Chapter One: Aftermath
Disclaimer: I don't own Suikoden III or any of it's characters.
A/N: This was written to be more of an introduction rather than an actual chapter. However, I happen to like it this way. This a twelve(ish) part piece centered mainly on Borus Redrum, because we love him so. Although several other characters will be included and examined as well.
Our subconscious minds have no sense of humor, play no jokes and cannot tell the difference between reality and an imagined thought or image. What we continually think about eventually will manifest in our lives.
Sidney Madwed
Dearest brother,
When will you come see me? Patrick says you are a busy man, but he doesn't say much else. Mother is annoying me. She comes by only to mock my decorative taste.
Abigail
And please try to have Percival come by sometime as well.
Abigail chuckled when she reread the note a few days later. Originally it had been an offhand task, some form of amusement in her dull existence. But now, she honestly felt like having it delivered. A visit from Borus would be nice, however pathetic the terms of that visit may be.
"Mona," She said to the redheaded middle-aged woman crossing the room, cerulean vase of fresh cut white lilies in hand. "Please see that this is delivered to my dear brother."
The maid nodded, setting the white poppies on a nearby table and taking the neatly folded paper. "Of course, ma'am. Which one?"
"What do you mean which one?" Abigail snapped, "The only dear brother that I have. I'm not referring to that dolt who left us to travel the world for the search of something interesting!"
Mona nodded. Abigail Delmore was a dramatic woman, yet her snappy comments were a laugh for women anywhere. That is, when she wasn't around of course.
"Of course, ma'am. Right away."
The soil was black and moist beneath her fingers. The sensation of the damp coolness compared to the warmth of the sun's uninterrupted rays felt rather nice. Summertime in Vinay Del Zexay meant humidity and sun, as opposed to the ice and snow of winter.
Chris Lightfellow plucked the last weed from the bed. The tiny shrub made a small snapping sound as it's root was separated from the earth.
She sighed. Despite the relative calm of her current daily life, her circumstances remained a consistent worry. Staring into the fertile bed of honey lillies, the ominous possibilities of her upcoming Council slowly encompassed her like rich, thick velvet drapes.
That night, Leo softly lowered himself into bed next to his wife. It was once a rarity, he thought, to be able to lay like this.
Though she was not facing him, he couldn't help but to smile to himself. It was no longer a rarity, but it still was a luxury.
"My darling, I only ask that you behave yourself." Nash murmured softly to his wife.
Sierra sighed. "I don't know what she finds so unsettling about me. I'm more polite to her than I am to anyone else."
Nash knocked on the cherry oak door. "Well for starters, it could be the red eyes and-"
The door opened and a frail woman appeared. "Hello Nash," Julie said, opening the door all the way and stepping aside, allowing her guests inside. "And nice to see you again, Sierra".
Sierra's face relaxed. She had been scowling in anticipation of her husband's smart remark the moment the woman opened the door.
"Thank you. You look well, Julie." She replied as rehearsed to her sister in law.
"Oh, thank you."
They began to follow Julie down the bright sunlit hall towards the back of the house. Her wavy blonde hair bounced lightly in the flooding sun from the windows, appearing to be some kind moving mass of glittery gold.
"Where's Lena?" Nash asked. He looked around as they moved. The place hadn't changed much since their last visit only a month before. New flowers on the third table to the right. Tulips. Not Magnolias. And the sofa in the second room on the left had been pulled back some- about a foot or so.
"She's not back yet." Julie replied, opening the door to a rather lavish patio area outside. "She works later and later is seems. We weren't expecting you here quite this early."
She moved aside again, allowing the couple into the sitting area. Nash stepped around his wife to pull out a black wrought iron chair shaped by swirls of metal ivy. She sat, as he pushed it in. Julie nodded to the maid standing by the cart of assorted coffees and teas as she and Nash seated themselves.
The usual procession began. It wasn't that these family visiting were unpleasant for the married couple, it was more of the uneasiness caused by Julie's aging weary eyes as they settled politely of Sierra's eternal youth.
Sierra was not uncomfortable, for they were certainly treated graciously during their stays, but those stares- those awfully inquisitive stares that made Sierra want to blurt out something like:
"Look, I'm a vampire. I've been around for hundreds of years, I've sucked people's blood, and my eyes are red. Alright?"
Emma Vance scanned the shelves of the perfume shop. Various colors, shapes, sizes, all glistened in the brilliant sunlight, reflecting a muddled mural onto her white apron. She dealt with someone from everywhere on a day to day basis, but a majority of actual buyers were upper-class.
As the single child of Dr. Vance she knew what it was to be adored and to have a privileged upbringing. At the age of eight years she would scan through his texts and memorize the images a dissected human body. Her small olive colored hands to run down the page, captivated by the sharp curve at the bottom of the lungs, or the critical symmetry of the skull, light blue eyes constantly scanning, always craving more.
At the age of sixteen, her parents were dead. The story was on the tip of the tongue for weeks, how the magnificent Dr. William Vance and his adoring wife were caught in a snowstorm on their way back from a holiday party just outside the city. Their bodies were recovered a week later; beautiful, fresh, and seemingly forever frozen that way.
The weeks that followed were murky in her memory. A talk with a representative for the council in which a businesslike man presented her with a story of her father's fortune belonging to the citizens of Zexen.
His talk made no sense to her. As far as she knew, her father paid his taxes, charged fairly in his practice, and did not owe any money. The council's business man was one of those people who seemed to be able to make sense out of any fallacy, and she was too young, too naïve, and too overwhelmed to fight it. An so went her inheritance.
So here she worked, the elderly perfume entrepreneur Gustav as her employer, and living in a single room one block over from her place of work, by the pier. Unlike other employees, she specialized in the wealthy.
Her slender hands moved methodically, ensuring that each and every bottle was neat and orderly. No dust in sight. Label to front. Equal in quantity, if possible. Pricier ones placed in direct light for appeal.
She sighed, pushing her mousy brown colored ponytail over her left shoulder from where it's elbow length waves had fallen to her front. It was therapeutic, in a way. These intoxicating scents and colors, merging together in one spot to give her purpose.
"C'mon man, just pass me another one already." Percival called down the line of farmers-turned-engineers, to a small boy fiendishly hogging the leather bag of nails. He couldn't help but to be amused. If the boy took such great pride in passing nails around, he was definitely in for a happy future.
The rebuilding of Iksay would be a painfully slow process. Yet their progress thus far was indeed notable. His own neighborhood was finished for the most part, yet it seemed to lack the nostalgic charm his once recognized from his youth.
The boy approached him happily and looked up at the no longer uniformed knight. "How many?"
He squinted his eyes and mock studied the structure before him, as if genuinely in concentration. "Give me… like six for now." He decided and the boy obliged, only to heed similar calls from other villagers on the site.
The sun would soon set on his beloved Iksay and another day's work would be through. He would walk home to his mother's house and eat a hearty supper composed of the precious of what had survived the fires and what had recovered since.
Borus Redrum awoke several times that night with yet the same reoccurring dream. It had not haunted him in several weeks. He was so sure that that his consistent visits to the chapel were giving him peace, or progress at least.
But in the realm of his subconscious, the fires were hot. The small dark skinned children were helpless. The women were hysterical. Each bore large bright eyes made brilliant by the fires' hellish glow. And the blood ran hot and thick as it seeped into the ground and painted his sword, forever marking him as their murderer.
Meetings first thing in the morning were never a good sign. Although dependent on his preference of the individual, they were never a good thing period. He opened the door gently, and sure enough she was already there.
Chris nodded at him as he stepped in the room, closing the door behind him. "Good morning, Salome."
He returned the nod. "Good morning milady."
She exhaled slowly as he sat down and pushed a neat stack of papers in front of him. He lifted the stack as if it's weight could relieve whatever it was this was regarding.
His browed furrowed as he read the first line of the top page. "Are these reports?"
She nodded grimly. "An element about thirty to forty of them. Thieves. They've intercepted every route imaginable as far as the Unnamed Lands. Twelve dead total, although they have successfully obtained quite a sum of money. Two rapes."
He glanced up at her, but her eyes remained steady, fingers fumbling with her own stack.
She continued. "Their activity suggests some sort of stronghold or hideout they maintain. The location of such a place has not yet been identifiable but the center of the attacks seem to lie somewhere between Somer, Iksay, and Lyle.".
He winced. "That's a broad spectrum.".
Chris's finger relaxed. "They're highly organized, it appears.".
Salome inhaled softly and glanced at her again, this time she returned his gaze. "I'll come up with something, milady. This will be resolved. But it will take some time.".