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Cascade
Posted: 11 Jun 2006 07:38 PM |
< Letters Undelivered
~*~
The Irredeemable Past
The Four Winds Inn,
3rd Tetradi of Azurinarre, 1001 SD
It was raining again outside.
It wasn’t all that long ago that the weather here was occasionally fair. More and more frequently, the skies darkened over the Northern Highway, the weather grew colder, the sun ceased to show its face. Strange how she’d never noticed that before. It wasn’t her imagination; it was just that she was in a mood to notice, considering the decision that lay before her.
The blank piece of parchment glared accusingly in the dim light of the guttering torch. There was no one else here; despite the popularity of the inn, no one stayed down in the basement longer than they had to. It smelled of damp and rot and the general stench of habitation—a place where many passed but no one really stayed. A transient and impermanent waypoint: destiny’s threshold, where multitudes passed but none lingered.
The blank piece of parchment glared accusingly in the dim light of the guttering torch.
These Swords appear... and of a sudden people I know to be loyal and true are questioned, others disappear. My fellows who have always been trusted to maintain order are no longer trusted.
We are watched, guarded. Removed from positions we have always occupied.
Some time ago a priestess was killed, or so we were led to believe. By, it was said, agents of darkness. Thus said Vidus Khain himself.
And yet she lives, I have met her.
I have been confused for some time, I confess. I do not understand why of a sudden what I did, and others did, in Midoran’s name was no longer sufficient.
Why should it be necessary to have these others to augment what we did?
To hear of speeches which spoke of our failure.
And yet they follow Midoran... As do we.
And so I asked myself, which of us was right, is it their view, is what they do the Will of Midoran? Or what we do? We are told we have failed, that these others are needed, that they are the true arm of Midoran’s Will.
If that is the case, what are we?
Sedition.
Heresy.
Blasphemy.
Those words had come from a Paladin named Chia whom she had met mere days ago. How could a Paladin be fooled so totally?
The other arm?
That was Markus. Innocent, guileless, so like Davinia Sanneman, Timmy Landell, Alicia Sanders, Clarissa Eidelmann, countless others. Little more than children, really, happily playing soldier without really knowing what it meant to be a Paladin.
Don’t listen to her, Markus.
But not the true arm.
A one-sided conversation. Chia had encountered the renegade Paladins and been swayed to their side.
Impossible. Unthinkable.
They were chaos personified. They sought to tear down the sacred laws, the perfect order that Midor had strived so hard to build.
One report. That was all it would take. One report to her Commanding Officer about this encounter. This could be the lead that Midor was looking for. This could be the lead that could put a stop to this ridiculous rebellion against the Church once and for all.
The blank piece of parchment glared accusingly in the dim light of the guttering torch.
A sickening twist in the pit of her stomach. Chia’s face, that earnest stranger’s face, swam before her, as did Markus’.
One report. That was all it would take. One report and two of her fellow Paladins could be nailed to a cross. The rest of the army would follow. Midoran’s will be done.
The blank piece of parchment glared accusingly in the dim light of the guttering torch.
It was a pity that she knew the laws of Midor inside out. It was a pity that she knew her duty right down to the most minute detail. Ignorance could have been a valuable shield.
Not to report them in would be an unforgivable act of delinquency. The choice came down to a simple, binary choice. Report them in and condemn them.
Don’t report them in—
And become a traitor of Midor and Midoran.
It was as simple and as difficult as that.
The blank piece of parchment glared accusingly in the dim light of the guttering torch. She stared at it all night, but when morning rolled around it was still blank, and she set out to the southern lands to find the White Maiden against her better judgment.
...And everything only went wrong from then on, and there was no more certitude, and for what? For what?
Days later, in a barren wind-swept place ironically called Haven, Claude Esmond said, with a great deal of pity, “It’s called a conscience, Lillian. Welcome to the world of mere mortals. Now you know how the rest of us feel.”
The Impossible Past
The Four Winds Inn,
3rd Tetradi of Azurinarre, 1001 SD
She paid no attention to the pounding of feet upstairs, nor to the drumming of the rain. The report absorbed all her attention, and she attacked it with all the righteous fury she could muster.
How dare they. How dare they question the will of Midoran, how dare they speak against the Voice of Midoran. It was bad enough that Chia had admitted to falling in with the rebels, but for her to drag Markus down to her level—naive Markus, easily influenced, who had not stood a chance against that heretic’s earnest pleading...
They were a disgrace to the Paladin title.
Was this what the Order had come to, in the seven years she’d been away? Was this the sort of Paladin they allowed to slip through now—these pathetic creatures of little faith or malleable will? It was small wonder that Midoran saw fit to police them with a new breed of warrior. Truly, Vidus Khain was the Voice of Midoran. The Righteous Swords had been an inspired decision, the sort of decision that only one who was divinely guided could have come up with.
The White Maiden lives, and what is more bears the Heart of Aristi. It is said that the holder bears the fate of Midor in their hands. She spoke of there being a large encampment of our order, of those like me who have doubts, who do not believe what has been happening.
It was true, it is there, I have seen it. Sir Liam is there also.
I sense no deceit in her, no evil. Nothing but truth.
I asked her who she prays to.
She said she does not.
She said that the blessings we receive come not from who we believe in, but what we believe.
Godless traitors, the lot of them, and may Midoran smite them for their blasphemy. Thank Midoran that they were such an open and trusting lot. There was more than enough information here to hunt them down and wipe them off the face of existence like a bad stain. Their indiscretion and naivety would be their downfall. It was almost a pity that they wouldn’t live to learn from that lesson.
Almost.
One report. That was all it would take. One report to the office of the Righteous Inquisitors about this encounter—after all, she had her suspicions that her Commanding Officer was a rebel sympathiser, and it wouldn’t do to tip them off. This could be the lead that Midor was looking for. This could be the lead that could put a stop to this ridiculous rebellion against the Church once and for all.
Rage surged through her like burning lava. Chia’s face, that earnest stranger’s face, swam before her, as did Markus’.
One report. That was all it would take. One report and two of her fellow Paladins could be nailed to a cross. The rest of the army would follow. Midoran’s will be done.
After all, there had never been any question about her duty. She knew exactly what needed to be done. She knew exactly what was demanded of her. It had been the easiest decision she’d ever had to make in her life, for in truth, it hadn’t been a decision at all. This was what she had been born to do. This was the only path and there was no other.
She would not permit anyone to tear down the law, the religion, that she held sacred. Not a tortured and uncertain veteran, not a guileless young man barely out of the Academy. There could be no mercy, not where sacrilege was involved.
When morning rolled around, the report was anything but blank, crammed with every detail that only a meticulous and near-perfect memory could recall. She set out to the southern lands, directly to Midor, as fast as humanly possible.
...And there was only certitude from then on, for she knew that this was the sole reason she existed.
But every now and then she wondered what had died that night, and what the price had been for a gift as great as this. |
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Claude
Posted: 11 Jun 2006 07:45 PM |
< Schism
< In Midoran's Name!
~*~
The Irredeemable Past
The Four Winds Inn,
3rd Silvradi of Azurinarre, 1001 SD
(Two weeks prior to the march of the rebel army)
“No. Absolutely not. You’re not going.”
It was a futile argument, and Claude knew it. He’d known it when this argument had begun two hours ago. The man standing across the other side of the desk from him combined the patience of an Elf with the sheer tenacity and stubbornness of a Human. Meaning that, essentially, it was impossible to get into any sort of debate with him and win.
Still, Lindsay was a friend. Not only that, but a friend under his command, so he had to at least try. The war hadn’t even begun yet and already Claude had casualties on his hands. Good men and women dead at the hands of Orcs, or Harpies, or Ogres, or any number of hazards ranging from ravening beasts to weather to disease. To willingly send someone to their death on a fool’s errand was something he just was not prepared to do.
“I have been to Icy Vale many times on my own,” Lindsay persisted in that infuriatingly calm manner that he had. “And even journeyed beyond to the more dangerous parts of the Ice Queen’s realm. I know my way around. Nature exists in all places, even the land of eternal winter, where nothing is dead... but only sleeps. I have but to speak a command to awaken it. The task is perfectly within my capability to handle alone.”
It was a rare thing to see the smile vanish off Claude’s face. And a rarer thing to see him frown. He did both now.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he countered in the same tone, “we’re understaffed here. We have an entire arcane support platoon with a full complement of mages, but hardly any fighters or clerics.”
He looked at Lindsay pointedly. “In fact, our entire rebel army is severely lacking in the healing department. I can’t afford to let you go.”
“Well in that case, I got good news,” a high, shrill voice piped up.
The air beside Lindsay shimmered and a slight young woman appeared beside him, waving the last vestiges of her invisibility spell away with a complex gesture. Though Human, she was hardly taller than the average Elf. Her brown hair was streaked through with grey and pulled back in a tight bun, lending her an air of age and dignity. In contrast—and to her unending embarrassment—she had eternally baby-faced features that immediately negated the effect.
“You’re gonna love this, Claude,” Evelyn continued, grinning from ear to ear. “Guess who just went rebel? Go on. Guess. I just spent half an hour arguing with Matt over in admin to assign her to us.”
Claude forced a smile with practiced ease. The only thing more time-consuming and pointless than getting into arguments with Lindsay was getting into guessing games with Evelyn.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” he replied. “Do enlighten us humble non-wizards with your superior intelligence.”
“Uhh...” Evelyn looked taken aback: no doubt she was debating between showing off what she knew and teasing them with what they didn’t, as per usual.
She hesitated a few minutes more before finally relenting. “Aww, why not. It’s not like you’re even gonna come close... and anyway,” she added, “looks like Lindsay’s decided to bail, so that’s half the fun gone already.”
Evelyn glanced at the spot where Lindsay had been standing mere moments ago. Claude hadn’t even seen or heard him leave the command tent.
“You remember who I voted Most Likely To Become A Righteous Sword, just before I left Midor? ’Course you do,” Evelyn nodded without waiting for a response.
At Claude’s puzzled look, she shook her head. “Huh. Or not. Musta kept that guess to myself then. Well you must have some clue, right? You gotta guess. Even just one guess. Just a little one, come on.”
Claude waited patiently, leaning his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers.
“One guess? Please? Just so I can say you’re wrong?” she pleaded in that high-pitched, child-like voice of hers. “You will be wrong, you know.”
He waited some more.
“Ohh all right. Fine.” Evelyn scowled and folded her arms. “Don’t be fun.”
She said the last name Claude had ever expected to hear:
“It’s Lillian.”
~*~
Not for the first time that day, Lillian Blackstone decided that she hated capes.
The Haven, when she’d found it at last, was inconveniently camped atop a gusty plateau. Not really the most ideal of locations, for the wild winds constantly threatened to batter down the hastily erected tents, and furthermore made conversation—whether out in the open or within a tent—nigh impossible without having to resort to shouting.
Nevertheless, here it was and here she was in the midst of it. With the wind tugging every which way and yanking at her fluttering cape, threatening to drag her over the cliff face at any moment. Mentally, she made a note to protest to Sir Markus about that the next time she saw him. She’d only put the silly thing on to humour him. Well, that and also for reasons of uniformity. But really, the weather didn’t bother her at all. The wilderness never did. It was just the blasted cape that was the issue.
“Arcane support,” the admin clerk grunted as he picked his way down the rocky slope towards the neat rows of tents that lay below. “Glorious job, that. Playing meat wall for mages.”
“Duty is not always bedecked with glory, nor should we seek such trivial things,” Lillian replied automatically, her attention focused solely on following him down the treacherous slope. “We do what we do because it needs to be done. Not out of expectations of rewards, material or immaterial.”
The man snorted cynically and raised his voice as the wind picked up. “Well good, ’cause you’re not gonna be getting any with this lot. I’m telling you, all the best people get shafted to Charlie to become fodder and no one knows why. Captain Esmond’s one of the best leaders we’ve got, and look where he gets stuck, huh. Babysitting bookworms and their bodyguards.”
Lillian froze in mid-step, a ripple of shock passing through her. She held out a hand to the nearby cliff face to steady herself.
The clerk—Matthew Lynwood, that was his name—turned to look over his shoulder. “No offense or anyth...” he trailed off, catching the look on her face. “You all right?”
“Captain Esmond?” she echoed, ignoring the question. At his nod, she demanded, “Captain Claude Esmond?”
He nodded again.
“Captain Claude Esmond,” she repeated one last time, the emphasis on the rank this time.
Matthew regarded her with a strange look. “Yeah, that’s the one,” he replied, raising his voice slightly again to be heard over the wind. “Why? Something wrong?”
“Oh, there’s plenty wrong,” Lillian said darkly, resuming her careful descent down the sheer rocky slope to the platoon encamped below. The topography of this area was truly atrocious, with headquarters squatting atop the plateau like a big, inviting target and the remainder of the army scattered every which way down in the valley. “Tell me, Corporal: does he still call himself a Paladin?”
Now it was Matthew’s turn to stop. He swivelled to turn the rest of the way to face her, frowning. “He is a Paladin.”
“We’ll see about that,” Lillian said grimly, closing the gap and gesturing for him to move on down the path.
The statement sounded like a promise.
~*~
It was not without reason that druids were best known for their divination practices.
They could predict storms by listening to the whispers carried on the wind; could trace the patterns of birds in flight or stars in the sky to extrapolate prophecies; could see what no one else could see and hear what no one else could hear in leaf veins, tree bark, bird song.
Lindsay was no exception.
He did not consider it a gift, as such. It was a part of him, just as the eagle has its keen eyesight or the snake has its flickering tongue to sense and know the world. Twelve days ago he’d felt something shift, slide, slip... tides of time turning and unwoven possibilities unravelling. And so his investigation had begun to find both the cause and the solution. To restore equilibrium.
Claude had not liked his findings at all.
But that was Claude, and whatever else he might think, Lindsay was not beholden to him or his cause. He served a higher power. His ways were the ways of nature, his laws were the laws of the world. Immutable. Eternal. Inexplicable.
This was something he had to do. There was somewhere he had to be and it was not here, not in this cold dead place of wind and rock and men who only thought of war, who stood vigilantly behind spiked barricades and looked to the horizon and saw only war and blood and blood and war everywhere they turned, everywhere they looked.
This was something he had to do...
“Of course destiny exists,” Claude had said once, a long time ago, in a place not here, not filled with electric expectations of battle and bloodshed. “But predestined fate? No. That is a convenient excuse for those who wish to deny responsibility for their choices. Your choices are your own to make, and you face the consequences for them.”
“For some of us that may be true,” had been Lindsay’s reply so long ago. So... very... long ago. “Some of us have fluid futures, able to swerve on a whim, to change in the space of a heartbeat, an eyeblink. Like rivers in motion.”
He padded past the spiked barricades easily, a shadow in the night, the occasional slitted gleam of green cat’s eyes the only visible evidence of his passing. No one saw him leave the Haven.
“But for some of us the future is gone, evaporated, scattered like vapour and dead. And for some of us winter has come and frozen the river, frozen our destiny forever and ever, waiting for a spring that will never come.”
The rock beneath his paws was like ice. An invisible path leading him onward into the inevitable future. A path out of the mountains, out of the plains, and into the lands of eternal winter. Lands forever frozen, like his future was now frozen. |
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