Karla Age Thirteen Part II

With every stumbling step, Karla's hopes fluttered and feet pulsed under their soles. She had walked from midnight to morn to blood-hued sunset to the deep trenches of evening, which met her once more. The night wrapped around her, enshrouding her in a cloak of cool air and darkness.

Her body was about to give in on her. Throughout her trek, she had barely paused to take a swig from the wooden flask that Shalla had packed in her sack. The water always tasted stale and warm, but it was the only relief she dared to take for fear that she would lose sight of her invisible path and never reach that town. Yet, even with her precautions, no cluster of buildings protruded over the horizon. Her hope waned.

When the moon had reached its highest arch in the sky, Karla finally let her bag slip off her shoulders and crash to the ground. She wearily joined it. Her thoughts were reflected on nothing more than sleep, but her stomach had other ideas, as it protested with a sharp pang.

Karla blindly rummaged through the contents of her bag, feeling for the hard lump of bread wrapped in a cotton kerchief. She withdrew and unwrapped the food. She pulled off a small piece of the tough crust. It was greedily thrust into her mouth and swallowed without chewing. Karla then dug out a tiny portion of the softer, brown insides. After this, the bread was put away. Her rations were in short supply, and it was necessary that she save every bite possible.

As she reached for her flask, Karla wished that she had considered that with her water. Only a few, sparse drops met with her tongue as she tipped the bottom. With a sigh, she replaced it into her pack and shifted the bag so that it made a clumpy but suitable pillow. Her legs were drawn up close to her chest, and she threw her arms around her torso, not only to preserve what little warmth she had left radiating throughout her body but also to console herself. She would not- could not- cry, but the tears still stung her eyes.

Under her closed eyelids, a solitary droplet ran down the gentle slope of her cheek. Others hung to her lashes, but she was determined that they would not escape. Still, she lost this battle, as more broke free of their prison and cascaded down her face.

Fine, she was crying, but no matter what, Karla would not break out into sobs. She sniffled a little, biting her lip to prevent any wails from leaving her lips. Her teeth gripped her bottom lip deeper and deeper as this became too hard a burden to handle, and soon, the taste of blood entered her mouth. After this, she gasped for her mother, her old life, some sort of sanctity in all of this.

Soon, sleep washed over her, offering relief for the time being. So much for being strong.

----

Her eyes peeked open; they encountered not the harsh rays of the sun but soft, dim candlelight. Her back arched, suddenly realizing that the rigid ground had been replaced with a smooth, feathery mattress. Her hands groped for her pack, but they only stroked a worn, cotton pillow. And as all of these events took place, Karla's heart began to thud.

She had been kidnapped. That was the only reasonable theory for it all. She had been a bad girl, and so bad men had come to take her away and force her to do bad things. Who those bad men or bad things were, she was not sure, but the childhood warning remained planted in her head.

Karla threw the sheets aside. When her bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor, a shudder passed throughout her body. She attempted to stand, but her knees trembled and collapsed under her, forcing her back on the edge of the bed.

"Peace child," a quiet but stern voice spoke. She snapped her head to the left to see an elderly man, clothed in white robes, enter the room. He was tall and wiry, with his clothes hanging loosely off his knobby bones. His papery skin was stretched tautly over his skeleton. He did not appear threatening, though. "You'll wake the others."

Karla peered around the room, and she realized that it was bigger than she had first believed it to be. Many pallets, similar to hers, lined the wall. Most of them laid empty; only a few were occupied.

"Where am I?" she questioned the man.

"You are at the Cashman Mission," he informed her. "A good Samaritan found you out on the plains and brought you here. You were dehydrated, but you seem well now, thanks to our efforts."

"Mission?" She had never heard the term before. The man nodded, and then he became aware of the fact that she was unfamiliar with it. Slight incredulity entered his eyes as they widened.

"Why, child, this is a house of blessed Saint Elimine," he told her. Ah, Elimine. She had been taught the vague basics of the religion, though her family celebrated Mother Earth and Father Sky much more.

"You are a priest?" she asked. He nodded.

"You may call me Father Callar, dear child," he introduced himself. "And what name may I call you?" She trusted him; if he was a servant of Elimine, he would not hurt her. That much she knew.

"Karla," she told him.

"Karla, the name means warrior," he noted. Her name had a meaning? That was strange. Perhaps it spoke of her family. They were all warriors, even though she surely was not one. "You are a warrior, in the sense you are fighter to come this far, alone, and fought to live after your collapse. And because of that, you have been found by the graces of Elimine."

"Sorry but I do not believe much in Elimine," Karla confessed. Father Callar's brow furrowed even deeper. He could not grasp that such a faithless girl had come into his possession.

"Then truly, it must mean of the sword you carried," he said. The compassion that was once in his voice had disappeared, replaced by a bitter tone. "Where is your family, girl. You seem far too young to be wandering this land by yourself."

"I am not welcome in my family anyone," she admitted. Her eyes became downcast.

"Because you do not believe?" he prodded. She shook her head, the tears taunting her once more.

"Because I am a girl, and I have done what no girl should ever do." Her voice cracked as she spoke. Oh, how she wished she could back time and change everything that she had done wrong. She would have refused Karel and completed her life as an obedient daughter, instead of the wild misfit she had grown to be.

"And what was that?" She stared up at him, confused as to why he was prying. Did he wish to scorn her more and expose her as a wench? Noting this, he quickly added, "The first step to forgiveness is confession of your sin. You will find faith within these walls, and I will guide you there. But first, what is it that cast you out from your family."

"The sword," she whispered after a moment.

"Did you kill someone?" She shook her head no. "Did you hurt someone?" Another shake. "Threaten someone?" The response was identical. "Then, pray tell, what deed did you commit?"

"I trained with it," she told him.

"But I have seen many young women pass through who train as you have," he told her, as though it might comfort her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "But they aren't real women. They have lost all femininity with their trade." She instantly withdrew back into a somber silence after saying this. Even after the circumstances had changed, she still believed that. She felt ashamed of betraying her gender, even after learning that her own mother had been one of them.

"I don't like it," she continued. "Not just because of that. I don't like hurting. I don't like killing. I don't want to become like that." Two hands cupped her face, and Father Callar brought her head up to look him in the eye.

"You may stay with us, young Karla, as long as you may wish," he said. "You are a lost soul, and we have found you. As for work, we need an extra hand around the place. We cannot pay, but we can offer a haven in the mist of this dangerous land." Stay here? It was tempting, but she had already stated that she was not a believer. Still, it would mean she was free of the inhospitable world outside.

"But I—" Karla tried to protest, but Father Callar cut her off and finished the sentence for her.

"Am always welcome." Before her mouth could open to speak again, he waved her off with a flick of his hand. "No more discussion for now. Regain your strength, Miss Karla. This is your home now." Karla settled back against the cot with uncertainty. She closed her eyes, desperate for a few more hours of sleep, but she was still dubious about her new occupation.

---

As soon as she was capable of walking again, Father Callar put her to work. The mission was small, and what few treasures it held were worn and tarnished. The Father shuffled her off to the mercy of the three clerics residing there. They were all ancient creatures. The oldest was Sister Georgiana, who was lame in one leg and blind in one eye.

Sister Georgiana, in turn, passed Karla over to the sole servant of the mission, Droll. His name was appropriate. He was a funny little man, with slurred speech and a back hunched over. The few tasks he could perform around the mission, he did exceedingly well. He cooked and dusted, though he was not trusted around any of the breakables or silver. So, that was to be one of Karla's many odd jobs.

Sister Willis, a docile young dove compared to the rest of the church workers, showed Karla how to delicately polish the silver, though the precious metal was so blemished already, her chores seemed to be useless. Karla was also in charge of washing the windows. Grime crowded in the corner of the panes, and she had to dig her washing rag into the angles to pick away at the dirt.

On Tuesdays, she assisted Sister Jinny with the laundry. The holy white robes were scrubbed as though they were fragile vases, but it was not as though there was a speck of dirt on the cloth. The Father and Sisters kept their robes immaculately clean. Only Droll's tunic was terribly stained, and only now and then did Karla's new sorrel colored uniform become splotched.

Thus began Karla's new life. Though her chores were often grueling, requiring her to spend longs hours out in the brutal Sacaen sun, but they gave her structure in her life, a kind of organization she had not seen since before Karel started training her. She relished that balance. The day had a schedule to it, and though it was long and mundane, it offered serenity. It was an ascetic lifestyle, full of deprivations, and yet, it submitted more security than Karla ever had in her life. Outside that little wrought-iron gate that ran around the perimeter of the Mission, there was an unforgiving world, one Karla was not anxious to be apart of.

For a time, Karla even forgot where she came from. It was for the best. No longer did she have to check over her shoulder for Jargon or fret over a single mistake for fear of retribution. At first, she found the Sisters dull and strict, though over time, she adjusted to their austere attitudes. They represented the womanliness that Karla had so strived for her whole life, and though Karla knew that she did not qualify for becoming a cleric, such as them, she would be content staying by their sides for her entire life.

This, however, did not solve the issue over the sword. Bandits were common in the area, and it was Father Callar's wish that they had some sort of protection. The thieves that roamed the region were known to be heathens, and they would not hesitate to raid the Mission. Since the Church of Elimine only gave so much money every year, their budget was not nearly large enough to pay for a mercenary to guard them. Father Callar, instead, asked Karla to continue her practice of the sword.

At first, Karla was tentative, but she knew that if she wanted to continue her tranquil life at the Mission, then she would have no choice but to endure the craft that had caused her so much pain in the first place. It was ironic in a way.

The few skills that Karla was sure of were polished continuously. Without a human partner to spar with though, her practices lagged. There was only so much she could learn from the wooden post outside the garden. Soon, though, a gift was given upon her.

Karla had awoken at dawn, as usual, to join the others in the Morning Prayer. Five months had passed since her arrival, and since then, the agenda had been memorized. Every morning, as the sun rose, she would dress and hurry from the main building, where the Visitor's ward and kitchen were, to the tiny wooden chapel. Inside the chapel, a few rows of pews were lined up in front of the tiny altar. Father Callar stood behind the table, with the Sisters sitting off to the side. Karla, like always, took her seat in the front pew next to Droll. Sometimes, a visitor to the Mission would wander in, but usually, only the six of them attended.

"Blessed Saint Elimine," Father Callar began that one morning, with his arms raised to the heavens. Karla bowed her head and gripped Droll's pudgy hand as the prayer commenced. "We thank thee for this day and ask of thee for nothing but thy blessings. Send down upon us sinners the-"

The chapel door burst open with a loud cry, "Sanctuary!" The shout rang with pain and suffering. Karla let go of Droll's hand and turned to see a tall man stoop over before crumpling to the ground with a thud. Father Callar rushed from his dais to aid the man, and Karla followed him with the Sisters in tow.

The man was still conscious, and he moaned in agony. One hand clutched the elbow of the opposite arm. A gash ran across from his right ear to his temple, and blood gushed from the wound.

"Droll," Father Callar signaled to the brutish servant. "Take him into the infirmary." As the Mission was very small in size, the Visitor's Ward had a small section marked off with a bed sheet to indicate the infirmary. Droll sluggishly ambled forward and took the man in his arms so that he could be safely transported to that one place. Karla could not help but gaze down at the puddle of blood that now stained the wooden planks of the chapel floor. Sister Willis seemed to read her thoughts as she placed her hand on Karla's shoulder and said,

"Clean it up, best you can. This is a holy place; we can't have blood marring the floor, can we?" Karla shook her head, and she dismissed herself to fetch the mop and pail. After her efforts with mop only turned the grungy water into a light pink tone, she emptied the bucket out and returned with a scrub to tackle the gore that had seeped deep into the cracks.

Karla was left with a dark discoloration on the ground, but it was impossible to tell if it was blood or not; so, it was have to do. She put back her utensils and hurried to the infirmary to check up on their sudden caller.

Sister Willis and Sister Jinny were waiting outside the room, with pale faces and fingers entwined. As Karla passed unnoticed, she heard them murmuring prayers hurriedly. Inside the infirmary, Sister Georgiana waited as Father Callar bent over the man, his staff in hand. The jewel at the top of the stave illuminated into a light blue glow, and it hovered over the wounds of the man.

The stab in his arm closed up slowly, and the blood clotted, preventing anymore from leaking. Next, the laceration on his forehead was concentrated on. His groan ceased as his torment was reduced to a gentle stinging. After several minutes of focused healing, Father Callar stepped away and wiped his brow.

"He should live," he said rather stoically. "Let him rest for now." His eyes wandered over to notice Karla standing by the door. "Miss Karla, watch over him. The Sisters and I will send our prayers for him at the chapel. You know to call if there is an emergency." Karla bobbed her head as a sign of respect, as well to show her understanding.

Georgiana handed her a cumbersome, leather-bound volume with a piece of lead sitting on top of it. "Should he awake, you take down his information, understood?" Karla accepted the record book as a sign of her comprehension. She then pulled a chair next to the man's bed and watched him.

The dark hair crowning his head was still matted and sticky from blood. Karla gently brushed it away from his healed injury, which would likely turn into a scar. His skin was pasty, though that was probably a result of his assault. She wondered just what happened to him that would not only put him in this condition but cause him to call for sanctuary. As far as she saw, there were no suspicious men lurking around the chapel.

For an hour, Karla remained by his bedside patiently. She observed for a time, but her thoughts soon turned as she surveyed the room. His possessions were propped against the wall. It seemed he had been robbed, as his bag flopped over with nothing inside. It was the sword that caught her eye, an impressive longsword in a gleaming black hilt. So, he wasn't unarmed; he certainly fought back against his attackers.

A low rumble of a groan brought back Karla's attention to the man lying on the cot. He shifted slightly in his fitful sleep, and for a brief moment, his eyes flickered open, revealing dark pools of blue for eyes, before lapsing back into slumber. Karla sighed and leaned back against her chair. Truth be told, she was beginning to become bored. Her fingers amused themselves with a strand of hair, while her eyes drifted up towards the thatched roof.

"Who are you," his gargled voice nearly made Karla jump out of her chair. She leaned closer to him.

"My name is Karla," she informed him.

"Where…am I?" His bad arm twitched as he suppressed another whimper.

"The Cashman Mission." She reached for the record book. The pages were flipped to the next spot where he could be chronicled. Already, a dozen names ran down the page. Karla scribbled down the date. "What is your name, sir?"

"Lael," he murmured after a second. She jotted down his answer in her lopsided handwriting.

"How old are you, sir?"

"Eighteen this harvest."

"Where are you from, sir- Lael?" There was a cautious pause.

"Why do you need to know?" he questioned bitterly.

"For the records," she explained, slightly confused by this sudden turn of acrimony.

"Etruria…no more than that." After that was recorded, she set the book aside and asked him if he needed anything. His reply sounded just as hostile as before. "I'm not a believer. You saved my life, now go away." Karla was stunned by his rudeness. Most the folk that passed through the gates of the Mission were polite and grateful for the aid that the Father provided. He was full of resentment and nothing more.

"S-sorry," she apologized. She backed away, ready to summon one of the Sisters to take care of his curt manner, but as she turned to leave, she saw Sister Georgiana glaring starkly at him with her one seeing eye.

"How dare you walk into our halls, crying sanctuary to the dear Lady, and then you declare you have no faith and wish us to begone, when we saved your life so mercifully," she chided him indignantly.

"So, what are you going to do, throw me out in my weakened state?" Lael drawled. He had a good point; the Church of Elimine never denied anyone. If a soul had strayed from Elimine, then they would try to retrieve it, as they had done with Karla. Lael would remain here, yet, to his chagrin, he would have to endure the prayers and chants that came with the treatment.

Sister Georgiana huffily stalked off. She left Karla there, alone with Lael, who had decided to at least take advantage of Karla's offer.

"Get me some water," he demanded croakily. Karla hurried off and returned with a tin cup of lukewarm water. He drank it down greedily and then demanded more. Karla fulfilled his request again, and this time, when he finished, he threw the cup down on the floor, like a young child in a tantrum.

"Sir," she began, "you are a swordfighter, are you not?"

"What's it to you?" Karla took a deep breath before continuing.

"Well, you see, sir, I'm suppose to protect the mission, and I was…um, wondering if when you are fully healed if you could stay awhile and teach me." The last part came out as a rushed squeak. He rolled his head over to look at Karla.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he asked broodily.

"No, no," she insisted. "I know some of the art, but I'm not good yet." She waited anxiously for his acceptance, if he would even give her that.

"Swordplay is not an art; it is life and must be treated as such," he corrected her. "Life which you hold in your hand. Your life is in your sword; the lives of others will be impaled on it. A girl like yourself shouldn't bother with such things."

"But sir," Karla tried to explain, "it's part of my bargain to stay here. I mean, I'm not much of a believer either."

"Then why would you want to?"

"Because I have no other place to go, and I like it here," she confessed. "I rather lead the life of a believer than be put out alone with no one to turn to." Her words struck a cord within Lael, as he suddenly agreed to help her.

"But," he warned her, "you can tell that priestess that I ain't going to be joining any of your prayer circles."

Lael was up and moving freely by the next morning. True to his word, he began instructing Karla that afternoon, though his injuries still ached. Karla was able to persuade Father Callar to allow Lael to remain in the Mission. The Sisters retained their distance from the resentful young male, and Droll followed their example, as he always followed them like a sick puppy. So, it was up to Karla to attend to him, and she did so religiously. She needed to be on his good side; he was to be her teacher for the next several weeks.

"You got grace, I'll give you that," Lael complimented her upon their first lesson. "But that won't get you no where. You need to be relentless, cruel out there in the battlefield. Mercy is not a virtue. If that's going to interfere with your swordplay, then don't think of them as humans with souls. No one matters but you."

Karla nodded. Since they had no proper weapons to practice with, and it was far too risky to use their real blades, Lael had found two switches that were appropriate for their exercises. Unlike Karel, who showed her an almost sophisticated way of fighting, Lael was faithful to his interpretation of the sword. Within the first few strikes, he had landed a kick in her gut that sent her falling over.

"There are no rules in the game," he instructed her. His eyes bore down on her, causing her to advert her stare on him and blush slightly. "Your sword is not your only weapon. Honor means nothing; attack with everything you have in you. But don't be reckless; use the form you already know and combine it with a fierce assault."

With her branch firmly in hand, she ran up towards Lael and attempted a diagonal slash across his chest. He blocked it and countered, jabbing his own mock weapon towards Karla. She slinked out of the way of his blow and caught a weak spot below his right shoulder. She had forgotten completely that was his injured arm and that it was still sensitive.

When she hit him, he gasped out in sudden anguish and fell to his knees. Karla suddenly remembered his wound and knelt by his side to check if he was alright. Lael took advantage of the situation; with a groan, he knocked her over with a swipe of his stick.

"Never care about your opponent, not even in practice," he chastised her. "Never let your guard down until you are sure you have won." Karla meekly nodded. "Now get up; it's about time you learn some defense maneuvers.

Karla was only familiar with the basic block and guard. She could evade well, but as Lael reminded her, that would not always save her. He showed her how to parry a blow, and she was guided through the most useful ways of deflecting a wallop. Gradually, her strength increased, and soon, she was able to counter Lael's hits. Over the span of their lessons together, which lasted about five weeks, he became continuously impressed with the speed at which Karla picked up her skills.

Karla, meanwhile, became quite enamored with the handsome vagabond herself. Though often brusque, she found his tart behavior all the more intriguing. Of course, the relationship was purely platonic on his side, as he rarely spoke to Karla outside of their daily practices, even when she brought him his meals. His thoughts were concentrated on when he would be free of the Mission and once the costless boarding was no longer available, where his trails would lead him next.

"Out of curiosity," he asked once day, "who first taught you?" Karla dusted off her skirt as they returned to their respective rooms within the Mission. Lael had to stay in the visitor's ward while Karla shared with Droll.

"My brother, Karel," she said with a slight pant. Lael looked away, but Karla noticed his eyes widened a tiny bit in recognition. She excitedly pressed on. "You know him?"

"I…have had the honor of traveling with him for a week," he said, choosing his words carefully. "We dueled at the end; he won. He is a man of amazing talent. I should have realized you were related. There is not only a physical comparison but one found in your swordplay as well."

"Where is he now?" Karla asked. All exhaustion which had graced her before disappeared in a moment's notice, as soon as she realized that Lael knew Karel.

"That was several months ago," Lael pushed it off. "I have not seen him since. I'm just counting my blessings I escaped alive." His voice picked that ever so familiar acrid timbre. "I never knew he had a younger sister, and I would never have guessed she would have found work in a church Mission."

"Oh, well that was unexpected, yes," Karla said. Lael's pace suddenly accelerated. Karla could not keep up with his long strides; something she had said obviously had bothered him.

"Lael," she called out. "Lael, wait, I'm sorry." Though her repeated attempts to apologize certainly reached his ears, he ignored her cries. When he reached his bedside, he turned to face Karla, who had followed him into the ward.

Karla stepped back. His cheeks burned with a fiery red passion, and his eyes bulged with ire. Even that scar by his temple now throbbed with a white heat. He no longer appeared dashing but ungainly.

"I stayed because I was interested in you as a student," he said through clenched teeth. "But I can no longer teach you."

"Because of Karel?" Karla guessed.

"I'd be too afraid," he grumbled. "You'd turn out like him."

"What's wrong with Karel?" Karla wondered aloud. Any admiration for this man turned to dust as he openly insulted her kin like that.

"You know what's wrong; he's your brother," Lael exploded. "One minute, he's friendly and sociable, the next—" He let it hang as he threw up his hands in defeat. "Damn, I must leave this place before you too come to haunt my steps."

"What did he do to you?" Karla asked, almost fearing the answer. Karel would never do anything too bad. Perhaps he simply damaged Lael's pride; really, what worse things could Karel be capable of?

"Three days," Lael spoke. "Give me three days to prepare, and I will be gone of this place forever. His face eased, and he leaned back against the cot. "Three days." He seemed so sure of it; he was waiting for his liberation. Shaking, Karla left the room and headed for her own.

Three days…and once more, she would be on her own, free of a mentor she admired so much.

---

The night of the second day came. It had even passed into the earliest hours of the morning before the trouble began. Someone grabbed Karla's arm in her sleep, and she was instantly jarred awake. Sister Willis was shaking her and urging her in a hushed voice.

"B-b-bandits," she quivered. "M-monstrous pagans, who have come to feed off our flesh." Even in the dim room, Karla could see her face had faded to a pallid shade. Karla comforted the ailing woman, and she reached for her sword.

The faint trembles of commotion reached her ears. She did not bother to slip on a robe; she was needed immediately. Sister Willis remained behind with the still slumbering Droll as Karla removed her sword from its covering and tiptoed over to the chapel, where there was a mighty tumult.

Even in her somnolent state, Karla became aware of a shadow to the left of her. Her heart began to thud as she realized this would be her first real fight, the only real occasion she had so far to use the iron sword bestowed upon her by Karel. She approached the lingering shadow, her sword raised.

Out of the gloom, a hand darted out and wrapped around her wrist. Before Karla could release a shriek, another pushed itself against her lips. Lael stepped forward and released her.

"It's just me," he hissed. "Killing me will do you no good." Karla apologized, then remembered to be silent and closed her mouth. Together they snuck towards the chapel. Inside one of the now gleaming windows, Karla saw Sisters Georgiana and Jinny hovering in a corner while Father Callar tried to reason with the bandits. She knew he would refuse to relinquish what little silver he possessed for the Church, and in his hands, he bore a tome with the symbol of Elimine inscribed on the hard cover.

"Follow my lead," Lael whispered. Instead of barging in, he casually shoved the door open, with his sword raised up. Karla bumbled in after him, appearing not nearly as collected nor impressive as him.

There were five rouges in all, representing every size and shape. An oaf, with an axe in hand, curled his lips up into a grotesque smile upon seeing Karla.

"She purty," he growled. Another, a lanky fellow also wielding a billhook- one suited more for chopping wood than cutting enemies- sighed.

"This all you got, Pappa?" he said, almost disappointedly, to Father Callar. "We was expectin' an Elimine Parade, but you ain't got none but some purty boy and a twit of a girl, though Sal's right. She is purty." A muscled arm wound itself around her waist, and as hard as she tried to appear brave, she could not help but let out a scream. Father Callar's breath caught, and the two Sisters clung to each other even tighter. Lael, though, seemed unaffected by her capture.

"I'll give you 'til ten to leave," Lael warned them lazily. They all chuckled. "One…" he began to count. No one made a move. "Two…" With a resounding chortle, an axeman approached him haughtily. In a single fluid motion, Lael lunged forward and plunged his sword into the thief's shoulder. The opposing weapon clattered to the ground as the outlaw clutched his shoulder in pain.

"Three…" he challenged them. As soon as they saw their comrade, whimpering in pain, their attention snapped from Father Callar to Lael. Sal trampled over and swung his ax clumsily down. Lael evaded the blow and sliced his blade towards the giant, who in turn dodged the blow. The lanky man rushed to tackle Lael from behind, while an ally exchanged blows with Lael. He was struggling by himself, while the three men cornered him. The fourth stumbled to his feet and had no choice but to run, as he was incapable of wielding his weapon any longer.

"Four…"

Karla flailed her arms and legs wildly in effort to release herself from her captors hold. He leaned his face closer, and she could smell the ale off his breath. A shudder overcame her as his bristly beard scratched her face when his lips brushed over her cheek.

"Five…"

"Relax, sweetheart," he taunted in a slurred voice. "We get you out of here. Then you be all mine." Karla thrashed even harder, but his arm tightened, restricting her respiration and forcing her to ease her struggles.

"Six…"

The scream of Father Callar barely reached her ears before a blinding radiance burst into the room. She could not comprehend what he had said, but obviously, it had invited the luminosity into the chapel. As shock swept over the bandits, the grip on her was relieved, and she scrambled away.

"Seven…" his voice was stilly cocky but worn as well.

When the light faded, Karla blinked away the little specks dotting her vision. She picked up her sword once more. Sal was rolling on the floor, howling and clawing at his face in pain. Lael took advantage of this moment, and he dove his tip into the arm of one of the bandits, who was still disoriented from the magic attack.

"Eight…." he rasped.

In these moments, it is important to understand just how panicked Karla felt. She had lost control of her body and mind; only her instinct now ruled her actions. Her heart pumped so uncontrollably that she felt it would burst free of her ribcage. The current of her veins rushed at their own rapid pace, and she could scarcely force oxygen down into her lungs to calm her overwhelming nerves. Her legs were juddering, and her teeth clacked. She was clueless as to how she was supposed to act, and there was no notion of any appropriate action in her mind. It would take a miracle for her to survive this.

"Nine…" Lael gasped.

But there was no miracle. In fact, it was the very opposite. Lael was cornered; there were too many of him, and they were far too agile to be marked by the constant swings of his longsword. And Karla was doing nothing to stop it. Her own captor had abandoned her, and she did not even try to stop him as he surprised Lael by forcing his jagged sword edge through Lael's gut.

"Ten…"

Lael fell to his knees, and the lanky man jabbed him once more through the arm, reawakening his wound. The third and final remaining bandit joined in with a final stab through the heart, and Lael was gone.

She could not see. She could not breathe. She was not aware of anything but the way her sword savagely cut towards them. Her strikes were crude; most of what she had been taught slipped from her memory. She moved by her intuition.

At first, Karla missed, and their vulgar taunts rang in her ears. It was all a blur, but she no longer tripped over her own feet. She possessed a strength that she had never before realized. Suddenly, she understood that all those times in practice with Karel and Lael she had held back. Now, this was pure, unrestrained power, something she could not control as it overtook her body.

It terrified her, but she could not stop. Not until there was a loud cry that rang through the chapel as the bells would on a more peaceful day. Her blurred vision seemed to focus so that she could see the blood staining the tip of her sword. They had grown careless, and she had struck one of them down.

Father Callar released another one of his spells, and Karla recognized what his incantation was in time to shut her eyes and block it out.

Without warning, there was just one bewildered crook left, who turned and fled as his companion fell.

And the blood still dripped off the tip of her sword. It clashed to the floor, where it ran the river of mixed blood and was absorbed into the planks forever. The Sisters' wails grew louder; Father Callar sighed a breath of relief.

And Karla looked down at the man she had killed and sobbed. She knelt down to the ground, letting her nightgown sop up all the blood split that night. She had killed a man, taken his precious life from him. It was not by skill or strategy but by her rash outburst.

"No, no," she pleaded it not to be true. She used her hand to pull herself up, but then her hand covered itself in blood. She stared down at her red palm.. "I can't stay here."

"Child, a tragedy has come upon us this night, but you have only done what Elimine has sent you to do," Father Callar said. How could he be so calm? Didn't he understand? This place would forever haunt Karla. The floor was now tinted in a color that Karla helped bring upon.

"No," she bawled. She fled from the chapel and into the wilderness. Once again, the night claimed her as its own. She fought against it, struggling for that path she so desperately needed.

She needed a place to go, someone to follow, someone to trust, someone to watch over her.

If it killed her, Karla would find Karel.

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Author's Note: Holy crap. 6,504 words. Dang, I hope that didn't drag on or anything. Long chapter but very important to the story. And before you start preaching me on the horrors of plotholes and Lael, I promise you it has a purpose. However, these will be the last major OCs introduced for a loooong time. Karla just couldn't be magically wonderful with her skills; she needed a new teacher. Hence Lael. It also caused more heartbreak for Karla. Hopefully, I did something completely new when I set Karla in a Mission. Anyways, I'll stop rambling and just ask you dear readers to review!

Also, I'd like to advertise something in my forum. It's called the Circle of Reviewyness. If you are looking for people to review and leave some constructive comments on your stories, check out the topic. : )