The Ones Who Serve

by Jennifer Kenny

  “Pathetic.” He grumbled, keeping the sword and moving further into the manor. He knew that not all of the Crimah residents that remained within the manor house would be so easily defeated, but he doubted very much to meet any real resistance. He was surprised to find no one waiting in the halls. His powerful march once again became a cautious walk, checking the hallways before he came entirely around the corner. He had not been quiet in killing Baxter. The fleeing Crimah soldiers should have raised the alarm and yet Christof was not getting the reception he had been expecting.

  His opinion of Crimah was far more significant than the truth. With no intimidating presence like Barret, the citizens had folded. The manor seemed to be deserted. However, Christof checked each room quickly by sticking his head inside and looking around. There was no one else to meet him. Bedrooms were abandoned, and there were no servants to even shriek at his presence. Either the retreating soldiers had raised the alarm to evacuate the manor or Barret had scared away all of those except the fools too spineless to make an escape.

  Unable to decide which narrative he preferred, Christof now walked with a casual swagger as he quickly counted the number of people he had seen in the Crimah red colours. Six. Movement from the corner of his eye caused Christof to stop abruptly. Looking out of the window to ensure there was no sneak attack headed his way, he spotted movement in the church grounds. Perhaps the correct number was seven Crimah citizens.

  Christof headed back through the manor and stepping outside he paused and waited for his group to meet him. He could smell fire, and instantly he jabbed a finger at two of them. “Go and make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.” Christof didn’t watch them leave because he trusted his group to follow his orders. He might be careful on who he shared information with, but Christof never doubted the ability for his men to obey his command.

  Taking the remaining members of his crew, Christof headed towards the church. He had no interest in destroying the building even if Barret had ensured the religious buildings and texts of Zorelian and other providences were systematically destroyed. Religion had once been such a large part of Christof’s life growing up. He attended his church whenever it was possible and remembered praying to Xado for guidance. Since Zorelian had been destroyed, Christof struggled with even the basics and mostly felt that the stories of spiritual beings and saviours were lies. Let them keep their monuments to deaf ears and blind eyes.

  He banged on the door with his fist, the wood standing firm but it seemed to struggle to stay on its hinges after his assault.

  There was the sound of movement from the other side, and Christof stood back a little before the priest emerged, leaning heavily on his cane. He was looking up at Christof, his lips a thin line on his face. Christof was intrigued by the man who did not look afraid, but the priest did not seem happy to see the band of rebels at his door. The Crimah priest put his free hand up to show he held no weapons. “I am a man of peace, and you have no reason to cause me harm.”

  Christof grinned. He took a step forward, taking his time with the gesture and ensuring his presence had a tremendous impact before addressing the priest while leaning on the doorframe. “I have some questions for you, Priest.” He sneered at the title, making it sound like an insult. To his credit, the priest did not change his position. “Where is everyone?” Christof asked.

  “Some of them left. Others have died.” The priest met Christof’s eyes without hesitation. His gaze was so intimate it started to get eerie for Christof, but he would not be the one who broke eye contact first. “Crimah is not the place it once was.” The priest could admit that even though he still believed it could be saved.

  Christof nodded and pushed himself off the doorframe and turned to leave. The priest let out a soft breath, his body losing the straight edges as he had done his best to appear strong in adversary. Just as he believed the confrontation was over, Christof snapped his fingers and Yolanda grabbed the Priest. The sudden yank on his arm made him fall forward, his feet unable to keep up and only Yolanda’s strength kept the priest from falling on his face. Getting his feet back under him, the priest followed Christof away from his church. During the walk, he lost his cane, and the priest was forced to rely on the woman for support.

  The priest had heard the slaughter, and the smell of burning bodies was unlike anything else in this world. He had neglected every opportunity to leave because he had been too stubborn, and now he considered that perhaps going had been Xado’s plan from the beginning. Only too late did he mourn what could have been. Being dragged to his feet by members of the rebellion was not his idea of how he wanted things to go, but the oldest of the teachings recited the words Xado only offers one the challenges they can handle. It would take faith, but the Priest repeated those words to himself as he was brought to the manor.

  Christof leads the way to the manor. He did not know the layout very well but when he turned to the right he came upon a large sitting room, and he decided this room would do just fine. Sitting down, he gestured to the chair opposite. Yolanda dumped the priest there. The priest said nothing, pulling himself into a sitting position in the chair and looking down at his feet. His lips moved quickly, lost in prayer, and Christof rolled his eyes.

  “Prayers mean nothing.” He said to the Priest. “I have been trying it for years.”

  “I have heard many say that in my time, but I still find comfort in speaking to Iloh.” The priest hung his head for the moment after speaking the God’s servants name.

  “I want to know what happened here,” The words were not a question, and the priest would never believe that was all Christof wanted. It was simply the place to start.

  “I thought that would be obvious.” The priest said. Someone moved; the creak of the leather shoes was loud in the silent room. It was not the sound of a weapon, but it was a threat all the same. “You did this sir. The rebellion fuelled the citizens with a fear no one had witnessed before. It seems to be a time of reliving history, and no one wanted to be starved out of their homes, and so they took the actions that were never an opportunity for the people of Zorelian.”

  “And the surrounding provinces,” Yolanda spoke out of turn, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked the priest over.

  He nodded. “I apologise. It is easy to forget that the war destroyed more than just a Kingdom. The hunger for power took much much more than just Zorelian from the maps.” The priest stayed sombre, looking at the small group that had gathered around him. This could not be the only members of the rebellion. The attacks on the land had been carried out by numbers greater than the few who stood with him. The Priest wondered how long did he have before the grounds were overrun with people seeking violence and vengeance. Rarely did one exist without the other. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” Christof said, looking out the window, not thinking this man could do him any harm, and so his guard was completely down. He crossed one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his opposite knee.

  “What happened to the men and women who never came home?” The Priest asked.

  Christof shrugged. He shared a look to Yolanda and then others as he contemplated the truth. When no one seemed concerned with the direction of this conversation Christof made the decision himself. “The first ones to never come home, as you put it, were spies.” Christof watched the man, enjoying the movement of expressions over his face as he struggled with understanding what this meant.

  “Spies for whom?” The priest asked although it was suspected.

  Christof laughed, a low and dangerous sound as he leant back in his chair. “For the rebellion. They had been placed here years ago, and they would smuggle information out to the chieftain.” He smiled, sighing at the memories. “For as long as Zorelian had existed it had spies set all over the countryside. The King paid them well, and it allowed them all the time in the world to sneak through the land and collect all of your secrets.”

  The priest could hardly believe it, but it did seem possible.
“So why stop it?” he asked.

  Christof sighed. “Because they forgot their mission.” He said simply. “The first ones were taken care of because they forgot what Braykith and Crimah had done to us. They decided the comforts of a traitor was better than the noble ward.” The priest shrunk back, but it did not seem that Christof would turn violent himself. Instead, he did the opposite and put himself back under control before his voice could rise further. “Those men died quickly.”

  The priest did not think it was a blessing, but he did not say so. “And the others?”

  “The others were taken just for scares.” Christof moved in his chair, uncrossing his legs and the Priest noticed that he seemed uncomfortable with this part of the story. The Priest did not try and lessen the burden since he deserved to feel the unease in his actions. “Mostly they were buried.” Christof coughed into his hand, and his voice was stronger when he spoke the next time. “Some were left to the elements, thrown off the primary paths to keep wolves away from our site.”

  Although he might have been uncomfortable with his role in their demise, Christof spoke of the dead with no respect and knowing that brought the Priest discomfort. He had always suspected that the missing people had been murdered but being confronted with the truth now; the Priest was openly mourning those both from Crimah and the ones from Braykith. Seeing the priest’s reaction, Christof felt the need to speak. “But we aren’t solely responsible for the demise of Crimah.”

  The priest shook his head. “You started the instability.” The priest would not let Christof step away from the real horror of what he had been a part of. “But you correct. You did not bring about this change alone. Earl Barret was responsible for the eventual passing. He decreed laws and to deny him meant death. You made them fear what was out there, and no disrespect but Earl Barret made them fear to stay even more. You were never the most frightening thing here.”

  Christof sat up a little straighter, but he did not react quickly. Instead, he considered what the Priest was saying, and after a moment he smiled and nodded. “Good.” He said as if this was part of his plan all along and that the people of Crimah had only walked into a trap. “I hope your lands are tormented.”

  The priest looked at Christof. “Sir, these lands are not tormented, and they never will be. Before us, men lived here, and more will come after. All of our time is limited, and all we can strive for it a single day to make it all worth it.” Laughter erupted around him, but he did not bow his head or hide. Instead, the priest continued to look into Christof’s eyes. “You once followed Xado. You once paid service to the same God,” He accused

  Christof’s eyes narrowed, and he rose from his seat. “The Gods are dead, and the men who follow them are fools.” He grumbled. “Yolanda, take the priest to the dungeons. I would hate for us to lose him.” He smiled and was surprised to see the man stayed seated until it seemed that Yolanda might have to force him to stand.

  The priest rose in his own time, heavily dependent on Yolanda but he continued to watch Christof. “The Gods never give us more than we can handle.” He said.

  Christof nodded. “Yes, I remember that lesson. And I am sure it will keep you warm.” Yolanda dug a hand into the back of the man’s neck and used it to steer him in the directions she liked.

  The Priest followed the pressure with minimal choice to do anything else. But he had hope. He knew that while Crimah appeared deserted, it was not. Yes, many had fled, and more had died, but he had seen life in the dark. The total number had been diminished, but there was still a small number of those loyal to this manor and what it stood for.

  The priest was not sure how it had come to be, but it appeared to him that the rebels had forgotten that the loyalty that burned in them still burned in their opposition. They walked into Crimah and believed that it was dead and ripe for the taking. The priest could not believe that the citizens were turning their backs so quickly on the only lives they had ever known. He was hopeful and prayed he was not wrong in thinking that perhaps the remaining few of Crimah would create a rebellion of their own.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  E vangeline stood firm on the main stairs of the castle, and while she said nothing at all, it was a comfort to have Sable by her side. She was so accustomed to being alone all the time, that the novelty of having a friend had not worn off yet. She heard the quick steps coming down the corridor and knew who it was and did not bother turning to greet Glais as he met her in an archway.

  “Thank you for agreeing to accompany me.” He said, looking back to Sable, who quickly averted her gaze and looked down at her feet.

  Evangeline only nodded, ensuring her hair was placed carefully to keep her neck covered. “It seemed incredible to me Glais that you have not been to the marketplace before now.”

  “My father was very strict on what I should spend my time on,” Glais answered, knowing he was repeating himself. While it wasn’t a lie, it was not quite the truth. Quintus had been very strict on his son, ensuring that he was safe before releasing him into the Kingdom, however, he had never banned Glais from going to the markets or any place else within Braykith. Quintus had merely never encouraged it, and so Glais had never gone.

  Glais had said all of this to Evangeline and elected the right response from her, an invitation to come with her on one of the errands into the market later in the week. Glais also wanted to give Evangeline something to do besides watch the sky for messenger birds. There was still no word from her brother or his, and while Quintus did not seem concerned Glais agreed with Evangeline that the silence was growing eerie.

  He offered her his arm, and after a moment of hesitation, Evangeline took it. Walking down the stairs together, Evangeline spoke quietly. “Your mother is also concerned with where we are spending our time.” She confessed. “Kyleigh pulled me aside briefly to explain we needed to appear in public together to ensure that the people have less to gossip about.” Evangeline shrugged. “I was quick to inform her that gossip will never stop following us. However, she does make a point. With Baxter gone and the continued reports of people being missing, it is important we appear capable.” Evangeline looked at Glais and thought she saw him smile at her summarised version of events.

  “She doesn’t like to meddle directly in my affairs, but like all mothers, she wants nothing more than to see her son be successful, in life and love.” He started towards the stables, and Evangeline frowned, pulling him back gently. “We are not riding?” he asked and ignored Sable as she attempted to cover a laugh with a cough.

  Evangeline gave her friend a quick look of disapproval, but Glais did not manage to decipher its meaning. “The markets are not far.” She promised him.

  Catching Evangeline smiling up at him, Glais felt his lips form a returning grin. His mother had told him to make things work under Evangeline’s terms. Glais lived with the slim hope that by spending time with Evangeline, during the times where she dictated their activities and audience, that he could perhaps woo her. Glais was merely looking for time so Evangeline could see the evidence that she was special to him. He had decided the best way to do that was insert himself into her life.

  To be honest with himself, Glais needed to admit that it had seemed more natural when he was merely thinking of it. Being beside her now and walking arm in arm down the paths that lead away from the entrance of the castle had immediate effects on Glais. One look at the expression on Evangeline’s face was enough to convince him that she did not share these light-hearted feelings. Glais continued trying his best not to force his emotions onto her but it harder than he had imagined. He had told her not to work with ultimatums, and that advice was good for himself as well. All they needed was time and signs of small progress to keep him encouraged.

  Walking at her side, and being given a lukewarm reception, only allowed Glais more time to ponder his own emotions. He considered where this desire came from. Glais was not one who liked to force his hand on people. All he owned had been presented willingly to him. Never be
fore had he needed to think of others’ emotions rebelling against his own. No one had done it before or since Evangeline’s arrival. He was ashamed to say that he was this old and still learning the luxuries of his birth did not extend to everyone.

  Evangeline seemed oblivious to his struggle, and the slow realisation that he could not force love out of her was an embarrassment. But he still believed it was there, a slow-burning ember that did not go out no matter how Evangeline wished it would. Evangeline was conflicted about their relationship, but there was a tinkering of something that nagged at the back of his mind and blossomed into hope. Glais looked at her and hoped soon they could move past this together.

  “How often would you come to the markets?” Glais asked, just for the excuse of something to say.

  Evangeline shrugged, thinking on his question and struggling for an answer. “Every other day or so. There is not much for me to do in the castle. It all started as an excuse to leave, but after only one day I realise how different I was from the people here.” Evangeline sighed.

  “I was told you education included our annual customs,” Glais said, and Evangeline heard the guilt in his voice, but she did not fall for it. Out here in the crisp weather, it was harder for Glais to manipulate her emotions.

  “It was, but it is one thing to know about a community and something entirely different to experience it. It does help to know the history and theory, but the day to day life is odd.” She looked up at him. “I am sorry, I do not mean it like that.”

  “It is fine.” Although Glais was curious.

  Evangeline sighed, realising she needed to explain herself and desperately trying to ensure that she did not offend him further then she had done already. “I mean, you do realise how strange Braykith is, do you not?” Evangeline asked him.

  Glais shrugged one shoulder and looked around, but there was nothing obvious about his home. “I know the rumours about it if that is the oddness you are alluding to.”