Here Shines the Sun (58 page)

“Really?”

The Oracle nodded. “But we were wrong about her. As you know, she has turned out to be quite the exemplary Saint. Truth be told, neither us nor the Bishops thought she would have turned out so well. Perhaps…” began the Oracle. “Perhaps she should be the one to apprentice you?”

Eulalee felt her heart practically explode from her breastplate. Her mouth hung agape and her crimson eyes went wide. “R-Really…”

“You both share a very powerful Caliber.” said the Oracle. “And you both share certain personality traits. With any luck Nuriel’s…
aptitude
as a Saints Caliber will rub off on you. Perhaps she can see to it that the same things that molded her will also shape you.”

“I, I don’t know what to say!”

“Don’t say anything yet.” said the Oracle. “We do not typically share such information. Keep this to yourself.” It regarded her for a moment. “Like Nuriel, you too will be the youngest to ever make Saints Caliber. Maybe that will give her a little something to be jealous about you?”

Eulalee blushed. “I… I… Thank you!”

“We shall be in touch.” said the Oracle. “It was a pleasure to speak with you, Eulalee. Just remember to keep our conversation to yourself.”

Eulalee placed her hands on her breast as she stood. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I will, I promise!”

“Have a good evening.” said the Oracle.

Eulalee turned, and she felt the entire universe revolving around her. She smiled brightly and strode for the door. She looked back and thanked the Oracle and Sin Eaters one more time, and then walked out. Standing in the hall was Saint Gabriel with Maximiel at his side.

“Hey Eulalee.” said Maximiel, his golden eyes fixing on her.

Eulalee looked up at him. “Oh, hey Max.”

“Max?” he said. “You know, you never called me that before.”

“Oh, um, I, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” said Maximiel. “I like it when you call me that.”

Eulalee cringed. “Oh, well…”

“I’ll come by later, okay?”

“Um, well, I don’t—”

Maximiel brushed past her into the chamber.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“Ah, Maximiel,” said the Oracle as he strode in and took a seat at the table where Eulalee had been previously. The door clicked shut behind him. The Oracle waited for Maximiel to settle in comfortably before saying, “I understand there was a little mishap?”

“What do you mean?”

“Saint Preil.” said the Oracle. “You cut his arm off and threw him out a window to his death.”

“Yeah.” said Maximiel. “I did that.”

“Is there a reason?”

“He had it coming.” said Maximiel. “He pissed me off.”

“I see.” said the Oracle. “Did you enjoy killing him?”

Maximiel shrugged. “I won’t say it didn’t feel good. Like I said, he had it coming.”

“You remind me of a young Saint Umbrial.” said the Oracle. “But with a little something more.”

“I heard of him.” said Maximiel. “Out in Jerusa he got killed by an Unbound or something like that.”

“Yes,” said the Oracle. “Or something like that.”

“So what’s this all about?” asked Maximiel. “What am I here for?”

The Oracle turned his head and looked at the Sin Eaters for a moment. Then his mirror mask turned to face Maximiel again. “I think we have even greater plans for you than we first thought.”

“You mean the Saints Caliber?” asked Maximiel. “I already know I’m getting in. I deserve it.”

“What if we told you that you could be something even greater?” said the Oracle. “What if we told you that you could be one of the Chosen Ones?”

“What’s a Chosen One?”

“It’s something great. Something beyond your wildest imagination. Tell me, Maximiel,” said the Oracle. “What is the world out there to you?”

“It’s a land of gods and monsters.” said Maximiel.

“Interesting.” said the Oracle. “And who are the gods?”

“The Kings.” said Maximiel.

“And what are the Saints?” asked the Oracle. “The monsters?”

“No.” said Maximiel. “We’re the angels. The angels sent by the gods to do their work.”

“I see.” said the Oracle. “Then who are the monsters?”

“Everyone else.” said Maximiel.

“Yes.” said the Oracle. “You are definitely a Chosen One.”

— 26 —

Apollyon’s Child

It was cold, Rook thought, for a summer morning. Though the sun rose above the hills casting its drowsy, golden light upon the dewy fields, a layer of dark clouds drifted in the west, adding a damp briskness to the breeze. Within the confines of Sierla’s wildflower garden, just beyond Rook’s smithy, the Saints were all gathered near a small, Narberethan magnolia tree that was in a spectacular bloom of pink flowers. Beneath it, a four-pointed star of Aeoria, crudely made of bound wood, was planted. Before it laid Karinael’s star-metal broadsword upon the freshly dug earth, all sprinkled with pink flowers. Saint Hadraniel knelt beside the grave where the armor of his beloved would forever rest. His eyes were red and tears dampened his cheeks. Saint Ertrael stood beside him and Saints Cabiel and Loganiel stood nearby in silence.

Cabiel and Loganiel were Saints like Rook had known all his life: aloof, indifferent and standoffish. At least, to everybody other than Hadraniel and Ertrael. The two had not spoken a word to him or anybody else and had wanted nothing to do with Diotus. In fact, Cabiel and Loganiel had eyed Diotus with such disdain that Ertrael suggested the old man remain out of their sight for a while. Even with Ertrael and Hadraniel the two seemed more interested in obtaining information about their own sanguinastrums than in making friends. They were slightly more friendly with Ertrael but had helped Hadraniel dig a grave for Karinael so long as the information about what had been happening with the sanguinastrums and Sanctuary’s inability to recall Saints kept coming.

Cabiel and Loganiel eyed Rook suspiciously as he approached with Kierza, Callad and Sierla. They each tossed a rose upon the grave. “She’ll be missed.” said Kierza. She leaned down over Hadraniel and kissed him upon his brow. Rook could see that Cabiel and Loganiel were not entirely comfortable with them. Cabiel especially seemed taken aback by Kierza giving Hadraniel a kiss.

Rook said a silent prayer, asking Aeoria to guide her soul to whatever lay beyond for Saints. He patted Hadraniel on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.” he said. Sierla whispered something into Hadraniel’s ear and he nodded. Callad didn’t say anything, but patted Hadraniel on the shoulder just as Rook had. After a moment of silence, Rook and his family took their leave and Ertrael came up to Rook.

“I must speak with you.” said Ertrael softly.

Rook nodded.

“Me and your mother will get some food prepared.” said Callad. He looked at Kierza. “Come, help me draw some water from the well for them. They’ve had a long night.”

Kierza nodded.

“And you,” said Sierla, wagging a finger at Ertrael. “You should not stay out so late. Let me know if you won’t be home for dinner next time.”

Rook blushed, embarrassed that his mother would scold a Saint like that. It took Ertrael a moment to realize Sierla had been speaking to him, and then he started.

“That’s right.” said Sierla as Callad smirked and shook his head. “No staying out so late.”

Ertrael smiled and chuckled. “Yes, mother.”

Kierza held her veil over her face as she stifled a laugh and followed Callad and Sierla back to what remained of the cottage. Though the living room and dining room walls were destroyed, enough of the kitchen remained to be useful. The bedrooms as well were pretty much intact and Rook had been thankful that they had been able to sleep in their own beds last night.

“I’m sorry about that.” said Rook.

Ertrael chuckled as he led Rook a short distance from the garden. “No worries. I suppose if I am staying here, I ought to obey the rules of the house.” Ertrael cleared his throat and then took on a more serious demeanor. “I couldn’t find any sign of Asteroth or the others.” he said. “And I worry for Hadraniel and what is to become of Cabiel and Loganiel.”

Rook nodded. They stopped near the cottage and Rook watched curiously as Cabiel handed Hadraniel a small pack. He had seen them all injecting themselves with something from it last night but had thought it would be in poor-taste to inquire about it at the time. “No sign of Ovid either?”

Ertrael shook his head. “I wandered the city for a time late last night and I checked in with Diotus early this morning before the sun rose. Not a single Saint.”

Rook watched as Hadraniel took off his left bracer and rolled up the leather sleeve of his bodysuit. Cabiel held what looked like an injector. Rook couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “What are they giving Hadraniel?”

“It’s called Evanescence. Ev. It’s a drug many Saints use.” said Ertrael.

“Do you use it?”

“Sometimes.” admitted Ertrael. “Karinael never used it, and would never allow any Saint to use it around her.”

“Should you stop him?” asked Rook.

Ertrael shook his head. “Hadraniel has much to sort out. I don’t know him well enough to get involved. And Cabiel and Loganiel are here only by a thread. I don’t think they’ll stick around.”

“I know Karinael was intent on making it to Duroton with the others.” said Rook. “Do you think Hadraniel will still go?”

Ertrael hiked his shoulders. “Hard to say. Maybe if I can find the others there is a chance. Otherwise…”

Rook looked at Ertrael. “Are you going to Duroton?”

Ertrael sighed. He didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know. I have much to sort out as well.”

The sound of footsteps coming up the dirt road caught Rook’s attention. He turned and saw Marisal Notaro coming up the path toward him. Her eyes looked desperate and distant. Her simple, blue dress looked as tired and worn out as she. She held her black veil upon her face as the wind swept the road and she called out to him.

Rook bit his lip and waved to her. His stomach fluttered. “That’s Marisal,” Rook said, his voice uneasy. “Gabidar’s wife.”

Ertrael nodded with understanding and patted Rook on the shoulder. “I am going to go back to Diotus. Perhaps together we can find the others, or Ovid. And tell your mother I’ll make sure I am home in time for dinner.”

Rook tried not to blush as he nodded. “Be careful.” Ertrael departed as Marisal approached him.

“Rook! Rook!” she called. She seemed a little frantic and Rook noticed she did not have her three children with her. He hoped nothing had happened to them. He knew that the news of her husband’s death would shatter her, and he didn’t think he’d have the heart to tell her if something had now happened to her children during the fighting. He already felt responsible for Gabidar’s death and didn’t know if his conscience could handle anymore bad news from the family. He blew out a long breath.

“Marisal, are you all right?” Rook came up to her. Her eyes were red and puffy. She looked as if she hadn’t slept for days. Something was definitely wrong. “Where are the little ones?”

“Rook, you must come with me,” she pleaded. “Little Galen has fallen ill. Our ships were damaged in all the fighting. I haven’t heard from Gabidar and I just don’t know what to do.”

Rook embraced her, but inside he was full of terror. He’d have to tell her that her husband was dead; that her husband was killed in Jerusa, where he had sent him; that Gabidar was murdered by Saint Ovid, a Saint who was now here in Bellus looking for him. He may as well tell her that he had killed Gabidar himself. A huge weight settled on his shoulders, forcing a long breath from his mouth. “Come.” said Rook. “There is much I need to speak with you about. We’ll stop by Diotus’s shop and get medicine for Galen.”

Marisal shook her head frantically. “No. No. Just, you must come with me. Hurry.”

Rook looked back at the cottage where his family was. He thought he ought to tell them where he was going, but Marisal took him by the hand.

“Quickly,” she urged. “You must come with me.”

Rook’s mind was too busy thinking of what he was going to say to her and how he was going to say it to protest. He swam in these grim thoughts until they were well within the city, and even then he was only vaguely aware of the cheers he was receiving. Bellus was full of people and already things were getting back to normal. Shops were open and children played in the streets as others rebuilt damaged buildings. If Rook weren’t so preoccupied with his thoughts, he would have even noticed the much lighter tone of everything. There were knights by the thousands and all the city guard, but they were not patrolling the streets or keeping order. They were here, among their fellow citizens, as fellow citizens.

It was only when they came upon the warehouses did Rook notice his surroundings, and only then because something seemed off. They were not headed toward Marisal’s home near the river, but rather they were in the storage district closer to the main docks. “Where are we going?” asked Rook.

“Here,” said Marisal, leading him toward a large warehouse in the center of an alley. She opened the wooden door and ushered Rook inside. It was a spacious building with crates and barrels stacked along the far walls. There were some dusty, high windows that let in some bleak light, but it was otherwise dark and seemingly empty. Rook’s eyes were drawn to the floor beneath him. Blood stained the wood, as if somebody had been terribly injured here. Marisal locked the door behind them.

“Marisal, why are we—”

“My children!” she cried, running past Rook toward the far end of the room where high stacks of crates cast the area in darkness. “I’ve done what you said, now give me my children!”

“Hello Rook.” spoke a deep, menacing, familiar voice. Rook froze. From the shadows stepped Saint Ovid.

Rook drew Starbreaker from its sheath and activated it in a single motion. The golden blade’s hum reverberated eerily in the large, silent chamber.

“My children!” cried Marisal, falling to her knees before Ovid. “Give me my children! I’ve brought him here like you said. Please, give me my children! You promised!”

Ovid spoke to her, but his black eyes were on Rook. “Now, now. I never said I would give them back. I only said I would let them live.” He smiled wickedly at Rook. “And I think I’ve let them live long enough.”

“Ovid,” warned Rook. His sword buzzed as he flourished it. “Your fight is with me. Leave her and her children out of it.”

Ovid shined his Caliber, encompassing his body in a soft, golden glow. Rook could see the grotesque, pink scar at the base of Ovid’s neck where he had plunged his dagger all those years ago and left the Saint for dead. Behind Ovid, tied to a post near the far wall, sat her three young sons. Jocab was twelve and was the eldest of them, followed by Tomas and finally Galen who was only five. Dirty cloths bound their mouths, wrists and feet. Nearby were Saints Asteroth, Sodiel and Raziel. They laid lifelessly upon the wooden floor, foamy, white saliva at their mouths. Rook couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead, but he assumed if their bodies were there that they must be alive.

Ovid knelt before Marisal, keeping his black eyes on Rook. “If you sink this dagger into Rook’s neck, I’ll give you your sons back.” He pressed a wood-handled dagger into her hand.

“Ovid…” growled Rook. He took a step forward.

“Ah-ah.” said Ovid. “Not if you want your friends here to live.”

Rook hesitated.

“Now,” said Ovid, looking at Marisal. “Take that dagger and sink it into his neck.”

Marisal shook her head. “I-I can’t! I could never!”

Ovid sighed. He stood up and drew his star-metal broadsword. “Then I guess the time is up for your children. Who’s first? Little Galen?”

The kids began to wail and cry against their bindings.

“No!” cried Marisal, clinging to his leg. “No! Please! Anything but that!”

Ovid looked down at her and chuckled. “All you have to do is kill Rook. It’s that simple. Your children, or him? No matter what you do, somebody dies. I’m giving you the choice on who that is.”

Marisal stood slowly, clutching the dagger. She turned to Rook, a wild, savage look in her wet eyes.

“Marisal, it’s a trick.” said Rook. “He’ll kill them anyway. Run and let me handle this.”

“Come now, Rook.” said Ovid. “You know that I’m a man of my word.”

“Ovid, this is between me and you.” said Rook, taking up a more defensive stance.

“I’ll tell you what, Marisal,” said Ovid. “I’ll make your decision a little easier. Did you know your husband, Gabidar, is dead?”

Marisal turned to him. “What?” she gasped.

Ovid chuckled. “Rook, have you been told the story?”

Rook scowled. He didn’t answer.

“Oh, it’s a good story.” said Ovid. “Once upon a time there was a little boy named Rook who lived in Jerusa. Now, Jerusa was a bad place and there was a great famine and the people of a small village decided to have an uprising. The King sent out his Saints to bring order back, and during the fighting little Rook crossed paths with one of these Saints. Rook thought he might be a hero and confronted the Saint and even managed to sink a dagger into the Saint’s neck.” Ovid wiped his fingers over the scar. “The Saint became very angry, but little Rook escaped and came to live in a city named Bellus, far from Jerusa. He grew up and met a man named Gabidar, and he sent Gabidar out to Jerusa to deliver food for him. But the Saint who this boy stabbed never forgot about that day and searched high and low for him. One day, Gabidar happened to be in Jerusa running a little errand for Rook. But poor Gabidar, he ran into the Saint. Now, all this Saint wanted to know was where to find Rook. But Gabidar was a man of honor and wouldn’t speak, so the Saint—”