Word spread quickly that five more Saints had come to offer Rook aid. By the time they finally got through the crowds to Diotus’s shop Rook could estimate another three-hundred new faces in the streets. Some were even defectors from the King’s ranks of knights, easily identified by their shining armor and fine weaponry. There were more from the city guard too, and even a few from the upper-class. The people cheered, saying that Aeoria was with them; saying that Bellus had been blessed by the Goddess. With so many Saints on their side, their spirits and their resolve was bolstered.
This was good, Rook thought. The more who joined with the people of this city, the less fighting in the streets there would be. He held hope that in time, all the people would realize that the only enemy was the King and his daughters. And with the arrival of Karinael and her friends, Rook even dared hope that one day all the Saints who fought for Sanctuary and the Kings might come to realize that. Rook felt Diotus’s hand on his shoulder and his voice in his ear. “Hic Sollas Lumin. Well done, boy. Very well done.” Rook couldn’t help but smile.
Rook led the group into the basement of Diotus’s shop. It was overcrowded with two-dozen injured, but with the help of Karinael and her Saints they were able to heal the ones who had been waiting on Ertrael, whose Caliber was running weak from nearly non-stop service. With Diotus’s help, Rook was then able to clear out everybody, including Grandon Faust.
Grandon put up some resistance and took being dismissed as a slight. Rook didn’t like working with Grandon, but the man held a lot of loyalty with the other slave owners and the upper-classes. Rook tolerated the man only in so much as he would rather be working with him than fighting against him. Still, Rook didn’t want him privy to everything and wasn’t so blind as to think the man wouldn’t usurp the entire city given the chance. The only people Rook allowed to remain with him and the Saints were his parents, Kierza and Diotus. By now Sierla was doing well and was up and about, although much like Kierza, her scars were still sore and she kept herself covered with a long, brown robe.
Saint Karinael explained to the group all that had happened recently: Erygion fleeing Sanctuary with all of the sanguinastrums of the Saints Caliber; of Ovid’s betrayal to them and the ensuing fight with Leviathan Hydra; and finally of Erygion’s death. She explained how Erygion had been working with them all for a long time, and had been working with Saint Isley for even longer. She told Ertrael of her ability to link the Calibers of the Saints, and explained to him why he had felt her and why his Caliber had acted strangely those days.
The more Karinael explained, the more Rook realized that big things were in motion and that Sanctuary was not the all-powerful entity that everybody—including the Saints—thought it was. Rook could not even fit all the pieces together in his mind. Talk about a Saint Isley in Duroton and finding a woman named Celacia had him a little lost, although he understood that it all had something to do with finding and awakening the Sleeping Goddess. One thing Rook got from all the talk was that he wished he had been able to meet this Saint Erygion, one of Aeoria’s Guard. He had never heard about Saints more powerful than the Saints Caliber and Erygion sounded like a kind and wise Saint.
But then the conversations turned to Rook. Karinael explained how she and Hadraniel had come to meet, and how they had met Gabidar and started helping him deliver the shipments of food that Rook was sending in. Gabidar had rarely let Rook in on the details of his travels. He knew that Gabidar had befriended some Saints, but Gabidar never mentioned how incredibly dangerous these missions were. He hadn’t realized that Gabidar had lost so many companions bringing in the shipments, especially in the earlier years. And then the news turned even more devastating. Karinael explained to him exactly why they were here in search of Ovid. Not only did Ovid’s treachery lead to the deaths of Erygion, Saint Baradiel, and Raziel’s lover, Gadrial, but Ovid had also killed Gabidar and had come here in search of Rook.
“So, you’re the one who nearly killed Ovid all those years ago in Caer Gatima.” said Hadraniel. Then more apologetically he added, “And in that case, we have met before. I was there that day. I wish I had not been.”
Rook looked at the silver-haired Saint. The memory was an old one, and the Saint’s face was changed by the terrible burns he had endured, but now he saw a familiarity. Hadraniel was one of the Saints he hated and cursed that day, ten years ago, when he was just a boy. Hadraniel was one of the Saints that had come to slaughter the people of Caer Gatima. And Rook wanted to be angry. He wanted to strike Hadraniel down where he stood. His hand went to the pocket where he kept the Golothic. He could feel it warming, becoming hot. He chewed his lip as a new surge of anger took hold of him, but then he felt Kierza’s hand brush against the small of his back and she pulled his hand from his pocket.
Rook breathed deeply as he looked at Hadraniel. He looked at the burn scars all over his face, more that his armor and bodysuit covered, all in an attempt to save the one he loved from the hands of a monster. In Rook’s pocket he could feel the Golothic still burning; goading him; trying to coax out his feelings of hatred. But Rook took some satisfaction in ignoring the vicious artifact. Each time he refused to succumb to its whim was a victory over the demon, Bulifer; a slap to the creature’s face. Rook exhaled his anger, reminding himself of his own words, that everybody was in this world together. Perhaps Hadraniel had paid for his crimes. Perhaps he had atoned for them by helping Gabidar. Rook nodded at Hadraniel and wrapped an arm around him. “All is forgiven.” said Rook.
“Thank you,” said Hadraniel.
“So, why does Ovid seek you out?” asked Saint Asteroth. “He said you had something he wanted.”
Rook placed his hand over the pocket that held the Golothic, suddenly feeling protective of it. Ovid had seen it that day. Ovid wanted to know how Rook had managed to call a demon and make a bargain. Rook had stabbed the Saint in the neck and left him for dead. Apparently, Ovid hadn’t been dead enough. Rook breathed deeply, steeling himself for the confessions he would soon be making. He could feel the eyes of Diotus and his Ma and Pa on him; could feel their curiosity as certainly as he felt the warmth of the Golothic. Kierza alone knew of the Golothic and his bargain with the demon. He wasn’t sure he could tell anybody else, especially not Callad and Sierla.
“What is it that you have that Ovid is so intent on?” asked Raziel.
Rook looked at the Saints. “He knows that I owe somebody something. He wants in on the debt.”
“What debt?” asked Sierla. “What is it you owe, my son?”
Rook frowned. He turned to her and Callad. “When I was a boy, somebody came to me. He promised to help me and my sister, but I would owe him a favor.”
“Owe who?” asked Callad, but Rook could see the understanding suddenly light up the Saints’ eyes. Diotus’s green lenses showed nothing, yet somehow Rook knew the old man understood.
“A person of great power.” said Rook. “I owe him a weapon.”
Rook felt Kierza’s hand fall on his back. Callad and Sierla looked at him, not understanding.
“What weapon?” asked Callad. “What person? Who is he? Is he one of the nobles? An Exalted?”
Rook shook his head. “Somebody very powerful.” He breathed deep and closed his eyes. It took everything he had to overcome his fear and apprehension. He wanted to hide the Golothic from everybody, not because it was grotesque, but because it was his. It was a promise and a covenant, deeply personal and deeply private. It was a reminder of deeds done in darkness, but also of a hope. The demon promised safety for him and his sister, Ursula. And the Golothic meant she was still alive, somewhere.
“Who?” prodded Callad.
Rook clenched his jaw. Then at last he pulled out the Golothic and held it in his palm. He could feel the warmth of it pulsing through his hand. It was made of a red, sandy-textured stone in the shape of a hand, nearly closed into a fist. Etched upon it were strange runes.
Sierla gasped. “What is that terrible thing?”
“A Golothic.” said Saint Asteroth. “The promise for a demon to be Unbound.”
“Oh my poor son!” Sierla broke into sobs, falling into Callad’s big arms. “What have you done! What have you done!”
Tears began to roll off Rook’s cheeks. Kierza embraced him. “I was young. Just a boy left alone with my baby sister.” said Rook through his tears. “She was starving. I had no food. I had nothing and nowhere to go. The demon promised to keep us safe, and in return all I had to do was promise to make him a weapon one day.”
“Son…” began Callad, extending his arm to Rook.
Rook shook his head, tears streaming from his red eyes. He looked at the Saints. “I refused the demon at first. I told him the Saints Caliber would come. I told him that somebody like Saint Bryant would come to save us, and the demon laughed at me. He told me he would save us and let us go if I could answer him ‘yes’ to one question, but if I answered him ‘no’ then I would owe him a weapon.”
“What was the question?” asked Asteroth.
“Do you still believe the Saints are good and are here to protect the people of the world.” said Rook. “And I believed!” he cried out in anger at the Saints. “I believed in all of you! I believed in Saint Bryant!” Then, as Rook’s body was wracked by sobs, he said, “But that was the question I had to answer the demon as Ovid slaughtered all the children in the church.”
“Oh my poor son!” wailed Sierla, running to him. She embraced him with Kierza, and then Callad wrapped his arms around them all.
After a moment Karinael came to Rook. She took his hand. “I am sorry for you.” she said, staring into him with her amber eyes. “I am sorry for the pain and anguish my Order has caused you and all the people of this world. But we are here now.” She looked around at the other Saints. “We might be few, but we are here, and we will help wherever we can.” She took Rook’s head into her hands. “I promise you, we shall see the Goddess awakened. I promise, we shall set this world right.”
Rook nodded as he sniffed. He looked at Karinael. “All is forgiven.” He placed the Golothic back into his pocket. “It was a promise made long ago by a boy desperate and tricked.”
Diotus came up behind him and whispered into his ear. “That is why I cannot mark you, boy. I cannot wipe away the demon’s mark with my own.”
Rook felt his heart sink and felt something like shame creep into himself. Diotus had always known.
“So, Ovid seeks you out hoping to call a demon for himself?” said Raziel. “Ovid is a fool. Why does he need you? Why can’t he just offer his soul up on his own? I’ve heard that Saints have done it before, to escape their sanguinastrums.”
Rook regarded Raziel for a moment. “The demon’s name I owe is Bulifer. He once told me that no demon will ever come for him because he does his master’s work willingly.” Rook looked at Karinael. “The demon told me that even in Hell souls are weighed by deeds of kindness. Not even Apollyon eats rotten fruit.”
Rook’s words seemed to weigh on the Saints and they all fell silent. Karinael slipped her hand into Hadraniel’s.
“But, this Ovid you speak of is here,” said Sierla, her voice quavering with fear and despair. “And he is coming for my son?”
Asteroth nodded. “We shall hunt him down this very day.”
“I will go too.” said Rook. “I am at least owed finishing the job I started.”
“No.” said Callad. “No, son. Let them handle it.”
“It would be better if you stayed.” agreed Asteroth. “Ovid is treacherous, and you will not best him in combat.”
Rook pursed his lips angrily.
“Please,” said Kierza, taking Rook’s hand into hers. “Just stay with me.”
“There is an army on the way, Rook.” croaked Diotus. “You need to make preparations here. You need to lead the people who have given everything to stand with you.”
Rook sighed and nodded. Diotus was right. Still, he felt that Golothic burning. This was an anger and hatred he wanted to take in. It was an anger he would let Bulifer have, for this wrath felt good. His hand went to the pocket and he squeezed the sandy thing.
“How many of the King’s Saints are out there?” asked Asteroth.
“There are two that I know of.” said Diotus. “Two females who came with the King’s entourage.”
“Paniel and Rael.” said Saint Ertrael. “Saint Galavriel is already dead. You should give Rook more credit in his ability to face Ovid.”
The Saints all looked at Rook skeptically.
“Another Saint came from one of the nearby cities yesterday.” said Ertrael. “I believe it was Saint Dugriel. He took a bolt to the head, as I am told.”
“There will be more Saints coming with that army.” said Karinael. She looked at Hadraniel. “Do you think we can sway them to our side?” She turned to Ertrael. “What about Paniel and Rael? Do you think they would join us?”
Ertrael shook his head. “Not a chance with Paniel. She adores the Sisters she serves. Rael maybe, if we can catch her alone. Otherwise, she will always follow Paniel’s lead.”
“Let us hunt down Ovid quickly then.” said Asteroth. “Then we shall deal with these new Saints.” He turned to Karinael. “Me, Raziel and Ertrael will take point. I will flush Ovid out with my lights and you, Hadraniel and Sodiel will flank him. We’ll end him quickly.”
Rook’s hand clenched the Golothic in his pocket until he could feel its heat threatening to sear his flesh. “Leave Ertrael and Karinael with me.” said Rook, the words escaping his lips before he realized he had even spoken them. “More injured may come, and Sierla and Kierza could still benefit from Ertrael’s Caliber.”
Ertrael looked at Rook. He turned his eyes to Kierza. “I can stay.”
“We shouldn’t split our numbers against Ovid.” said Sodiel. “He is a powerful Saint. He took out Ithuriel on his own.”
“I can handle the injured myself, for a time.” said Diotus.
“Me and Ma will be fine.” said Kierza. “There’s no need—”
“No.” growled Rook. “I will not leave my people without a healer!”
Everybody in the room was taken aback by the ferocity in Rook’s voice, but Asteroth and Raziel took it as a slight.
“We are Saints, not your soldiers.” said Asteroth. “I will not be ordered about by the likes of you.”
“It’s all right.” said Ertrael. He turned to Rook. “I’ll stay behind.”
“I’ll stay too.” said Karinael. “If any more Saints show up while you’re gone, me and Ertrael can see if they can be persuaded to join us. Nobody knows the Saints of this land better than Ertrael.”
“And nobody can talk sense into Saints like Karinael.” said Hadraniel. He put his hand into Karinael’s. “But I stay with her.”
“You just don’t want to face Ovid.” said Raziel, his voice bitter. “You two have been looking for an excuse to let that bastard go since we left Jerusa.” He fixed Rook with his burning, ruby eyes. “We’re Saints, and we’re here to extract the justice of Saints. We’re not here to be healers.”
Karinael shook her head. “We’re not supposed to be out for vengeance either. We swore ourselves to Erygion and his cause.”
“I don’t believe his cause was to help these people either.” spat Raziel.
“Enough.” said Asteroth. “We’ll not argue the point. We’re all free Saints.”
Raziel smirked. “Less competition for Ovid’s head. I’ll take him on my own if I have to.”
“Rook, don’t make them split up. Look what you’ve caused.” Kierza whispered her dismay into Rook’s ear. Diotus was about to say something when Asteroth spoke.
“It is settled then.” said the large Saint. “Me, Raziel and Sodiel shall go hunt down Ovid. Karinael, Hadraniel and Ertrael will stay here. I supp
ose it’s for the best. Karinael has a way with the hearts of Saints. If any can turn a Saint to our cause, it will be Karinael.”
Ertrael nodded.
“Before you go, let me paint our mark on your armor.” said Diotus. “That way our soldiers will know you are on our side.” He looked to Rook. “I’ll have Blake and Dontis send the word out as well.”
Rook nodded and watched as Diotus led Asteroth, Raziel and Sodiel up the stairs. An ancient anger still brewed in him and he wanted to follow them. He wanted to finish Ovid himself. Kierza pulled his hand from his pocket again and held his arm tightly. “Stay.” she said. “We all need you here.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Just outside of Bellus’s walls were a number of large, yellow tents set up in neat rows. Ranks of knights stood at the ready just beyond them, as well as small clusters of lesser soldiers and city guards. Miles off in the distance Nuriel could see a sea of knights in formation marching through the valley, their plate armor gleaming in the sun as they came. It was the Narberian army, and Nuriel guessed somewhere around five-thousand soldiers. At their head rode at least two Saints that Nuriel could make out, both flying the banner of Narbereth.
Nuriel made her way through the rows of tents toward the largest of them all. It was tall and round, made of heavy, yellow fabric. Upon its high, center post the Narberethan flag flapped lazily in the afternoon breeze, its fabric heavy with dark stains from the blood that dripped from the mayor’s impaled head above it. The entrance was guarded by a pair of pikemen and all around its huge circumference stood knights at the ready. Nuriel approached quickly and called out to the guards, “I am Saint Nuriel. I have been sent from Sanctuary by Holy Father Admael.” The pikemen drew open the entrance for her.
Here Shines the Sun Page 46
