The Record of the Saints Caliber (7 page)

And Caliber was not so specific that it exuded a singular essence. A Saint’s Caliber could not cause them to exude an aura of death like Celacia did. Erygion was about as powerful a Saint as they came, and when he shined his Caliber he could sunder steel and stone with his bare fists. He could probably even focus his Caliber and lift the massive skull from the fiery abyss below, the likely reason he was here. Yet, Erygion did not exude an aura of power, much less death, like Celacia did.

So close to Celacia, Nuriel could feel the affects on her own body. It was mildly painful to be in her presence and Nuriel found herself shining her Caliber to avoid the affects. None of the soldiers dared get within twenty feet of the woman, and Nuriel thought for good reason.

“It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it,” said Celacia, peering at the skull as it lay in that molten sea, spewing geysers of fiery rock from its mouth into the air. She looked to Erygion. “Go ahead and pull old Felvurn out for me. Well, just his skull anyway. I’m sure the rest of him is down there somewhere but all I really need is his head.”

Erygion looked at Celacia a little doubtfully. He pursed his lips into a frown. “That thing is a lot bigger than you said it was.” he said, shaking his head.

“If anyone can lift that thing out, you can.” said Isley.

“Oh, I know you can,” chirped Celacia. “Now come on Erygion. Lift that thing out of there.”

Erygion inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He outstretched his arms and began to shine his Caliber. At first the glow that encompassed him was dim, hardly visible against the flickering oranges and reds radiating from the pit. But Erygion could shine his Caliber very brightly, and slowly the aura that encompassed him was a blinding whiteness that even seemed to make his black armor glow, and Nuriel had to shield her eyes.

From the pit the skull slowly rose. At first the molten earth seemed to have a grip on it, refusing to let it loose. But as the skull rose higher the fingers of lava slipped away, releasing their hold in thick flows that crashed into the fiery pit below. As the thing continued to rise, what Nuriel had once thought was the thing’s eyes and mouth had only been the beak of the creature. The thing rose and rose, flows of magma pouring from it, until at last the true scale and terror of the skull presented itself. Whatever this thing was, in life men were but ants to it.

Erygion strained his Caliber to lift the thing, leveling it out as best he could. Its massive bulk blocked all the glow of the lava beneath it and molten earth still poured from the mouth. Nuriel gasped, awestruck, wondering if in life the monstrous thing might have consumed the entire world in flames.

Erygion growled as he maintained his hold, obviously struggling to keep the thing level as the weight of molten earth pouring from the mouth kept it tilting too far down at the jaw. Most Saints could not channel their Caliber strongly enough to manipulate heavy objects from a distance, but Erygion was a rare exception. In fact, it was his specialty. But the skull was heavy and he was struggling. His muscles tensed and his hands balled into fists. Erygion’s Caliber shown brightly, but here and there it wavered and Erygion growled as he tried to maintain his hold. The skull rose higher until it was finally at eye level, but now Erygion began to tire and Nuriel could see his Caliber losing some of its shine.

“Come on Erygion,” urged Celacia. “You’ve almost got it.”

Erygion shook his head. “I don’t think I can swing it over,” he said through clenched teeth.

Without thinking, Nuriel reached over and touched Erygion on the shoulder and shined her Caliber. Immediately her body was encompassed by an aura of white light that seemed to bolster Erygion’s own and the skull flew upwards as if it had suddenly lost half its weight. From behind, Nuriel could hear the incoherent chatter as the soldiers looked on in awe of the titanic skull. She was vaguely aware that Celacia and Isley were intently watching her too, but shining her Caliber this brightly required all her attention and the effort was made even more draining for the fact that she still had a headache and she was certain she was getting a cold.

Nuriel groaned as Erygion turned around, moving the skull from the pit to the solid cavern floor. As soon as the skull touched the ground Nuriel released her grip on Erygion and hunched over with her arms resting on her knees, panting. The skull had been far heavier than she imagined, and she had not realized that the effort would have drained her so completely.

“Wow, Nuriel! You’re full of surprises, aren’t you!” chirped Celacia. She gave a little clap of her hands and hurried over to the skull, leaving a trail of crumbled, dead stone in her wake.

Still panting, Nuriel felt the heavy, gauntleted hand of Saint Isley clank upon the back of her star-metal breastplate. “Very few Saints can do that, you know.” said Isley. “Quite impressive. I wonder if one day you won’t surpass even Erygion in his ability to move objects?”

“Thanks,” said Nuriel, standing back up, but somehow she wasn’t sure if she truly deserved to be thanked for what she had helped accomplish. She sniffled and coughed and stroked her hair back behind her ear.

Celacia, Erygion and many of the soldiers were already gathering around the skull, looking as diminutive as ants crawling about carrion. It sat at the edge of the pit, caked in quickly-cooling black crust that showed through to veins of pulsing, fiery lava. The lower jaw bone was still intact with the upper skull and the mouth was open in a large, cavernous gape, propped up by one of the many fangs that no longer sat quite right in the mouth. The empty eye sockets were deep and cavernous. Cooling pools of molten earth within them seemed to give them life and they stared at Nuriel with what she thought an eerie, piercing intention. She wrapped her arms around her body. She stood in awe and horror of the thing, until finally she had to turn her head away, certain the thing looked upon her with contempt for helping to release it.

“Come, Nuriel,” said Isley. “You did good. Celacia was very pleased with you, and she is not easily impressed.”

At the foot of the skull the soldiers were all shouting excitedly, some cautiously touching the thing and recoiling from the latent heat, others still obviously unsure if getting too close would be wise. Erygion strode up to the thing, craning his neck up and down. With a gauntleted hand shining with Caliber energy he tore a piece of black crust from the skull, revealing the glowing red magma still clinging to the bone.

Nuriel turned her head back to the lava pit where the giant thing once rested. She thought it peculiar that the molten lake was crusting over with black, as if cooling, and it was no longer agitated and spitting and bubbling.

“So what’s the deal with this thing?” asked Erygion, casually tossing the torn clump aside.

“Well, if King Armigon’s men are truly on their way here with a Saint, I think I might be able to give you a demonstration,” chirped Celacia. “I could tell you, but it just wouldn’t have the same impact as a demonstration.”

At the foot of the mouth Isley stood looking curiously into the cavernous opening, his black Star-Armor bathed in a ruddy glow. “There’s still molten rock in the mouth,” he said. “It still bubbles and spits.”

Nuriel, Erygion and Celacia strode over to Isley and the four stood at the base of the titanic opening where a small lake of magma still sat glowing, pulsing and flowing in the jaw. There were some soldiers about tossing stones in the mouth and then hooting and hollering excitedly as the rocks burst into fire and melted before their eyes.

“Hey!” yelled Celacia, frantically waving her arms at the soldiers. “Stop that! You’re going to ruin the surprise!”

Immediately the soldiers stopped what they were doing and scattered. Isley was about to ask something when Lord Briarthorn came racing into the cavern, the hooves of his horse clomping loudly upon the stone and echoing throughout the chamber. He swung the brown charger around and jumped off, bowing to a knee a good fifteen feet from Celacia. Nuriel thought Lord Briarthorn quite agile for a human in full armor.

“Saint Celacia,” he said hurriedly, standing back up. “Four hundred soldiers on horseback, accompanied by a Saint. I know you said not to disturb you, but they come, milady.”

Celacia made a little clap and a hop. “Oh goody!” she chirped. “Perfect timing for a demonstration of old Felvurn.”

“But, there’s more,” said Lord Briarthorn. He swallowed hard. “The Saint they are accompanied by is Saint Ramiel, milady.”

Celacia stood there looking at Lord Briarthorn, apparently not understanding what everybody else already knew. Nuriel even found Isley looking at her with some concern about this new revelation. Celacia looked around at everybody, obviously confused by the long faces. She looked back at Lord Briarthorn, who again swallowed hard.

“And…” urged Celacia, rolling her hands in the air.

“Well, it’s just…” began Lord Briarthorn. “…it’s just that…well, everybody knows that Saint Ramiel belongs to the Golden Cockerel, Lord of Dawn’s Sun.”

Celacia’s brow furled. “Who the heck is
‘the Golden Cockerel’
?” asked Celacia fluttering her hands and mocking the seemingly magical name.

“He’s an Exalted,” said Isley.

Celacia’s brow furled. “An
‘Exalted’
?”

Nuriel bit her bottom lip. She had never met an Exalted. There were only a couple in Jerusa because King Gatima granted very few titles of nobility, but they were commonly found in all other kingdoms. The Exalted were the highest born of all nobles, nearly as powerful as Kings. All Exalteds had their own Saint as a personal protector and bodyguard. They held almost godlike powers within and without their own kingdoms, and all but the Kings and Holy Father himself had to bow to them and their will.

Celacia stood staring at Isley blankly. “Well, does
somebody
want to explain to me what the heck an
‘Exalted’
is?” she said, again fluttering her hands at the seemingly magical word.

“The highest of all nobility, save the Kings themselves.” explained Isley. “They’re like Kings, but they do not command entire kingdoms. And just like Kings, anything they say must be obeyed or carried out. All Exalteds have at least one Saint as a bodyguard and enforcer.”

Celacia waved a dismissive hand. “Oh please. You Saints and your new duties these days. It’s pathetic, really. And Admael is ok with all this? Really?”

“Celacia?” Erygion stood with his hands out, a look of concern on his face.

“Oh Erygion,” said Celacia shaking her head. “You’re always far too grave.”

“We had a deal.” he persisted.

“Oh, ok,” conceded Celacia. “You did your job anyway. Go sneak back to Sanctuary. You sure you want to miss the demonstration?”

Erygion huffed a little laugh and looked up at the titanic skull. “I think I have a good enough understanding,” he said.

“You still owe me one more thing,” chirped Celacia.

Erygion grinned and looked at Isley and Nuriel and gave a little wink. At his side he had a small leather bag. He tore it from his waist and tossed it to Celacia. He turned to Isley and Nuriel, saying each of their names with a departing finality.

“Farewell, Erygion the Standard Bearer.” said Isley.

Nuriel tried to conceal her scowl but failed. She found nothing amusing in the irony that Sanctuary’s standard bearer—the one whose duty it was to protect and honor the symbol of Sanctuary—was the very one betraying it. She turned her head and wiped at her nose and sniffled.

“Chin up, Nuriel,” said Erygion. He gave her another of those wicked little smiles. “Aeoria’s Guard only serve Aeoria. Remember that.” He gave her a wink and turned and walked away, his star-metal boots clanking loudly in the cave as he went.

“So, these are those newfangled leashes Admael keeps you Saints on?” As Celacia spoke, the leather sack crumbled to dust in her hand, leaving behind a handful of small, glassy-red orbs, each the size of a large marble.

Isley gasped and Nuriel looked up, starting from the shock of the sight. She couldn’t believe it, and she started to feel a little sick to her stomach. In Celacia’s hand were six small, crystalline orbs filled with crimson blood. Each one was etched with a unique stellaglyph. Nuriel instantly knew they were Sanguinastrums and she could almost sense which one in particular was hers.

Nuriel’s hand immediately went to the back of her neck and she rubbed at the silver tattoo of her stellaglyph, her fingers tracing over the scarred, raised tissue. It was the mark left from when she was made a Saints Caliber; from when the Oracles drew her star in molten silver upon her neck and chanted their spell, binding her to her star-metal breastplate. Nuriel could vividly remember the pain as the silver burned into her flesh, absorbed into her very skin, while drawing out the few drops of blood that the Sin Eaters collected into that tiny crystalline orb etched with her stellaglyph.

Celacia giggled and held one of the orbs up to her eye. “You two should see the looks on your faces,” she said. She looked at Isley. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let these crumble in my hands. I hope.” She took up a different orb to her eye. She went to another and then said, “Ah, here it is. I think this one is Isley’s. And this one is Nuriel’s.” Celacia looked up at Isley and Nuriel and giggled again. “I told you that you were both working for me now.”

“Are those really our Sanguinastrums?” asked Isley. Nuriel could hear the awe in his voice. He obviously found this to be something quite exhilarating, but Nuriel couldn’t help but feel ever more alone and ever more removed from the Sanctuary she had known and loved all her life.