Here Shines the Sun (45 page)

“Hey Max, we’ve been looking for you.” said Theliel, his gem-brown eyes fixing on the bird as he strode into the room, followed by the others. “What are you doing in here?”

“She’s got some stupid bird.” said Maximiel. “Says it got hurt.”

“You’re not allowed to have a pet,” said Dumariel, the Saint with white hair and eyes.

Preil’s aquamarine eyes fixed on the bird and he came up to Eulalee and made a grab for it, but she turned before he could snatch it. “I just want to see.”

“I think you should all go.” said Eulalee.

“Come on, Max.” said Theliel. “Let’s go get some lunch.”

“No, wait.” said Preil. “She can’t have that stupid bird. It’s against the rules. No pets.”

“It was hurt,” said Eulalee. “I healed him but he still can’t fly. I’m just keeping him until he can fly.”

“How do you know he can’t fly?” asked Preil. “Did you try?”

Eulalee pushed past them, cupping the bird in her hands, and made her way to her door. “Thanks for coming by, but I have some stuff to do now, okay?” She held the door open.

“Come on, guys. Let’s go.” said Dumariel. “Come on, Max.”

“Just wait a minute.” said Preil. He stepped over to Eulalee and brushed her red hair from her face. “Come on, little Eulalee, let me see it.” Eulalee saw Maximiel behind him. His golden eyes fixed on Preil’s hand as he pinched her chin in his fingers. “Come on,
please?
” he sang, shaking her face gently.

Eulalee sighed. “Um, okay, but just for a minute. Don’t hurt him.” She carefully placed the bird in Preil’s hand.

The bird perched on his finger and he waved his hand around gently. “Look, I think it’s ready to fly.”

Eulalee shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What are all these dumb pictures?” asked Theliel, tearing one off the wall.

“Um, please leave them alone.” said Eulalee, running over to him and grabbing it from his hand.

“Why do you spend all your time drawing?” asked Theliel. “Why not do something worthwhile like work on your Caliber strength?”

“Why would she need to work on her Caliber strength?” said Dumariel. “She’s already stronger than us. What she needs to do is work on cracking that shell she hides in. Can’t be nice out in the field when you’re a Saints Caliber.”

“Hey, Eulalee,” said Preil. He was standing by her window. He had cranked it open and was holding the bird out. “It’s ready to fly!”

“Preil!” cried Eulalee, running over to him.

“No, look,” said Preil. “He wants to fly!”

“Give him back!” She pushed into him, trying to grab for the bird.

“Oops!” said Preil, dropping the bird.

“Preil!” shrieked Eulalee as he stepped back. She watched in horror as the little yellow and black bird flapped violently, spiraling as it hit the side of the tower and then tumbled to the earth. She closed her eyes before it struck the ground about two-hundred feet below.

Preil laughed. “You were right. I guess it wasn’t ready to fly after all.” He slapped her on the butt. “Better luck with the next one. Come on, guys. Let’s go get some lunch.”

Theliel and Dumariel strode out the door as Eulalee collapsed at the windowsill crying into her arms.

“Wait,” said Maximiel, grabbing Preil’s shoulder before he went out the door. He tilted his head toward Eulalee. “Want to have some fun with me?”

Preil’s lips curled into a smile.

“Shut the door and lock it.” said Maximiel.

Preil turned around and slid the bolt over the lock. He turned back around and Maximiel grabbed him around the throat with one giant hand and lifted him off his feet.

Preil struggled, his feet dangling. His hands clutched at Maximiel’s wrist as he choked for breath.

“Don’t ever touch my stuff.” said Maximiel. He shook him by the throat. “Don’t ever touch my stuff.”

Preil’s body was encompassed by golden Caliber light as he struggled against Maximiel’s grip. Maximiel’s hand glowed a blinding white as he held him firmly. “I was just having some fun,” choked Preil. “Just wanted to see if it could fly.” he gasped as his face turned blue.

“Maximiel, what are you doing?” cried Eulalee, getting to her feet.

“Eulalee, you told me you wished you could fly.” said Maximiel, drawing his sword with his free hand. Preil’s wide eyes glared down at the blade. “I’m going to show you what it’s like for a Saint to fly.”

“Maximiel, don’t!” screamed Eulalee.

“Let’s see,” said Maximiel. “I think it’s right wing was hurt.” He jammed the tip of his blade into Preil’s right armpit. Preil howled even as he gasped for breath. Maximiel’s golden eyes shown with complete detachment as he twisted the blade and Preil’s arm fell off, thudding on the floor.

Eulalee screamed.

Still holding Preil around the throat, Maximiel carried him over to the window. “Fly little bird.” Glass shattered as Maximiel tossed him from the window. Preil’s shrieks trailed off into nothingness and then there was a quiet thud.

Eulalee’s crimson eyes went wide as she stared at Maximiel. She turned and saw the gruesome arm upon her floor, a puddle of blood beneath it. She felt Maximiel’s large hands encompass her shoulders and she turned to look at him.

“I told you,” he said. “When I apprentice you to be a Saints Caliber, I’ll protect you. But you’ll have to do whatever I tell you. That’s how it works. Now let’s go get something to eat. I want you to tell me more about how you wish you could fly.”

— 20 —

Here Shines the Sun

“Shh… Mom, just drink.” Rook tilted the cup of pungent tea to Sierla’s mouth as she lay upon a cot on the floor of Diotus’s basement lab, wrapped in blankets. Saint Ertrael had done all he could to heal her, but she was in bad shape. She wasn’t bleeding any longer, but the pink skin that striped her body and face was thin and tender. Just the act of breathing looked agonizing on her. Much of her hair had been torn from her scalp and Diotus had bound the top of her head with fabric.

Sierla looked up at Rook, her almond eyes hardly open at all. She smiled softly as she pushed the cup away from her lips. When she spoke her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “Please, I’m fine. Just want to sleep.”

“No sleeping.” croaked Diotus. He was still in his black Jinn robes with the eerie, green goggles over his face. It was an outfit that did not sit well with Callad one bit.

“She’s tired!” Callad boomed his protest. His eyes were red and wet. “She’s been through a lot. You kept her up all night. Let her have some sleep.”

Diotus walked up to the large man and stared up at him through those green lenses. “If she sleeps she risks falling into a coma, or worse. If you love her, keep her awake as much as possible. That tea will help. Speak to her. Make her aware of her surroundings. Awaken her consciousness and you’ll awaken her spirit to live.”

“Here, Mom.” Rook tilted the cup to Sierla’s lips again, this time a little more forcefully. Callad watched as she struggled to lift her head, then recoiled either from its taste or smell. “Ma, you have to drink.”

Kierza placed a soft hand upon Callad’s chest before he had the chance to voice his protests again. “It will help. Trust me.” said Kierza from beneath the hood of her brown robe. It was a loose-fitting gown of soft cotton but her entire body burned every time she moved. Diotus had given it to her after Ertrael healed her yesterday. Her own armor and dress were beyond repair.

Callad looked down at her and smiled as he took down her hood. Her hair was a ragged mess and a long strip of it was missing from her right side where only thin, pink skin now shown on her scalp. Feeling even more self-conscious without her hood or veil, Kierza covered her nasal cavity with a hand. Callad took her hand down too. “You’re my daughter and you’re beautiful.”

Kierza wasn’t so sure about that. Though she had fared better than Sierla, mostly due to the leather armor she had been wearing beneath her dress, her body looked and felt as if she had been flogged half to death. Down both her arms and legs were long, pink scars from where the Sisters had flayed her with their talons. Her back and chest and belly were striated with the same, painful scars. She felt tired and weak. She wanted the burning pain to go away. The tea Diotus had given her helped, but not nearly enough. She looked at Saint Ertrael and wondered if he might try soothing her again. “Ertrael…”

The Saint turned around, fixing her with his brilliant, ruby-red eyes. His hair sparkled like strands of gemstone in the dim gaslight as he stood by a black suit of armor in the corner of the room. It had strange, jagged waves painted up the arms and he had been fixated with the thing since they came here yesterday afternoon.

“Could… could you…” Karinael didn’t exactly know what she was asking for. The powers of a Saint were something of a mystery to her. She knew he had healed her and had watched him heal Sierla. Late last night when the pain became too much he had held her and soothed her in the warm glow of his Caliber. She hoped he could do it again, but he was still something of a stranger to her. Despite his help, she felt uncomfortable in his presence; like a mouse in the same cage as a hawk. Bellus only had a couple rarely seen Saints and they were always something to fear when they were out in the streets. Growing up she had always been taught to steer clear of Saints, even by Grandon when she was owned by him. Speaking with Saints was not something people did, especially not slave girls.

“I can try to ease your pain again,” said the Saint. He looked her in the eyes. “But, I want to be clear that I have no ability to heal you any further. Your wounds were quite severe, and my Caliber just is not strong enough to do anymore. If you are in pain I can help, but don’t hold onto hope that I can rid you of your scars.”

Kierza could see Rook practically trying to kill Ertrael with his eyes. Whether it was a don’t-you-dare-hurt-her look or a how-dare-you-dash-her-hopes look Kierza didn’t know and didn’t care right now. She walked over to Ertrael as quickly as she could. Saint Ertrael wrapped his arms around her body. They felt heavy upon her frame, his Star-Armor cold even through her robe. She pressed her cheek against his star-metal breastplate, enjoying its smooth coldness. She closed her eyes and felt his yellow Caliber light engulf her. It was warm and pleasant, and in it she felt no more pain. She exhaled loudly, practically moaning in relief as her legs nearly gave out. She felt him lean against the wall and sink to the floor, taking her with him, and she laid in his lap feeling more peaceful than she could ever remember.

“I must save my energy for your mother as well,” said Ertrael. “Five minutes.” Kierza was uncomfortable with how selfish that statement made her feel. She wanted nothing more than to just sleep here in his arms all day. She knew the minute he let her go the pain would slowly return, building and building until she couldn’t take it anymore and would end up right back in his arms.

“Tell me more of the armor, old man.” said Ertrael as he held Kierza, his body awash in a soft, golden light. “Tell me of this Dark Star Knight who wore it.”

Diotus regarded the Saint for a moment through his green lenses. “How much longer do you have?”

“After her I’ll ease the mother’s pain again, but then I’ll need to rest.”

Kierza silently cursed as she lay with her eyes closed. Her time was coming to an end already.

“No.” said Diotus. “Until… until they take you back, or whatever they call it.”

Kierza could feel Ertrael’s body expand and deflate as he puffed out a long breath. For a moment she was certain she could even feel a sudden fear and sadness course through his Caliber. “Recalled.” he said. He pursed his lips into a frown. “I don’t know. A day? An hour? However long it takes King Dahnzeg to send a message to Sanctuary that I have betrayed him.”

“What do you mean?” asked Callad. “What’s in a day or an hour?”

“He’ll be gone.” said Diotus.

Callad began to stammer. “But, what… you’ll be able to tend my wife again, won’t you?”

Kierza felt her body move as Ertrael shrugged.

Callad hurried over to him and knelt. It was strange, but Kierza was sure she could now feel Callad within Ertrael’s Caliber. She felt fear and despair; hopelessness. It began to make her uncomfortable and she squirmed in the Saint’s lap. “Please,” begged Callad. “You mustn’t leave until my wife and daughter are better.”

“He’s not leaving, Pa. He’s going to die.” said Rook, still at his mother’s side, holding her hand. “Holy Father Admael will strike him down with thunder and lightning from the sky.”

Callad’s eyes went wide and he reached for Kierza. Kierza could feel his intention to drag her as far away from Ertrael as possible.

The Saint chuckled and held her firmly. “No, it doesn’t work quite like that. But yes, I will be struck dead. They will break my sanguinastrum and I’ll be consumed into my armor.”

Callad looked at the Saint’s breastplate, his own horrified face staring back at him in its glassy, black sheen. Ertrael turned his neck to show his stellaglyph and explained to them all about how the Saints Caliber were bonded to their armor, destined to die within it. “They’ll find it laying where I fall on that day. It will be too heavy for any of you to move, even working together. Sanctuary will send another Saint to collect it, and it will be given to the next in line for Saints Caliber.”

“Well, you seem rather at ease for a man with an impending death sentence.” said Callad. “But, thank you. Thank you for helping me and my family. If there is anything I can do…”

Ertrael shook his head. “It’s my pleasure. It feels good to have done some good in this world. I wish I could have done more.” Kierza knew her time was up even before the Saint could speak it. She sat up from his arms and pulled her hood over her head. Callad helped her to her feet.

Ertrael stood and walked over to Sierla. He knelt beside her and took her hand into his. Slowly his Caliber began to shine, soft and golden until it encompassed them both. Rook remained at his mother’s side, holding her other hand. Ertrael looked at him. “I meant to speak with you last night, but, with everything going on…”

Rook nodded. “Who are you? How did you know I was from Jerusa?”

“You’re the one who was sending food supplies into Jerusa, are you not?”

Rook nodded.

“I was being apprenticed in Jerusa by Saint Adonael of the River’s Edge. We helped a man bring in wagons full of grain and dried meats a few times.” said Ertrael. “He was from Narbereth. I believe his name was Gabidar. There were other Saints helping too. One of them was Karinael. She’s the main one who helps Gabidar. Throughout Jerusa she’s known by the people as Karinael of the Generous Hand.”

Rook looked down and smiled softly. Kierza was sure she saw a tear roll off his cheek.

“I heard your name mentioned once or twice.” said Ertrael. “I overheard Gabidar speaking with Karinael once. He accidentally let your name slip, I think. Rook. Rook Gatimarian. A name like yours stands out to somebody stationed in Jerusa where nobody is allowed to have their own name.”

Rook nodded softly and wiped at his eyes. “My parents just called me a raven when I was young.”

“You’ve done a lot of good for the people of Jerusa.” said Ertrael. “And for us Saints. It’s given a new purpose to a few of us. It’s showed some of us that we can be more than fear and death.”

Rook looked at Ertrael.

“Not all Saints are evil.” said Ertrael. “Like you people, we too are caught under the upper hand. We are given the freedom to torment, and nothing else. And if you don’t take that freedom, they grind you to dust. And soon I will pay the ultimate price for not toeing the line.”

“I’m sorry for that.” said Rook. “You seem a decent man.”

“There is no room for decency in the Saints Caliber.” said Ertrael. “That is the sad truth of the matter. At Sanctuary we are raised to admire the Saints Caliber. We all aspire to be like them. We’re told that they are great heroes, bravely daring the corrupt kingdoms of the world to bring Aeoria’s justice. But Sanctuary does not promote those with kind hearts. They train the most ruthless and cold of us to be Templars, and of those only the ones with the most powerful Calibers are ever given their Call to Guard, their invitation into the elite Saints Caliber. The price for those not worthy of Templars or Saints Caliber is a life cleaning the latrines or cooking in the kitchen; laboring day in and day out. A life confined to Sanctuary, never allowed beyond its walls. It is a fate that drives many to be wolves, lest they suffer the fate of sheep.”

Ertrael paused a moment in thought. He looked at Rook, Callad, Kierza and Diotus all at once now. “I’ve heard the screams of men and women as my sword cut them down. I’ve heard the sobs of mothers weeping at the graves of their children I’ve killed. I’ve been called a monster. I’ve been called a murderer. I’ve been asked why those with such powers as I would use them to the advantage of wicked Kings and their Exalted. I’ll tell you the truth,” he said, pointing to the slave brand on Rook’s neck. “It is the same reason that your own people enslave you. The same reason your city guards would rather torment and harass you than offer a helping hand. It’s because it is us or you. We’re told that you people are all sinners; that it is your will the world is the way it is. We’re told that it is by the sins of man that the Goddess remains sleeping.”

Ertrael stood up from Sierla. She was sleeping peacefully now. He looked down at Rook with those ruby eyes of his. “Lies are easily broken but for the fear they are built upon. Karinael of the Generous Hand showed me that. A deed done in kindness, without promise of any return, crumbled the walls of fear that confined me to Sanctuary’s course. For too many Saints, however, that wall of fear is too imposing to confront. Forgive me and my brethren for the crimes we have committed against you and your people. I do not know how much longer it will be before I am recalled, but let my death mean at least some penance.”

“Can we help you?” asked Kierza. “Is there anything we can do?”

Ertrael shook his head. He rubbed at the stellaglyph scarred upon the back of his neck. “I am bound to this armor and when they break my sanguinastrum, I shall be consumed by it. The armor that is meant to protect me from evil is the very weapon evil uses to strike me down. That is the way of it. That is my price for the crimes I committed to rise into the Saints Caliber.”

“Diotus,” said Rook. “Can you remove the mark from his neck? Remove his stellaglyph?”

“No.” said Diotus. “You always think me a God. You think the Jinn have powers beyond those of mortal men. I have no such powers, boy.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ertrael, casting his eyes down. “I’m ready, I think. Ready to die.” Here Ertrael looked at Rook. “It’s strange, but yesterday, in your smithy, when my Caliber shined unnaturally, I thought I felt Saint Karinael of the Generous Hand with me. That was the second time it’s happened to me, and I don’t know why. Perhaps she’s reaching out to me somehow, trying to tell me it’s all going to be all right. That’s what I like to think. Maybe she found a way out. I hope so. Lament when she dies, for she alone of the Saints Caliber is without sin.”