AN: So where have I been? Hiding under a damp rock in the middle of nowhere.
Honestly.
Someone 13
Morgan chewed on her pencil, reading a text about deer hunting.
She was outside, underneath an apple tree with the songs of birds and insects all around her. She sat on a branch, her feet free of the odious red shoes the cobbler kept on putting on her. The sun was bright outside, shining down upon the free-hands rushing around for the very last of the preparations for the night time celebration. Honored guests, pompous asses, respected delegates and all of the more important people near Zexen were gathered at a special luncheon. There were some light sandwiches, silky gelatin, imported wine, and of course, beer on tap.
Normally, Morgan would feel the need to go mingle with the people. There was Lady Chris looking divine like the Goddess Sadi. Uncle Leo and Roland brought their children along, children who were near Morgan's age. Uncle Salome was there too, entertaining some of Miss Nina's retainers. Some of the squires, like Melville, Cassidy and Wesly bedazzled the crowds with the fruition of their privileged training. Even Lotty dressed up in a proper outfit. Morgan dreamed of being a knight and basking in the presence of princes and princesses; she would like nothing more to go watch like everyone else.
Morgan could not do as she pleased though. Papa's anger against her for picking fights did not seem to diminish in the last day so she was trying her hardest to avoid him. Then there was PJ, who seemed to have a vendetta against her. He had gone out of his way to annoy her. The bucket of flour over the door trick got him in hot water and another bruise on his head. Morgan still owed him another bruise for smearing her hand with cream while she was asleep then tickling her nose. Plotting her revenge took quality time though, and she knew better than to get caught.
"Hey Mud-face," said PJ the snot-nosed farm boy.
"Hello Pee of Jackasses," replied the snob Morgan in kind.
There was a refined amount of negative energy between the two as PJ came closer and closer.
"What are you doing?" PJ asked. "The party is back there!" He motioned with his ex-broken arm toward the general direction of the house.
"What do you care?" responded Morgan. "It's not like you want me to have fun."
PJ growled, almost forgetting his reason for coming all the way out here. He actually felt a little sorry for her, being picked on by no one other than himself and she was the one who got into trouble. Besides, it was boring here with Leo's serious children and Roland's timid elflings. There were other children, of course, but all of them were councilman's droll brats. He would rather roll in the mud with someone, which none of the city snobs would do. Morgan seemed like the only good sport around here, even if Pops told him that the snobby girl was off limits. "Lady Chris told me to come get you," he said as the excuse. Lying was easy when he had little sisters to practice it on.
"I don't believe you," said Morgan sweetly, perhaps seeing through the ruse.
"Just get your butt over there!" commanded PJ, his patience already going down.
"No! Stupid peasant boy!" yelled Morgan in contempt. It was that ass who landed her in solitary study.
PJ grabbed Morgan by the arm. "You spoiled brat! Yes you are coming!"
"Don't touch me!" yelled Morgan, trying to wiggle away.
"I'm bigger than you are," stated PJ, "I'll make you come!"
Morgan seethed. "Really? Prove it!"
PJ gave the girl a forceful pull. Morgan resisted by attempting to punch him in the stomach. That started a wrangling of two hot headed children. Both of them were soon on the ground, struggling to see who could pin the other on the bottom. At first, PJ had the upper hand since he was bigger and older than her by a year. He was careful to avoid the girl's punches and fended off her sharp kicks as they rolled around in the dirt. Then, without warning, they came upon a sudden change in slope. PJ lost his footing and fell, taking the girl along with him. They rolled down like two intertwined tumbleweeds all the way down to a large bush of thorns.
"Ow!" cried Morgan as the inch long thorns cut past her pretty clothes and into her tender legs and arms. She winced but bit her lips so she didn't cry from the pain; after all, a lady knight maiden would never cry over such a stupid thing as a thorn prick.
PJ was stabbed by the thorns; his thick pants and shirt preventing many direct cuts. Fortunately for him, he landed on something soft.
And that something was glaring daggers into him. "Get off of me, you prick!" Morgan commanded through her teeth.
PJ scowled as much as a child like him could, but got off of her. He kept his head down and covered his bare neck with a hand then staggered backward to escape the bush.
Morgan was still in the bush, feeling indignant, embarrassed, and above all, mad. She struggled to get out of the thorn bush as fast as she could without cutting herself even more. Direct struggling out of the bush was out of the question. That meant she would need someone to pull some of the thorns aside.
"Well," Morgan uttered in her bossy voice, still laying there, remembering Ra's seemingly random lessons. "Don't just sit there! Help me out!"
"I'm coming!" said PJ, still scowling. He fumbled with his pockets and produced a small battle knife to hack away the thorns.
Finally, after about five minutes of struggling, the Morgan finally got herself away from the thorn bush. Once she felt that she had limped a good distance away from the thorns, she sat down and took a survey of her cuts.
PJ watched sullenly as Morgan began to pick out the short splinters in her exposed arms and legs. Some parts of her clothes looked like they went through the cheese grater. She grumbled all the while, and occasionally took a sharp breath when bumping into an embedded thorn. PJ knew he was in for it now; he would be shoveling manure with a spoon for the rest of his life. She started it all, he reasoned.
"Why aren't you crying?" asked PJ suddenly. Normally, girls would cry even if they only fell on the ground. This girl never cried.
Morgan looked at him as if he was talking about the apocalypse. "What?"
"Girls cry, boys don't. My sisters cry even when I didn't do anything to them," said PJ matter-of-factly. Then he faked a horrified expression. "You aren't hiding any balls down there, are you?"
That earned PJ a smack on the cheeks that was harder than the ones his own mother could dish out.
"I hate you!" declared Morgan. "Just leave me alone!"
"Sure!" said PJ. Then irrationally, he stumped away.
That left Morgan by herself. She took in deep breaths, trying hard not to cry but still wanting to nonetheless. Ra left her alone with all these strangers. Lotty was busy elsewhere. The other children her age played mean pranks on her. Worst of all, Papa probably wanted to disown her for getting into so much trouble, for being all un-lady-like. All of a sudden, she felt like running away. Who cared about becoming a Lady Knight anyways? The only Lady Knight people ever took notice of was Lady Chris. Morgan knew she would be married off to some guildsman's ugly offspring someday so why should she bother having dreams?
She kept on picking out the thorns with those thoughts in her head. Thinking kept her mind off the pain. There were many deep splinters and a few bled. Morgan was not worried though since her younger days when she scuffed herself from climbing trees and falling down some of the stairs. In fact, this was not the first time she fell headlong into a bush of thorns. During those days, Virgil was far from sympathetic, her previous governess even less. Thus the blood hardly alarmed her. However, one of the cuts from a removed thorn in the inside of her arm refused to stop bleeding. Morgan put pressure on it, remembering another lesson from Ra.
After a few moments, Morgan was beginning to panic. The bleeding from that one cut did not want to stop. If she did not press hard, the wound bled and sometimes squirted. Morgan took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Her mind raced. She would have to go back into the manor and look for an adult.
Getting onto her feet, she felt extremely dizzy and her legs shook. Her vision was blotted by white spots and every object seemed to be blurred by a fine watermark. It was an almost psychedelic experience, to see the world softened by a phantom mist. For a brief moment, she wanted to sit back down until the dizziness passed. Then it came to mind that she really should get back. She was not about to let PJ get away without a suitable payback.
She stumbled to the manor, careful not to make herself too ostentatious or she might get into trouble again. She first looked for a random rag that looked somewhat clean and tied it tight just above the cut. Ra had specifically instructed that she must never use something that looked dirty on any wound. Just as she tidied the cut, she appealed to a random free-hand who happened by.
"Excuse me, your honor," she said, making sure to be polite. "Can you help me find a mender?"
The sweaty free-hand glared at the girl. "I don't recall Lord Redrum inviting ragamuffins."
Typically, that would have caused the man some amount of pain, but Morgan's head was hurting so badly that she could not think of a proper retort.
"Hey Lys!" yelled someone from a distance away. "Come help me with this!"
"Coming Onen." A furry fellow glared at the little girl. "What's an urchin doing here?"
"Probably to beg," snorted Lys. "Look at her! She doesn't even have shoes."
Both men went away, leaving Morgan shaking in both anger and weakness. Lys and Onen...she shall remember those names. She would tell on them and Papa would make them do women's laundry work for the squires at the Service Academy forever!
Oh! I feel sleepy… thought Morgan, kneeling down again. Her limbs felt numb and she could only see a world of white. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she could hear it in her ears. The knot was not tight enough, and it started to bleed again.
"Someone help me!" she cried.
Some freemen turned, but Onen and Lys were there to tell them to get back to work.
"But Goodman Onen," said one of the young maids, concern written all over her face.
"It's only one of the orphans," said Lys, yawning. "Come on, we don't allow any lazy asses to come beg for hand out."
"Please! I need help!" she pleaded as she had so rarely done before. Then no one seemed to react to her. For once she could remember since she was very small, she cried in self pity.
Furry Onen, with his face full of bushy beard snorted. He picked up a stick, approaching the girl. "Get off Lord Redrum's property!"
Onen took a few steps toward the girl, fully intending to bash the girl off private grounds. As the stick went close to Morgan, she fell forward to her knees, her legs no longer capable of supporting her. She closed her eyes, unable to see anything. There was a strange roar in her ear that refused to go away.
Onen was about to take another swing when he was interrupted.
"Halt, men!" came a crisp order.
A fabulous lady wearing a conservative complete silver dress came quickly pacing over to the little girl. Her awesome presence emitted beauty, precision, authority and power. Even the blind could recognize her. Each spectator stopped their task, too memorized by the glowing Goddess in their midst.
Chris glared at the surrounding men, angered at the lack of charity among the people. Beside her, wearing a foreign dress was Nina. She wore a stoic face, finding the troubled child nothing more than a failure of society.
"Morgan!" called Chris, her arched white brows knotted in concern, her long gown fluttering along the floor.
"Lady Chris, can you help me find a mender?" she asked bravely, sniffing loudly.
"Never mind that," snapped Chris as her white silk gloved right hand glowed. The runic shape of a water well appeared before Morgan.
Morgan herself glowed also, in a purifying cool blue light. She could not help but hold out her hands, basking in awe of this healing aura. The cuts on her sealed, leaving no trace of injury. "Wow!" exclaimed Morgan happily, feeling suddenly better than ever before. She reached up and touched the fading runic shape of water well just above Lady Chris's hand "What is this? It looks like a water rune...but more powerful, like Ra's little shell thing on his left hand."
Lady Chris ignored the child's question. "Are you alright, Morgan?" she asked.
Morgan untied the clothes and examined the cut. Nothing was spurting out anymore. "Yes I am!"
"Then I am glad," said Chris. "Where is your father?"
"Papa? He's inside talking to big people," said Morgan, then she whispered. "Please don't tell him what happened. I think he's still mad at me."
Chris looked at the girl's embarrassed expression, and smiled. "I'm sure he isn't mad at you. In fact, he was looking for you."
"Oh really?" asked Morgan sweetly, her hands clasped together in happy anticipation. "Then I'll go find Papa now...after I go get PJ and those two meanies in trouble!" With that, she ran off as if nothing had gone wrong.
"Cute," said Nina simply. Her days spent in Vinay had allowed her to gradually say small phrases. Nina had remained just as stiff as the day she had arrived.
"She is, isn't she?" said Chris with pleasure. "So energetic, innocent and...happy."
Nina gave Chris a questioning stare.
Chris smiled almost bitterly. "You don't understand a word I say, do you? No matter. How I wish I could truly be a part of her life, but she doesn't seemed to be in want of a mother. I guess that was my folly, to give her away."
At that, Nina raised an eyebrow.
"Let's go back," said Chris, looking at Morgan's disappearing shadow, a faint disappointed look on her porcelain face. "The guildsmen are arriving."
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Alexey strapped the sac seat onto a wild Mentor. The large insect struggled momentarily, not used to having the disdained saddle on its back. It made ticking sounds of protest, and its scythe-like mandibles snapped at the human threateningly.
"Still," Alexey hissed a soft voice that carried a world of threats. Although it had been ages since he had ridden a mentor, he had not forgotten how to calm them.
The wild mentor shifted, allowing the sac saddle to settle snuggly on its back. It looked over to the hundreds of other mentors, chittering obediently to their masters. Beside their masters were elegantly dressed Temple Guards, soldiers who swore their allegiance and loyalty to the church. Those Temple Guards, wearing their fabulous blue, black and silver uniforms, were all solemn-faced. Ahead, at front was an imposing man of fine blonde hair and dark blue eyes whom Alexey recognized as the Colonel from before. Next to him was a dark haired Le Buque native. The two exchanged words, and from the looks of their expression, there seemed to be some disagreement.
"Excuse me," called Alexey to a nearby Temple Guard. "Who are those up front?"
The Temple Guard, a man named Thaddus, replied. "That's Lieutenant Colonel Silvesti and the Le Buque Governor Franz."
"I see. Where are we going?"
Thaddus gave him a look. "Were you asleep when they briefed us this morning?"
Alexey made a nervous smile, a little embarrassed. "I wasn't paying much attention and had to be shocked awake."
Thaddus laughed. "Ha. Don't worry about it. Silvesti is one of the worst orators in history; I was almost put to sleep too. Anyways, we are being summoned home, back to Crystal Valley for some mission." He dropped his voice. "They say that an assassin is plotting to kill off Bishop Mitchel and even the Priest General Sasarai."
"What?" exclaimed Alexey. "Assassination?"
"Yes, and keep your voice down. It's supposed to be a rumor," said Thaddus. "Personally, I don't care if Mitchel falls off the face of the earth. But Sasarai...I would do anything to protect Lord Sasarai."
"Why is that?" asked Alexey in a whisper also.
Thaddus looked critically at Alexey. "You're first-class, aren't you?"
Alexey looked down, nodded a bit shamefully. "Is it that obvious?"
"No. I'm just guessing in the dark. Anyways, I don't know how much Lord Sasarai appears to the first-class, but he had always been gentle to us lesser classes. In fact, I'm a Sanadian. We couldn't have been promoted to second-class without Lord Sasarai's help. Too bad he fell ill when they were doing the review on Le Buque..."
To that, Alexey said nothing more. He inwardly disapproved of such personal loyalty within the Temple Guards. They were supposed to be the sword and shield of the priesthood, upholding the integrity and teachings of the church…though the person of loyal target was most appropriate. Not only had Sasarai successfully survived the Harmonia political playground, he also infected the hearts of what was supposes to be the most disciplined of the Harmonian Military.
"More than one method to ensure your survival," murmured Alexey to himself, crossing his arms, calm settling over him again.
Since the return from the Insect Handler's Alter, Alexey had submerged himself into the ranks of the Temple Guards who were gathering here for the ride back to crystal Valley. Some guards raised eyebrows at this new stranger among their ranks though most shrugged this one off as one of the many faces in the crowd. Alexey, after all, was gifted with an everyday face. Without that characteristic red head-band he sported in his youth, his plain face became a forgettable one.
"Hello, my dear," purred Jeane who sauntered over next to Alexey. She wore a modified uniform of the Harmonian Temple Guards, with precise cuts in some of the most revealing places. Her charm rune happily glowed, as if trying to avoid too many questions. "What do you think?" she posed.
"You can easily be the most elegant and expensive harlot I have ever seen," said Alexey evenly.
Jeane only giggled at that. "Such flattering words..." her staff glowed ominously. "I should rightfully reward you as such."
"And I, you, also, for nearly killing some members of the 12th Unit," offered Alexey just as coolly.
"It was your misjudgment in Caleria that lead them here," explained Jeane offhandedly. "Besides, Jacques was there." She laughed. "Still can't believe that he could stop my magic."
"Geddoe isn't as much of an idiot as you think. As for Jacques Tricrox, he passed his Temple Guardsmen training, physical and written, with flying colors. It's natural for him to disable powerful magic."
"So they have him run a fool's errand as a watch dog? What an ingenious waste of talent."
Alexey laughed. "Such criticism. Would you like a job within the church to rectify such waste? I can have it arranged. It would be an interesting novelty, even for you."
"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Jeane.
"Of course. Now, stop concentrating magic into your staff. It's making others nervous."
"This is my warning to you," threatened Jeane in a singsong manner. "Not to the others."
"Then let me ask you this. Will you pit a demi-god against a true god?"
"Humph!" growled Jeane, insulted but also humbled by the statement. The Rune of Punishment was considered weak by those who knew the existence of other True Rune like the Sun Rune. The pathetic True Rune never destroyed an entire nation or committed a ten day holocaust. But the Rune of Punishment was still a True Rune, an inanimate God that was said to have equal power to its twenty-six brethrens. Jeane had to remember that the degree of power was dependant on the bearer. "Are you always this bold?"
"It's Alexey's personality. It frightens the weaker priests and their toadies. Some thinks its a way to Alexey's own downfall." the holder of the True Rune explained as if trying to apologize for his presumptuous dare. "Most get the hint and tread lightly around him."
"Are you ever yourself?"
Alexey laughed mysteriously "You can answer that question."
Departure from Le Buque to Crystal Valley took place approximately two hours later. It took time to find willing Mentors to transport complete strangers on their backs. With Silvesti and Franz at command, the six-hundred strong mixed group of Temple Guards, magicians, and supporting militia took off.
In a certain part of the village, Jacques fingered the silver ring silently as he watched the swarm of bugs gather like clouds in the sky. His sharp eyes picked out, among the hundreds, the particular people who could change fundamental structures of Harmonia in a matter of days.
Then he looked down, at the small hut where Geddoe was recovering from the fight. At that, Jacques propped his chin on his palm and elbow on his knee, thinking. Sooner or later, he would have to confess to his unit about his own connections to Harmonia. He would have to tell his captain of the past decade that he, Jacques was acting under one single order. The sharpshooter's loyalty was far from the principles of a mercenary, but closer to a self-righteousness of a temple guard, the private army of the Harmonian priesthood. An order was an order, and his Temple trainings taught the strictest control over such petty emotions as guilt.
He thought back on the day he accepted the order. His family had thought him mad, to give up first-class privileges for nights spent in the mud, sleeping with common beasts. He could not just out right tell them that he wanted no part of the corrupt Party system. At least with his order, he did not have to fear backstabbing from his own siblings, as had happened with some first-class citizens.
Jacques laughed ironically and shut his eyes. He had left that life so long ago that he could never go truly go back. Meandering through the lands like a vagabond with Geddoe had proven to be a satisfying life. Geddoe was a good captain, his decisions were wise and he always acted for the good of the unit. There was also fun, watching the dalliance between Ace and Joker. The eternally cool and handsome Queen was a beauty to behold. Aila's fiery temper was actually a bit charming. However, with the appearance of the presumed-dead-bishop, there were orders from Harmonia, commands that he would not ignore.
"Remember that you swear fealty to Harmonia," Bishop Alexander used to say. Though his training was deadly at times, the temples guards produced under him were guaranteed to be the cream of the crop. "You must always be willing to backstab those of most value to you should Harmonia benefit from such treachery."
"What if it's a priest?" someone from the small crowd of students asked. "Even if we are assigned to you?"
Alexander's lips curved into his chilling grin, like a sadistic child toying with a twitching worm. The man who asked the question took a step back. "Alexey" was kind and gentle to a select few, but Alexander was truly ruthless.
"Then you must try very hard to kill me."
Of course there were some who tried to test that command. A few even took that command as permission to assassinate the beloved bishop. Jacques had the chance to witness Alexander cutting a commissioned assassin from crotch to neck, taking care to sever the head cleanly. The Arch Bishop did not even blink as the head rolled; he cleaned his hidden dagger, a one piece blade without any embellishments, with a plain brown handkerchief. "Please pickle and preserve the head." he had said to a dumbfounded porter, tucking the dagger back into his cumbersome priest robes. Jacques remembered how imperturbable the bishop was. "I think it's about time Lord Mitchel received that long overdue gift."
Jacques felt a particular chill while he recalled that memory. It was hard to realize that he could have almost perished for his brash demands. "The Father will protect me because I am faithful," muttered Jacques, reciting a commonly known litany. "He will open the gates of heaven for me, and his angels will protect me in all my ways." He said it a few more times until he felt steady enough. It was about time he returned to his observation.