In this chapter there's description of the iris gem which shows Heldalf trying to kill himself over and over, so suicide TW for that. I prooobably went overboard.
This chapter's kind of all over the place ... but hopefully that makes it exciting rather than confusing.
Sooner or later, and no matter how much she tried to avoid it, Rose always seemed to end up in Pendrago.
They hadn't found any Earthen Historia in over a month. At the start of their search, in an apparent stroke of luck they'd found a few in quick succession—if it could even be called lucky, seeing so much horror. Rose was used to blood, used to death, but she wasn't quite used to grotesque hellion babies. That image had certainly kept her up at night.
But as soon as summer officially arrived, the roll they'd been on abruptly stopped, and being a big city, Pendrago seemed the best bet for finding clues.
They'd arrived in the morning, and though the weather was nice, the city seemed subdued. Meeting Sergei Strelka, they'd quickly found out why: a serial killer was on the loose, and the death toll had already reached 14. Everyone was on their toes.
Sorey thought the one behind the murders could very well be a hellion—the killer in Lastonbell had been one, after all—so with Sergei's approval, they were gonna check it out.
What was with Rolance and nightly serial killers, anyway? Hyland never seemed to have such problems.
There was nothing to do but wait for nightfall. Rose would've loved to have gone out with the others, but she had to lie low, what with knights prowling every street. Every time they met Sergei Strelka she had her heart in her throat, waiting for him or one of his subordinates to recognize her, but they never did. Maybe they thought the Shepherd would never keep company with the likes of a prince killer. Still, it was best to keep her head down.
She sat on a hard sofa in the inn's common room, beside the hearth. She wasn't alone, with Edna curled up like a cat in the armchair beside her, eyes closed, but she may as well have been since the earth seraph gave one-word answers to any attempts at conversation.
There was only so much sitting around she could take until she went loony. She tried reading a book, selecting one with a series of adventure stories, but her eyes glazed over before she'd read even half a page.
The only thing left to do was people-watch, but as dead as it was at this time in the afternoon, the only people around were two servers, one scrubbing tables and the other sweeping floors. At this point, she was beginning to envy them for having something to do.
A broad figure in a dark hood ducked in, and Rose watched him with interest. He slowly scanned the room, and when he peered at Rose she jumped up, starling Edna out of her reverie.
"What in Maotelus's name are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, boss." Eguille smiled at her uneasily, like he wasn't sure what she was going to do. After another quick look around the room, he removed his hood. "Are you staying here?"
"Leeet's go to my room," Rose said, heading for the stairs. Edna watched their departure expressionlessly, and when Rose glanced back once she'd reached the top, Edna's eyes were closed once more.
After Rose shut the door behind Eguille, she pressed her ear against it, listening to a count of sixty. No movement—good.
When she turned to face him, she was unsure of what she felt more: unease or gladness. She'd given him, and everyone else, strict orders to never go to Pendrago. It was just way too dangerous to risk. And unlike some other people she could name, it wasn't like Eguille to disobey a direct order.
Something must be up.
She sat at the end of her bed—first checking that no one was hiding under it, just in case—then motioned for him to sit beside her. There may have been no one at the door when she'd checked, but she still kept her voice low. "So?"
"We've been offered a new job. Cedric Velarion."
Rose blew a low whistle through her teeth. Cedric Velarion was the general of Rolance's army. "Who made the request?"
"We tracked it down to Julian Alflatt."
Her eyes widened. "You sure?"
"Absolutely positive."
Well. Julian Alflatt was one of the most powerful lords in Rolance, second only to the king himself. Word had it that ever since Cardinal Forton's death, Alflatt had only extended his influence—clearly, his aim was the throne. But how did getting rid of Velarion help him?
Not that it mattered. "Cedric Velarion deserves judgment for his crimes," she finally said. "But we won't be the ones to dole it out to him. It's far too risky."
Eguille nodded. "I thought you'd say that." He paused, frowning. "There's was one other thing. Lunarre—"
Fuck! She'd completely forgotten him. Her words came out in a rush. "Where is he—do you know?"
"I was hoping you'd be able to tell me that," he said with a short laugh. "We haven't seen him for close to three months, now."
And it had been about three months since he'd betrayed them, she noted grimly. Her eyes hardened. "If you ever see him again, kill him immediately. That's an order. Tell everyone else, too."
Eguille's mouth fell open. "Boss?"
"He ... let's just say he betrayed us." It would take too much time to explain hellions, and even so, she doubted he'd believe her. "He's allied himself with enemies of the Scattered Bones, and of the Shepherd. Which, by the way, makes it doubly dangerous for you to be here," she pointedly added.
He smiled. "I'll be careful, boss."
She smiled back, if weakly. Maybe there wasn't much to worry about on that front—Eguille had been the one to teach her most of what she knew about stealth. Even for a big man, if Eguille didn't want to be seen, he wasn't. He blended into crowds and darkness alike.
They talked for the rest of the afternoon, and well into the evening, too. They talked of normal things—plans for fall stock, prices, security measures. How everyone was doing. The Sparrowfeathers had set up camp about ten miles from Pendrago, in a thicket at the edge of a farmer's field.
The normalcy of their conversation refreshed her; for once, she didn't have to worry about the fate of the world. But it also made her realize that she missed the Sparrowfeathers even more than she'd thought. When the time came for Eguille to leave, she almost got to the point of begging him to stay a little longer.
No matter how much she or Sorey offered to buy him supper, Eguille insisted he leave, saying he wanted to be back at camp before nightfall. Rose supposed she could see the sense in that, even if she didn't like it. But just before he left, he took her aside.
"You doing okay, Boss? The Shepherd's treating you right?"
"Of course," she said. "What makes you think otherwise?"
"Ah, just wondering," he said. He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess that means you won't be coming back with me, then."
She pursed her lips in an attempt at a smile. "I'm sure you can cope without me for a little longer."
He nodded. "Of course. It's not the same without you around, but we'll survive."
Rose stared at the door for some time after he left. She'd been too busy the past few months to spare more than a passing thought of the Sparrowfeathers, but now ...
After dark, everyone left the inn. A curfew had been imposed on Pendrago, so the only ones out on the streets were them and the Platinum Knights. Street lamps cast long shadows on the cobblestones, leaving the alleyways completely dark. Rose eyed them uneasily whenever they passed, but nothing ever jumped out.
Lailah shuddered. "It's so creepy. It feels like something could pop out at me at any moment."
"Assuming the killer's able to see you, anyway," Rose said.
Mikleo grimaced. "If it's a hellion, it'll almost certainly be able to."
"But there's no guarantee that it is," Rose retorted, feeling contrary.
"How could a serial killer not be a hellion?" Edna asked, giving her a sidelong glance from under her parasol. Even in the dark of night, Edna had it up.
She had no answer for that.
From what they'd heard from Sergei, there was no connection between the murders. None that could be made yet, anyway. But after 14 murders, if there were a common denominator, surely it would've been found by now. A hellion, killing indiscriminately—that's what it looked like.
But even if she had no real reason to believe otherwise, Rose still had a bad feeling about it.
A scream shattered the calm. West, toward—the shrinechurch? Rose was running before she knew it, feet pounding the cobblestones, and she heard the others quick behind her.
In front of the open doors knelt Sergei, gently speaking to a woman sprawled on the steps. The candlelight from within painted the blood pooling around her a deep red.
Sweat beaded Sergei's forehead, and his gauntlets were black with blood. "They're inside the church," he told Sorey, his voice quavering.
Sorey looked to Lailah, but she shook her head solemnly. "That woman is beyond the reach of your powers."
He sighed. "All right. Let's go."
Why the church? Rose wondered. Sure, the place was big and full of hiding places, but as far as she knew, there was only one entrance. You couldn't hide forever.
But all thoughts of the coming search fled as they entered the chapel. A lone priest stood in a pool of red, bodies all around him, bright blood staining his white robes and hands. He gripped a bloody, dripping dagger. His lip curled into a bloodless smile.
Worst of all, Rose couldn't sense even a bit of malevolence coming from him.
"Father Amethor!" Sorey stopped short, his eyes darting around the scene before them. "You—tell me you didn't—"
"I did," Amethor said simply.
Sorey's hands knotted into fists. "But why?"
"You of all people should understand," Amethor said, raising his brow. He gestured all around him with his dagger. "These pathetic, whining creatures—always complaining of others, but never sparing a thought for their own folly. They are what's wrong with this world. They are the reason there is so much malevolence." He smiled. "So I disposed of them."
Rose's eyes narrowed. All those people, lives cut short for—what? Some quack priest's rotten sense of righteousness?
Sorey said quietly, "Lailah, is he ... ?"
"No." She said it wonderingly, her forehead creased. "He is not a hellion."
"Of course I'm not," Amethor scoffed. He stared directly at Lailah. "I am doing God's own work, am I not?"
Mikleo frowned. "You can see us?"
"Indeed, it was one of your brethren who charged me to undertake this task. Her attire may not have been what I would have expected from a seraph, but—" He stopped short, surveying them, chin held high. "I wonder that you do not seem to see things the same way."
Rose's fists clenched at his haughty, holier-than-thou look. She'd been condescended to many a time in her life, but this was the first time she'd had it done by a wacky, serial-murdering prig.
"What was her name?" Dezel suddenly said. "The seraph who commissioned you."
"She never did trouble herself with giving me her name," Amethor said sadly.
Dezel let out an angry huff. "Did she have dark hair, pale skin, a baton, wearing only a vest and—"
"You seem to know her." Amethor took a step forward, his eyes glowing with fervour. "Is she not so regal, so magnificent? The way her soft voice tinkles like bells, and—"
"Father!" Sergei burst into the church, a squad of knights behind him. He stopped short of the carnage, face white. "What is the meaning of this?" He saw the dagger in Amethor's grip. "Don't tell me you—!"
"Behold, Captain." Amethor gestured with a flourish, his smug façade on display. "The fruits of my labours. Those who salvation has forsaken."
"You can't say that," Rose blurted out. She'd had enough. Anger flushed through her body, and she spoke louder, so her words echoed throughout the sanctuary. "How would you know that? Who are you, to say who salvation forsakes and who it doesn't?"
Amethor snorted. "I do not randomly kill, girl. I always watch my targets beforehand, to discern whether or not they can be saved, just as I was commissioned."
"Why, you're no better than an assassin!" Sergei said.
"An assassin?" Amethor's mouth twisted. "I do not kill for money—I kill for God. Not like those pathetic Scattered Bones, whom I hear kill for their own wicked sense of self-righteousness, but for the almighty righteousness of the one who created all."
"You, better than them?" Rose's voice shook. Mikleo gave her a sharp look, but she ignored him. "They kill people with power—people who misuse their power to make others suffer. All you're doing is killing random people who don't affect anything, one way or another."
Amethor looked away from her, shaking his head and smirking as if laughing at a private joke. "Foolish girl. There are powers beyond those which you can see."
Sergei shook his head as well. "Either way, assassins or Amethor, they're relying on their own personal sense of justice rather than the common rule of law, and therefore are wrong."
"The law can't reach everyone," Rose retorted hotly. "Not in this society."
He bowed his head. "At that, you are right. But that's what I'm trying to change."
Before Rose could make a scathing reply, a heavy hand rested on her shoulder, stopping her. "Rose," Dezel said, voice soft. "That's enough." When she said nothing, he let his hand drop.
Rose stared sullenly at the floor. She knew she'd said enough, but he didn't need to rub it in.
The knights took Father Amethor away, then began to clean up the carnage. Sorey offered to help, but they declined him. Rose watched them work, wrapping up the corpses, mopping the blood off the floor, and fumed about what Sergei had said. The Scattered Bones were different from that serial killing maniac—they were.
"What's that?" Edna suddenly said. She pointed toward the left side of the pews where, in the centre of the first row, was the unmistakable glint of a green iris gem.
Sorey's forehead creased. "How ... ?"
"I could've sworn I looked in that direction earlier, but didn't see anything," Mikleo said musingly.
Sorey walked over and picked it up. "Guess it doesn't really matter how it got here so long as we have it now, right?"
"I beg to differ," Mikleo said dryly. "But for now, we should glean what we can from the contents."
Sorey nodded. "Let's go outside."
They huddled, shoulder-to-shoulder, in an alcove in the shrinechurch's courtyard. Rose couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of her gut. She wasn't sure if it was in anticipation of what they were about to see or what they'd already seen tonight, but whatever it was, it made her antsy. She resisted the urge to tap her feet as everyone assembled.
"Everyone ready?"
They each touched the gem. Sorey put power into it, and for a moment, it brightly glowed.
Then everything went black.
The general sat on a chair placed seemingly randomly in the middle of a messy room. It looked as if a twister had gone through—tables upturned, papers strewn everywhere, black and red ink blotching the walls. The only calm in the room was the general, his face stony, his eyes distant. Or at least, he seemed calm until Rose noticed him fingering the sheathed dagger at his waist.
In one fluid movement he pulled his dagger out and rammed it through his stomach, through his ribs and into his heart. If Rose had the capacity to gasp, she would have.
Blood gushed from the wound, soaking his clothes, soaking the papers on the white marble floor. With a grunt he twisted the dagger; blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He hung limp.
For an eternity, he stared at the floor. Rose desperately wanted to look away. An impossible amount of blood pooled around him in a steady flow—more than anyone could lose without dying—but his chest still heaved.
He raised his head. Pale-faced, he started at his bleeding chest in disbelief. With a pained hiss he pulled the dagger out, and though more blood gushed forth, he did not die.
His face contorted. Snarling, he stabbed himself over and over again, retching with each strike. But no matter how tattered his torso became, no matter how much he bled, he did not die.
Thus began a series of suicide attempts. He hanged himself until his face turned blue and his eyes bulged, but no matter how long his lungs went deprived of air, he did not die. He jumped from the city wall to the cobblestone street below, but no matter how much he screamed in pain when the bones in his legs shattered, but he did not die. He set fire to his bedsheets, but no matter how long he burned, he did not die. Though he coughed up black tar after he swallowed poison, he did not die. He let his head sink beneath the water in his bath, but no matter how much water filled his lungs, he did not die.
In the end, the general sat in the same room he'd stabbed himself, but this time, the room was tidy. He held his head in his hands, weeping openly.
Rose returned to the present with a jolt. Legs wobbly, she sat down on the cold cobblestones, and everyone followed suit, looking just as stricken as she felt.
No one said anything for the longest time. Rose had seen so many deaths, been the cause of so many deaths, but this … this was something new.
Sorey shakily brought his hand to his forehead. His voice, breathy and barely above a whisper, shook. "He was so determined to end his own life. I just keep thinking of that. So determined, but … why? Why?"
"He'd lost his family, his friends, his soldiers, his servants—everyone he'd loved. His own child had been turned into a monster." Rose swallowed, thinking of Konan's betrayal. What happened to her wasn't even close to what had happened to the general, but still, she thought she could relate. "If the same ever happened to me ... I can't say I'd do the same, but I'd definitely do something drastic."
"But why didn't he die?" Sorey persisted. "No matter how many times he tried, he just got up again and again."
"I imagine it was part of his curse," Mikleo said. The way he stared at his feet, jaw clenched, belied his calm look. "The one that turned his baby into a hellion."
Sorey let out a thick breath. "No matter how horrible the things he's done in his life, he could never deserve to have something like that happen to him. Never." He'd said that every time after something horrible happened to the general. At this point, Rose was honestly beginning to agree.
Dezel snorted. "He was a coward," he said, voice hard. "Only a coward tries to take the easy way out. And for him, that applies a hundredfold."
Rose could have punched him. Instead, she glared at him. "Can't you have just a little compassion?"
He continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "If you lose everything, you just have to accept it and move on. You keep going. Otherwise, your life until that point's just been a waste."
She turned away from him, disgusted. She didn't know why she ever bothered with him.
Abruptly she realized where they were. The courtyard. She gasped, clutching her stomach, suddenly feeling like she was gonna hurl as a wave of cold dread washed over her.
She remembered everything, as if she'd been transported back to that night. One moment, a flash, and suddenly her body wasn't her own. It moved of its own accord with sickening familiarity, conjuring power, and she couldn't stop it. She needed to scream, but not even her mouth did what she wanted. Dezel.
She regained control for a moment, but it was too late. Malevolence swallowed her whole. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She only had awareness enough for the revolting pain of malevolence, drowning in an unending moment of searing numbness. Dimly aware of her current surroundings, she doubled over, shaking with heaving breaths.
"Rose?" Lailah was suddenly at her side, pulling her into the real world. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said, voice tight from the constriction of her throat. She dug her fingernails into her palms. "I'm fine."
Sorey, on her other side. "Like hell you are!" His cursing was a measure of how alarmed he was. "What can we do for you?" He tried to gently take her arm, but she automatically yanked away from him. "Rose!"
So cold. I'm so numb.
"Let's get back to the inn," she heard Dezel say. "Standing in the middle of a cold, dark street isn't doing anyone good."
Bastard. He knew what was up—of course he did. For it to be him, of all people, to be the only one to understand what she needed ...
"I could use some sleep," she said faintly. Without consulting anyone else she ambled out of the courtyard, and she thanked all the gods she didn't believe in that the others wordlessly followed.
She kept herself tightly wound the entire walk back, giving such short answers to the others' questions that they all but gave up halfway there. As crummy as she felt for making them worry, she just couldn't talk. She couldn't.
Once they reached the inn, she shook them off, heading straight for her room. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. Waiting.
For what?
Letting out that first shaking sigh was like severing the taut rope between herself and her sanity. Sobbing, she sunk to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself as if that would make her body feel like it belonged to her.
She stayed there for a while, even after she stopped shaking, or after her cheeks dried.
She thought she'd been healing. Sometimes—sometimes, sometimes, only sometimes—she'd been sorta okay with being around Dezel. Maybe it was because she'd almost forgotten what he'd done.
But she couldn't let herself forget.
With a singular purpose in mind, she rummaged through her pack and pulled out the bundle of satora leaves Dezel had given her all those weeks ago. He'd replenished it back in Plitzerback Wetland, embarrassedly dumping it on her then swiftly departing. She supposed he meant it all as an apology, but she knew the worth of apologies.
The window made not a sound as she opened it. Without hesitation she upturned the contents of the bundle, watching the leaves scatter across the street as the wind carried them. Her only regret, as she settled into bed, was that she could've made a small fortune from selling them instead of chucking them, but the deed was done.
:))))))
Just an FYI, but you should definitely look forward to the next chapter. Some ... realizations ... are to be had. I'm gonna try to get it out before NaNoWriMo, but no promises.