Sevrin and Fynn finally stood in front of the intimidating ornate wrought-iron gates of St. Capitolina Abbey, the magnificently embellished building looming over the two. The silence that greeted them was deafening, and for a moment Sevrin even thought that the clergymen had taken a vacation of sorts if it were not for the gatekeeper who peeked out of his stone guardhouse and welcomed them.
“Greetings, Sir and Lady”, the guard in acolyte’s robes said, without making any move to let them in yet. “What business brings you to the Abbey?”
Judging by the way the gatekeeper regarded them, Sevrin knew that he was more than wary of knights and assassins coming to the Abbey. With the emphasis on the assassin.
“We seek assistance regarding some relic that is related to the Door phenomena,” Fynn answered, taking off his sakkat and holding it to his side.
Mr. Lizard, who was lounging on Fynn’s wide-brimmed hat, jumped off and crawled up his hair to content itself on its beloved Master’s head.
Fynn pretended not to notice as the acolyte gatekeeper stifled a laugh. “All we need is a fraction of time with someone who is knowledgeable with these things.”
Sevrin, still guarded with the possibility of recognition, did not remove her helmet and the iron cain covering the lower part of her face.
“Heh…erm of course. I’ll refer you to Sister Mirielle,” the guard smiled, lifting the latch of the gate, swinging the huge metal entrance inward—the hinges creaking horribly—to let them in. “Hmm…she’s in the—”
“No need to elaborate, Galen,” someone behind him piped up. Shoving the guard aside, a short girl with large swirly glasses reached out her hand towards Sevrin. “Name’s Mirielle Widdershins, Gadgetry Apprentice. Pleased to meet you.”
Sevrin took her hand and shook it firmly. “Pleased to meet you as well,” she said as she let go.
“Er…I didn’t notice you were there, Sister Miri,” the gatekeeper called Galen said as he closed the gates. “What are you doing?”
“You mention relics, I’ll be there. You mention gadgets, machinery, gears, nut, bolts…!” Mirielle sighed dreamily. “…I’ll be there....
“So what do you want from me?” she said finally, her hands on her hips, in a business-like manner.
Fynn rummaged in his pockets, producing the broken Door Charm. “We need your help with this, Sister Mirielle. My Assassin-brother handed this to me, saying that it has the power to summon the Doorspawn.”
Mirielle brought her hands to her lips. “My goodness! Doorspawn you say?” Before she could act more surprised, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s a pretty outrageous claim you’re making, assassin.”
“Please, we have names.” Sevrin interjected, voice monotonous. After she told the acolytes their names, she added, “Outrageous it may seem, it would help us all if you’d look over it.”
“Well, forgive me for doubting Mr. Elenium here with the frilldora on his head,” Mirielle muttered, gingerly taking the Door Charm from his hands. Squinting at the badly damaged artifact, she cluck-ed irritably. “Magical artifacts should be handled with care—that’s a Golden Rule! In fact, that’s even stated in the first chapter of the….”
As Mirielle droned on and on about the care of magical artifacts Fynn turned to Sevrin. “Can’t I take this stupid lizard off my head?” he hissed. “It’s destroying my credibility!”
Sevrin merely looked at him sideways. “That’s your problem,” she whispered back. “Not my fault it likes you more than me.”
“Sevrin, if this lizard doesn’t leave my head right now, I’ll—”
“You try anything and I swear my blade will go through your—”
“Are you even listening to me?!” Mirielle demanded in a loud voice, making the two jump, looking incredulously at the both of them. Behind her, Galen just shrugged apologetically, apparently embarrassed with her eccentric behavior.
“Er, yes, yes. Go on,” Fynn quickly said.
Mirielle shook her blond curls and hmph-ed. “Next thing I’ll see are flying pigs,” she said, looking pointedly at Fynn with the sleeping lizard on his head. “Very well, come with me to my workshop and we’ll see what I can do.”
“Hey Miri! I saw a flying pig once!” Galen shouted after them as the three walked across the wide grounds swathed in grass, on their way to Mirielle’s basement workplace. “It was Brother Demetrius’ pet hog wearing an Angel Wing!” After that, he let out a loud laugh.
These people need a vacation, Sevrin noted, taking in the scenery around her. Give them another year of being hermits and this Abbey will turn into a loony bin.
The Abbey was a huge complex of stone buildings, bearing a mark of ancient architecture. Besides the interconnected whitewashed buildings, stone arches with rose vines wrapped around them were predominant in St. Capitolina Abbey’s grounds. There were also floral beds scattered around the wide carpet of grass, with inviting benches put strategically beside them. Being set by a cliff overlooking the sea, the grounds afforded a very beautiful view of the wide expanse of the sea off to the Abbey’s left side, and the people who maintained the place took advantage of it by setting up a marble stage near the cliff’s edge, with flowering vines and rose bushes decorating it. It was fit for celebrations.
Nice place to get married.
“You go in here,” Mirielle said as they reached a side door of one of the smaller buildings. “Just grab a torch by the entrance, and proceed to the very bottom of the stairs. I’ll just get some of my tools from the library.” She then marched off, her feet pitter-pattering on the stone pathway.
Sevrin opened the wooden door, revealing a rather dark entrance to a stairwell going down. “With them staying in these kind of places, I’m not surprised that most of them have their hinges loose,” she remarked as she grabbed a torchlight, her voice resonating in the rather cramped granite tunnel going downwards. Holding the steel railing delicately, she descended the somewhat tall staircase.
Fynn followed her after he closed the door behind him. “So…finally interested in making small talk with me?”
Even if Sevrin didn’t turn around to look at him, she somehow felt that he was smiling.
What was once a gentle hold on the railing was now a hard, knuckle-whitening grip. “I only speak when I deem it necessary.” She proceeded to stomp her way down the stairs, mood darkening. The nerve.
“But you’ll be stuck with me, Sevrin. Like it or not,” Fynn said as he followed her, his steps quieter. “I’ve taken a liking to you,” he added softly.
Finally setting foot on the bottom floor, Sevrin rounded on Fynn, her eyes cold. “Don’t get fresh with me, Elenium. I’m here with you because you’ve blackmailed me,” With a huff, she went through the small rickety door leading into what was probably Mirielle’s workplace. “Maybe I should expect getting raped in my sleep sometime.”
“I’m not like that!”
“Really…like I expect you to….” Sevrin’s voice trailed off, leaving out what she was saying. His voice is all too familiar, she realized, frustrated that she hadn’t given it a hard thought until now. But who?
She looked surreptitiously at Fynn as she untied her sheathed blade and leaned it against a wall, studying his face, which was previously covered when she first encountered him in Morroc. After that, she mostly avoided his gaze, and she ended up not having a good look on his features even after he had removed his mask as soon as they left the oasis city.
If Fynn knew that he was being watched, he did not show it, making himself comfortable on a stool as he looked at one of Mirielle’s strange contraptions that graced the numerous shelves lining most of the wall space.
He isn't a relative, of that I’m sure, she thought, taking in his facial features, the long dark hair that went to his back, and even Mr. Lizard who was now stirring on his head, Frill-ing softly. I know I’ve seen him somewhere—
The door banged open. “Here I am!” Mirielle announced as she went in, tools gathered in her arms. She probably felt the tension, as she asked curiously, “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” Sevrin answered. “Nothing.”
“Rrrrright,” Mirielle said as she peered suspiciously at them. “Anyway, give me a few moments to take a look at this baby.”
She proceeded to set up her equipment on the centermost table, running tests like what Mathilda did previously in her home in Sograt Desert. She would occasionally let out small yelps of delight, apparently due to some new discoveries about the strange Charm, and also some groans whenever she could not figure out something.
Mirielle’s testing went on for almost an hour when she finally breathed a sigh of relief. “This is all I could do, folks,” she said finally.
Fynn, who took the liberty of taking a short nap while leaning against a shelf, sat up straight. “Did you manage to fix it?” he asked as he approached Mirielle, taking a close look on the Door Charm.
“Well, I’m not sure since this is very ancient,” Mirielle said, “But I did figure out some things about it. I tried to fix it thoroughly but its missing some parts,” she looked crossly at Fynn. “Obviously.”
“I can’t help it, it was already damaged when it was handed over to me…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mirielle said, waving her hand breezily. “Anyways, I do believe that it does summon Doorspawn. These jewels are imbued with concentrated elemental energy….”
Before she could go on and on about technical things Sevrin cut her off. “Do you know anything about the Pronteran Door?”
“Er…yeah, that Door’s opened days ago but nothing came out…and it has already closed too.”
“Could you lead us to it?” Fynn asked, taking the pendant off the table and putting it into his pocket.
Mirielle laughed. “What, you two are trying to stop the Doors from opening?” She shook her head. “I don’t know if you two are some sort of special bounty hunters, but the Sword of Virtue has already cordoned off the site. Besides, not even most of us could go there, I mean…many acolytes who were tasked to heal the people who went nuts there had gone bonkers as well. It’s an epidemic.”
“What do you mean…?” Sevrin asked, strapping her blade to her side. “An epidemic?”
“The Door is located in the slums,” Mirielle said. “If you need to go there, go to Dylan Garwood and Maraksus Aralnae, they’re the guys taking care of it, though they don’t care much for the defunct Door anyway.” Mirielle again pushed up her heavy-looking glasses, which seemed to keep on slipping down her nose. “They’re more concerned with healing the... er, sick.”
As Sevrin and Fynn walked up the stairs outside Mirielle’s workshop, she called out, “Hey Mr. Assassin! You look ludicrous with that lizard on your head!” With a laugh, she closed the door behind them.
She’s also hit by the epidemic she’s referring to, Sevrin decided.
Following Mirielle’s directions, they proceeded to the two priests' office located in the Main Building of St. Capitolina’s Abbey. As they went up the first flight of stairs Sevrin espied Sir Allicran going off to the other side of the corridor, and she quickly pulled Fynn along with her to get out of the commander’s sight before their presence would be noticed.
“Why?” Fynn asked, as Sevrin dragged him off into a corner, confused.
“I don’t want Sir Allicran to see me,” she answered, craning her neck to make sure the knight didn’t see them, and proceeded to continue her walk as if nothing happened. “Let’s just say that he…hates the Sword of Valor.”
“I think we’re here,” Fynn said, stopping before a white door, a duplicate of the many other doors that lined the bright corridor. He was about to knock when he heard some voices from the other side. Instead of knocking, he leaned towards the door just slightly, to listen in furtively at the voices.
“Who the hell pasted this stupid bandage on my nose while I was asleep?” one irate voice demanded, voice muffled though the door.
“But you were bleeding too much!” another said, and afterwards said profuse apologies.
And yet another one said wryly, “Falling facedown, its not a surprise.”
“Does my nose look crooked?”
“They’re having strange problems, for a bunch of priests,” Fynn finally said, as he stopped listening in and rapped on the door. “You’re right, they are a bunch of loonies here,”
The door opened suddenly, a white-haired priest peeking out. “I heard that,” he said sarcastically. “So, what do you want? We’re pretty busy people here, despite of…” he threw a sharp look at Fynn “…us being loonies.”
Maraksus looked up and up at the both of them, his gaze stopping on Sevrin. “Don’t you have manners, girl?” he said, noting her helm and iron cain covering her face. “Didn’t your mum—”
“Let them in, Maraksus,” Dylan said behind him tiredly. “A knight and an assassin…strange visitors in an Abbey.”
Why do I have the feeling I’m getting déjà vu? Sevrin thought ironically as she and Fynn went inside their study.
Unsurprisingly, the study hall was lined with shelves full of books and scrolls, one of the mahogany bookcases almost blocking on of the windows, darkening the study somewhat. The one thing she would expect to find least in the study was the map of Rune-Midgard laid out on the center table.
“This better be good,” Dylan said, arms crossed, as he faced the two of them squarely and brusquely introduced himself and Maraksus. “As he have said, we are both busy men nowadays.” He sounded calm despite of him appearing stern and edgy. “We are in a middle of a mission to exorcise the spirits ailing the people in the slums.”
“I’m Fynn Elenium of the Temple of Assassins,” Fynn said with a short bow, “The knight here is Sevrin Astergarden, of the Sword of Valor.”
“Previously of the Sword of Valor,” Sevrin corrected. “Newly knighted by Sir Valcrist Lenneth.”
“Oooh…Sword of Valor you say?” Maraksus asked, intrigued. “Did you happen to bump into Sir Allicran?”
“No,” Sevrin said matter-of-factly. “I managed to save myself from a minute of having spit sprayed on my face,” she shrugged, remembering the times when Sir Allicran would pull them aside and give them uncalled-for litanies that would end with him giving out threats to Sir Valcrist.
“Eheheheh…cheeky.”
“We need to check on the Pronteran Door,” Fynn said to Dylan, as he showed him the Door Charm. “This pendant has the ability to summon Doorspawn in the vicinity, and Sister Mirielle confirmed it. She also fixed of it what she can.”
“Sister Mirielle?” Dylan murmured as he took the charm and examined it. “Then your claim is true, Mr. Elenium,” he sighed as he handed back the pendant to Fynn. “However, the Door is already closed and we have no time to entertain people who wish to see it,” he said firmly. “I am sorry.”
“We merely ask permission to examine the Door,” Fynn said, trying his luck to get through the priest. “And for some directions. That is all we ask.”
Maraksus absent-mindedly scratched the bridge of his nose, which looked slightly swollen. “I don’t see what’s wrong with letting them check, Dylan.” To Sevrin he asked, “You just arrived from Morroc right? You were with the Sword of Valor when the Morroc Door opened?”
Sevrin nodded.
“That’s good enough for me,” Maraksus decided. “You two can go with us to the slums, and we’ll part ways when you reach the site. However,” he warned, tone grave, “We can’t guarantee we can heal your minds should you become possessed like the others. Our biggest problem now is how to perform mass exorcism on hundreds of people. Exorcising only one acolyte already gave me—” he pointed to his nose, “—this.”
“Do you still wish to go there?” Dylan asked, an eyebrow raised. “Maraksus has already warned you of the dangers, which cannot be dealt by bloodshed.”
Fynn, after a moment’s thought, finally said, “The Temple sent me to look upon this Darkness that is terrorizing Rune-Midgard. It's my will to deal with the dangers first-hand.”
“And how about you, Lady?” Dylan said, nodding to Sevrin.
“I just have to do something.”
“Very well, that’s settled. In a few minutes' time we head out to the slums,” Dylan said in finality.
***
True to his word, Dylan made sure that they did arrive in the slum area as soon as possible. In front of them, in lines already faded and thin, lay the closed Door etched in the vacant ground of broken and cracked asphalt, littered with trash. It was surrounded with numerous shanties that seemed to be ready to fall down any minute from that moment.
“Good thing we made it before the markings are all gone,” Fynn murmured, surveying the lines that marked a Door. “I wonder, why were there no Doorspawn when it opened?”
“Beats us as well,” Maraksus remarked. “Maybe the gods favor Prontera so much and did not let any disaster happen.”
“Before Maraksus and I leave both of you,” Dylan interrupted, “why don’t you try on the Charm first? I am rather curious as to what it could do.” Despite his earlier claim of him believing Fynn, his tone now said otherwise.
“Very well then,” Fynn said as he took the pendant out of his pocket. Slowly, he held it out towards the Door.
At first nothing happened, until a brief flash emanated from the Charm and Sevrin felt an unmistakable pulling sensation, which almost dragged her to the Door. Even the other three experienced it, with Mr. Lizard holding on to Fynn’s sakkat for dear life.
“Frill!!!!”
“Holy…!” Maraksus exclaimed, holding on to his biretta. “Is it supposed to summon the Doorspawn to us or the other way around?!”
Then the pulling abruptly stopped. Sevrin and the others ended up sprawled to the ground with the momentum. “Are you alright?” Wincing, she rubbed her bottom, which bore the brunt of her impact to ground.
Dylan groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “Yes, yes. I don’t doubt that thing can communicate with the Doorspawn, but I definitely doubt it could summon Doorspawn to us.”
Someone in the background tsk-ed. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
That voice! Sevrin turned around to see who it was, wishing that she had heard wrong. Her gape would be visible if it were not for the metal coverings on her face.
I can’t believe it…Hesper Silberhof.
Hesper grinned as he stood there, a few paces away from Sevrin and the others. He flexed his metallic left arm, bringing it down in such a force no one would doubt could effortlessly crush a human skull.
Beside him was a wizard who was too young to even be a mage, holding a long staff ready in both hands.
“That junk can’t do anything anymore,” Hesper murmured, eyes trained on the Door Charm lying on the ground, useless. Chuckling, he pulled out a chain from his armor and produced another Charm, a more polished duplicate of what Fynn had possessed, and held it out towards them. “This will work better.”
Despite herself, Sevrin clenched her teeth, paling.
