about a stupid bird?”

“They can fly.” said Eulalee, admiring the thing’s silky, yellow feathers. “Sometimes, I feel like I was born to fly. Don’t you think it would be wonderful to be able to fly away sometimes?”

“Sounds kind of stupid to me, but whatever. If you like it, I guess that’s your thing.” said Maximiel, walking over to her. He mushed his large index finger onto the thing’s head.

“Careful,” said Eulalee. “Birds are delicate.”

“That’s even more stupid.” said Maximiel. “You can’t be delicate in this world. That’s what you need to learn, Eulalee. You have to learn not to be delicate so you can make Saints Caliber. Then I can apprentice you. You know, I can show you how to not be delicate.”

Eulalee heard her door click open and she spun. Standing in the doorway were Saints Theliel, Preil and Dumariel. All three were Saints Templar in their early twenties. Eulalee knew them well and often trained with them.