by Rae Nantes
A voice met them at the end of the pier. “It seemed like something.” It was Marcion, carrying a large sack of something. He met Vic with friendly smiles and warm handshakes, but he looked down at Rika with cold eyes. “Are you well?” He smelled like fish.
“Sorry,” she said. “I had a coughing fit.”
He turned to Vic with a grin. “I brought shrimp.”
Vic eyed him with playful suspicion. “Is this the curry you keep telling me about?”
He only grinned.
Rika gagged. They stared, but she waved it off. “Coughing,” she explained. In truth, she had enough shrimp to satisfy her for a lifetime. Last week was the Stella Vallis Shrimp Festival, and since there were no natural shrimp on Mars, the taste of replicated seafood got old quick.
They nodded in sympathy. “Alright, then,” Marcion said. “Let’s get started.”
Together, they sat at the table beneath the tree to enjoy a seafood platter. The skies were overcast, the world grey, but all the color that mattered was between them. Jokes shared as comrades, laughter, old stories. Marcion’s coldness melted away as he tried to force Rika to have curry, and she relented.
It was delicious.
Vic stopped mid-bite, looked inquisitively in the distance, then pulled out his notebook to scribble something in.
Rika noticed. "When are you gonna let me look at that?"
He tapped his fingers in thought, then looked at Marcion for help - who only smiled and shook his head. He snapped the book shut and handed it over.
Rika's face brightening with glee, and it was contagious.
She dove in. It held page after page of information on the players, phenomenal sketches of people he had met and killed and worked with.
She chuckled when she saw Stef’s dramatic pose. Nick was drawn wearing a full cowboy outfit. Vic even had his handler and the dimensions of her microscopic aura, but her boobs seemed to be a bit larger than she remembered. When the thought that she might be included in this artbook, Rika rushed through the pages to find it.
And she did.
And she burst into laughter.
"What the hell is this?" she cried out.
He gulped down another bite. "You."
"I don't have horns!"
"You ought to," he said.
She smiled down at it and wished she could somehow take it home and tape it her refrigerator. "Real cute," she said.
The guy was even able to sketch out possible landscapes that he was imagined her world to look like. The first sketches were the typical ones would expect from an inquisitor - scenes of darkness and burning, rings of hell, apocalyptic landscapes. Gradually, and likely during the course of gathering tidbits from their conversations, he had started sketching regular scenes - rolling red deserts with red trees, houses made of steel, ordinary people enjoying their lives like any normal commoner would in this world. It was charming.
“Hey, Vic,” Marcion said mid-chew. “Why didn’t you bring your son?”
Vic looked away as he wiped his hands. “Not a good idea.”
“You have a son?” Rika asked in awe. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Not important,” Vic said.
Marcion chuckled. "He's about your age."
Rika shot him a sly smile with narrowed eyes. “You think I’m gonna sweep him off his feet, don’t you?”
“Not happening.”
Rika wanted to tease him some more, but she knew it wasn’t a good idea. Vic always avoided mention of his family or his home, and she understood why. She was a player, a spellcaster, a heretic. By all accounts, she was his enemy, even if they were all enjoying a peaceful evening together. “What’s he like?” she asked.
Vic brightened up at the question. “He’s a good kid. With some money put aside and with a little bit of networking,” he nodded a Marcion, “we were able to get him into the university.” He shook his head with a smile. “That crazy boy is the light of my life.”
Seeing Vic be passionate about something that didn’t involve heresy or burning witches put a warm smile on Rika’s face. Vic continued on at length about his son, how proud he was about his choices, about his future, about what he could be and what he hopes he’ll be.
She found herself smiling warmly, but something was... empty.
Then, mid-conversation, they froze. A twig snapped on the other side of the tree. It was a heavy enough sound that it didn’t seem like an animal - but a person. Rika was still holding a half-eaten fish in her hands when Vic and Marcion drew their swords at the possible threat.
“Ears like wolves - yes, yes.” A figure stepped out. Black robes and gold accents. Painted frown and chin hair. It was Garrock, and Rika’s blood turned cold.
Rika jumped in front of them with her blade still in its sheath. Garrock was still a temporary comrade, but he was siding with Mondego - and none of that party knew about her working relationship with Vic, an inquisitor. “What is it?” she shot out.
Garrock shrugged. “Guests.” Then, portals crackled open around him. Cultists poured out, moving with duty but without threat. They surrounded Rika and the others. Her heart raced. The final person to exit the portal was the one she didn’t want to see.
Mondego.
“Ah, what a wonderful little retreat.” Mondego sniffed the air. “Is that curry I smell?”
Rika glanced back at Vic and Marcion. Their expressions told her that they hadn’t recognized him yet, but Vic’s eyes were soon to catch on. “What is it?” she demanded. “I’m busy.”
“I was actually out for a stroll.” He gestured to the spooky clown boy. “Our friend Lord Garrock has been on the hunt for an inquisitor who was plotting against both you and me, so I came to do a favor on your behalf.” He sent Rika a wolf’s grin.
Her heart was pounding. Vic and Marcion had taken the hint already, but they both knew they were outnumbered and outgunned. The fact that Mondego was here was a death sentence to both of them. Her hand instinctively went for her sword, but she calmed herself. “Seems like you’re a bit lost, aren’t you?”
Mondego glanced at Garrock.
The clown demon’s eyes gazed at Rika, his mouth no longer a smile behind a painted frown. He held the stare for uncomfortably long. All was silent, the cultists were shifting their weight as if to pounce, Rika’s hand inched to her sword hilt. A cold breeze came and passed. Then, as if something clicked, he perked up like an owl and barked, “I’m silly!” He cackled like a dying hyena. “So wrong - yes, yes - these look the same, yet they are but old friends.”
Mondego smiled back at Rika. “Old friends. Just like us.”
“Sure,” Rika said. Without taking any more chances, she swiped open her screen and spawned her own portal. “We were just on our way.”
Vic and Marcion stepped in. Rika started after but was paused by Mondego.
“Return to us Friday,” he said. “There will be an important event that I wouldn’t want you to miss.”
Rika brightened at the words. The Ottomans were finally ready, and soon she would see John’s boy scouts ground into dust. “I’ll be there,” she said, then stepped through.
On the other side, she found Vic and Marcion, shaken but alive. She had sent them to some random field on the outskirts of the city.
“Thanks,” Marcion told her. “But I’m surprised you didn’t fight him.”
“No,” Vic said. “That was Mondego. It was a smart move.”
“I needed him alive,” Rika said. “At least a little while longer. The operation to save Ediha is soon.”
“You’ll be challenging the Pax Divinus,” Vic said.
“Yes.” A vague sadness swept over her. Vic’s loyalty was undeniably with the church, as was John’s. It may come to pass that they would be on the opposing sides of a battle.
And if they did, she wouldn’t know what she would do.
4:21
“They say that the Ottomans will come.” Ediha stood at the battlements, enjoying the fresh air.
“I know,” John said beside him. They were staring out into the sea. The sun was setting, bathing all in a golden glow that reflected as a shimmer off the waves. Flags flapped against the breeze. Gulls squawked nearby, and far in the town beneath them, they could hear the sounds of a town getting ready to rest.
“Should I have my men prepare for a defense?” Ediha asked.
“No,” John said. “Though I never wanted to surrender our lands to the infidels, the times will call for it. This was not the intended fate, but it was fate nonetheless.”
“What do you mean?”
“A war will be coming, young knight, but it will be fought elsewhere. That I know.”
“Then I should train,” Ediha said. “There is still time for me to get stronger.” He turned to John. "Take me to the next temple. I feel I am ready."
John nodded. "I believe you are." He turned to Ediha. "Come. We should not squander what time we have left."
Ediha gripped John's forearm, and John Ediha's. In a flash, they were both transported to a place of total darkness.
Ediha’s senses failed him. He was blind. All he knew was that the smell of limestone and death lingered here, and he felt cold dirt beneath his greaves.
“Where - where are we?” Ediha asked. “Grandmaster, are you there? I can’t see—”
“Hush, boy,” John said. “This is enemy territory. This is France, the home of the Templar Magi.”
A cold chill ran up Ediha’s spine. “This is France? It’s always this dark here?”
John stifled a laugh. “Technically, we are beneath it.” He took Ediha by the hand and led him along.
Ediha didn’t know where he was going. He moved forward, turned left, then right, then right, then left again. After some breathless moments passed, they stopped.
“This is it,” John said. He guided Ediha’s hand to the altar.
Ediha felt his body nearly pull into it, and the darkness of its magic reach into him. This was the spirit of death, the spirit of absence, the spirit of nonbeing. He shivered in fear at it, felt his very instinct demand that he withdraw from it, flee from it, escape from it. But the thought of running away reminded him of Tenochtitlan, it reminded him of facing Mondego, it reminded him to drink the fear and have the resolve to push further in, to grasp his objective, to face the unknown, and to withdraw victorious.
He gasped. He was weak in the knees and nearly collapsed, but the spells were his, and now he understood them. Of all, he considered this element to be the most dangerous.
“Good,” John said. “You’ve passed all the conditions. The next and final temple will the most important one.”
“Which is that, grandmaster?”
“The Holy Temple.”
4:22
"Are-are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Vic said.
"I've never ridden a horse before."
"Which is why you're riding one now."
Green hills, gentle breezes, blue skies. They were both on horseback, easing through empty farmlands and open fields. Rika was somehow terrified to be on the back of an ancient beast.
"Easy now," Vic said.
"I really don't need to learn. I could just walk everywhere."
"The ability to command a horse is the mark of an independent woman."
She lowered her head, her body swaying with the beat of the hooves.
"I was thinking," Vic said.
"You do that a lot," she countered.
He smiled. "You haven't spoken much about your relationship with Mondego."
"It's not something I'm proud of."
Vic took a deep breath and stared at the horizon. Paris was in the distance. "I'm a hardened inquisitor. The more I know of a problem, the easier it is to find a solution." He looked back at her. "You've talked all about your problem with Ediha and the knights, but you have spoken little about Mondego, only that you hate him."
Rika groaned internally. This was something she had been trying to avoid telling anyone. She gulped hard, lifted her chin, and told him the full story, beginning to end.
She explained the rise of her cult and their objective of completing the World Quest. How she met Mondego on the shores of Portugal, and how quickly he found favor with her. How her cult's experimentation with magic took a darker turn with Blood Magic, how she rejected it, how Mondego embraced it, and how it ended with his betrayal in the little town of Monsanto.
Vic slowed beside her and tried to look into her eyes. She turned away. "The Monsanto event. It was you and Mondego."
"...yes."
"Nine thousand people."
She lowered her eyes. "...yes."
Rika went on about the battle, the loss of her acolytes, the sheer power of Mondego's Blood Magic. She explained how she gave up for months. When she returned, her last remaining acolytes begged her for revenge. With them, she chased Mondego and found him in Alonso for the final battle.
"And you lost," he said.
"I found myself in a sea of ash, alone and in dead silence."
"The Alonso event."
From there, she shared her story in Aztec Mexico, how she met Stef and Nick. Her tale took on a lighter tone, and Vic seemed to welcome it, smiling or chuckling with every mention of the two faux conquistadors. She told him about Ediha, the fall of Tenochtitlan, and her encounters with Mondego. After everything, it all—
"—led you here," Vic said. "As if by fate."
"Fate. Sure."
A passing group of clouds masked the sun, but its rays slid over the plains and farmland.
Vic tapped his pencil on the notebook. He was on his third page, and it was already almost full. "So this Blood Magic, how did it work?"
"A person must consume the blood of another person to gain power."
"Vampires."
"More like cannibalism," she said. "The hearts give the greatest increase. Mondego and his ilk used to practice on innocent people, first focusing on virgins and children, then moving on to nobility. They found that royal blood gives the most power."
Vic jotted it down, then paused. He flipped back in his notebook. "That Ediha you talked about. He's a prince, correct?"
"Right."
"And Blood Magic is more effective on royal blood?"
"Direct rulers are more effective than heirs, but I figured Mondego would try to get Ediha. The problem is that there are so many with royal blood in the world, that Mondego would have easier pickings elsewhere."
"But not kings," Vic said. "Those would naturally be more difficult."
"Right."
"Ediha's father, the king of the Aztecs, is dead, is he not?"
She furrowed her brow. "...yeah." Her eyes widened.
"How did you not see this?"
She didn't reply.
"He wanted you to bring Ediha to him." Vic spoke, almost as a whisper to himself. "You weren't out to manipulate Mondego. He was manipulating you."
4:23
After some reluctant correspondence with Garrock, Rika found the cultist hideout. It was freshly built cabin set deep in the forests. She thought it seemed more like a dormitory or a private school for misbehaved children than a headquarters for the most dangerous man alive.
Garrock was hunched over, drawing in the dirt with a twig. Rika stood with crossed arms, sighing in exasperation with every other breath.
The cabin door creaked open, and Mondego stepped into the sunlight. He was freshly shaved, his hair smartly trimmed, his brilliant robes purple and black and almost Roman in design. "Ah, Rika," he said. "You are here just as promised."
Other cultists were pouring out of the cabin, some she had not seen in a while. "Today is the most auspicious day," he said. "I would be flattered if you could attend the ceremony before we return to Istanbul."
"Ceremony?"
A dark smile crossed his face. "Great things will come to this world," he said. "Terribly great things."
***
Rika accompanied them via cove
red wagon into the city. There, they filed into a back door of the Notre Dame cathedral and made their way up the staircase to the upper floors.
A woman was singing here, opera or some Gregorian chant, and it echoed throughout.
Rika had never been here before, but she knew a great many players would tour the place. A ceiling that reached stories high, borne by pillars and arcs. The walls were adorned in gold designs, imprints and statues of religious figures or kings and queens. Stained glass windows pulled in light, and the place bathed in its glow. A platoon of wooden pews ran the length of the hall. At the end, marble statues of the Virgin Mary beside a large cross. The scent of oak and burning candles lingered here.
Unlike many of the players who played the game, touring the world was not really what she came here to do, but she understood the sentiment. Meticulous detail had been spent building the places and structures from what memory and historical sources that were on hand, which luckily had mostly been accomplished by those equally ancient 22nd-century developers.
How curious, she thought, that the Fall of Man on Earth was closer to the 1500s than she was to the early developers. She considered that maybe, just maybe, the ruins of this place could still be found on that irradiated, forbidden rock. There had been so much recent talk about finally sending a probe to see if they could ever move back, but with resources so strictly controlled, most considered it political suicide.
Maybe one day.
Garrock whispered. “A good turnout, yes?”
She took a step away. “So it seems.”
The cathedral was packed. Crowds of men in red or black robes sat among the pews, watching the concert, but some of them spotted the cloaked figures who traced the upper floors and around them.
Whispers were shared back and forth between them, then a commotion, and as the cultists had them surrounded, the entirety of the audience gazed up at them.
The woman's song came to an end, the last echoes of her voice faded, and an uneasy silence settled in.
Mondego stood beneath the rose window on the second floor, its stained-glass hue bathing him in a prismatic blue. He looked down at the cardinals, smiled, then clapped.
