25/ Terror ExeMPLAR
On the Mission's stone steps overlooking the plaza, bustling with almost-lunchtime foot traffic, I scratch my head after a confusing phone call. The plan was to beg Father Phahn for any information he had about the Dead Apostle but I had no way of contacting him. Moreover, the church acting as the new Holy Grail War operations headquarters will be absent of detectable bounded fields or wards. The overseer's base of operations is neutral ground that shelters retired Masters. The Mission? No wards outside, but we do have holy defenses around our relics and the altar.
I called Tolosa's Parks and Rec department. We've been working together for years and this has nothing to do with the Holy Grail War — but I got the bureaucratic run-around anyway. Thank you for your time, best of luck, now to try the mayor's office. Her personal assistant asked if I had an appointment and when I tried to explain who I was, well, she told me her boss told her to tell anyone from the Mission it was out of our hands. That hurt a little less than the response from Parks and Rec.
The former mayor was more than happy to work with the Mission; her office offered a high level of administrative assistance and impartial oversight for the project. There was tension, of course. Event management is never smooth sailing, but the Church and the city had a mutual goal — minimize damage. Two years ago, she lost her bid for reelection and we introduced the Grail War to the current mayor. Don't get me wrong, the new mayor is nice. Everyone says so. But when your platform is local climate change response reform and community inclusivity, yet you end up unwittingly inheriting the planning committees for a Church-run secret war fought by magi using heroes drawn from the well of human culture, well. . . . We went into that meeting with many brightly colored charts. Cherry congratulated the new mayor, complimented the flower threaded in her hair, and then told her point-blank there was the equivalent to a nuclear bomb underneath the city and she could either let it explode or let us handle it. We knew we lost her when she was more interested in Cherry's arborist background than how prompt channels of communication between the ground team, Tolosa airport, and the nearby military base was paramount, especially if the Caster Servant was a summoner. Hard not to be in denial, coming off the high of winning a mayoral election. At the end, she decided her office would have minimal involvement in the Grail War and delegated decision-making roles to the senior career bureaucrats we had been dealing with before. Cherry smiled when we got the news. Had that been the goal all along? She did look at me funny. The mayor, not Cherry; like she wanted to protest my involvement with all her heart. A teenager shouldn't be involved in the planning of this — this deathmatch! Something like that. But she didn't say anything. I wonder why.
With my Hail Mary having failed, I called Mr. Kars' personal number. He said that I shouldn't have called him and couldn't help me before tapping the back of his phone with his fingernail twice. Tump. Tump. Right, so Father Phahn tapped the line. I was trying to figure out how to send a coded message when,
"When this is all over, we should go surfing, again at Isla Vista. We'll grab a slice afterwards, buddy."
But Mr. Kars doesn't surf and I've tried surfing once but Mr. Kars doesn't know that, so, "That sounds great, good luck with everything."
Hang up. Google maps. A church that's close to a surf shop and a pizza place. Two hits. First, there's a Central Coast surf shop franchise next to Giuseppe's. The church closest to that is the Mission. There's a Seventh Day Adventist church opposite to a California Pizza Kitchen and right next to the local surf shop. That's when I unconsciously scratched my head. Not because the church used to be a Masonic lodge, but why did the Church establish the new overseer's headquarters five minutes away from the Mission?
You can't find this soft a carpet in a California Mission. The atmosphere inside of them engulfs you, sparks shooting up your spine, forcing your back to straighten because you're entering a consecrated domain filled with tradition. That's why I enter the date and occasion in the logbook every time I ring the bells. When that logbook is filled, I shelve it with the other logbooks, another link in the unbroken chain of succession. But this church replaces tradition with encouraging fluorescent posted notes, entries to the Bible coloring competition taped on the walls, and checkered tablecloths on the snack table.
"Excuse me!" I call out.
Father Phahn appears from the sacristy in his casual robes. His eyes widen at the sight of me before mouthing something to his left.
"Chris, such a pleasant surprise. Sit, sit." He motions to the front row of pews. "I ought to be surprised that you found us, but experience tells me I shouldn't. This out-of-the-box problem solving is exactly what we expect from our Executor candidates."
Ignoring the [ruby=elephant]Servant[/ruby] in the room? Fine, let's dance, Father Phahn.
"You're too kind, Father. But my present troubles would shame the Ashura's Pit. I know the Grail War has tied your hands; however, what was said during our last meeting left quite the impression. In truth, I've spent the last few days attempting to investigate the Dead Apostle."
His second nod peters into a five-second silence. "I want to be honest with you, Chris. I know this restructuring led to my taking of your position. You have all the right in the world to resent me."
"Of course not, Father. This was the will of the Church—"
His pale, thin raised hand stops any protest that could have come out from my mouth. "And you were close to him weren't you. The legendary bishop, Dilo. This must be a difficult time for you." I — no, we weren't that close. He said some unimportant things and then left me with the old man. "To let you know I have the utmost respect for you, your position, and the Mission, I want to share our Dead Apostle strategy with you. We've funneled our approach into two buckets, holistically and on a granular level. Best practices of course. Big picture, we've mapped where the Dead Apostle has been, but because of the Grail War, our assets haven't been able to interview stakeholders. Forgive the pun."
Really, the Church has nothing?
What did Sunao-sensei say on the topic again? Heyo you Executors-in-training yada yada yada. Ain't that difficult, if there's a credible vampire threat the local priest will call you, okay maggots? Skip, skip, skip. Maggots, if you're called to an isolated community, hear a rumor about an individual that is an extension of something human, know several witnesses to that rumor, and the place is on the Church's list of possible danger zones, that ain't any old Dead Apostle, that's — Nope. Come on brain, how many times have you watched those online lectures, searing every word beyond the grey folds and into the neurons. Maggots, we don't look for Dead Apostles, those motherfuckers are too hard to find. We look for The Dead. If there's Dead, there's a Dead Apostle close by. But what if the Dead Apostle is one of those weirdos that doesn't create Dead? How do you know there's really a Dead Apostle?
"Those affected, Father?"
He doesn't need to know the first thing I did was scope out the Men's Colony because I didn't have access to the coroner's reports.
"Hmm, impressive question. Typical cause of death. Our investigators haven't been able to determine why the Men's Colony, in particular, was attacked."
The California Men's Colony is a state-run prison on the outskirts of Tolosa almost ironically known as the 'Country Club.' Covering three hundred and fifty-six acres and consisting of minimum security to medium-security facilities, it's the perfect Dead Apostle weekend getaway: play pretend prisoner, participate in low-stakes factional gang fights, instigate petty civil upheaval in the form of a prison riot, all the while knowing you could escape any minute and no one would be able to do a thing about it. Prisons: Dead Apostle theme parks. Why else do you think the DOJ has such a prolific and longstanding chaplain program?
"What do you think is their motive, Father?"
He creases his eyebrows while looking at me, "Hmmm, fascinating question. The obvious would be the Holy Grail. A copycat, no doubt?"
One of the Masters in Snowfield was an old Dead Apostle known as the Six-Hearted Revolver whose goal was something boring like 'wake up the Fifth Dead Apostle Ancestor.' Probably his parent vampire. According to the Snowfield overseer's report, Jester was exterminated. I guess bloodsuckers and heretics really are the same. There's no better way of advertising a Grail War than telling them one of their elites died participating.
"Father. . . who was the Master that the Dead Apostle attacked?"
"My, my, you honestly shouldn't sell yourself short. To know even that? How resourceful. That would have been Assassin's Master."
When Archer told me the Dead Apostle attacked a Master-Servant pair, something didn't make sense.
"Nothing but a lucky coincidence. But escaping from an Assassin — It's at least a Class Five."
"No, Chris," Father Phahn clears his throat. "That vampire defeated Assassin and severely wounded Berserker."
A girl crying in the middle of the football field as a cook stands over her.
A woman in a crimson military uniform emerged relatively unscathed from a barrage of Archer's arrows.
This Dead Apostle fought evenly with Servants? That's on the level of an Ancestor.
Breathe. This is what the old man was talking about this morning and you — trying to do this alone has got you nowhere. You know what you have to do, so open your mouth and—
—A boundary line filled with familiar magical energy knits itself around the perimeter of the church. Unable to contain themselves, the church doors swing open for two women.
Jeans don't suit the one in front, but she always insists on wearing them on workdays. When her boyfriend's over she only wears flowing dresses or long skirts. Her pursed lips and lowered eyes complete the face she has when she's done all she can and has no choice but to rev that chainsaw and put a sick tree out of its misery. All that determination crumbles when she sees me.
"Chris?"
"Matou."
Rider materializes on the other side of the aisle with a single world, "Saber."
"Cherry —"
"Phahn!"
Father Phahn is the first to recover from the shock, getting up from his seat and proclaiming, "Dear Master, were you perhaps seeking sanctuary from the Grail's trials?"
What a bad joke. Surrendering Masters aren't supposed to form bounded fields around neutral ground then stride in with that look on their face and a Servant close behind. No, the real reason why Cherry came here today was,
"The things you said last night," she tries to start.
"Were merely the truth. She's behind you, no? Your Servant."
A smoldering shadow, Saber doesn't make any indication of having heard her name.
"Dilo left this city to me. To us. If I need to summon a Servant to protect his wishes, then —"
"Admirable, but Bishop Dilo has passed away. Furthermore, while the late Bishop was a singular voice in the committee, he was just that, a singular voice," Father Phahn licks his lips. "You aren't even a citizen of this country. You are a consultant, not a member of the Church. In fact, was not your bloodsucker grandfather an enemy of the Church?"
"Don't bring my family into this," Cherry shoots back without flinching.
"The Holy Grail found it fit to bestow upon you a Command Spell, the rank of Master. As overseer I shall afford you the respect that position grants you, but nothing more. Therefore, did you come to surrender?"
Head high and violet eyes trained directly into Father Phahn's almost serpentine pair, "No, I came to declare war."
Then, "Chris, we're leaving." She turns on her heel and begins to walk away.
I don't move. I could stay, I could really stay. Because I should hate Dead Apostles. They killed my parents. I would do anything to gather more information to exterminate the one threatening this town. Nothing else matters if the joints still move, the mechanism rotates, thus the boy continues to kill Dead Apostles. Throw away family. Throw away comfort. Throw away love. Because all of us, no matter who we are, are merely foam. The individual pops but the overall shape remains the same. I tell myself this. I say it so that I don't forget.
But what did you forget?
What else did you promise when Dilo visited you that day?
What does that forsaken boy who died in your place want and what can you do for him? You owe him enough to keep up the illusion of everyday life; so his existence can be continuously reaffirmed in each action you take, each word you speak, each expression you make. Like that the past isn't forgotten — it bubbles up until it reaches the horizon that is the present.
Cherry stops and looks back. Her brows furrow slightly and she opens and closes her mouth once before being able to say, "Chris," with a slight quiver in her voice.
I tell myself the continuation of the boy's story. How he was adopted into a loving household and became part of a community. He never forgot the Dead Apostle that killed his family, but that didn't stop him from living a blessed, everyday life. He found something to protect, because everyone else had something to protect. He worked hard, because everyone else worked hard. He wanted things, because everyone else wanted things. And now, he has the chance to throw away the dearest connection he's made to obtain more information about a Dead Apostle.
There's an obvious choice and a right choice.
That boy who drowned in that stream of bubbles will always choose the —
I stand up, bow my head at Father Phahn, wordlessly thanking him for all the information and leave the church with Cherry.
"Have you eaten yet? I left something in the fridge for you." Cherry looks over her shoulder at me before starting to fuss, "You shouldn't be up with that injury."
"Father Kelsey didn't say anything." I check the time on my phone. The lunch rush should be over by now. The only people left in the downtown eateries are college students or retirees. "Rare for you to come downtown on your lunch break."
She offers her standard crooked smile, "After settling business with Phahn, I wanted to go back to the Mission and check up on you. It'd also give me a chance to show Saber the town."
Do you know the meme of that guy walking with his girlfriend but the guy is staring at another girl? That's a meme because the sentiment is relatable, not because it happens in real life. Behind us is Saber with her black frilly shirt tucked into a long proper skirt (one of Cherry's?). The top half of the shirt is gauzy but the black never betrays a hint of skin, only the suggestion of milky shoulders underneath. Waving back and forth as she walks is a single long braid of hair as blue as the Pismo shallows. Her serene eyes intermittently switch between a smolder and a glazed look. Every woman who walks by can only dismiss her as a doll with a soundless sniff. Every man who walks by avers with his eyes, what a doll, like it's 1920. We continue down the street, parting the sea of pedestrians. They subconsciously know that this being walking beside them isn't human, but the mind is too well developed. To meet the world that recompiled itself to suit us halfway, the brain filters all information. The permeate? The extraneous, the improbable, the scenery. The rules of our modern world state exceptionalism is the peak of mundane; famous, super-rich, or a supermodel. Wow, they sure look different in real life. Man is the god of man; even when she's actually a degenerated divinity summoned as a Ghost Liner.
We stop at a thoroughfare as Cherry points to a square green sign, "I heard this place is good."
"Any reason in particular?"
"They're farm-to-table, Chris. Small businesses remind me of home."
After seating us, the waiter leaves to get some water. Cherry skims the menu, immediately picking out the kale chips as appetizers for us to share. She's going to have the rainbow trout because she's still trying to go keto. Except for rice; Japanese people have to eat rice. In an octave higher than her normal voice, she assures us that we can take as much from her plate as we want.
I already know I want the grilled mushrooms and beef meatloaf. Extra horseradish on the potatoes and well, everything thank you. If you add enough horseradish, you pretty much get wasabi.
The problem is Saber. She kept saying that she wanted something hot; something to warm her up. Maybe a hot grilled chicken and smoked bacon sandwich? Saber's too regal for a sandwich, Cherry. Then do you think she'd like the gumbo? She's a Servant, she really doesn't need to eat. Cherry raises her eyebrows at me because yes, she's right, I'm mistreating a guest. I'm sure she'd like gumbo.
The waiter comes back with our waters. After he puts them on the table, he pulls out a notepad. Cherry asks about the gumbo. Warms the soul. Right answer. She quickly makes the orders and he says he'll be right out with our kale chips. They're keto, she says, almost to herself.
As we wait for the kale chips, I ask Cherry about last night. I don't remember Berserker's Master saving me, but I should thank her for driving me back to the Mission when I get the chance. If I was reading the register of Cherry's voice correctly, she and Cherry might have hit it off? That isn't surprising though. People usually think of Cherry as slightly gloomy when they first see her, then she hits them with her sometimes overly cheerful personality. The resulting guilt cements their fondness for her. At least, that's what Father Kelsey told me one night when he got kind of wasted on G&T. I've never asked her boyfriend though.
Cherry apologizes and leaves to use the restroom. She does that a lot, apologize. This time I think it's because I have to ensure Saber doesn't do anything too Mad Enhancement-y in this cafe.
Saber's expression is so slack that I can't help but think she's looking past everything — like a life-sized doll placed in an art installation except for her smolder. You can practically hear tinder crackling. That's why she's beautiful. Not a garish beauty or anything divine, although her level of divinity is pretty much no longer possible in our era. No matter how soft-spoken she might be, she burns with life that none of her features allow for. Too delicate, too frail, a human-shaped china doll to be placed in a little girl's room - it should have no life. Yet, she burns.
"Thank you for saving me, last night." It's important to thank those who help you, more so those who save you, even if they are more mystery than person.
She doesn't blink or look in my direction. "We're different. . . How problematic."
"Yes, you're a Servant and I'm a person." Try not to think about what her use of 'problematic.'
"Sorry, no." She looks through my eyes. "Different. You may be flame but you are unable to burn anything. Like Rider." I'm not sure what the last part meant. "Fire without heat."
For a moment, the cafe is a grand feasting hall. There's blood everywhere and atop of a great burial pyre is a [ruby=mad queen]drakon[/ruby] who wants to feel again.
"Getting along?" Cherry's voice extinguishes all the flames, bringing me back to the eatery that calls itself a cafe.
I swallow, about to answer but the waiter comes back with kale chips. They're seasoned with authentic sea salt and a squeeze of lemon. I'm not sure you could advertise these as kale chips; there's parmesan baked onto each leaf, delivering a double crunch when you bite in. Typical Tolosa food, slathering everything with cheese. Cherry looked guilty after taking two of the biggest intact leaves. She asks Saber what she thinks.
"Seaweed cooked in lard. . ." she says quietly.
"Why did you summ—" I almost break the facade, but I'm able to stop myself. Cherry is my legal guardian and my magecraft teacher. Her being a Master has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with me because I'm hunting a Dead Apostle.
The entrees arrive, but before I'm allowed to say grace, Cherry forces me to move closer to Saber so she can take a picture of a silent Saber with eyes downturned and me with the smile I use for pictures.
Food's good; they didn't skimp on the horseradish so I don't need to whip out any of the wasabi packets I have in my jacket pocket. When I'm close to finished, Cherry abruptly tells me, "Chris, you can't keep hunting that Dead Apostle, alone."
I put down my fork. "Pardon?"
"We talked about this yesterday, but you ignored me and went off on your own. Do you know how worried I was?" She doesn't look at me while saying it, just puts one of the few remaining pieces of fish in her mouth.
"I don't know why. Saber was looking after me."
She offers me a glazed-over half-smile before going back to sipping her gumbo.
Cherry crosses her arms on the table. A Servant almost killed you, her demure but strict posture seems to say. Instead of voicing the obvious, she takes a deep breath, "I accept that you're a member of the Church, but alone in the midst of a Holy Grail War? Don't you think that's a little, irresponsible?"
"Yes."
Yes, but don't you think it's a little irresponsible summoning a Servant to participate in the Holy Grail War when we had been preparing to oversee this very War. Now all the Masters see you as a traitor to the Church, delegitimizing our replacement overseer as well as the government agencies that helped us prepare, putting yourself and possibly the entire Mission at risk?
But I don't say this because I have nothing to do with the Holy Grail War.
She sighs with her nose then massages her temples, "Sorry. You deserve to know why I'm. . . You're a good kid, Chris."
"Is it the trees?"
She blinks twice, "What makes you think it's the trees?"
I side-eye Saber eyeing the whole shrimp on her spoon stranded on an island of rice, drowning in Americanized creole soup.
"The trees at the Grail summoning locations are mostly burned down. It wasn't hard to make the connection when I finally saw Saber fight. Magical Energy Burst (Flame): A+. And Lancer, he's the one creating those trees, isn't he?"
"Yes. . . " she says with a small crooked smile while nodding. "I managed to summon Saber on Cerro Huerta's leyline before Lancer noticed my presence. If you saw the aftermath you should know the danger."
Something horrifying comes to mind.
"You stole one of the Mission's relics?"
"Of course not, Chris. It's better without one, anyway."
Cherry, I know you're a former Master but that's insane. You know as well as I do, no, even better than I do that the only two classes you can control for during a compatibility summon are Assassin and Berserker. For any other class, you're YOLO rolling the gatcha with no guarantee or pity. That's almost like your goal wasn't to fight in the Grail War but just to summon a Servant.
"If you needed a Servant, couldn't you have asked Rider?"
Rider is Cherry's former Servant. Due to 'extenuating circumstances' during the final Fuyuki Holy Grail War that I have no knowledge about and Rider's Independent Action skill, she didn't need to return to the Throne. I've never met Rider in person, but I have said 'hi' when they Facetime.
Cherry shakes her head, "I couldn't do that to her. Not after the [ruby=Eulyphis]Department of Spiritual Evocation[/ruby] procession."
There's a story there I haven't heard.
"Are you really okay, supplying magical energy to two Servants? One who isn't being supported by a Grail."
Cherry watches Saber finishing her soup. I can't imagine what she's thinking. I usually can but this is a Master who fought in a Holy Grail War and survived, not my magecraft teacher.
"Saber does take quite a bit of magical energy. I'll be fine. Fuyuki's ley lines should be enough to maintain Rider until this war ends and Sen—Shirou doesn't need much,"
"Have you told them? Your family." I ask quietly.
"Chris. . . you. . . t-the Mission is the family I should be worrying about."
She didn't answer the question.
The waiter comes to take our plates. Emotionlessly, Saber dabs the edge of her mouth with her paper napkin and thanks the waiter for the meal. I think that melted his heart. Anyway, I thank Cherry for the food as she asks me to calculate the tip. Americans, she mutters like always.
"I should be going back to work. I'll take you back to the Mission. You need to rest." She urges me as we step off the patio.
"Farmer's tonight. Kayla said she'd meet me at Ahnenerbe. I'm going to check the bounded field on Higuera first."
"Okay," she nods to herself for a moment before adding, "Nothing strenuous. Meet me in front of the foundation at nine." She pulls out a purse that belongs in a Daiso and hands me a twenty instead of context. "And don't you dare break that nice girl's heart. Treat her like a princess. Stop making that face."