Here Shines the Sun (68 page)

Spengle heard Agana’s muffled cries beneath Kalarus. He pushed on him, hands sinking into wiry fur, but couldn’t budge the enormous beast. He ran around to Kalarus’s head and then froze before turning away in disgust. A silver bolt had blown the back of his skull out. Spengle ran around Kalarus’s other side and dragged Agana out from under him. She screamed and cried.

“It’s all right! It’s all right!” said Spengle, hugging her close. “I’m here! I’ll protect you!”

“You’re one of the bad men! You killed Ophelia! You killed Ophelia!” she cried.

“No! No!” said Spengle, hugging her and stroking his hand down the back of her head. “It was the others. I tried to stop them, but there were too many. Don’t you remember?”

“I want my mommy!” cried the girl.

“Shh,” Spengle cooed to her. “It’s all right now. I’m here. I’ll protect you.” He turned his eyes up to the hill in the distance. The eldritch forest was in a frenzy. Flames roared from many of the castle’s windows. He looked down the empty avenues of the city. He’d have to find a house to hide in with the girl until he knew what his next move would be.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Saint Tiffany couldn’t breathe. Verami held the back edge of his scythe blade against her neck and he had her sword arm pinned under his skeletal foot. The sickening green mist infiltrated her nose and mouth and she could feel the sores down her throat bursting and swelling her esophagus shut. Hollow, black eyes stared down at her from an ancient skull, yellow teeth chattering in laughter. “
I defile your body and reap your pure soul for my master
!”

Tiffany coughed and choked. She felt vomit bubbling up her throat. She closed her eyes and focused on her Caliber. She reached out her free hand and a flickering, yellow glow encompassed it. Within her Caliber she could feel Verami’s skeletal body beneath his black robes, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not budge him.

“Your Caliber is weak! Weak but precious! Your soul will be pleasing to the underworld!
”

Tiffany wanted to cry. Her body burned. She felt boils and blisters exploding beneath her bodysuit and her Star-Armor. She wanted to give up and die, but the ghostly voices whispered into her ear that she must live. “I can’t! I can’t!” she screamed in a voiceless scream.
You must! You must!
came the whispered voices in her ear. There were a thousand of them all speaking at once, all haunting her and torturing her with their disparate cries.
Be strong and live! Sing to us! Your Caliber can overcome! Sing! He killed me! There is no light here. Sing to us! You must live! Why am I dead? We’ll lead you to your love if you live! Sing us a song!
Tiffany held out her hand again. She felt it warm with Caliber energy.

Verami laughed.
“Weak!
”

Tiffany wanted her Caliber to be strong—strong like her love’s—but it wasn’t. She was weak and frail and haunted by those her Caliber couldn’t help. But her Caliber had been strong once. It was strong the day she mustered the courage to confront the Holy Few and tell them that the dead whispered to her about the sins of Saints, and those of her love. It was strong the day she received her Call to Guard. It was strong when she first donned the Star-Armor, preventing herself from being consumed into it. She had thought about her love and his voice and the way it soothed her to sleep and it had become strong.
Yes, be strong! Your love! Sing to us! I was murdered by a Saint. Think of your love! Where is the light? Sing us a song! We’ll take you to your love! He killed me! Sing! Sing!

Tiffany closed her eyes. She thought of her love. She felt her hand slide through his ruby hair as she lay in his lap. She could hear his singing, so soft; so soothing to her. The voices went silent and she felt his Caliber. His was strong. It was strong and white and shone like a star in a sea of blackness. She reached for it. She felt her own Caliber begin to touch upon it. Her fingers burned as she took it up, and then she felt shards of steel pelt her face and a terrible shriek broke her reverie.

The pressure on her throat was gone and breath tore its way into her lungs as her eyes went wide. She saw Verami stumble back from her, the blade of his scythe broken and shattered all over the floor. She grabbed her sword and struggled to her feet, blood dripping from her face. She wiped her hand down her cheek and shards of broken scythe came off.

“
Your soul is mine! I shall harvest you yet!
” Verami pointed a bony claw toward her.

In a silent scream, Tiffany leapt at Verami, swinging her sword. He caught her by the throat and whipped her against the wall, then he dragged her across it, her breastplate shattering stone and tearing a gash through to the outside. Then she felt herself tumble across the floor and her armor cracked against the far wall.

She looked up and saw Verami storming toward her. Wind howled through the broken wall across the room. Loose stone crumbled and rained down from it.
Sing to us! He’ll kill you if you don’t move! Why aren’t you singing? Move! Fight! Sing to us! You must live to see your love again! It’s so dark here. Sing! Why am I dead?

A bony hand wrapped around Tiffany’s neck. She felt herself lifted into the air and tossed across the room. Her breastplate hit the floor with a thunderous crack and she rolled. She felt damp storm winds upon her face, ruffling her amber hair. She looked up and saw black clouds flashing with lightning. And then a dark form loomed over her.

“
Time to complete the harvest
!” Verami knelt and his skeletal hands clutched her neck and squeezed.

Don’t die yet! Sing to us! They took my baby! It’s so dark and cold here. Live and we’ll bring you to your love! Sing! Sing to us!
Tiffany tried to breathe but couldn’t. Her head was hanging out of the broken wall, and hundreds of feet beneath her she could see the dark, green lawn of the courtyard. The placid Graymere Lake spread out and in the distance she could see the endless cemetery. She looked up and peered into the lightless sockets of Verami’s laughing skull.
Die and you’ll sing for eternity! I was killed by Saint Ertrael! Where is your lantern? Sing for us! Grab his neck and let yourself go!

Tiffany reached her arms up and wrapped them around the back of Verami’s neck, grabbing on tightly to the collar of his black robe. She felt her vision fading; felt her limbs going numb. Her mouth opened and closed, but no breath could be had. The sharp tips of Verami’s fingers dug into her neck. What little Caliber she had began to fade. With it, she felt her Star-Armor becoming heavier and heavier. The damaged floor beneath her cracked. Part of the wall beside her crumbled and tumbled down the length of the tower. She felt her flesh crawling up into the frigid star-metal of her armor. And then, in her hands, she felt bone crack.

“
No! No! Let go!
” Verami released his grip on her neck and began struggling.

Hold on tightly! Don’t let go! Why won’t you sing to us!
There was a pop and a crack. Mummified tendons snapped. And as breath tore back into Tiffany’s lungs, Verami’s skull came off in her hands and she fell from the broken tower.

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“
Naughty! Naughty! Mother must punish you!
” shrieked Loretta as she brought her paddle down again and again upon the huddled knights. Each time she brought it up, more and more blood painted the walls. From the hall came maniacal screams and Loretta turned. “
More naughty children! Mother will punish you too
!”

A dozen or more ragged men rushed into the room with swords and bolt-throwers, all of them howling like rabid dogs. From their ears dried trails of blood clung to their cheeks and jaws.

“
Look at yourselves! You’re pathetic! Weak! Invalids the lot of you!
”

JINK-JINK-JINK!
Loretta’s tall, rigid form turned from the impact of the blasts.

“
Stop it! Stop it you brats!
”

The men pressed in on her, hacking with their swords. Loretta raised her arms. “
Stop it! Listen to your mother! You hateful, ungrateful little brats! Stop it! Stop it at once!
” But the men did not cease. Swords stabbed in at her or sliced across her body, tearing gashes in her gown. Loretta struck at them with her paddle. “
Punished! You must be punished!
”

Loretta swung her paddle, knocking aside three men. She brought it down on another, destroying his face. “
Die! Die, you wretched brats! You’re flies! Pests! Weak little insects!
” She whipped the paddle back and forth and bodies crumpled upon it.

And then there was fire. One of the men held a large, glass jar in his hand and there was a dirty rag hanging from it, the tip of which burned. Loretta turned to him. The man howled and charged her. She brought her paddle down on him as he collided with her, and the jar shattered. Fire spilled out like water and Loretta’s gown burned.

“
You hateful little monsters! You terrible children! Naughty! Naughty!
” She patted at the flames, but they began to cling to her long fingers and crawl up her sleeves. The man before her burned and he screamed like a wild beast as he fell and wrapped his arms around her legs. “
Naughty! Naughty!
” Loretta fell. Fires spread out over the floor. “
Naughty! Naughty!
” She struggled up to her knees as flames engulfed her face. Her hair burned like dried straw.

Loretta wailed horrifically. She bolted from the room, tearing down hall after hall, crashing into curtains and furniture, setting them ablaze. She ran and ran until at last she dove through a barred window, sundering the wall. She fell for a hundred feet, her body thudding on the lawn. Rains pattered down on her, sizzling. At length the flames went out and all that was left upon the charred grass was a blackened, unmoving corpse.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Throughout the city square mangled bodies lay and blood pooled in all the cracks of the cobblestone. Sir Spengle tugged on Agana’s arm but the little girl clung to Kalarus’s corpse, gray fur poking between her white knuckles. “Agana, you must come with me!”

“You’re one of the bad men! You killed Ophelia! You made me turn scary like mommy!”

“No! That wasn’t me!” Spengle tugged her arm. “Come! We must go before more bad men come!”

“Go away! Go away! Leave me alone!” shrieked Agana.

Spengle backed off, afraid that he might awaken whatever demon possessed her. He looked around the empty streets, his keen eyes raking over the rooftops. He wondered if anybody who fled had seen what he had done. If they had, it wouldn’t be safe for him here in the city for long. He could go back to the castle, but Agana knew too much and if she returned he would have hell to pay. Also, what if Saint Tiffany had succeeded? What if the King and Queen were dead? Either way, if he returned to the castle, he couldn’t do it with Agana. Then he had a thought: The men on the roof who had shot Kalarus had silver bolts. If he could find one of them…

He turned to the buildings where they had fallen. There on the ground he saw one of their slender rifles. He tossed his bolt-thrower to the ground and ran over to it, grabbing it out of the dead man’s hands. He pulled the lever back and checked the chamber. There was a single, silver bolt inside. He looked at Agana who clung to the fallen beast’s side, screaming and crying. He threw the gun’s lever up and forward, locking in the round. He walked over to her.

“Go away! Go away!” screamed Agana at his approach. She buried her head into the bloody fur of Kalarus.

Spengle raised the barrel to her head. His finger went to the trigger.
JINK!

Agana screamed. Spengle stumbled back as blood and fragments of his armor splattered everywhere. He dropped his riffle and fell backward onto the cobblestone. His eyes went to his chest, and he screamed. Frantic, he looked around. Crawling toward Agana was the man who had tossed the torch into the pyre. In his hand he held a bolt-thrower.

“You traitor! You son of a bitch!” cried the man, dropping the gun. His legs had been torn off by Kalarus and he left a gruesome path of blood as he clawed his way toward the Princess.

Spengle’s arms felt around the street for his rifle, but his hands were going numb. He tried to roll over but the effort drained the last of his strength. His vision faded into blackness as his face smacked upon the street. His last conscious thought was of Marlon, and the skeletal eyes staring at him through the glass.

Agana turned to the crawling man. She took a step back.

“Ursula,” he said, his voice weak. “Your name was Ursula. Ursula of Jerusa. You had a brother named Rook. I gave you to the Queen.” He reached out his arm and dragged his body closer.

Agana took another step back.

“Your sins are mine.” said the man. He grasped at the cracks in the cobblestone and pulled himself another arm-length closer. “You are as much my creation as the Devil’s. Tell me… tell me you’ve heard my confession!”

Agana looked down at the man as he stared up at her, life fading from his brown eyes. She stepped toward him and knelt.

“You were my daughter for a time.” said the man. “Will you forgive me?”

Agana took his hand and brought his wrist to her mouth. She bit down but the man made no sound. She drank until his body went limp and the blood no longer flowed.

A peal of thunder coursed its way across the dark clouds above, tracing their unseen path toward the castle’s hill. Agana looked up and saw fires raging from the windows of her home. Then lightning flashed, illuminating a lone figure coming down the street toward her. Rain began to fall. Agana stood up. It was a Saint with dirty, amber hair and honey-colored eyes. Her Star-Armor glinted in the lightning. She held her head in her hands as she trudged down the road.

“Tiffany!” cried Agana. “Tiffany!” She ran down the avenue toward the Saint, her black shoes splashing in bloody puddles.

“They don’t stop! They never stop!” rasped Tiffany as she clutched at her head.

“Oh Tiffany!” cried Agana, barreling into the Saint and throwing her arms around her waist. “Tiffany! Tiffany!” Agana looked up. Tiffany’s face was pocked with small cuts and she didn’t seem to take any notice of her.