by Frank Morin
When they left a short time later, Bastien asked, “What do you think of mighty Vlad?”
Sarah suppressed a shudder. “A bit creepy. I wish I didn’t know what’s going to happen to him. It would’ve been easier to believe what he taught if I’d known he’d succeeded.”
“We draw truth from whatever source can provide it, no?” Bastien said. Then he gave her a reassuring smile. “That is why we visited Vlad first. Let us pay now a happier visit to sweet Joan.”
The memoryscape blurred, and the towering stone buildings melted, draining away to reveal a completely different landscape. Rolling green hills and mature trees appeared in full bloom, as if the second memoryscape had waited concealed behind the first.
A distant city wall rose above the trees to their left. Peaked tents sprouted out of the ground by the score, soon covering what had been a large field with a densely-packed military encampment. Soldiers materialized, first as ethereal shapes drifting between the tents, solidifying with each step until they looked as real as life itself. The scents of apple blossoms and spring flowers tickled Sarah’s nose, then faded under the stench of unwashed bodies, sweat, and nearby latrines.
Sarah wrinkled her nose and turned to Bastien. “That was an impressive transition.”
His costume had shifted with the time period. He sported green hose and a bright red tunic, with a feathered cap perched at a jaunty angle on his head. He swept it off and made an extravagant bow. “We aim always to please, cheri.”
“You could have left out the smell,” she suggested.
“It will soon pass from notice,” he said, gesturing her toward the heart of the camp. She wore a russet-colored, cotton dress with a form-fitting bodice and wide sleeves. The slippers were not suited for traipsing through the muddy lanes between tents, so Bastien swapped them out for sturdy hiking boots that remained concealed beneath her long skirt.
As they passed through the camp, Sarah commented, “The soldiers look happy, even though so many of them are wounded.”
“They have won a great victory,” Bastien said. “So spirits are high. And this camp is honored with the presence of the Maid of Orleans, our little Joan.”
He swept past a pair of sentries stationed outside a large tent of brightly striped reds and yellows. Sometimes it was nice to be all but invisible. Sarah paused before entering, wondering how Vlad had seemed so aware of their presence. Most other memory shades only took notice of them when they broke the integrity of the memoryscape.
Inside the tent, Bastien was embracing a sturdy young woman with a round, suntanned face and long, brown hair. Her blue eyes sparkled, adding a dash of vibrant life to her appearance.
“Uncle Bastien,” she squealed. “You missed our great victory.”
“Ah, cheri, I am deeply saddened by that,” Bastien said, smiling down at the much shorter woman. “But Joan, the victory is so much the greater that you achieved it alone.”
“Never alone, Uncle Bastien,” she said, making the sign of the cross. “The Almighty fought by our side, and the power of his spirit was manifest through the strength of my ciphers. My men fought like lions and shed grievous injuries.”
“You grow strong in the rune lore,” Bastien said, although his smile faltered a little.
Joan of Arc patted the huge, ornately decorated bible resting on her camp table. “Symbols of god are my runes, Uncle Bastien.”
“Oui, let that suffice for today,” he said, his tone a bit long-suffering.
He turned to Sarah and gestured her closer. “Joan, may I introduce a dear friend and woman of runes like yourself? Sarah, I am delighted to introduce you to Joan d’Arc.”
Joan curtsied, despite wearing armor, and Sarah responded in kind. She was thrilled to meet the famous young heroine, and a thousand questions bubbled through her mind. Joan took her hands in a powerful grip, her fingers strong and calloused from hard work and fighting.
“You too have been touched by the grace of god?” Joan asked, studying Sarah’s face, her gaze intent.
“I only recently discovered my abilities with ciphers,” Sarah responded carefully.
Religious zeal burned in Joan’s eyes and, even though Sarah had heard the stories of her devotion to god, seeing it in person made her a little uneasy. As always, overt religious zeal reminded her of her parents and their twisted view of the world.
Joan grinned, apparently pleased with the answer. “You have joined us at a wonderful time. We have only just liberated Orleans from the siege of the wicked English.”
Bastien had told Sarah he was planning to visit Joan at the end of May, 1429, shortly after the battle where Joan cemented her reputation and won over most of her doubters. That had been the start of a great, if short-lived, campaign for the young rune warrior.
“Ah, Uncle Bastien suggested you might share what you know about ciphers,” Sarah said.
“But of course,” Joan exclaimed, towing her by the hand around the table. “He taught me many of my early lessons, helping me to interpret the will of god and make tangible the faith of my countrymen.”
“Which symbols have been the most successful for you?” Sarah asked.
Joan turned and saluted the French flag standing on a pole in the corner. “The symbol of our nation is always at the heart of my ciphers.”
Sarah looked closer, noting for the first time the golden fleur-de-lis on the blue background of the flag. She sensed its latent power as strongly as she had the symbols Vlad had demonstrated, which surprised her. She had always considered it a more modern symbol. Now that she thought about it, she realized it had been the object of the faith and courage of centuries of men and women.
If Vlad was right, that was more than enough to imbue a symbol with remarkable power. For a woman like Joan of Arc, who was such a devout patriot, that symbol must have produced a singularly powerful heart for her ciphers.
“Do not fix your mind too strongly on the symbol,” Joan added. “It is the purity of purpose that grants us our greatest strength.” Her eyes shone and her voice rang with conviction. “God has granted us this wondrous gift to draw upon the living faith of all around us and turn that faith into a weapon of purity, the tangible measure of the will of god.”
“What ciphers did you use in your last battle?” Bastien asked.
Joan eagerly sketched them, and Sarah devoured the symbols with her eyes. Every new cipher she learned clicked into place as if her mind had already anticipated its coming.
As they discussed the modifiers Joan used, the concepts felt eerily familiar. Joan’s ciphers produced what she called her mighty shields of faith, or the gift of God’s own healing. Sarah pondered the new insights and started making new connections, seeing possibilities they hadn’t yet shared with her.
It was as if everything they had taught formed but the foundation to a far grander construct made of glittering lines whose sweeping majesty left her breathless. The speed with which the concepts gelled in her mind startled her, but she embraced them. She needed those ciphers, and she would test them as soon as possible, fine tune them, and use them to defeat Paul.
After the interview Sarah hugged Joan and wished her luck.
“God speed to you, sister of the living faith,” Joan declared, hugging her hard enough to make Sarah grunt.
As she followed Bastien back through the camp, she noticed a lingering sadness in his expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have always regretted not arriving in time to free her from that false trial,” he said with a sigh. “You have glimpsed the greatness of her soul, but too many friends were drawn away by other duties, not seeing the danger lurking so close until it was too late.”
“I thought the trial took almost a year from the time she was captured,” Sarah said.
“In times past, news and travel took far longer,” Bastien said. “I first heard of her capture en route to visit the Ottoman sultan Murad the Second, who was negotiating for his second life as Mehmed the Second, or
Mehmed the Conqueror. He was the same sultan that Vlad had been preparing to fight. I thought there would be time to complete my mission and return, but alas I was delayed.”
“Wait a minute,” Sarah said. “You worked with the Turks too? I thought they were the enemy?”
Bastien shrugged. “Everyone is the enemy of someone, yes? The Ottoman Empire was a powerful force in the world for a long time, and some argue the nations under their rule fared better than many ruled by Christians. Our work is separate from religion.”
“But you’ve always played in politics,” Sarah pointed out. “Even if it was just behind the scenes.”
“Oui,” Bastien said. “But at the time, we did not believe the Turks would spread to rule Europe, and time proved us right. The world is better off with more than one power in play. If one side had gained too much the advantage, we would have stepped in, have no fear.”
“What if Joan hadn’t been captured?” Sarah asked softly. “What if she had gained too much power? Would you have stepped in?”
“That is not fair,” Bastien said with a frown. “She was a dear one, our little Joan, but she could not have risen to rule nations as she was.”
“Why not?”
He gestured back toward the tent. “You saw, cheri. She was a woman of too much faith.”
“I thought faith is a good thing.”
“Oui, but it blinded her to truth. The power of faith and the power of soul powers are different things. She attributed her strength to the wrong source, which dampened her power.”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said as they reached the edge of the camp. “Religion is one of the most powerful forces on earth. Faith drives people to do incredible or incredibly stupid things.”
“Indeed. I do not argue this. However, the power of faith is foreign to rounon gifts or nevra core. By wrapping her ciphers in religious tones, Joan tried mixing oil and water. It does not work.”
“I still don’t see why not,” Sarah said.
“I shall have my father explain it to you, yes?” Bastien said. “He has studied the effects more than anyone, and has the most experience with religious figures who wielded the power of god.”
“But--”
The memory lurched, making her stumble. Unlike the beautiful transition Bastien had managed earlier, the memoryscape rippled and disappeared. For a second everything went black, the blackness of the heart of a cave at midnight. Then an entirely different scene snapped into focus.
Sarah gaped as she turned a slow circle, staring up at tiers of stone benches packed with screaming spectators on every side. She stood on soft sand warmed by a midday sun that blazed overhead in a brilliant blue sky. She recognized the location in a heartbeat. She’d dreamed of visiting it, but even though she’d spent so much time in its modern-day ruin, the true glory of the sight left her speechless.
The Colosseum. She stood upon the sands where gladiators had dueled and died.
As she completed her circuit of the legendary arena, another person appeared nearby, as if stepping out of thin air.
Paul.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said, sweeping his ever-present hat off his head and giving her a warm smile. “I am pleased you came.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
History may condemn me as a weak leader, but the Lord knows my heart and the truth of the burdens I must bear in secret. The manifestation of the glorious power of the Almighty God cannot be ceded to Charles, no matter the pressure he brings to bear.
The sacrifice of the martyrs who died not knowing the truth is not diminished, and their eternal recompense made sure. And yet, my heart is heavy with sorrow to see Rome fall, its glory tarnished, my Swiss Guard slain nearly to a man, all to protect one dangerous secret. Were I a man of less faith and more devotion, perhaps I would consider activating the runes, but I dare not, even though a new miracle could restore the balance of my power. Such a lie would drive me to a dishonorable grave.
~Pope Clement VII
Sarah recoiled from Paul, the shock of his appearance scattering thoughts of ciphers and rune warrior lore. He’d ripped her from a memory before, but she hadn’t expected him to do so again.
Paul did not attack, did not summon that wide-bladed sword he liked to threaten her with.
“Ah, this isn’t really a good time,” Sarah said, trying to watch Paul and also scan the Colosseum for Bastien. What had happened to him? Would he draw her from the memoryscape when he realized what had happened?
Could he pull her away from Paul, or could Paul somehow hold her soul captive in this other time?
Paul tossed his hat into the air, and it settled onto a hat stand that appeared on the sands nearby. A beautifully-carved mahogany table appeared a second later, flanked by two padded wooden chairs. He gestured toward one of them.
“Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”
The last thing Sarah wanted to do was follow any orders of his, but she also didn’t want to fight him. She wasn’t ready, couldn’t focus enough to figure out a cipher to escape. So she cautiously sank onto one of the chairs.
Paul seated himself across from her, looking completely at ease. He again wore a business suit, this one navy. “When last we met, you proved yourself worthy of more than a simple death.”
She hoped he wasn’t suggesting a complicated death instead.
He waited, so she said, “And you ran away before I could blow you up again.”
“Your commitment to a cause is commendable. But don’t limit yourself, Sarah. You fought admirably, and you would have died with sufficient honor to reverence the memory of my sister. We’re past that now. It’s time to move on to greater things and embrace your new destiny.”
“You’re assuming I want a new destiny.” His superior attitude irritated her. She tried summoning her grenade launcher, but got nothing but a headache. He was cheating again.
“The greatest souls are always flexible,” Paul said. “Always open to better destinies.”
He waved a hand toward the emperor, seated in his central dais overlooking the games. A second later, doors on both sides of the stadium opened, and two gladiators entered. The crowd roared louder than ever, some people spraying spittle across those seated below them. No one seemed to notice.
“Take these two gladiators,” Paul said, swiveling to watch the approaching men. Both looked strong and deadly. “Stepping onto these sands resulted in one of two things: death or victory.”
“Death battles aren’t really my thing.”
“This is the most famous gladiator duel in history,” Paul said. “Verus and Priscus. Both champions. Last match of the opening day of the games, perhaps the crowning match of any such game.”
The two men saluted, then launched into a vicious duel, attacking with remarkable skill. Sarah didn’t see any enhancement runes on them, but even Tomas would have had to work to defeat them.
She tore her eyes away from the battle. “Why are you showing me all this?”
“To demonstrate a point,” Paul said. “In a moment.” He didn’t seem to care that the gladiators were fighting to the death not far behind him.
“I’ll make this simple for you,” Sarah said. “I won’t serve you. Good-bye.”
She stood, but in a blink, the table and chairs were gone, and Paul crossed the distance between them. He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air.
With her new enhancements, she moved fast, but she hadn’t even seen him coming. It was almost like he’d stepped through the space between them.
“Do not cast my honor at your feet, unworthy soul,” Paul snarled, his hand squeezing until she could barely sip any air.
She kicked and punched at him, but accomplished nothing.
After a moment of glaring, Paul dropped her. She stumbled back into the chair that appeared behind her. He returned to the far side of the table, which also reappeared, and settled himself onto his chair, his expression calm, as if nothing had happened. The gladiators had both los
t their shields and were fighting with gladius alone. The duel would have captured her attention at any other time.
As Sarah coughed and tried to catch her breath, newly terrified of Paul, he leaned toward her. “You must learn to discipline yourself, Sarah, if you are to become worthy of your new station as my most-honored servant.”
“I don’t want--” she began, her voice hoarse.
He spoke over her without slowing. “I will soon rise to preeminence in this decadent world. I alone possess the power and the right to rule all things. I will reshape this world, draw it from darkness and filth, and raise it to greatness.”
Sarah listened with growing horror. His voice was calm, as if he was discussing his daily schedule. That calm assurance made what he was saying that much more terrible. Had anyone else started spouting about plans to take over the world, she would have written them off as a lunatic.
Paul was Cui Dashi, and arguably the strongest being on the planet. He had one master rune, and was hunting more. With that power at his disposal, world conquest was a distinct possibility.
She really needed her grenade launcher. Or maybe napalm.
“The world will become a grand paradise under my rule,” Paul continued. “And you will enjoy the singular honor of serving me as my partner in ushering in the age of greatness foretold by so many religions.”
Sarah wondered how that would work with what Bastien just told her about religions and soul powers not mixing.
“I kind of like the world the way it is,” she said when he paused for breath.
He scoffed. “You like war? Disease? Crime? Poverty?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “But you’re not talking about fixing any of that. You’re talking about global slavery.”
“The world yearns to be enslaved,” Paul said, waving a dismissive hand. “Every day, it attempts to enslave itself to greed, corruption, and violence. These things would be done away under my rule.” His eyes shone with conviction. “I will impose upon this chaotic world the peace that has long eluded it.”
