The Record of the Saints Caliber (61 page)

It was late spring and the air of each morning and night had been frigid and wet, but she had avoided every city and town she had passed the last few days. Now, however, the sway of a soft bed and warm bath was too much for her to resist. Besides, she would have to clean herself up before presenting herself to King Gatima and she needed to take a moment to collect herself and get her story together. With any luck she wouldn’t run into any Oracles or Sin Eaters here. She knew there was a chance, but right now it was a chance she was willing to take in order to procure a warm bed and bath.

The road curved through a thick area of forest before opening up into a sea of deforested farmland whose freshly turned soil was bathed in the fiery light of the setting sun. Nuriel sniffled and the scent of damp earth filled her nose. The road cut through the fields and wound around some lolling hills where the distant walls of Gatopolis were silhouetted against what seemed a palisade of darkening forest. Gatopolis was the largest city west of Gatimaria and marked the western boundary of where King Gatima allowed his subjects to settle. Though Gatopolis could hardly pass for a large city in Duroton or the other kingdoms, here in Jerusa it was considered quite bustling.

Nuriel made her way across the freshly planted fields and stopped about a hundred yards out from the looming city walls. The sun had now fully set behind her and the ancient stones of the city wall were cold and dark but for a handful of torches held by those patrolling its top, some thirty-feet high. In Jerusa, candles and torches were expensive commodities and not even the aging city gates were illuminated, giving the entire place a forgotten, haunted, demeanor. At some point in the distant past, Nuriel figured that the city was once a grand place that bustled with activity. Its walls would have been lined with torches, its gates brightly lit. Flags and banners would have flapped in the winds and the spires of churches, mansions and even the castle would have clawed their way up from the tops of the walls. But in King Gatima’s Jerusa all splendor had long vanished.

Nuriel looked up at the starless black sky and exhaled deeply. She leaned her back against an old oak and rested for a moment to compose herself. If there were any Oracles and Sin Eaters here, they would no doubt ask why she was so far west and without Isley. It was time for her to start putting her story together and she knew that one slip of the tongue might mean the difference between staying in with Sanctuary or being labeled a Fallen Saint. She chewed her bottom lip as she organized her thoughts and then shook her head, completely diffident with her ability to deceive the Oracles.

She sniffled and tucked her golden hair behind her ear and fumbled in her hip-sack for the leather folio. She blew out a long breath as she took out her last vial of Ev and held it up to the moon. There were but a few drops left in it. A little voice in her mind asked if maybe this was the real reason for her wanting to stop tonight, and asked if maybe she could quit right now it wouldn’t be too late. But it was a voice that had become increasingly easier to brush away and she hardly paid it any mind as she sunk her injector into the vial and took up the remaining liquid.

Holding the injector between her legs, she rolled up the leather sleeve on her left arm and then quickly plunged the needle into her vein. She exhaled slowly as the pleasing warmth spread through her body. It hugged her, made her feel that everything was alright, and her anxiety melted away into forgotten nothingness. She sniffled and then rolled her sleeve back down and walked the remaining distance to the city wall where only darkness ruled.

Not a single sentry was there to hail her. The gate was nothing more than an iron portcullis set before a thick, wooden door. With her forearm she banged a few times on the rusty steel, her heavy Star-Armor rattling it loudly. “Saint Nuriel,” she yelled as loudly as she could. “Open the gate.”

There was a moment of muffled speak from beyond the gate before the portcullis rattled its way up and the heavy, wooden door swung outward. A pair of rough looking soldiers in simple leather armor greeted her. One held a dwindling torch in his hand, the other an old sword. “Saint Nuriel?” barked the man with the torch.

Nuriel looked at the man and nodded slightly as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

The man grunted. “You’re one of the ones they’ve been looking for.”

The men stepped aside and Nuriel entered into the darkened city. The scent of moldy wood and filth was thick in the air. Ramshackle buildings that leaned to and fro lined all the streets, but only the occasional candle could be seen flickering in a window. In every alleyway crude tents of fabric had been erected and here and there Nuriel could make out shadowy groups of people huddled around miserable fires stoked with rubbish or rotten house timbers. Holes in roofs stood out like black voids and in the distance the remnants of a half-dismantled castle shown against the night sky. Where once its towers stood tall and proud, now only jagged nubs remained. The castle itself was nothing but a disjointed series of walls in dwindling step patterns where it had been pilfered of its bricks and timbers over the years. Everything was dark and empty. All the streets seemed lifeless despite the shadowy forms that moved among them. But off to the right shone one building like a beacon. It had steep spires and warm light shone through its stained glass windows. It was a church of Aeoria.

A few more dirty soldiers in ragtag armor came up, one leading a scrawny dog upon a leash.

Nuriel sniffled and looked out at the church. “I need to speak with an Oracle.”

“Aye,” said the first guard. “We’re to send word the moment we spot any of you.” He turned and greeted the new men as they came up. He looked to the man leading the dog. “Send the quick-hound for the Oracle. We got Saint Nuriel.”

The man with the dog nodded and yanked hard on the leash, causing the scrawny creature to squeal. Quick-hounds were large, shaggy, rawboned dogs with long, lanky legs. This one was the typical silver-gray variety but was scrawny even for its breed. Despite its long fur, Nuriel could see the poor thing’s ribs. It whined nervously, sticking its long, pointed nose into the man’s hands as it sidled up to him, tail flailing every direction. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and a char-stick for writing. “What’s your star?” he asked.

Nuriel turned her neck and held her hair from the back of her neck. The man took a quick look at the stellaglyph scarred upon her flesh. She watched as he tore off a small piece of the paper, and using his leg as a table, used the char-stick to smudge a crude picture of the gate on it and a hasty likeness of her stellaglyph. He rolled the fragment of paper up and stuffed it into a pocket on the dog’s collar.

“Oracle!” shouted the man, grabbing the creature’s long, narrow snout. He shook it. “Oracle, go!” The man released the creature and unhooked it from the leash. The dog turned and its long legs almost seemed to spin into action as it tore away, its claws scraping and throwing up dirt before finally finding purchase. In the blink of an eye, the thing was gone.

The first man with the torch looked at Nuriel, but his eyes flicked down to the leather bag she wore upon her hip. He licked his lips. “Don’t suppose you got anything in there for a man loyal to Aeoria? …Bread? Dried meat?” He licked his lips again.

Nuriel buried her head into her hands for a moment, her head feeling as if it was spinning. She hadn’t seen an incredible much of Duroton, but it was enough that the contrast between its cities and peoples and what was here in Jerusa was overwhelming. Even the brief glimpses of what she saw in Narbereth as she covertly dashed her way across the countryside to get here was worlds different. Nuriel found herself wishing she had saved more of her Ev, but that diminishing little voice in her mind wondered if there wasn’t enough Ev in the world to drown out some things.

Nuriel sniffed and opened her bag. Immediately all the men began to push in around her. Before she left Duroton, Nuriel had procured herself plenty of rations for the road. One of the things about Ev was that it never made her feel hungry and she still had plenty of hardtack, dried meat and fruits.

She reached into her bag and noticed a small group of townsfolk cautiously approaching. One of the guards turned and saw them and started barking at them to get back, to go back home and get out of here. Nuriel started handing out the rations from her bag, the mens’ hands grasping and snatching it all up quicker than she could pull it out. They hungrily shoved it in their mouths as they reached for more, but within seconds Nuriel’s supplies were gone.

Nuriel looked at the first man she had spoken to and discreetly pulled out her empty vial of Ev. “I…I need more.”

The man chewed ravenously on the dried meat in his mouth as he spoke. “Church. They always got some of that for you Saints. I’m sure the others there will have some.”

“Others?” asked Nuriel.

“Three of ‘em.” said the man. He swallowed and tore into another piece of meat. “Keep to the road here.” he said, pointing at the darkened street. “It’ll lead you right up to that church. They’ll be coming for you, though, I’m sure.”

Nuriel nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She tucked her hair behind her ear and started down the road. She hadn’t walked far before she saw a number of oil lanterns lighting up the road ahead of her. She could hear armor clanking and knew that it was probably Clerical Guard. She stopped and waited for the lights to approach her. As they came she could see that it was an Oracle leading a number of Sin Eaters, accompanied by a handful of Clerical Guard. The Sin Eaters in their beaked masks and billowy black robes were like a flock of ravens following the Oracle. They each held a lantern high, the yellow-green light reflecting eerily upon their green goggles and off the Oracle’s silver mask. The Clerical Guard wore their shiny red armor with grilled visors and held heavy bolt-throwers in their hands.

“Saint Nuriel, what a pleasant surprise.” The Oracle’s voice reverberated strangely from behind its mirror mask. He stopped a few paces from her and bowed slightly. “We’ve had a sudden rash of missing Saints and it’s good to know that at least one of them is safe and sound. You were mentoring with Saint Isley, were you not?”

Nuriel bowed her head slightly and tried to ignore the large number of creepy Sin Eater eyes probing her. She somehow felt naked before them, as if they could see right through her armor, right through her flesh and into her soul. She felt exposed; vulnerable. There was so little Ev in her that she struggled to find its warmth in their presence. She tried to steel herself and swallowed hard. She wondered if she had it in her to lie to the Oracle, to actually pull off her story. Her Ev-muddled mind flopped over a few times before she finally began to speak. “I…we…there was trouble…”

The Sin Eaters suddenly flocked around the Oracle, crouching and bobbing, their beaked masks to the night air, as if sniffing at it. Nuriel could hear their hushed whispers as they spoke secretly between themselves, their green goggles all peering at her.
“Sinner! Sinner!”
she could hear them hissing.

The Oracle tilted its head slightly. “Trouble, you say?”

Nuriel swallowed and tucked her hair behind her ear. Apollyon below, why hadn’t she saved more of the Ev? She shook her head. Her eyes diverted from the Oracle. “Isley was…we were in the wilderness and met up with Saints Umbrial, Tia, Gamalael and Arric.” she said quietly, almost inaudibly. She sniffled and tried looking back at the Oracle but found it impossible to look the thing in its glaring mirror mask. And the eyes of the Sin Eaters—those green crystalline eyes—were all probing her. She heard their voices hissing in her head,
Sinner! Sinner!
“Isley was…they said they were after an Unbound and Isley wanted to go along with them and show me.”

“I see,” said the Oracle. “Where are the other Saints now?”

“They…we found the demon.” said Nuriel. “It…Yig…Its name was Yig.”

Now the Sin Eaters became far more animated as they flocked before the Oracle, bobbing up and down, hissing at one another. The Oracle stood there, its mirror mask cast in the glow of the lanterns as it seemed to peer through her.

“We fought it…and…but…” Nuriel felt flustered by all the whispers and the unflinching mask of the Oracle. She wiped a hand down her face and desperately sought the last remnants of the Ev within her. She started to huff and puff, unable to get another word out, completely aggravated by the whispers of
Sinner! Sinner! Sinner!
that came from the flock of Sin Eaters.

“And this demon named Yig killed all the others?” prompted the Oracle.

Nuriel looked down at the dark road and nodded her head. She bit her lip. All she could hear were the Sin Eaters hissing at one another,
Sinner! Sinner! Sinner!

“Take your time, Nuriel.” said the Oracle. “Tell me exactly what happened. Did you help fight this demon?”

“I…yes, we fought him.” said Nuriel, annoyed. She sniffled and tried to look back up at the Oracle but found she couldn’t and turned her head.

“Did all the others fall fighting him?”

“Isley…well, they…it was Umbrial who…”

“Take your time,” said the Oracle patiently. “You’ve been through quite a lot it seems.”

Nuriel paused a moment and closed her eyes. She held her head in her hands. She breathed deeply a few times. Then she opened her eyes and looked back at the Oracle. “No,” she said, forcing herself to just recount the story she had devised over the last few days. “Umbrial and Isley struck down Yig. But there was another Saint.”