XIII. A hand stuck up through the mountain of rubble, immobile for a moment, a grotesque monument of Hesper and Electic’s rather violent wake; then, with much effort, it moved—grabbing support for the whole body to pull itself up. Maraksus Aralnae’s beaten-down frame rose from the debris, broken-down asphalt, cement, and rock rolling down to the base of the wreckage, eventually creating a revolting landslide of earth and flesh as some unconscious—maybe dead—peasants fell down with the earthen avalanche.
Maraksus coughed as he struggled to free his legs from the heavy debris, frantically looking around for his companion. All four of them might still have the protection of Kyrie Eleison shielding them from the rather crushing weight, but he was aware that time was running out and the holy barrier would eventually disperse.
“Dylan? Dylan!” Maraksus shouted, hoping to get some response from his partner. “Dammit, you shouldn’t be knocked out—!” The sight of the unmoving people at the foot of the pile was rather discomforting despite the protection he had quickly cast while the strange ship blasted the area down.
A soft coughing came from the wreckage. “Gah, stop yakking Maraksus,” Dylan’s weak, muffled voice grumbled from somewhere within the rubble pile. “Help me up, these stones are going to break my back any second now.” The badly disheveled priest eventually found his partner and pulled him up, further upsetting the rocks around them.
It was fortunate, for the rocks rolled off Fynn Elenium’s heaving torso. “I can’t believe I’m still alive,” he mumbled, slightly dazed with shock. “Where’s Sevrin?” he asked weakly as his eyes searched for companion, panicking.
“Don’t fret your head too much Fynn,” Sevrin’s barely audible voice was heard from the other side of the wreckage. The three hurriedly moved to see where she was, only to find her kneeling beside an unconscious urchin. “These people still have breath in them,” she said, looking up to Maraksus and Dylan. “You think you two can do something?”
“No problem,” Maraksus said as he jumped off, landing onto firm ground. “Dylan, time to cast the Sanctuary.”
***
“I see no reason why you two can’t stay for the night,” said Galen to Fynn upon their return. “The Mother Superior in charge of the Abbey is not here, though I know that if she were she’d gladly take you both in.”
“Thanks,” Fynn said, grateful that problem of lodging has been solved, and it seemed like they were going to get it for free as well. “We are entirely in your debt.”
“In behalf of St. Capitolina Abbey, I say don’t sweat it,” Galen chuckled as he locked the gates behind them. “We also are grateful for your help.” He whistled happily, twirling the ring of keys around his finger. “Whoo-hoo, another job well done. Thank Providence.”
These people act as if the return of their brethren with tattered and bloodied clothes is a normal occurrence, Fynn thought as watched the acolyte guard climb his guard post. Not unlike the Temple of the Assassins, then.
“Hey, Mister Assassin Dude,” a voice suddenly piped up behind Fynn, almost making him jump. He turned around to see who it was, only to see Mirielle with her large spectacles, the lens gleaming with what Fynn fancied as a crafty look. “Your lady friend is sitting all alone by the cliff. Aren’t you going to wrap your arms around her like you’re supposed to?”
Fynn only looked blankly at Mirielle, and then felt a painful twinge of jealousy as he remembered what he had overheard from Sevrin and that other knight’s conversation.
"Now, now, is that a way to greet a former teacher and lover?"
Fynn hastily excused himself, traversing across the grounds with heavy steps as he looked around for Sevrin. As Mirielle had said, Sevrin was indeed sitting by the cliff, perched on the marble stage’s stairs, looking pensive as she stared at the setting sun.
“Zeny for your thoughts, Sev?” Fynn dared to speak out loud as he approached her, interrupting Sevrin’s brooding. He settled himself upon a step by her feet.
She only looked up at him. “Nothing, Elenium. Nothing.” Saying that, she sunk into her thoughts again, absently fingering the hem of the well-worn cape lent to her by Valcrist.
Fynn contented himself with just sitting beside her, witnessing the play of colors before him as the sky turned from orange to pink and finally into violet, the sea mirroring it.
All of a sudden, Sevrin mumbled, “I can’t believe Hesper’s involved.”
Hesper. Fynn finally found the strength to muster all of his resolve in asking the question that was eating him ever since he heard the other knight’s words. “Who is Hesper?” He clenched his jaw, fearing for the worst.
“He was my tutor in Swordsmastery,” Sevrin said numbly. “When I was enrolled in Midgard Academy.”
“I see…” Fynn’s voice trailed off. “I think I understand your pain, having to face your mentor in battle.” But he mentioned him being her lover…?
Sevrin laughed bitterly. “Don’t go spouting off things like you know everything, Elenium. Those lessons came with a price,” she said coolly. “He got to do me almost every night afterwards.”
Fynn paled, his hand tightly clenched, mulling over what he heard Hesper say ever so snidely to Sevrin: "Do you really want to fight here? Or shall we get a bed somewhere?”
“Do you know what Hesper’s sword is, the Haedonggum?” Sevrin asked casually. Without waiting for him to answer, she continued, “That cursed sword can control minds. He never used it on my training, but he did like to put me under its spell to make me lust him too.”
Fynn could not find his voice, his mouth dry. Oh gods, Venris… He could not help but feel rotten despite himself; all the years that have passed ever since he left Alberta have been spent obsessing over Venris, and have already marked her as his.
He never imagined that in all the nights he spent thinking about her, somebody was taking advantage of Venris. My Venris, he corrected himself, as he looked sideways at the morose Sevrin, his jaws clenched. If someone were going to take Venris for himself with her full consent, it would have to be him.
“What, cat got your tongue?” remarked Sevrin snidely. “I hope learning that small fact would change your mind about wanting to get to know me better. That would certainly serve my purpose,” she said breezily as she stood up and walked away, probably into her own quarters.
Fynn was left staring at her back until she disappeared from his sight. At present, the sun had sunk fully, and the deep violets have cast their shadows on the surroundings, somehow giving the deep gnawing in his heart an ideal place to breed.
The full moon cast looming shadows on Fynn as he left the edge of the cliff. Jealousy and hate towards the man she called her tutor rooted into Fynn’s heart. The Doors had nothing to do with his growing hate for the man whose loins unrightfully claimed Venris, and that, Fynn knew very, very, well.
***
“Have you taken into account the markings of that ship, anything?” Laire Allicran asked the next morning, calmly sipping his coffee. Across the table in front of him, Dylan looked as if he was going to nod himself back to sleep, while Maraksus’ face was threatening to sink into a plateful of food.
“It was black, no markings whatsoever,” Maraksus said as he yawned, fighting off sleep rather badly. “But that ship’s going to be easily identified with that helluva number of guns and firearm thingamajigs.”
“We’re no experts in aircraft identification, Sir Allicran,” Dylan said hollowly. “But that ship doesn’t look like anything we’ve seen so far, not even remotely close to Kafra Corp.’s new models.”
“Probably a prototype then,” Laire said as he gave them both a pitying look. “Look, I know you two were pushed to the brink this time,” he said as he watched Dylan almost upend his water glass. “But rest assured King Tristram will learn of your great and useful efforts.”
“Naw, dontcha worry Sir Allicran,” Maraksus said, a loopy grin on his face. “We had help and—”
A sudden movement from under the floor stopped the priest in the middle of his sentence, making Laire suspicious that somehow, someone stepped on Maraksus’s foot rather deliberately.
“Don’t you mind him, Sir,” Dylan said, looking as if jolted awake. “I think Maraksus’ dreaming already.”
But the meaningful glance between the two priests did not go unnoticed.
