Here Shines the Sun (75 page)

“‘Yes, a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me if you keep my name. As I have lived, you can also live. And if you do you will know that I dwell within you, and you within me.’”

Solastron made a contemplative rumble.

Isley looked up to him. “Have you heard the words and deeds of Aeoria, my friend?”

Solastron regarded the Saint for a moment. “More than that. For I am her hound.”

Isley eyed the wolf keenly. “You are her hound?”

Solastron swished his tail. “I have heard it said that you seek a woman named Celacia, and that with her you believe you shall awaken the Goddess.”

“I do.” said Isley.

Solastron swished his tail again, his eyes flashing in the gaslight.

“Does that displease you?” asked Isley.

“She is the final herald.” rumbled Solastron. “When Death walks the Earth and the Raven wields Dragonfire, my final charge to the Goddess comes due.”

“What is your charge to the Goddess?” asked Isley.

“Sit with me, Isley of the Long Hours, and I shall tell you the tale of Aeoria’s fall.” said the wolf.

— 36 —

Burnt Offerings

The bright face of the moon just began to show itself in the darkening, summer sky and a cool breeze swept through the open windows of the fully renovated Venzi cottage where two extra bedrooms had been added. One was home to Saint Ertrael and a larger one was made for the three young Notaro boys. Jocab and Tomas shared a bed and beside them, on his own bed, was little Galen. All three were bundled up tight in their blankets and their eyes were closed in sleep. Galen had a peaceful look on his face, but his chest moved up and down with ragged breaths.

Ertrael sat reclined at the end of Galen’s bed, his head resting on the wall as he sang a soft and somber song. Kierza had been listening to it with some interest as she stood with Rook in the shadows of the room. It wasn’t a song she had ever heard before, and its words were sad but somehow made comforting by the Saint’s voice, which, like his Caliber, was warm and soothing. She thought it some type of elegy; a lamentation to somebody dear and departed; a song to ease a loved one into their final slumber.

Kierza slipped her hand into Rook’s. “It’s a beautiful song.” she whispered.

“Do you think Galen will sleep through the night?” asked Rook.

Kierza smiled and nodded. “I think he will. I think tonight he will.”

The bedroom door creaked open as Ertrael’s song came to a close. Sierla floated into the room in her nightgown, carrying a tray of cookies and some glasses of warm milk. “Oh,” she said with some surprise. “They are sleeping.”

Kierza smiled. “It turns out that Saint Ertrael knows a lullaby or two.”

“Not really lullabies” he said quietly. “Just some songs somebody I know used to sing.” Ertrael sat up on the bed, careful not to disturb Galen. Kierza watched with amusement as the Saint’s eyes went to the cookies and he licked his lips like a little boy.

Sierla shivered. “It is cold in here.” She went to the window, resting her tray on the sill. She was about to close the window but stopped and stared out into the yard for a moment.

“Something wrong?” asked Ertrael.

“It was nothing.” Sierla said. She closed the window and locked it. Then she padded over to Ertrael and he scooped up a couple cookies and a glass of milk. Sierla gently placed the tray on the nightstand next to the bottles of medicine for Galen. “I’ll leave these here then,” she whispered. “Just in case they wake.” She turned back to Ertrael and pecked him on the cheek. “Goodnight, my Saint.” she whispered. She tapped him on the nose with a finger. “And save some cookies for the boys.”

“Goodnight.” said Ertrael, wrapping his arm around her back.

Sierla smiled and then went over to Galen and then Tomas and Jocab, giving them each a kiss on the forehead, saying her goodnights to the sleeping boys. Finally, she went to Rook and Kierza, giving them each a kiss. “Goodnight my handsome son and beautiful daughter,” she said. She turned to Rook and placed something in his hand. “Ralf just sent this. You come home before it’s too late. No more staying out until all hours.”

Kierza stared down at the scroll in Rook’s hand as Sierla slipped out of the room. She chewed her bottom lip, resisting all urge to say anything as Rook unrolled it, scanning it with his eyes.

Rook rolled it back up and slipped it into the waist of his black, leather armor before Kierza could see what was drawn on it. “I have to go.”

“So, you’re going out?” She tried not to sound as bitter as she was, but failed miserably. She knew it. She knew by the way he was still wearing his leather armor and carrying his sword at his side. She knew he couldn’t just stay home, not even for one night. Rook was hardly home at all anymore. During the day he was with Sir Rivenal, Tamus and all the others on the First Council whose names she couldn’t remember. He’d spend the day at the Council Manor poring over documents and ledgers or compiling plans based off what news his scouts and quick-hounds would return with. At night he’d be at Diotus’s lab building more bolt-throwers or doing stars-know-what. He had promised to stay home tonight and let Blake and Dontis deal with the returning scouts and quick-hounds. He had kept part of his word by spending the evening playing games with the boys, but Kierza had been looking forward to her own time alone with him.

“I have to go to the gate. I need to speak with Blake.” said Rook. Kierza did nothing to hide the resentment on her face and she let him take it all in. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He brushed his hand through her hair but Kierza turned away from him. If it weren’t for the sleeping boys, she’d have a few choice words to say. Already she was mentally perfecting them for when he did eventually come back home.

“Do you want me to go instead?” asked Ertrael, chomping on a cookie.

Rook shook his head. “Thank you, but… No, I better just go.” He looked at Kierza. “I’m sorry, but this is important. I’ll be back soon.” He lifted her veil to give her a kiss but she swatted his hand back down.

“It’s always important. Stay as long as you need.”

Rook pursed his lips in a frown. For a moment he looked as if he might say something else, but then he turned from her, letting his hand slowly slip from hers as he went to the door. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him as he walked out, shutting the door gently behind him.

“He wants to be with you.” said Ertrael. He took a gulp of milk even as he chewed his cookie. “But duty is a mistress. The people of this city look to him. He is the keystone that holds everything here together.” He gulped down the rest of his milk.

“That was a beautiful song,” said Kierza, not wanting to hear another word about duty or responsibility. She watched Ertrael set down the glass of milk and look at her with a creamy mustache. She almost giggled. She pointed at him. “You have a…” She motioned at her own mouth.

Ertrael wiped a hand down his mouth and Kierza thought she could even see him blush. “Sorry.”

She walked over to him and leaned on the wall beside the bed. “Where did you learn how to sing?”

Ertrael reclined in the bed. “I once told you that there is somebody I love back at Sanctuary. Her name is Asriel, and she often sang to the dead.”

“To the dead? That sounds a little morbid.”

Ertrael breathed deeply. Beside him Galen stirred slightly but then his ragged breaths began their gentle rhythm again. “She was haunted by their voices. She told me that the voices only stopped when she sang. Sometimes, when we were together, I would hold her in my arms and sing for her. It was the only time she was ever at peace.”

Kierza gently sat down on the edge of the bed next to Ertrael and placed her hand on his leg. “That’s sweet.” she said, smiling at him.

Ertrael stared up at the ceiling and smiled too, as if lost in a pleasant memory. “At night I would hold her and sing her songs until she fell asleep beside me. I think those nights were the only time she ever slept.”

Kierza gently scooched her way beside him, careful not to jostle Galen. She leaned back on Ertrael, resting the side of her face on the cold metal of his breastplate. “Would you sing me another one of her songs?”

Ertrael gazed down at her amber hair. She felt his hand hesitantly nestle on her back. Then his voice began into a gentle song, and Kierza closed her eyes and listened. This was a sadder song than the last, of snow falling upon a grave and a man who would come each morning to clear it, until one day he didn’t show up and another grave was set beside the first.

She put her arm over Ertrael, stroking her hand over the smooth, glassy surface of his star-metal pauldron. She loved the way it felt to the touch, and how cool it was on such a summer night. As his song played in her ears, she thought about Rook. Where once he had been like a stone for her—something that was solid, certain and always there—he was becoming like water in her hand and she felt him slipping between her fingers. But it was more than that. It felt like he was the one letting go, and she was left to grasp at what little remained in her palm.

Duty is a mistress
. Ertrael’s words floated in her mind like a discordant instrument against the melody of his song. She was being selfish, she knew. She didn’t need Ertrael to remind her that the people of this city needed Rook. But love is a selfish thing, she thought. The heart wants the love of somebody special all to itself. In fairytales, love was always an immutable thing. It stood fast against all odds. But this world was not a fairytale. The only thing immutable in this world was star-metal, and it was a cold, black thing.

Kierza stroked her hand upon Ertrael’s breastplate. She had learned a few things from him about Star-Armor. It was passed down from Saint to Saint, haunted by the memories of those who came before. Perhaps love was like star-metal. Perhaps it could stand fast, but change owners; always to be haunted by those who came before. She hoped that wasn’t true. She loved Rook. But was she becoming relegated to memories; becoming the one who came before duty arrived?

A tear fell from Kierza’s eye and rolled off the sleek surface of Ertrael’s breastplate. She closed her eyes, taking in his song as if it were his Caliber. As she lay there with him, she was reminded of the days and nights that he cradled her in his arms as he healed her with his Caliber. He had taken all her pain away, and she never wanted to leave his embrace. As she thought about Rook, she wondered if his Caliber might take that hurt away too.

Kierza stared at her reflection in the mirror surface of his breastplate. Her veil covered her mutilated nose. The rest of her face was disfigured by pink stripes from where the Sisters had flayed the flesh from her. Kierza wondered that if duty was a mistress, if it had become a more beautiful one than she in Rook’s eyes. More silent tears rolled off Kierza’s cheeks. And then Ertrael’s voice cut short in the middle of a song.

“What’s wrong?” whispered Kierza, not looking up at him.

Ertrael breathed deeply. “I… sometimes I feel her, like Asriel is reaching out to me. Like I can feel her fingers in my Caliber, not unlike what Karinael could do.” he said. “I… I thought I felt her now, is all. I thought I felt her reaching to me from a dark place; a painful place.”

“Can you shine your Caliber for her?” whispered Kierza. “Maybe if you shine it, she can find you.”

Ertrael didn’t say anything. They both lay together in a silence broken only by the soft breathing of the boys. At last Kierza spoke, her voice plain and without emotion, “Do you want to go to her?”

“I don’t know.” whispered Ertrael. “I am torn between two worlds. Though I love her, she is part of an old world; a world that becomes uglier to me each passing day. But in this house I feel I am reborn to a new world. It’s a world strange and foreign to me, but one that somehow feels right; a world I do not want to slip from my hand.”

“Will you shine your Caliber for me?”

Ertrael was silent, but she felt a warmth embrace her. She closed her eyes, squeezing away the last of the tears. She pushed herself further up on him, hoping he might put his other arm around her and hold her like he had done so many times when healing her. She puffed a hot breath, fogging Ertrael’s breastplate. Then, in the dim light of his golden Caliber, she wrote Rook’s name upon it. Ertrael began another song, placing his other arm around her. She watched as Rook’s name slowly faded from his breastplate, and then she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Rook was surprised to see Ralf outside the cottage. The pudgy man was bent over and breathing heavily, bathed in the light of a gaslamp just outside the door and was in an old suit of leather armor that was at least two-sizes too small for him. The brown leather was badly scuffed and the metal studs were rusty, but Rook could see that Ralf gave it all the love he had, having oiled it and polished it as best he could. Unlike his armor, the dented helmet that capped his head was too big and sat low on his brow, sweaty cords of red hair sticking from it. He was sweating profusely and the gaslight made his pallor seem more jaundiced. “Ralf?”

“Rook,” gasped Ralf, struggling up to his feet. He swallowed hard. “Rook, Blake needs you right away. It’s really important.”

Rook looked down the hill the cottage sat upon. Even from here he could see all the torches at the city’s main gate, their bright flames reflecting off the armor of the knights gathered there. The message Blake had sent Ralf to deliver had a drawing of a star above a drawing of the city gate. That meant a new Saint had shown up. There was only one star, and Rook hoped that number was accurate and not just scrawled for lack of time. He didn’t hear any bolt-thrower fire, so he was hopeful that whatever their number, the Saints came in peace. The message also had an ‘X’ on it, which was code for Rook to come alone without Ertrael.

Rook looked back at Ralf. The man wiped a big hand down his face, drawing away a sheet of sweat. His knees were shaking and he looked as though he might collapse at any moment. Rook knew that Ralf had a big heart and wanted to do his part to help secure the future of Free Narbereth. Rook had talked Blake into training Ralf as a city guard, but now he was worried that maybe Blake was pushing the man a little too hard. “Is there just one Saint?”