By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (26 page)

         “Even the lowest elves are more noble
than any human,” Violet said, touching Cinder’s arm kindly.  “That’s all right
dear.  Don’t let anyone here harass you.  Selric has had other girls here that
were not nobility, and certainly not as charming as you.  No one will mind. 
Well, no one that matters.”   She stood silent for a moment then spoke again. 
“How did
you
meet Selric?”

         “I was at
The Unicorn’s Run
with
friends.”

         “Oh,” she said as Andric came back with a
glass of wine for his wife.  Cinder looked for Selric.  Andric pulled her
about, not wanting her to see Selric near the table.

         “Here Cinder, let me introduce you. 
Selric will be back directly.”  But looking back, Cinder saw him holding hands
with and talking closely to a wholesomely beautiful blonde.  She giggled
thinking that Andric might feel she was jealous over his son.  Nonetheless,
Andric introduced Cinder to several of the prominent guests, one of whom was
Sir Arikal Barley, an influential nobleman.  He was with his wife, whom he had
failed to mention to Cinder when she had been to his mansion a few weeks prior. 

         Sir Barley did not acknowledge Cinder as
an acquaintance, as she had hoped, perhaps making her acceptance at the party
easier.  She didn’t know if he really could not remember her, or if he just
didn’t want to admit it.  She felt very lonely then, and wanted to blurt out to
everyone what Arikal Barley had asked her to do when they were alone at his
home, but she held her tongue.  Andric felt Cinder pinch his arm in her
anxiety.

         “Maybe I’m overdressed,” she thought
insultingly about herself and for the first time, wondered if she should maybe
curb her lust.  But when Andric kissed her hand, she realized how much she
simply loved attention.  His eyes sparkled at her, and while it was not love
for her or even lust, his admiration of her charm and beauty was more than enough
reason for Cinder to seek as much attention as she could fit into her life.

         “What’s the matter, my beautiful flower?”
Andric asked her as they stood alone, Barley and his wife, who had gazed kindly
and unknowingly at Cinder, had walked away.  Cinder laughed and shook her head,
denying any distress.  “All right then, what is so funny?”

         “I see where Selric gets his silver
tongue.”

         “You mean
forked
tongue,” Andric
said.  “The way he treats you girls...no offense on you darling...but he may
never call on you again.”

         “Oh, I think he will.  You are too hard
on your son.  He is very nice.  He is busy, but always makes time for his
friends,” she said honestly, relaxing a bit with Lord Stormweather.  He, like
Selric, was as straight forward as one could be without seeming totally boring
and stale.  Their charisma and stability would put even their enemies at ease. 

         “I’m sorry,” Selric said as he returned,
kissing Cinder’s cheek and handing her a golden goblet of wine.

         “Well, enjoy yourself, Miss Starshine,”
Andric said with a rough nudge for his son as he walked by.  “You had better
not hurt this one,” he whispered in warning.

         Cinder’s evening went better as the night
wore on.  Selric stayed only long enough for her to experience all that she
never had; in all, about three hours.  They left in a coach and went to a small
out-of-the-way inn where Selric had reserved a room.  They made love until dawn
and slept in each other’s arms toward noon.  It was Aurauch, or Worship Day,
named after the Father of the Gods himself, so Cinder did not have to work. 
They went to the city’s main park and relaxed there with each other all
afternoon.

         Dirk was admitted to the house by Anna,
the thirty year-old bodyguard.  “Can I help you?” she asked curtly.

         “Is Melissa here?” he asked, feeling
slightly intimidated by the warrior woman.

         “No, she isn’t,” Anna said, looking at
him as if she expected him to then leave.  “She’s over working, for once, and
her cohort, Fiona, is being typically lazy.”

         “I’d like to see
her
,” he said,
wishing Anna would disappear.

         “Fiona!” Anna screamed in his face, then
turning to stride into another room.  When Fiona failed to appear, Dirk went up
to her room, not wanting to walk home after coming all that way.  He opened the
door and jumped inside, trying to startle Fiona, but instead he tripped over a
step just inside the door; a step that had never been there before.  At least
it had not been three days earlier.

         “What in the Abyss!” he screamed.  Fiona,
standing up by some sort of altar, looked at him infuriatingly.

         “Don’t you knock?” she snarled.  “Shut
that door.  What are you doing here?”  Dirk stood up and closed the door,
harried by her anger and her tone.

         “What is all this?” he asked timidly,
walking in and looking around.  In front of the altar, hanging from the
ceiling, were two manacles suspended from one chain.  The room, somehow smaller
than before, was decorated in black and silvery-white accouterments, and six
benches were set before the altar.

         “A temple,” she answered plainly.

         “I see that.  To who?” Dirk asked,
walking up and swinging the manacles with a look of disgust.

         “Aura Painbliss,” Fiona said as she went
back to polishing the altar.

         “Her?” he screamed, immediately releasing
the chain.  Dirk had heard of the goddess in passing, but she was not very
talked-about.  “May Aura kiss you” was often said when wishing ill fate upon
another.  “I don’t believe it,” he said sternly.

         “Believe it,” Fiona said, lifting a nine
tail whip off the stone as proof.  The altar, made of snow white marble, also
bore manacles, two set close together at one end, one in each corner at the
other.  Fiona had made the room smaller by hiring a carpenter to sound proof
the walls, which meant building another wall inside the first and filling the
hollow space in between with padding.  The same was done to the floor, thus the
step Dirk had tripped over.  All the others in the house, except for Anna, had
been convinced by the charismatic and persuasive young priestess to attend
services regularly.  Fiona was very slick of tongue.

         “You’re weird...weird and sick,” Dirk
surmised confidently, turning to leave.  Fiona grabbed his hand and dragged him
to Melissa’s room, where she now slept as well, since the conversion of her old
room into the temple.  She gave him the same speech she had given Melissa and
the others, and through her glibness and intelligence, Dirk’s disgust soon
faded into simple misunderstanding.  Though no longer angry, he could still not
accept her beliefs himself.

         “You see,” Fiona added, stroking his
hand, “Aura is not simply the goddess of giving pain, but of understanding and
coping with it.  It could make you stronger, Dirk.”  Dirk thought on her words
for a few moments before shaking his head, as if resisting a spell or some
strong temptation.

         “No,” he objected.  “I still don’t like
it.”

         “Why not?” Fiona asked angrily, her try
at converting him failing, her frustration growing.

         “It’s just strange.”

         “Oh, but worshiping Telvar, the god of
war and bloodletting makes sense?  Bull shit!” she objected.  “Worshiping a god
whose sole purpose is to throw his faithful and the rest of us into wars is
insane.  Wars, Dirk, where people die.  Do you forget The War so easily?  And
who comes in after all the death and helps the people deal with the pain caused
by your god?  We do.”

         “That’s different.”

         “Oh yes.  Battle is grand; glorious. 
That’s a lot of...”

         “Bull shit, I know,” Dirk admitted
quietly.  Maybe she was right, he thought.  But Telvar Stoneshadow was grand. 
He was glorious.  Aura Painbliss was vengeful; dark.  “Then why aren’t there as
many temples to Aura as Telvar?” he asked brightly, trying to strengthen his
own faith.

         “Aura is misunderstood and people would
rather hide their pain away and not deal with it rather than face and conquer
it.  They are afraid to show others they feel it.  And they are afraid of pain
itself.  And also because there are so many bone-headed people who believe that
the strong should rule the weak and that they should be able to take whatever
they want.”

         “Then if Telvar’s followers always cause
wars, Aura must like him because wars cause pain.”

         “Telvar is just a pawn of Aura’s.  He is
one dimensional.  Aura understands, causes, and heals pain, even that which
Telvar brings.”

         “Don’t even try to tell me that Aura
Painbliss is more powerful than Telvar,” Dirk argued.  “Telvar is the greatest
god...”

         “Don’t forget Aurauch, the Father of
All,” Fiona cautioned.  Dirk fell silent with a confused look on his face. 
Religion had never been a concern of his.  He venerated Aurauch and thought
well of Telvar, patron god of warriors.  But all others drew no emotion from
him at all.  He had enough trials in his life that he didn’t need to worry
about the gods, too.

         “I don’t care,” he finally gasped in
frustration.  “I don’t even go to services.  Worship who you want.  None of
this matters to me. “

         “But it does matter to
me
,” Fiona
said, coming near Dirk somberly.  “I want you to accept my goddess...and me. 
Don’t think I’m weird, Dirk,” she begged.  Dirk looked at her child-like face,
her sad eyes, and her pouting lips as she leaned forward and kissed him.

         The next day, Dirk was ready to try his
plan.  Mr. Bessemer, as he did every Aurauch, checked Jenderson’s bookkeeping. 
Dirk’s knock on the open door was answered.  “Come in, Dirk,” said Mr.
Bessemer, an attractive, muscular man in his forties.  “What can I do for you? 
Is there some trouble?” he asked kindly.

         Dirk admired Mr. Bessemer more than
anyone he had known yet in his life, except maybe now Selric, but he had known
Bessemer for many years at this point.  He was friendly, generous, had a sense
of humor and an inner strength that exuded charisma.  He was often found
throughout the store talking and joking with the employees, unlike Jenderson,
who was only business and business only.  Mr. Bessemer took it all less
seriously.  Perhaps, Dirk thought in Jenderson’s defense, it was because he
actually owned the store and answered to no one but himself.  Dirk imagined,
hoped, that his father had been much like Mr. Bessemer.

         “I wonder if I could talk to you.  I
mean, if you’re not real busy,” Dirk said.

         “Of course, Dirk.  What is it?” he asked,
laying his papers aside and folding his hands.  “You haven’t gotten a girl in
trouble, have you?”  Dirk looked puzzled.  “It’s just a joke, Dirk,” Mr.
Bessemer said, laughing at Dirk’s innocence and slow comprehension.  “Please
continue.”

         “Well,” Dirk started, still wondering
what the joke had been, “I came into some money, or I will soon, and I wanted
to make you a business offer.”  Mr. Bessemer sat up smiling.

         “Money, huh?  That’s a subject I like. 
Go on.  What’s your offer?  Do you want to be a partner?” he asked, laughing. 
Dirk cleared his throat and looked away.

         “Actually, I wanted to buy the store
outright,” he said.  It was Mr.  Bessemer’s turn at bewilderment.  “You see,”
Dirk resumed, “no offense, but you don’t really run the store anymore, and I
thought that you might want to get what the place is worth and retire; not be
bothered with it anymore.  I’ve worked here ten years and you come in less and
less every year.  I thought maybe you were tired of being here and we could
make a deal.” 

         Mr. Bessemer turned his chair around and
looked out the window, down the street toward the South Gate, the store sitting
at an angle in the street so that, fittingly, the store could be seen as soon
as one entered the gate, and vice versa.  He sat that way, hands folded under
his chin, for several minutes; hours it seemed to poor Dirk.  “Dirk, will you
get Jenderson, please, and bring him in here.”  Dirk’s heart sank, thinking he
had angered Mr. Bessemer and would now lose his job for sure.  Depression was
overcoming Dirk as he found Jenderson and escorted him back to the office.

         Still facing the window, Mr. Bessemer
asked Dirk to tell Jenderson what he had said.  Jenderson, after a few
bewildered moments, began to scold Dirk, but their employer interrupted,
swinging back toward them and quietly eyeing them both.  “I’ve been
entertaining an idea for several months,” he finally spoke.  “I would like to
open a store in Gelton, away from these harsh winters.  I need cash to do
that.  But I knew Jenderson, whom I’d long thought could run the store
sufficiently without me, never had the capital to buy me out, so I kept
silent.  Dirk, you couldn’t run the store and I’m sure it would fail if
Jenderson left, which he probably would, rightly so, if left out of this
deal.”  Jenderson smiled smugly.  “Perhaps you would like to be partners.  You
can both do what you’ve always done, but be richer, if you have enough to buy
the store so that I can open a new one down south.”