A Promise of Fire
Chapter 7
31st of Retulman, 1667 Age of Enlightenment
Rukifelth and Emecar sat silently outside the office of Lieutenant Vechelot. Since the previous night, Emecar had hardly spoken a word; Rukifelth wasn’t even sure if he’d gotten any sleep, but then again, he’d hardly slept either.
They failed; Juliet was gone.
“You alright,” he asked, but Emecar didn’t speak, instead staring blankly at the floor. “Don’t blame yourself, you hear me. We both failed; this ain’t all on you. Now, with the Gerhard’s testimony, the watch will have no choice but to do something, and if they don’t, we’ll take matters into our own hands!”
“Yes. Thank you, Rukifelth,” Emecar said weakly, resting his face in his hands. “I…I hope there’s something we can do…”
For when they return?
Rukifelth stood to stretch his legs and paced down the hallway outside the office. He still couldn’t quite fathom that they were all still alive; when he was staring down that monster—The Kintelgas—he was certain they were all doomed. Yet, for some reason, the beast just left them. But why? Why did it just take Juliet? It seemed to want Victor too—it seemingly wanted all of them—and it easily could’ve dragged them all back to Helhaym, so why didn’t it? That thought alone was enough to drive him to several sleepless nights if he didn’t get the answers he wanted.
Inside the office, he heard the Gerhards–Cedric, Sabine, and Louis–as well as Sister Emli and Lady Liza try and explain what had happened to not just Lieutenant Vechelot, but to Commander-of-the-Watch Damien Dior himself, what had happened last night. Captain Grisdel was there as well, there to vouche on behalf of Emecar and Rukifelth.
The Gerhards pleaded to the watch for help in bringing their daughter back, but there was nothing left to be done. If she had been taken to Helhaym, then by the time they took action, it would be too late.
Juliet was gone.
But Rukifelth still fervently believed that the watch had to take their claims seriously now. This wasn’t just two mercenaries and a pair of watchmen claiming they were attacked by fae; this was a wealthy family of landowners who’d had their safety put in jeopardy. If the watch did nothing in response to this, what good were they?
Something. Just do something, please.
Rukifelth leaned back against the wall and thought about last night. The Kintelgas, the fae, the fog; there was something strange about all of it. Something had felt odd, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the song the monsters sang was strangely familiar, as if he’d heard the same voice elsewhere.
“Emecar, last night, did you think that monster’s song sounded familiar?” Emecar shook his head. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know I’ve heard that song somewhere else, right? C’mon, you mean to tell me you didn’t hear it too?”
“I’m sorry, Rukifelth,” said Emecar, “but I don’t recall hearing anything.”
“No! Please, try and think: that first night in the slums when we were attacked; you heard it then, didn’t you? Well last night, I heard something, but it didn’t sound like the first time and now…” His voice petered off when he realized Emecar wasn’t listening.
He slumped, rubbing his face and trying desperately to remember: where had he heard that song before? It was recent, he knew that much; he’d heard…
Terrified shouts and pained screams; there was blood on my hands, and…
Rukifelth winced; after everything was over that night, he could never forget Marie’s pained cry when they’d said her daughter was gone. The broken look on Cedric’s face as he tried to console his wife, and the flowing tears of her siblings and cousin.
Juliet was gone.
“The tavern,” Rukifelth said suddenly. “At the tavern! That singer that’s where we heard it! Remember? Her voice was exactly the same as—”
The door to the lieutenant’s office opened, and the Gerhards stepped out, looking dismal. Louis comforted his distraught mother, and Cedric drearily stared at the floor. In his distant, empty eyes, Rukifelth could see the man’s agonizing pain.
Cedric turned to them both. He opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it and walked away. Rukifelth’s heart sank.
Juliet was gone.
After they’d left, Captain Grisdel stepped out and gestured for the two into the office. Lieutenant Vechelot and Commander Dior sat behind the lieutenant’s desk, and Sister Emli and Lady Liza stood near the back wall. Emli’s cheeks were raw and pink from crying; Liza’s face remained stoic.
“Take a seat, gentlemen,” said Commander Dior. The older officer sat with his hands tentatively in his lap. He had dark violet skin, a thick silvery moustache, and bright yellow eyes that seemingly never blinked. Though his face didn’t show it, Rukifelth could feel the fiery disdain the man had for the two sellswords. If not for the captain’s presence, he had no doubt that the man would be less professional.
“I’d rather stand, commander,” said Rukifelth. He wasn’t sure why he said that; perhaps it was just a small act of defiance.
“I’ll stand as well,” said Emecar.
The commander nodded, shifted his gaze to Lieutenant Vechelot, up to Captain Grisdel, and then back to them. “The Gerhards told us what happened, and we’ve heard from Maiden L’Aveline. Now, we want to hear from the two of you. Captain Grisdel speaks highly of you, and I know from experience that he doesn’t give praise lightly.”
Together, Emecar and Rukifelth tried diligently to recount the evnts of the previous nights. They began with Emecar finding Juliet, then to their arrival at the farm, and then onto the fae attack. They tried to explain that it was the same fae that attacked them the night they were working with the watch.
After their story had concluded, the commander and lieutenant, as well as Captain Grisdel, stepped aside and spoke in hushed whispers with one another. Unable to hear them, Rukifelth felt his palms sweat. What more needed to be discussed? Why couldn’t they just do something? What manner of paperwork and policy needed to be acted upon to help protect the city from fae that were growing more and more aggressive?
Again, Rukifelth wondered: why? Why did they attack the farm? What were they after? Why did they take Juliet? Why did it retreat, and why are they still alive?
Rukifelth heard Captain Grisdel say something about, “take action,” and saw Commander Dior shake his head.
“Sir, Commander,” interrupted Rukifelth, “you must believe us when we say—”
“We’re discussing official business, boy,” said the commander. His words were sharp, and Rukifelth felt the man wanted to say something harsher than just ‘boy’ but held himself back. “This is not as simple as you believe.”
Rukifelth ground his teeth and bit his tongue.
Why can’t they be reasonable! Not simple? What’s not simple about it? He’s the Commander-of-the-Watch! Greedy, lazy, stupid…
Lieutenant Vechelot turned to Emecar and Rukifelth and said, “To clarify, a couple nights ago, the two of you were stationed with Sergeant Astier to patrol the South 4th district; you worked alongside Officers Tabard and Lafayette, correct?” They both nodded. “Astier has said that the two of you were just causing trouble, and that you even threatened him and his officers. At first, I was inclined to believe him, but then I’d received a visit from a distraught mother whose son went missing that very same night. She was also from a southern district; she said his bedroom window was open, and that his siblings had no idea of where he’d gone.”
“And what do you suppose happened, lieutenant,” Rukifelth sneered.
Vechelot ignored his tone and said, “Who can say?” Rukifelth bit his tongue so hard he thought he would bite it off. He tightened his fists until his fingers went numb, but then she said, “What I can say is that these past few weeks I’ve been receiving report after reports about strange goings on, and it seems likely that this is not something my officers are qualified or sanctioned to deal with.”
“Typically, fae do not come this close to the city,” added Commander Dior. “There are too many people, and fae often not confident enough to fight fair; they use trickery, deceit, and rely on outnumbering and overwhelming their prey, hence why they tend to steer clear of such crowded cities.” He looked down at the desk which had been sprawled with numerous missing children’s reports. “Officers being attacked, children going missing, and now the Gerhard farm. None of this necessarily implies fae, but I choose to believe that a Maiden of the Galdic Temple would not lie.”
Rukifelth looked back at Emli who had her hands clasped together. There was a look on her face–something that Rukifelth felt deep within himself–that she was just as angry with these officers as he was. She could see that without her, Liza, and the captain’s testimony, all of this would’ve been thrown out the window.
The commander continued, “Based on everything we’ve heard, I think it would be best if we investigated these ‘fae’ attacks. Captain Grisdel, I hope that in this instance, we can have the troupe’s support?”
“Of course, Commander Dior,” said the captain.
Rukifelth let out a sigh of relief.
At least they’re doing something!
“Emecar, Rukifelth,” said the captain, “you’re both excused. Thank you for your time and testimony.”
They both thanked the captain and stepped out of the office with Emli and Liza right behind. As they silently walked out of the garrison, Rukifelth could feel the glowering eyes of the watch upon him: troublemakers, rabblerousers, scum, traitors, inférals, and every other spiteful word they could muster were all being wordlessly spat at them by their glares.
Rukifelth could feel all his anger and hate bubbling within, ready to burst. He had to get to the bottom of this. Once outside, he turned to Emecar and said, “I think I’ve an idea of where we can look next. I’ll need your support, brother.”
Emecar said nothing.
“Please, you all did your best,” said Liza. “Leave this to the watch now. I know this is difficult, but we need to trust that…Rukifelth, where are you going?”
Rukifelth couldn’t stand to listen to her lecture them about how they’d done their best. His best wasn’t good enough. His best had gotten a little girl killed, and now she expected him to put his faith in a group of men and women who weren’t going to try even half as hard as he?
“If Emecar won’t join me, I’ll do it myself,” he said.
Liza quickly caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Rukifelth, please, it’s alright. I know how you feel, but I’m afraid you’re just going to—”
“Going to what? Make things worse!” He stared at Liza, and she slowly let go of his arms. He turned to Emecar and said, “Are you coming or not?”
Emecar looked him in the eyes, and Rukifelth could see just how bad he was hurting. “Don’t do anything stupid without me, alright?”
With a frustrated sneer, Rukifelth stormed down the streets of Lionbrand. He shoved his way past pedestrians who’d hurled slurs at him as he stomped by, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be bogged down by Emecar, or Liza, or the city-watch. He knew something wasn’t right, and he knew that the singer–Asta Lochren–was connected to this somehow.
“Asta, please come out,” shouted Sandra. There was no response.
The entire night, Asta kept herself locked in their room; Michel, Sandra, and Segrick were forced to rent another room from the Lady’s Rose for the evening. She refused to come out for any reason: not for food or water. She didn’t want to see anyone; she just wanted to be left alone. Everything that had happened the last night had to have just been a bad dream, she thought. Asta didn’t want to believe anything else.
Wrapped in her thin little blanket, she looked down at her hands which were covered in cuts and dried blood; she could see small shards of the mirror still embedded within them.
From outside the door, she heard the proprietor say, “Well, is she alright?”
“She’s just not feeling well,” said Sandra. “It must’ve been something she ate.”
“Well, it couldn’t’ve been something here,” the man said quickly. “Our kitchen is always spick-and-span. Have you gotten food from elsewhere? Will she be fit to perform tonight?”
Michel interrupted him: “My good sir, please, we don’t know what’s wrong, yet. We’ve never had anything like this happen before.”
“In all my years, I’ve never once seen that jackie fall durin’ a show,” said Segrick.
“She may need to rest for a day, maybe two,” said Michel.
“Alright, well, rest up then,” said the proprietor, “but I can’t lend you out a second room for free, y’know? Last night was an exception. If you want to keep the second, I’ll need ten pennies a night.”
“That’s fine,” said Sandra, “we’ll figure this out.” Asta heard the proprietor continue to argue with her bandmates for a bit longer, but he eventually gave up, and with a staunch huff, he trailed off.
Asta stirred in her bed; she couldn’t think about performing again. In reality, she couldn’t think about much of anything. Her mind was plagued with the images of Adam, those strange women, and a dozen other nightmares.
She had to leave town, and she had to leave soon.
The way those women spoke to her: their voices were so familiar, yet distant. Their taunts and jeers about them being a family again, that she couldn’t stay hidden forever, and that everything would soon be ready. She felt her stomach writhe, and she thought she was going to vomit all over the floor.
Then there was Adam; she couldn’t shake that horrible image of him lying on the ground as blood poured from his ears and eyes.
Asta planted her face into her pillow and sobbed.
“Oi there, jack, you can’t be—”
There was a crash, and Asta’s head popped up from her pillow.
Have they found me?
“Where is she?” Asta didn’t recognize that voice. Or did she? It sounded familiar, but she’d heard so many different voices that they all began to blend together. Asta heard her bandmates try and dissuade the man, but try as they might, he refused to leave.
Another crash, and then she heard a fight start to break out. Still huddled on the bed, Asta pressed her back to the wall, fearful of what monster lurked outside her door. Her eyes darted up to the window, and for a moment she thought about sneaking out, but Segrick was strong; surely, he could…
The door was nearly ripped from its hinges as Segrick came tumbling in, groveling in pain. As he did, a man stepped over him, a young human she’d seen before; his sandy blond hair and dour expression struck her as familiar, but she couldn’t quite pick out from where. His face was bandaged, and his clothes were tattered and torn, but Asta got the feeling her friends hadn’t done that to him; he’d had those wounds before he arrived, and then it dawned on her that this was one of the men from her visions; one of the men the voices told her about.
Somehow, despite it all, he’d survived again.
“You! What are you doing here?”
“Why are you here,” said the man.
“M-Me? What are you talking about, you barbaric oaf? You’re the one who—”
He stepped forward, and his cold eyes dug into her. “I’ve been treated like a fool once today, Lady Lochren. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said. “Why are you in Lionbrand?”
Asta kept her eyes locked on the man’s. “Get away from me,” she sneered. She caught a small twitch in his eye, but he did just as she said. He took a step back, allowing Asta to take a deep breath and calm herself. “I’m here to perform,” she said weakly. “Why else would I be here?”
The man didn’t seem content with that answer. “You sing quite well, but not well enough to draw in the crowds you’ve been pulling. Never in my days have I seen a crowd like yours the other night, and if I’m not mistaken, they’ve just been getting bigger and bigger.”
The other night? Yes, I have seen this man before, but who was he? I know he introduced himself…
“I don’t want to make any assumptions,” he continued, “but it sounds a lot like fae trickery to me.”
Asta’s eyes widened. She hobbled out of bed to stand on her own two feet and face this barbarian head on. She was still dressed in only her nightgown, but she didn’t care how indecent she was; if this man wanted a fight, she would very well give him one.
Before she could speak, she watched as Sandra and Michel helped a dazed Segrick to his feet. The two looked like they were ready to fight, but they weren’t fighters, none of them were. They relied purely on Segrick’s size and Asta’s quick tongue to get them out of trouble, neither of which seemed like it would be effective against this man.
“Please, leave,” said Asta. “I will speak with this man alone.”
“B-But jackie, he—”
“Leave us!” Her voice echoed through the room, and seemingly against their better judgment, her bandmates stepped out and closed the broken door behind them; it didn’t latch properly.
Asta looked down at her blood-stained hands and said, “You’re a lunatic. I don’t know who you are nor why you’d storm into my room claiming me to be some sort of…sort of…”
“What,” he said. He stepped forward again. “What are you? Go on, tell me. No more secrets.”
“Get back!” The Man’s eyes twitched again but did as he was told. Unfortunately, it seemed he realized that something strange had happened. His eyes widened, and he quickly lurched forward, grabbing Asta by the neck and pinning her back to the wall.
“Your voice! I heard the same voice last night as a swarm of fae attacked an innocent family,” he snarled. His grip tightened. “I knew it; I knew it was you!”
Asta clawed at the man’s arm, but his grip was too strong. She felt the air get squeezed from her lungs, and she could hardly speak. Luckily, she was able to utter: “Unhand me…” Something surged within her: her voice grew deeper, and something deep in her chest began to swell. Her eyes narrowed on the man, and she said, “uNHaNd mE!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the man let Asta go, and he stared ahead as if he’d just been splashed in the face with icy water. He stumbled back, his eyes glazed over as he stared blankly ahead. It was as if he had no control over himself.
Asta sucked in a deep breath–gasping for air and clutching her neck–and said, “You’re a brute. I don’t know what or why people listen to me, or why they flock to my performances, but they do!” She straightened her back, trying to regain as much of her composure as she could. “It’s a gift I have, I admit. When I ask nicely, I get what I want; when I sing, even more so. Now, leave before I tell everyone in this tavern what you’ve done!”
“You’re just like that monster,” he said. The man’s eyes still hadn’t fully recuperated, but his senses were slowly returning.
“Well, I’m not the only monster in this room,” she said. He backed away, and for a moment, Asta truly believed he was about to leave, but despite everything, she couldn’t have him leave just yet. No, he’d survived two encounters from her vision where those other she’d seen hadn’t. Asta confidently stepped forward and said, “We can go back and forth name calling all day and get nowhere, so tell me what this is about!”
The man stared at her for a long while in silence as he returned to his senses. When he finally came too, he said, “Fae have been attacking the city: a few nights ago, they were in the slums; just last night, they…” His voice trembled. “They took a little girl from her family.”
Asta refused to believe him; it couldn’t be true.
No, that’s not possible! That’s—
The laughter of the three women rang in her ears. She closed her eyes hoping to block it all out.
“N-No, I came here to…” With a deep breath, Asta opened her eyes and said, “Fae don’t attack large settlements; there’s—”
“Too many people, yes,” he said, “that’s what we all thought until recently.” The man looked down at her bloodied hands, then to the shattered vanity mirror, and then back to her. “They’re after you, aren’t they? You’re who the fae want.”
“What?” She scoffed. “Why would they be after me? Why would you even—”
“Don’t think I didn’t catch that little slip of the tongue just now, Lady Lochren,” he said. His words were filled with sarcasm as he spoke her name. “You came here to what? To hide? The city is quite big, and it has an awful lot of people in it. I’d thought perhaps the fae were attacking on your command, but now I’m not so sure. Who are you?”
‘Be quiet! They don’t want me,” she shouted, but the man ignored her and tried to approach. “Stop! Get back! We’re through! Leave!”
The man stopped in place and stared at her. He pursed his lips, clearly wanting to say more, but he held himself back. He backed away, opened the door and said, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, y’hear?”
Asta glared at him: who did this man think he was? And then it dawned on her: from a few nights back, this man and his brother were at her show. His brother was a drunk beyond hope, yet this man was still as sober as could be. Rukifelth was his name.
She sneered. “Get out.”
After he’d left, Asta fell to her knees. Her hands shook, and her chest trembled. She couldn’t stop the tears once they began streaming down her cheeks, and once the man was gone, her friends rushed in to help, but she paid them no attention. All she could think about was what that man–Rukifelth–had said about fae attacking the city.
They had finally found her, and it was too late to run.
The laughter rang in her ears.
“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he,” asked Sandra. She looked down at her bloody, glass covered hands and gasped. “By fire, Asta! What happened?”
Asta didn’t know what she could say. She knew she couldn’t tell them the truth, but she couldn’t think of a lie either. Instead, she just tried to change the subject. “I-I think we should leave; sooner rather than later.”
“What for,” asked Michel. “It wasn’t that man, was it? We shouldn’t worry about him, Asta.”
“Yeh, we’ll let the watch know that some brute is out to getcha,” said Segrick, “and maybe we could hire some jacks from the mercenary troupe to stand guard by the door!”
Asta shook her head. “It’s not him I’m afraid of. It’s…” And then it dawned on her: she had nowhere to go. Lionbrand was the largest city for miles, and no other settlement nearby would be large enough to deter the fae from attacking. Her only hope would be to return to Zaldean, or perhaps the holy capital, but she’d never make it in time. In the days it would take her to reach one of those cities, the fae would easily catch up to her.
No, the reality was that she was trapped, and there was nothing she could do. It would only be a matter of time before they finally made their attack.
Emecar and Emli sat on the temple steps, watching the children play in the temple gardens. Isaac and Benjamin were playing adventure games like he and Rukifelth used to, and Shiriam and Adel played a game that Emecar admittedly couldn’t quite figure out the rules to. Malinda stayed inside to help Sisters Lucie and Helene prepare dinner, and Kayo was off by his lonesome as usual.
As they watched, Emecar kept thinking of Juliet, and his failure. As the children ran around and played with one another, he couldn’t stop thinking about how she should’ve been running around and playing with her siblings; she should’ve been around to see the birth of her new baby cousin. She should’ve…
Emli rested her hand on his and said, “Please, Emecar, don’t be so hard on yourself. You did the best you could. We all did.”
“And it wasn’t good enough.” He stared down at the bracelet on his wrist; only slight flecks of Aether hummed within. “I promised I would protect her. That I would keep her safe, and I failed. What good am I if I can’t keep the promises I make?”
“Don’t speak like that! I promised too,” said Emli. “It was an accident, Emecar, and no one would ever blame you for what happened.” Emli rested her head on his shoulder and held his hand tightly. “You weren’t the only one who failed last night.”
Emecar felt her tears drip onto his shoulder.
She couldn’t think she’d failed, could she? No one expected her to fight the fae; protecting the Gerhards from the fae was he and Rukifelth’s job. His fingers rubbed against the amethyst gemstone embedded in his bracelet, and he remembered that immense power he’d unleashed last night; that explosion of Aether that was stored within the bracelet.
Could I do that again? If that monster were to return, could I…
“Emecar! Emecar!” Benjamin rushed up to him and said, “Can you tell us one of your stories?”
Isaac ran up along side him. “Yeah! One about ogres! Or a troll!”
“Or a vampire,” said Benjamin. “You’ve fought a vampire, right?”
“Boys, I’m sorry, but—”
“What’s the matter, Emecar,” asked Isaac.
“Are you alright?”
“You’re acting funny.”
Emli hopped to her feet and said, “Benjamin! Isaac! Stop it right now. You’re both being very rude!” Both boys lowered their heads.
“Sorry, sister,” said Benjamin. “It’s just that Emecar always tells us stories.”
“Yeah, and they’re always so excitin’,” said Isaac.
“So come on, Emecar, will ya?”
“Yeah! Will ya?”
“I-I know,” said Emecar, “but—”
“What happened?”
“Did someone get hurt?”
“What about that girl from the other day?”
“Oh yeah! Is she well?”
Emecar heard Juliet’s last scream ring in his ears, and he froze. Though the boys continued to pester him, he couldn’t hear a word they were saying, nor could he hear Emli scold them; all he could hear was that little girl’s terrified scream.
He stood and said, “I’m sorry, boys. I’m not feeling well today. Would you excuse me, please?”
As Emecar turned to make his way into the temple, Emli followed behind. He stopped her, gesturing that she should stay with the children, but really, he just wanted to be alone. Emli tried her best to dissuade him–that he shouldn’t be alone at the moment–but he didn’t listen. It may not have been the right decision, but it was the decision that felt right.
He wanted–needed–to be alone.
Inside, he was greeted by Sister Magda who offered her most sincere condolences for what happened. He walked past Sister Clair who consoled him as best she could. None of it helped; all it did was just remind him of his failure.
Images flashed in his head of losing one of the children in a similar attack: Benjamin and Isaac being dragged away by childnappers, Shiriam and Adel taken by familiars, Malinda and Kayo attacked by wytchlings. Should that monster–the Kintelgas–appear again, could he fight it? If the fae attacked in droves like they’d done last night, could he do anything?
He walked the cramped temple halls and stepped into the sanctum, where he looked upon the great mural on its ceiling.
Why can’t I be stronger?
He walked down the sanctum aisles, admiring the stained-glass windows, when he saw Kayo sitting among the wooden benches. “Emecar,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
“Nothing,” said Emecar weakly. “Just thinking. What about you?”
“I was praying to Sindelle.” Kayo turned away and said, “S-Sister Magda told me what happened. I-I’m sorry, Emecar.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” said Emecar taking a seat beside his little brother. “What were you praying for?”
“I-I…” Kayo averted his eyes and said, “It’s embarrassing.”
“Not any more embarrassing than what I prayed for last night,” he said. “You know you can tell me. What, you think I’m gonna laugh at you?”
Kayo sat silently, looking upon the statue of Galdane at the far end of the sanctum. “I prayed that I could be more like you and Rukifelth.” Emecar scoffed, but before he could say anything, Kayo said, “I want to be a mercenary; I want to go on adventures and help people and…and get away from this place.”
Those words felt like a knife through Emecar’s Heart. He said, “Y’know, being a mercenary ain’t all adventures and excitement. It’s…” He heard Juliet’s screams ring in his ears again. His breathing hastened; he close his eyes to try and shake that horrible sound from his memory, but it didn’t help. Through the darkness, he saw her terrified face covered in tears as she was dragged away. He took a deep, trembling breath and opened his eyes. “I-It can get really scary at times. Besides, I thought you were heading off to work at the stables?”
“I don’t want to be a stableman,” he shouted. “I don’t want to look after some no good horses and clean up their dung! I want to be something more! I hear all these stories about Lord Crissinger and how he saved Galdcore from an army of monsters, or Mistress Saelihn who founded Dracothunder and lead a fleet against the Krueshians.” His eyes didn’t waver from the statue of Galdane and said, “Their blood runs in my veins; how can I be like them if I’m just a stable hand?”
There were no words Emecar could say. When he was Kayo’s age, he felt much the same: go out and fight injustice, help people in need.
Protect the innocent; heal the hurt; smite the wicked.
Emecar imagined Kayo in five years, trained in swordplay, trained to affix a bayonet to the end of a musket, and trained in the Aethereal Artes. He imagined Kayo fighting off brigands on the road, ogres, and goblins. He imagined him the previous night being attacked by the fae, fighting until exhaustion or even death.
“These scars on my face came from a fae I fought last night,” said Emecar pointing to his cheeks.
Confused, Kayo stared at him. “What?”
Emecar took off his old, tattered coat and revealed a long scar that ran from his left shoulder down his back. “I got this from a troll’s spear.” He lifted his shirt to reveal the wound Liza had healed under his ribs, as well as the bandages from where the wytchling had struck him with its venomous claws. “I got this from a goblin sneaking up on me when I wasn’t paying attention, and these are from a wytchling. By fire, that hurt.”
“Emecar, what are you—”
He pulled up his right pantleg to reveal a long, gnarled gash around his shin and ankle that never quite healed right and said, “This was when Rukifelth and I were protecting a carriage from an ogre and—”
“Stop! What are you trying to say, Emecar?”
“That these are the scars that come from being a mercenary, Kayo,” he said calmly. “Every day, every job I take, these are what I get as payment. Highwaymen, fae, demons, ogres, trolls; any day could be my last. It’s only through grit, tenacity, and a whole lot of dumb luck that I’ve survived. I’ve lost several friends in the troupe–Hadel, Fynn, Hanna–all of whom died on duty. I just thought I should tell you, as your big brother, that being a mercenary is—”
“Stop calling me your brother!” Kayo jumped to his feet, his fists and teeth clenched tight. “We’re not brothers, Emecar. I’m sick of you calling me that!”
“Kayo, I’m—”
“No!” Tears began welling up in his eyes as he said, “You know what I really want, Emecar? I want out of this blighted temple! I want to know why my parents gave me up to live here amongst all of you! I want to go somewhere–somewhere far away–and forget all about this place!” His voice trembled, and before Emecar could get a word in, Kayo continued: “I never even got to meet them, Emecar! You at least have memories of your parents! You got to see their faces, and hear their voices, but me?”
Kayo couldn’t finish? The tears began pouring down his face, and try as he might, he couldn’t say anything more. He stormed out of the sanctum, frantically wiping the tears from his cheeks.
Emecar was alone, just as he wanted. He stared blankly ahead, completely lost in what Kayo had said. Memories came flooding back to him: painfully shivering in the cold, blood in the snow, a desecrated carriage, a woman in a blue dress. Emecar could still recall everything from that day: he could hear the screams of his mother, he could hear the nightmarish shouts of the men who attacked them, he could hear their gunshots, he could see blood dripping from the carriage, and he could feel the blood drip onto his head.
He remembered just how horrified he was as he lay hidden beneath the wreckage, too scared to even breath. He remembered being all alone, wishing to wake up from his nightmare and to see his mother smiling at him, and to hear her sing him a lullaby. But there was something he couldn’t remember…
“Emecar?” Behind him, with hands delicately resting on her apron, was Liza. She made her way down the sanctum’s aisle and sat beside him, gently resting her hand on his shoulder. “I saw Kayo storm out in a huff. I know he’s at that age, but I’ve never seen him quite like…Emecar, are you alright?”
Emecar didn’t know which memory it was that made him start to cry, but there he was, crying like a child in the temple sanctum. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t make the tears stop; no matter how many he wiped away, they just continued to drip down his cheeks. His face fell into his hands as he finally gave up and said, “I broke my promise, madame. I failed.”
Wrapping her arms around him, Liza hugged him tight and said, “I’m sorry, Emecar, but you mustn’t let this consume you. You’re a good man. You did everything you could.”
He met Liza on that day too, hadn’t he. Just by chance, her carriage happened to tread past him, and as if sent by Azuhiel himself, she found and brought him to his new hope. Emecar wiped the tears with his sleeve and looked around the sanctum. What once was so large now felt so small; what was once pristine and new was now desecrated and old to him.
“This temple was my castle,” he said. “I’d imagine fighting monsters in the nursery: orcs, fae, trolls, demons. I’d imagined I was a hero like Lord Crissinger, or Raylion Skypiercer, or Adakar Azukor the Dawking.”
Protect the innocent; heal the hurt; smite the wicked.
“I used to dream that if I just fought hard enough–did enough good–that one day, everyone could live in peace, just like the stories: people wouldn’t go hungry, or shiver in the cold; children wouldn’t fear losing their parents, and parents wouldn’t fear losing their children. I used to dream that no one would need to cry anymore.”
Liza held him tighter, and Emecar remembered a time when he and Rukifelth used to run around the temple, proudly declaring that they’d fight evil monsters, topple tyrants, and bring peace to the world. They’d stand among kings and gods alike.
How distant those memories felt.
They called him…