The Record of the Saints Caliber

by M. David White

  Nuriel eyed the injector. She bit her lip and then looked at Gamalael. “Give me some.”

  Umbrial raised an eyebrow and Tarquin watched her curiously but Nuriel didn’t care anymore. She repeated herself. “Just give me some.”

  Gamalael looked at Arric and the two shrugged. “Ok,” said Gamalael, and he unpacked his injector again.

  “Wow Nuriel,” said Tia as she looked up at the ceiling, reclining in her bench. “I didn’t think you had it in you. I’m actually impressed.”

  “Don’t give her too much,” cautioned Umbrial. “Remember, she’s not used to it.”

  “Yeah, I know.” said Gamalael as he drew some liquid up into the injector.

  “You almost gave her way too much that last time.” reminded Umbrial.

  Gamalael looked at Umbrial and then squeezed a little of the liquid back into the vial. He looked at Nuriel. “You ready?”

  Nuriel scooted herself over to him. “Just…go slow.” she said.

  Gamalael placed a hand on her forehead and tilted her head to the side. “Here, just hold still.”

  Nuriel could feel the cold steel tap around her neck a couple times and then abruptly bite into her skin. She grit her teeth for a moment, but almost instantly a pleasing warmth washed over her and her stomach began to flutter with joyous excitement. It was the same feeling she had had as a child back at Sanctuary when Mother Brendaline would pass out berry tarts. She swore she could even taste them. She felt giddy. Overjoyed.

  “Nuriel…Nuriel…” She became aware that Gamalael was tapping her shoulder. “Nuriel, are you alright?”

  Nuriel looked Gamalael in those large, sapphire eyes of his and smiled brightly. Her leg began to bounce excitedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Gamalael and Arric laughed. Nuriel even heard Umbrial chuckle.

  Tia cackled deep and long. “You excited, Nuriel?”

  Nuriel shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. A few heavy drops of seawater fell on her forehead. She closed her eyes, taking in the sensation. It was cool and she remembered baths back at Sanctuary when she was a little girl. She could see and feel Mother Margret dipping the wooden cup into the bucket and gently pouring it over her scalp. Nuriel leaned back and exhaled contentedly, dearly wishing more water would drip upon her face.

  “So I take it you’re with us?” asked Umbrial, completely amused by her.

  Nuriel smiled, her eyes still closed, and she nodded gently. “Mmm.” She could hear the chuckles of the others, and she too began to laugh but didn’t bother to open her eyes. She loved Mother Margret. Those big, sparkling, ruby eyes of hers. Nuriel extended her arm and swore she could feel Margret’s glistening ruby hair in her tiny fingers. In her mind she was laughing with Karinael and they both made a game in the bath of tugging at Margret’s long hair and she indulged them by pretending not to know which one did it.

  “There’s my girl,” she heard Tarquin say. “There’s the Saint I was promised.”

  Nuriel felt something cold and heavy laid upon her chest. She opened her eyes and saw Tarquin looming over her. Her star-metal claymore was resting across her body.

  “Your sword.” he said. “I’m going to trust that you’ll do your job.”

  Nuriel smiled and closed her eyes, her arms tightening around her sword as she hugged it. In her mind it was Karinael, older now. They were grown. It was the hug they had exchanged when she had found out she was accepted into the Saints Caliber. She remembered how happy and sad they had both been that day. She raised a finger to wipe the tear from Karinael’s cheek. She began laughing and kicking her legs out.

  Umbrial and the others all laughed.

  “Well, I knew you’d be happy to get it back.” said Tarquin with a chuckle. Then, taking on a more serious tone said, “Alright. We’re fifteen minutes out. Remember, I’ll take the lead. I want you all to follow and just move as quickly as you can. I’ll bring down the outpost, you take out the survivors. Once the outpost is out of the way, we move quickly to Orün. Remember, there can be no survivors.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Tarquin stood near the front of the ship, sword in hand and a long, black cloak bundled about him, worn over his black armor. The Saints all stood behind him wrapped in similar cloaks that would provide some proof against the biting north winds. Beyond the steel confines of the ship came a series of long, baleful notes; primitive horns calling out a warning. Nuriel felt the ship jar and slow abruptly, a terrible scraping sound erupting from beneath the steel floor. The forward wall of the ship fell open and the subdued light of the early evening sun rushed in. The ramp impacted the rocky shore with a terrible shudder and led out onto the icy beach.

  Nuriel squinted her eyes as she looked out. White snow and drifts frozen into strange patterns were spread out as far as the eye could see, and she felt mesmerized by them. Tarquin rushed from the ramp, hopping over the large stones of the shore that were crusted with clumps of white ice. Umbrial came quickly behind him, followed by the rest, and Nuriel came upon their heels. Over her shoulder Nuriel could see the churning, gray ocean spread out beneath the murky skies. The dark forms of the other nine ships were about a mile out, coming in quickly.

  Hanging low upon the western horizon sat the sun. It was a pale disc desperately trying to burn its way through the relentless gray clouds that floated in layers and seemed to churn as much as the seas. There were some canoes and longboats made of whale bone and seal skin that lolled and clanked from their moorings nearby. Ahead of them, about fifty yards out, stood a pair of tall towers erected from the long trunks of felled pines. Surrounding the towers was a wall of timbers carved into jagged, forward-facing spikes.

  Nuriel’s mind flopped around a bit at the sight, her mind in awe, thinking how like the maw of the dragon skull it looked. Each timber was a tooth, and its throat even began to flicker with fiery life. From the tops of the towers haggard men in fur pelts sounded the horns again, but in Nuriel’s mind she saw the dragon’s mouth open, letting loose a terrible roar.

  Nuriel was jarred back to reality by Umbrial. “Hey, you alright?” he pushed her hard on the shoulder again.

  Nuriel shook her head and looked around at the others. She sniffled and tucked her golden hair behind her ear. She smiled. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” She pointed out to the fortress outpost. “Doesn’t it look like the skull?”

  “Apollyon below,” snarled Umbrial, now giving Gamalael a harsh shove on the shoulder. “She’s hallucinating. You gave her too much.”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to know how much to give her?” retorted Gamalael. “I ain’t used to doing new Saints. Maybe she’s—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” barked Tarquin. He pointed to the towers where the flickering tips of flaming arrows had all come to life. Atop the wall, between every spike of every log, more dots of flame came to life and were pointed in their direction. “I’ll bring everything down. You five move quickly through their ranks. Take them all out as quickly as possible.”

  Tarquin jogged forward, Umbrial, Tia, Gamalael and Arric all in tow. Nuriel moved forward slowly, looking at the toothy maw of the fortress, the awe of having seen the skull rising from the volcanic pit bubbling in her memories. She could see the tracks of her companions ahead of her, but in her mind they became the decayed footsteps of Celacia. Nuriel smiled brightly and jogged forward.

  Around Tarquin snow and ice began to swirl up into a disc that stretched out at least twenty feet. A volley of flaming arrows came forward in an arc. Tarquin spread his arms wide as he ran and the fiery onslaught was gathered into his gravitational field and they all went flying out harmlessly in strange directions. Before the next volley could be loosed, Tarquin waved his sword and suddenly he was gone, reappearing that same moment directly beneath the two towers. The timbers of the walls and the great logs that made up the towers instantly cracked and split. The entire outpost toppled as if its very feet had been swept out from beneath it.

  Tarquin s
tood with his arms wide, the disc of snow and ice whirling about him, catching up the timbers of the wall and towers, sending them swirling and flying, causing ever more destruction. Now, for the first time, the Icelanders could be seen. They were tall and built more like bears than men. They all wore white pelts of polar bears and seal skin boots and gloves. They held spears or bows or axes in their hands, and they all had long, scraggly hair and beards, mostly brown or black. They roared and barked in a strange tongue. Some lobbed spears or shot arrows toward Tarquin but the weapons were caught up in his swirling disc and tossed aside. After a moment, however, the spiraling disc of giant timbers and debris began to fall. It was apparent that Tarquin could not sustain such a powerful force. With a terrible crash that tore up sprays of snow and ice the entire disc fell upon the ground, timbers tumbling and rolling, churning up even more debris.

  Crimson now streaked the white snow and bloodied, battered bodies lay everywhere among the debris. Some scattered, dazed Icelanders still stood or were running away, but now Umbrial and the others were in the fray. They glowed in their auras of Caliber power, and like errant lightning they struck down survivor after survivor, leaping from one man to the next, sprays of blood not even hitting the snow before they were upon their next victim.

  Nuriel now came up behind, suddenly aware her own body was glowing with Caliber power and warmth. She shined her Caliber brighter and her mind cleared for a moment. In that brief lucidity the carnage around her became real. Amongst the broken timbers that were strewn everywhere, blood stained the snow. There were bodies everywhere she looked. Some had been broken and mangled when Tarquin brought the fortress down, others were missing heads or cut down in horrific fashion, leaving pools of blood so large the snow was having a difficult time absorbing it all.

  And then as quickly as that lucidity came, it was gone, replaced once again with the pleasant warmth of the Ev coursing through her. She looked down where an Icelander lay crumpled beneath a broken timber. Her mind flopped about for meaning to this but she began to laugh as she realized there was no meaning. She found herself oddly excited. He was dead! He was dead and gone from this world!

  And she.

  Didn’t.

  Care.

  Her belly burned with anticipation as she looked around for more bodies. There were plenty, and they were all dead. Some were still alive and that brought a new sensation of enthusiasm to her. She smiled brightly and looked up, the yellow flashes of light as Tia, Umbrial, Gamalael and Arric dashed and leapt from victim to victim, leaving trails of Caliber light in their wake. Nuriel dashed forward, her claymore slicing through the bitter cold air. She felt the satisfying give her blade only made when cleanly slicing through thick bone. She was vaguely aware of the thud of limbs behind her, but she was already upon the next man, her star-metal sword a black whirl as his head came off and the most beautiful red she had ever seen splattered into the snow, making pink dots everywhere.

  Nuriel’s mind flopped through some more thoughts as she cut down yet another man. She realized there was no sensation to it; no emotional sensation to killing. Suddenly her stomach tumbled with the warm pleasure of a great epiphany. She was absolved of anything that might stay her hand. She could do whatever she wanted and she’d feel no regret or sympathy; no shame or remorse. She could do whatever she wanted and there was nothing to dissuade her. Nuriel smiled brightly, feeling like a great weight had just been peeled off her shoulders.

  Nuriel spun around and zeroed in on her next target. It was a large man charging her with spear in hand. She trembled with zeal as she dashed into him, her blade a blur as his arms and then head fell from his body. She looked down upon the snow, at the crimson gore before her. There was nothing, no sensation of care. A part of her, something deep down, buried and drowning, told her to try to care. An unbidden memory of a ragged old mess of a cat bubbled in her mind. It was a cat she had loved once, but there was a void where care should have been when she had seen it dead, its body a broken and shattered wreck.

  Nuriel remembered that scraggly-furred little beast well. She was sixteen and she had found it huddled in a window well near the kitchens one winter. It was scrawny and half starved and meowed incessantly until she brought it inside and snuck it some warm milk. Having a pet or keeping an animal was strictly forbidden at Sanctuary. She hid it away in her room and hadn’t even told Karinael about it. Everyday she bore the great burden of keeping it hidden in her room; keeping it fed and out of sight. It became a burden she gladly bore, because she loved it.

  But then one day the stupid thing wouldn’t stop meowing. She was in the hall talking with Adonael and Hamon. The two boys were always trouble, always trying to get her alone in her room. It had become something of a routine one month for her to thwart their advances in the hall, but on that day the stupid cat wouldn’t stop meowing and scratching at her door.

  The boys heard it and they broke into her room. She remembered the horror she felt when Hamon grabbed the thing by its tail. They dangled it in front of her, taunting her. She remembered her desperation and terror as more and more of the boys and girls came to see what the commotion was. Like all the rooms, Nuriel’s had a great view amongst the clouds and looked out upon a beautiful courtyard a hundred or more feet down. They held the cat out the window, dangling it by its tail, teasing and taunting her. Nuriel remembered the heartache well, how the terror of what they would do to it tore at her and ripped at her. She remembered the complete helplessness as a dozen or more of them all teased her and kept her at bay, tormenting her with the threat of killing that cat.

  And then her anger turned toward the cat. It had brought this upon itself. Why couldn’t it just shut up? Why wouldn’t it just keep quiet? She remembered looking at the cat as it hissed and screamed at the boys who dangled it out the window. She looked around as the others laughed at her and taunted her, and suddenly she didn’t care. Her emotions had given up. It was the cat’s own stupid fault. Why couldn’t it just have been quiet? If it would have just shut up, none of this would ever have happened.

  It was in that brief moment that Nuriel was relieved of her terror and agony. She no longer cared if they killed the cat. It was like a great weight lifted from her shoulders. They were going to kill it and there was nothing she could do, and it was the cat’s own fault anyway. It was brief and fleeting, but for a split second she felt exhilarated. The burden of caring for that creature had completely vanished. The burden of loving it was gone. She didn’t hurt for it anymore. She didn’t have to love it anymore. But it was only fleeting. Afterward she had cried for many long hours. For many days afterward she lamented the cat, and they would torment her with tales of how it plunged to the brick path below.

  But there was that split second where complete, apathetic exhilaration had taken her; where there was no longer any burden to love the cat. And it had felt great. That was the fleeting moment she lived in as she dealt death right now. Moments of complete detachment that were so delicate, so fleeting that it left her wanting more.

  She had to have more.

  If she let it get away, the terror and agony might come back, just like it had with the cat. Her belly burned with exhilaration as bone and sinew split upon her sword. She looked around, her eyes wide and bright, burning like molten gold. There had to be more Icelanders. There had to be more living. She saw one, but Gamalael was moving quickly toward him. She dashed forward, her Caliber energy burning ever brighter. She came in whirling the sword close to her body, leaving the man to fall into a few pieces before her blade clashed against Gamalael’s, who had been a split-second away from making the kill himself. As their blades locked in the air with a crack of thunder, he looked at her with sapphire eyes wide.

  “That one was mine,” said Nuriel, her voice frantic but her eyes and lips beaming with delight.

  Gamalael’s shocked look melted into a smile and then he laughed. He smacked her on the ass. “There you go, Nuriel! Now we’re talking!”

  But Nuriel
couldn’t stay put to chat. There had to be more, and the longer she sat idle, the more that exhilaration felt fleeting and she didn’t want it to go. She didn’t want to have to care about that cat again. She didn’t want to have to sit alone and cry about that stupid beast any more. She dashed forward, taking out another two men. She paused for a moment, and with her left hand wiped some blood off her brow. She came to the terrible realization that there was nobody left. She was vaguely aware that Umbrial, Tia, Arric and Lord Tarquin were standing and looking at her, clapping their hands. She heard Arric whistle something at her and the sharp voice of Tia say something in a complimentary tone. But none of that meant anything. She looked around, breathing hard, her breath smoking in the arctic air. She felt something like panic rising in her stomach. That euphoria was fading. There had to be more. Had to be more lives to take.

  Gamalael’s arm fell around her shoulders, his armor clanking loudly against her pauldrons. He shook her roughly by the shoulders and said some sort of congratulations as he slapped her on the ass again.

  “More,” she said. All around her the blood—the red that saturated everything—was becoming real again. She looked at Gamalael. “More.”

  He looked at her, his brow furling. “I don’t think you need any more Ev—”

  Nuriel shoved him aside and looked at Tarquin. “Where’s the city?”

  Tarquin’s lips bent upward into a wicked smile. He chuckled but did not answer her immediately. He turned his head and looked out at the ocean where the other nine ships all began to rush up on the shore. “Our mop-up crew is here. They’ll be coming on our backs. They’ll pick off any we leave behind in Orün. Let’s go.”

  Tarquin bolted off and the five Saints followed right behind. This time Nuriel did not take the back. She kept pace right behind Tarquin himself, with Umbrial behind her. Over the horizon dozens of pillars of white smoke rose up and leaned against the wind, creating a smear of gray across the stark, darkening sky. Soon, a long drift of snow appeared that stretched for hundreds of yards across the icefield. Nuriel suddenly became aware that it was not a snowdrift, but a wall made of mounded snow and ice that stood a respectable ten or so feet high. Placed in random fashion along the length of the wall were giant boulders. Some were flat and squat, nearly covered with snow; others were tall and round and caked with ice. Nuriel guessed that the smallest weighed a few tons and the largest stood higher than the wall itself. They seemed to provide no practical value to the wall, and in many cases were placed a great distance from it. Even now they were coming up on some of the great stones.