Author's Notes
This is part one of a reflective tribute to everyone's favorite walking tank: Herrik Gipson. It was only supposed to be one chapter long, but as the chapter got longer and longer (and since I'm releasing this in serial format), I decided to split it into two parts. It gives me more updates and shorter chapters this way. I know, I know, spending two chapters straight on building the depth of a single character would seem wasteful, but I work on everybody here, and the story is forwarded (a little). Dialogue's a little weak at the end, I know, but when it gets that way a good thing for me to do is close the chapter up and start anew.
Lux Aeterna
by
Steven Mayo
Book I ~ The Meager
Chapter 7 ~ The Love Below Pt. One
Headmistress Glump was quite possibly, no, definitely, the fattest woman in the entire world. Unable to press her folds into any form of constricted clothing, she wore tailor maid dresses of astonishingly hideous floral décor, though, in a pinch, they would make fine sails. Her normal movement was that of a grave saunter, as if in perpetual practice for a funeral march. Her eyes were downcast anyways, the bulging folds from the brow above demanded it. Not that she couldn't run, mind you, just that her run was like an avalanching boulder, ending in nothing but crashes and death. At the waist she circumferenced at least ten feet, though you'd be hard pressed to define where her waist ended and the rest of the fat began. Add onto that a height no greater than five and a half, a pumpkin of a head from anything to size or shape, bread-dough arms slathered with veins crying for release, and feet long and porcine like gluttonous ferrets and you have Headmistress Glump.
In the fall semester, her first year of teaching grade school, no less than five minutes of each day were lost to her agonizing struggle with the door frame. Through soft moans she pressed against the portal, blubbery folds ridging over the frame so that it disappeared, and for that brief terrible moment her and the frame were one, a duality of pressures, inward and outward, struggle and release. By November the children spoke and giggled about the scuttle impressions coursed over the inner wooden slats. For reasons beyond the comprehension of the children, the faculty heads decided to keep Glump on, so over the winter break a work order was signed and the door was widened to accommodate. Three children could enter the room at once shoulder to shoulder and not even suck in their chests.
And she was old too, but this was hard to surmise because her body literally could not afford wrinkles, there was no space within for the indentions. But her badly grayed hair, hanging in multiple pockets like noodles tipped from a bowl was one clue, along with her voice, high and creaky. The dimpled oldness of her face was hidden under millimeter thick make-up anyways, a result no doubt of her never removing a previous coat. Boysenberry blue for the eye lids, syrupy black for the lashes, strawberry red for the lips, and cream white for everything else, her face was a veritable sundae. When she spoke, and she did in great length, her acorn pouch cheeks jiggled like a Buddhist luck-maker; it was always something to watch when you couldn't follow the rant about how kids these days were goin' straight down in the proverbial hand basket, and there wasn't a thing to do about it so shut up and learn your multiplication tables. But they'd learned them already. Nine times seven was sixty-three last month, gee, it's still sixty-three this month. They breezed through the syllabus like Glump breezed through a doorway.
Therefore, it was a breath of fresh sardonic air when the new kid arrived in the early spring. After all, one could only hear the Glump chant (lumpy glumpy, short and stumpy, bag of donuts, still she's grumpy) so many times before it got old, not that the leader of the class clown brigade, Thadwick, noticed this. But a new kid meant a new target to which all the children were welcome. It started the very first day, about a month into spring term.
"Children," wheezed Headmistress Grump, "we've got a new student in class today so I want everybody to help make her feel…"
"I'm a boy!" said the new kid.
"Oh, of course, dear. Help him feel welcome." Not a good start at all. The boy's earliest memories were that of childish snickers as he walked to what he thought
was the nearest empty seat, sat and realized it was broken, stood, and then found one towards the back; cruel eyes upon him all the way. His first day of class not but moments passed and already he felt as if in a pit of rattlesnakes, the threatening rattles replaced with jokes. The tall, nasally boy he later knew as Thadwick, sneered and led a rally of laughs. And at what? The little boy, so confused, lost.
Most aggravating to him, and that which he grumbled about as he sat in the back and ignored the lesson on multiplying the terrible sevens, was that he did look like a girl, that this oafish beast ahead the class was not the first to make the mistake. Rather it was a stigma, plaguing him. How else would you expect a boy with brilliant red hair hanging down so that it framed his rosy cheeks to look? And his clothes too were bright red, his pale face sticking out like a fog light.
Early on, a small black-haired boy, probably one of Thadwick's goons, held up a picture he'd been working on diligently since the new kid's arrival, sweeping clockwise around the room and ending with the boy. The picture was cruelly accurate, and under read the caption: Santa called, he wants his clothes back.
"Time for lunch, children!" It couldn't have come early enough, but when the black-haired boy made sure to deliver the picture personally to the new kid's desk, the new kid realized that it didn't really matter.
(Read'em and weep, gents, deuces and jacks…)
He sat alone in the cafeteria and mulled over his five wood-like chicken nuggets, grainy mashed potatoes, and half-melted Jell-O cup. He kept his eyes away from the long table where Thadwick and goons sat, but he heard all the laughing, sharp and distinct as if it was aimed at him, which it probably was. Twice he felt the quick slap of a nugget on the back of his head, but he didn't respond. That would only make it worse, right?
"How did I get here?" the boy asked himself. His head hurt.
(You cheatin' son of a submariner…)
Recess wasn't looking much better, so the new kid stuck to the far end of the grounds, away from the other children. He spent the slowly passing time staring up into the sky, vainly thinking that if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him. He heard them start laughing again. It was about him, he knew it. No stupid little third grader was that funny on his own. Looking up for so long made him dizzy, so he crouched down and started pressing the gravel around with his hands. What a way to spend a first day at school, he thought. He wanted to go home, but realized he didn't know where that was. His head hurt a lot.
The reaping motion of his hands halted, but he stayed crouched, silent and still like a gargoyle atop a cathedral buttress.
(Yeah…yeah…just deal it again. Hey man, you with us…)
Basking in that tranquil stance the thumping in his head faded slightly, so he tried to maintain it best he could, even slowing his breathing to long silent wisps. He managed to forget everything around him, leaving just him and his small plot of gravel, feeling only the lazy, soothing breeze upon him. But in such motionless sentry he could not avoid the vague mysteries in the back of his mind, a plot of black clouds, a blanket over the past. The boy remembered nothing. Not his family or home, or from where he came even. For only seven days now had he been aware, as he thought of it in his mind. Before that, nothing at all. So lost in his mind he became just then, that at first, and not until they were upon him, did he hear the voluminous, wailing screams.
Before he recognized any sensations he was pulling his face out of the gravel and cupping the back of this head tenderly, and his eyes saw along the ground's horizon several legs running past him. A slap to the back of the head was some warning. He heard several children now screaming, and another sound, deeper and ferocious, but a scream of some sort. Dazed from his falling collision, he bumped himself up and tried to look around, but again without notice he was pushed one way and then another, small clamoring hands pressing him forward and he walked with them with little time to question, they lead wherever he was supposed to go.
Another tyrannical growl came from behind him somewhere, even louder this time, a bellowing sound, a roar. Defiant against the hands pushing him away he spun back, and saw for himself the creature amidst the astonished cries of the children.
"A T-Rex, a T-Rex!!!" they were calling.
The boy screamed instantly as well, but stopped it short and continued to stare, to the point that others were almost pulling him. The giant reptilian beast bounded forward on two thick legs ending in menacing claws. From top to bottom it ran with dimply blue-green scales, and its eyes shone off its head like diminutive yellow beacons. Its shattering roars came out through a maw of gigantic brown teeth that shut in on each other like a cage. As it ran it lashed its tail to each side, accompanied by the mighty swoosh of the wind. Recoiling back, and caught off by the other children trying to pull him away, the new kid lost his footing on a random jut of rock and fell to his back.
The beast noticed and looked as if it would charge, but after a single lunging step it reared back and perked upwards, twisting its head around. The boy winced in confusion, and the other children continued to pull at his shoulders, but he angrily shook them away. They yelled at him, turned, and ran. The T-Rex completely turned then and left his tail to the boy. He sat there a moment and watched the monster duck its head and bobble like a chicken away from him, moving slowly. He took no notice of the other children having left him, only the view before him. The giant beast finally subsiding its growls, he suddenly knew what had attracted it away.
(Come on, man, you gotta pay attention…how many you want…)
A high-pitched squealing, a girlish cry, was ringing over the field, somewhere in front of the boy and also before the Rex. The sound was obvious and terrifying, but before all things had come together for the boy, the beast hunkered low and charged forward. The boy heard the metallic scrapes and cracking wood as the Rex launched its head through the playground, sending splintery logs and many of the long metal canisters that had formed the hideaway pipes soaring through the air. Too lost in this sight, the boy still did not move, and the Rex circled around and sent another chunk of the playground away. The beast ran in circles, mulling its snout through the debris, searching for its food, but seemed to find nothing. It worked slowly, but powerfully.
The boy's head suddenly hurt incredibly, the sharp glimmers of white that pierced the blank darkness of his mind physically pained him. Something was coming to him, something natural, though it hurt to try to realize it. Once more without notice his hands were searching the ground, combing quickly through the gravel and dirt, doing their own searching. He wanted to do something, wanted it so bad, but feared it. Was this right? Finding nothing more suitable than a palm-sized stone, he stood and charged forward at the Rex.
(That's three times now…do you wanna play or not, buddy…)
The T-Rex was taking a fresh chew into a still-planted metal canister as the new kid finished his run onto the ground and halted instantly, finding that he had little to do offensively. For the short while, the monster seemed to care little of him, so the boy followed the wailing cries that had led both adversaries to this point. Hopping a mangled log, once part of a swing set, and cornering around a long grounded pipe, he came up to a short and wide dome structure where kids would hide and make the base for games like knights and bandits. He peered in and saw a milk-pale Thadwick clenching against the side of the dome, trying his best to hide, but still screaming.
"Shut up!" whispered the boy at Thadwick, as emphatic as a whisper could be, but at first the frightened mound either didn't understand or didn't choose to obey. He continued to shoot out the echoing, nasally screeches of fright, punctuated with breathy gasps. So the new kid ducked into the dome, crouched over, and slapped Thadwick across the face.
"Shut up, I said!"
Thadwick was so shocked he actually did. But in that very first instant of quiet they discerned how close the monster now was, so close they felt its hot breath jetting in from the unwelded seams of the metal dome. To Thadwick it must have seemed like some masterful fury, but to the new kid, he was drawing a mental blank and operating on sheer kinetic energy. The boy grabbed Thadwick hard by the upper arm and pulled him from the dome, just as the angry teeth of the Rex were crushing it like paper.
Twisting, the ball in his shoulder tugging on the socket, the new kid slung Thadwick past him and the bully fell forward.
"Run!" the boy screamed, but Thadwick only dug his head down into the gravel like an ostrich, bawling. So the new kid turned and faced the monster that had already discerned there was no food in the little dome. He heard the heavy blasts of air from the giant lizard's nostrils and he also heard the distant shouts of the other children. They sounded almost like cheers, the teasers now cheering him towards his doom. And he felt a terrible urge to go to it, what started as pain and lead to courage now felt like sickness in his gut. The Rex cocked its head, almost confused by this little creature that didn't run, and then with mighty steps it approached.
The new kid lunged his arm only to realize it wasn't holding the rock anymore, so he let out a panicked yelp and then ran forward under the monster's trunk-like legs. He feared the beast would continue on to Thadwick so he turned and yelled, but already the Rex was turning to charge again. To draw it away the boy ran off to the other end of the playground, hurdling the splintered remains of wooden climbing sets, and the Rex charged but stepped hard on a plate-metal slide that did not give so easily and so the creature lost its footing and sidestepped awkwardly to gain balance. The new kid thought he heard the distant voices rally up in applause but couldn't be certain and wouldn't take the time now to look. He scanned the ground desperately and finally found it, a long metal bar torn jaggedly from the dome structure, the end was crude and spiked, but it was not so long that he could not carry it. He fished it up and waited for the beast that had now readied itself and muscled back to release an angry roar. Then it lunged forward once more and for some reason, in that instant, the boy realized that he wasn't even sweating, that he wasn't even afraid.
The T-Rex brought its head down for the fatal chomp but the boy sidestepped and swung the bar around like a greatsword, splattering the creature's eye like a hammer would an orange. The monster lurched forward two bulky steps and turned hard in the direction of its good eye, loosing furious roars and screeches. It was horribly disoriented, it began to charge for a moment only to stop and try to balance itself, always turning slightly in the direction of the uninjured eye. It seemed unable to find the boy, and realizing this the boy backed away rather quickly, hoping that what he'd done would be enough. The amount of blood alone was stealing from him a will to fight; it spurted from the socket in intervallic shots of canon velocities. At last the creature would not handle the swirling world around it, and it both dashed and hobbled away from the grounds towards the forest that, the boy could only assume, it came from, though he couldn't tell if the dinosaur knew where it headed. But he heard the distinct scurry of whipping leaves as it proceeded further and further back into the foliage, eventually beyond his vision, that he just now was noticing was quite keen. He was breathing hard to be certain, but his hands did not tremble, and the feeling of sickness had faded. In fact, all things considered, he felt fine.
He contentedly walked over to where Thadwick was still hulking himself in the gravel, and he saw the other children rushing towards the grounds, despite an incredibly fat woman now a ways behind them yelling at them to halt. They rushed in and circled around him and yelled things that he couldn't make out, it came like a hurricane of sound. But it was good sound, at least that he could tell. The winds had changed as it were.
(Gipson…)
The bully Thadwick was thoroughly abashed, though he stood quickly when the others arrived to try to save face. He failed, and a grin formed on the new kid's lips. When Headmistress Glump finally arrived she had only pronouncements to deliver but the children gave little care to her, and were in no mood to return to class.
(Gipson…)
They all faced in to the eye of their storm, shouting stupid little lines of admiration and wonderment. But it meant something to the boy; it hit him as a warmth he'd never known. So there are good things in this world, he thought, and whatever fear may have existed in himself, his confusion over what had come over him, it was slight and defeated for the moment. He beamed.
"What was your name again, kid?" asked one of the boys, one of Thadwick's goons the new kid noticed.
"Oh, it's Herrik," he responded. "Herrik…"
"Gipson!!!" shouted Seville.
Gipson's eyelids fluttered twice and then the image snapped into place, and even before it had focused his mind began to register a count of bodies. Three that he knew, three that he didn't, six all told. To his left was the Dr. Darrin Sylum, affixing a studious eye on him, and to the doctor's left sat Seville, clearly prepared to shout again if need be. Not sitting at the round table was the apprentice clergyman Edrick Valance, who was back a little ways against the wall standing next to a high bar stool. To Gipson's right this time he saw three more or less indistinct men, commoners by their clothes, but not sedentary. Travelers he thought, but not the easy going type as he discerned a gray, foul look about them, the kind of shadow that the mind puts there more than might exist, a very potent reflex in the knight's repertoire. Their faces were hardened, fixed in a permanent scowl, and the one that let teeth show was missing more than a few.
"Are you with us this time, big guy?" asked Seville, a bit perturbed. "The cards don't play themselves."
"Yes, yes," he thought quickly, "I'm sorry, I must be a little tired, gents."
"You don't get tired," continued Seville, now just playing with the old knight.
"Well, I do have my rare moments. I recommend you take great note of this for it's the last you will see of it. Whose turn?"
"Yours, of course," said one of the dark men sitting to his right. His voice had the dusty, rakish sound of a seaman too long away from the ocean breeze.
Gipson remembered now, looking at the five cards gripped in his fingers. Nothing, zilch, terrible hand.
"Fold," he said, and passed the cards over to the furthest new man, who had the deck. They rolled their eyes and spoke to themselves under their breathe, having waited that long for a fold. Gipson said nothing in response though, he kept quiet and let the memory rush back to him. He rarely dozed and didn't care to do it. The cards were played out and a meager pile of golden coins was pressed over to Seville who seemed overly bright, saying something about having all the luck that night. He's acting, thought Gipson, something that worried him and he made sure his blades were still equipped.
It was a traveler's pub, he remembered. They were two days out now from Corneria, and with a second day of travel showing little in the way of progress; the light warriors had grown solemn, against the attempted well-wishings of Dr. Sylum. Truthfully, Gipson still held onto his hope and didn't worry, and he wouldn't think that Seville would question the professor in the least, and so it was only idly relevant at the moment. He would at least wait until they arrived at the next major commerce city, named Jrist, another day's travel to the north, before he considered losing steam. If there was word to find, it would be found there. Looking out the window and quickly scanning the display of stars it was clear that night was long fallen; he wished to rest soon. Old bones don't work like they used to.
"Where'd you say you was headed?" asked one of the men to Gipson's right as he dealt out the hand. Sylum, taking up his diplomatic responsibilities, did the talking.
"Didn't say, and don't know. Just traveling here to there, Mr. Smythe."
"Ah, but there must be a 'there'," responded the man apparently named Smythe, "It's not a day when people do much travel for no reason."
"We stopped by the Centennial, on the first night that is."
"And left so soon?" Smythe was sneering.
"It didn't suit us quite right." Sylum was flustering. Gipson felt the handle of a short sword under the table, and Seville's eyes were widened and cautious.
"And what does suit you?"
"What suits us is money," Seville suddenly broke in with a wide smile, "Full house!"
Cards were thrown down in anger and another pile shuffled over to the youngest of them, who amusingly cackled and stacked the coins into impressive piles.
"Don't get greedy over luck, Seville," said Edrick with his head laid back against the wall, "If you were to have me list things that do not last…"
"Well it's the devil's luck he's got tonight, boy-o," said a man next to Smythe, and Smythe finished a thought.
"Or cheater's luck." His raspy voice was instantly weighty.
"Mr. Smythe, we've done this already. You checked the deck yourself. Fifty-two then and fifty-two now, count if you like," Seville countered.
"Were that the only method then of course, but you and I know it is not. It's your deck so your mark."
"And what would you ask?" Sylum interrupted.
"Professor, I got it." Said Seville, "Mr. Smythe isn't serious."
"Am I not? Well then, sleeves up." Smythe's gritty face showed not the faintest hint of a joke, and the other's just looked at him momentarily. "A gamer's courtesy, as travelers I'm sure you're aware."
Seville became still and careful.
"I'd rather not," he said.
"And therefore admit that you've cheated us," said the snarling Smythe, and Seville came to realize how ghoulish the gray-haired man looked.
"It's not that…" but then Edrick began to speak before Seville could properly think.
"Mr. Smythe, why do make such … ridiculous requests, when you've no … reason to accuse us … and … on my word … as a priest of the church I can assure you there is no ill-play." He stumbled over the words frantically, and they diminished almost to nothingness as he spoke.
"Ill-play from the ill-company of a most ill-church. Indeed I have every reason to accuse anyone when the entire world has turned ill as it has, priest of the church. I come from over the seas but here now stay because the winds have turned stale even as the seas churn in fury. The very ground itself has soured. All is slipping into chaos. And if I can't trust the sea, I certainly won't trust a rogue and his friend of the church. Especially those that keep company with an old knight who clearly couldn't keep a watch past supper and a soft-boy of books. You're no travelers."
"It was a good effort, Eddie," said Seville, "You've already proven your mettle beyond my highest hopes time and again. But this man here is clearly insane, and only listens to insanity. So I'll give it to him." And Seville flashed a cautious glance to Gipson and then pulled up the right sleeve of his jacket, revealing the arm flush with black scars. "Do you see any cards, because I don't."
"My word…" muttered Smythe and even the men to either side became wide-eyed and curious. Gipson, always keeping track of the complete surroundings, noticed that Seville had drawn eyes from other tables as well, so he nodded his head towards him to wrap things up, but Seville was not satisfied with that.
"One more hand then, just to be sure," Seville said, rolling up the other sleeve and then grabbing the deck. "Eddie, deal."
"I don't think I should get involved with…"
"Eddie!" The apprentice clergyman vaulted to the table and hastily grabbed up the deck, nearly spilling them all to the floor but luckily saving face.
"One more game?" asked Smythe, still in awe of the odd and somehow frightening black whelps running all down Seville's arm.
"Because I wouldn't want you to lose all hope and think that all in this world is ill. We should at least have a happy game of poker to look to after the day has waned. Surely you trust the priest to deal a hand without bias?" And nobody said anything after that, but rather waited to see the drama played out. Edrick passed each of the six their cards and also handled the swaps, hand visibly shaking as he passed them around. As the turns circled around the table the central pile of gold grew heavy, the largest pot of the night. At the swaps Smythe took three cards, but Seville took only one, not for a moment breaking his stare at the dark man across the way. Gipson had to remember to advise against things like this later. As the only traveler among his crew he knew it was not wise to deal with other travelers. Few were there with such benevolent goals as their own. Perhaps a talk with Seville about the meaning of cockiness.
"That's it then, left of the dealer first, that's you," said Seville to the man to Smythe's right. It was so arranged that Seville would show last. Wow, thought Sylum, still not concluding on any judgment of the event, did Seville have a flare for drama. He liked it, the professor, liked it a lot. The first man and Smythe turned out with no better than pairs, but the final of the unknown men had a high three of a kind, which beat out both Gipson and Sylum. Seville paused for effect and cast glances to everyone.
"Three of a kind is a strong hand, but it doesn't even come close to my straight flush," then he laid down the nine, ten, jack, queen, and king of spades, as pretty as could be. "Better luck next time, she's my lady tonight."
Smythe slapped his fast on the table, downing Seville's golden towers and sending the coins rolling along the floor. He pointed a sharp finger, "You've every look of a cheat!"
"And you've every look of a man walking quietly out the door. I'll get your tab, don't think you can anymore anyways."
A growl seemed to want to crawl out of Smythe, but the man forced it back, turned, and walked with the other two out of the bar.
Edrick helped Seville fetch all of the scattered gold while the older two sat at the table and gave each other opposite looks. Gipson had always worked his way around such people by playing off his likeability. Actually, he rarely got into such situations because of that. But Seville confused him briefly. The boy seemed to aim for conflict, almost aggressively so. Despite definitely being able to put the earned money to use (the group had decided that all winnings should first handle provisions, and then be given to the victor), Gipson had desperately hoped that the last hand would go to Smythe or his comrades. The knight had always relied on his, usually, accurate ability to judge people quickly, but that first night at the Lux he had not sensed this in Seville. This felt desperately portentous. He checked his blades once more.
Sylum however seemed rather bright about the event. After the three had walked out he had given Seville a slap on the back, another warning to Gipson's heart. It became obvious how little they knew of adventuring. They had little hope of success, he realized, unless the professor be correct in his theories of fate and destiny.
Seville plopped back into his chair like one who has eaten more than his fill, and Edrick set the bulgy coin pouch down and then finally joined them at the table. With a delicious grin on his face, Seville slowly unrolled his left sleeve, and just as it neared the base a rolled-up playing card fell out, the ace of spades.
"You did cheat!" shouted Edrick.
"Quiet down, Eddie! 'Course I did, fools like that are happily parted with their money, trust me. They're not gonna do anything with it for the betterment of society. Where as we are on a divine mission and are going to need food tomorrow." Gipson didn't like it one bit.
"Even so, fools like that can be dangerous. We're not talking about forest imps here," the knight said. "That Smythe had a dark look about him, grizzled for sure, but I've no doubt he has skill with a blade, a skill built from use."
"Eh, you too, Master Gipson? I mean, I expected it from Eddie."
"It was quite a show to put on just to hide the fact that he was right. You've seen few taverns outside your godfather's, and believe me they are not all so friendly as even this one. I will expect the utmost caution from all of my teammates. Don't speak of fools when you yourself are foolish." Gipson feared the dark Smythe. He was the first man in a long time to suggest the knight's proper age.
"It was just … eh, fine … you got it, big guy. No more cheating at poker." Seville reclined the chair back and put his feet up.
They sat there quietly for the moment, letting that topic settle away. Edrick had wanted to go on and scold Seville further, but assumed he wouldn't do as good a job as the knight, so chose to stay quiet instead. Among the many considerations that had crossed his mind over the two long days of walking was the wondering of whether or not becoming a light warrior would set Seville straight. And Sylum too, now that he thought of it. Perhaps now it was his disappointment that quieted him. He'd spent many nights in anger at himself, angry he was unable to stop Seville from whatever crime. If only he could press his will on others. If only Seville would ask to be good, he would teach him. If only he could do anything. The time passed a little longer, the night's animals were in full life.
"What did you think of the man's speech, professor," asked Edrick to break the quiet, "About the wind going stale and everything?"
"Thought it was a fine speech. A little dramatic maybe but the night certainly isn't short of that. I found it interesting, his mention of chaos."
"How's that?"
"Well, I read this rather depressing essay a long time ago by the famous Dr. Unne," the others showed no sign of having heard of him, "in which he states that the only innate quality of existence is chaos, a force which he called Sin, and though it seems to fluctuate, in other words seems to be more apparent at some times than others, it is nevertheless ultimately eternal. And therefore, over the millennia, creatures of the world have become bound to chaos, many species have become its puppet, and that is why there is evil, and so evil is unending. Unne made quite clear that this is the only thing you can count on when you're in a pinch. Like I said, depressing. People don't generally hold with it, but I'll admit that it seems a fair judgment of this world, if not a tad too gloomy."
"So how was he first received? Dr. Unne, I mean?" questioned Edrick, fascinated and needlessly nervous.
"People thought he was nuts. Would have put him away were it not for his work on the ancient language, which is astonishing."
"So whenever we find the princess and the stakes get high, at least we can count on everything going wrong," entered an amused Seville.
"Right on the money!"
"Peachy. Hey, you guys wanna play some more? No money, of course. I'll even roll my sleeves up."
So they set out to the cards once again, and since no coins were crossing the table, Edrick joined them, much to the other's dismay as luck was truly with him. After he could have potentially made more money for the group than Seville even when cheating, Seville spoke.
"We have got to get you behind a real game, Eddie."
"You already know the answer, Seville."
"Yeah, but hear me out. If we had the kind of financial security we could count on with you playing, then I wouldn't have to cheat anymore. I'd be a better man."
"It's our choices, Seville, not our options that make us who we are."
"Buddy, haven't you been listening to the good professor? We're workin' for fate now, there are no choices."
"Professor, is how Seville plays cards effected by fate?" Asked Edrick while he absent-mindedly stared at his hand. Sylum passed two across the table and cleared his throat.
"Well, technically yes. It encompasses everything. It decides when you go to the bathroom…"
"That's kinda creepy," said Seville, trying to get a rise out of anybody, his dark dream of the night before forgotten, or at least forgiven.
"But like I said…"
"Wait a sec," interrupted Seville, "Let me try. I wonder how you combine the infallibility of destiny with the eternal presence of chaos. Your basically saying that there is a one hundred percent chance that our life is going to suck. We've no choice to escape chaos."
"Well, like I said…"
"Get down!"
The arrow shuttled just over Dr. Sylum's ear and he yelped aloud and scrambled to the floor where he met the eyes of Seville and Edrick. Then they heard the wooden thunk of another arrow striking the table. They saw Gipson stand and pull free two of his swords. He dashed over to the wall next to the window and called again,
"Move! Move! Next to the wall!"
The three men scurried like salamanders from the flame to the wall beside Gipson, who was checking with quick nods of his head out the window, one long sword and one short sword drawn. By their magical aura it was clearly the expensive ones. Seville made to get up, already having pulled his daggers, but Gipson pressed him hard down by the shoulder and told him to stay.
"Smythe returns," the knight said. "And his friends."
He couldn't find them out the window so he slowly and silently stepped to the door, expecting a charge. Every patron in the establishment hunkered under a table, and the barkeep was kneeling down behind his counter. Gipson checked his surroundings in his routine manner. Seventeen bodies under tables, three against the wall, one behind the counter, three windows, two against the back wall, one along this wall, open!
"Seville," Gipson mouthed, "Close."
The rogue understood and flipped the shades of the window shut, but didn't reach up to lock them. Apparently the attackers had been waiting for that sign, for the instant it happened the front door was smashed open and three bodies came running through, the first two falling just as quickly as Gipson had sliced them as they came. The dark Mr. Smythe entered last with a long sword drawn, but he survived for all of two parries before the knight had swiftly strafed sideways and run the man through the lower back. Smythe seemed to hiccup once, and then cough, then his eyes glazed and he fell. Gipson stood momentarily breathing heavily, rotating his head to see every direction, and then he looked out the broken doorframe to find backup but saw none. He was already back inside and checking the vital signs of the bodies before the others thought to get up. It was so fast.
"Hah!" Gipson said, pleased, "Three moves! I expected more from the old rascal. Didn't expect a fogey like me to hear the pull of a bow from fifty feet I'd wager. Hard learned lessons!"
The knight laughed and started piling the bodies.
"Was that entirely necessary?" said Edrick after he stood and brushed down his robe.
"Necessary?" asked Gipson, confused.
"With your skills, you could have subdued them just as easily."
"I don't think they were trying to subdue us, Edrick," responded the knight.
"That's no reason to … to just kill them." The apprentice clergyman spoke loudly.
"And what reason had I otherwise? Is defense not a reason?" asked Gipson, now with an almost dumfounded look on his square face.
"What reason had you not to kill someone?!" shot back the clergyman, aghast.
"Don't get me wrong, Edrick, I take no pleasure in it. But I kind of figured I just saved three lives."
"At the cost of another three, Master Knight!" Edrick shouted angrily. "We can't … do that!"
"Defend ourselves from attack?!" the old knight looked offended, as if a personal hobby of his had been dejected by the entire population of Corneria.
"We can't have a body count!" For once Edrick was not concerned about those around him, who had all meant to return to their seats but only stood as the two yelled at each other. The bartender had been moments away from kicking them out before it started.
"I don't understand how you can accuse me for keeping you alive…"
"You mean," Dr. Sylum said suddenly to quell the others, speaking to Edrick, "You mean as those who carry the orbs. You mean because we are the Lux."
He chose an archaic way of saying it in hopes the other patrons would not follow, and they didn't appear to. To the doctor it seemed only natural to spread that the light warriors, or the Lux, had begun their quest, but realized then how uncomfortable Edrick or even Seville might have felt of this, so he decided to keep it low. Between not being believed and potentially being persecuted for their insanity, it probably wasn't best to bring it up on a regular basis anyways, at least not until after the rescue of the princess. The thought cast a dim feeling on Sylum as he spoke. Fame would have to wait.
"I mean that, yes," continued Edrick, "But I shouldn't have to mean anything, should 'not murdering people' not stand on its own?"
Seville spoke, "Edrick, I know how you feel, but it was defense of an unprovoked attack. We should…"
"I would hardly call it unprovoked, Seville," said the priest bitterly, "One crime leads only to another."
"Beg your pardon," broke in the bartender, clearly having had enough, "But I think it's time for you fellas to leave, and take out your garbage with you."
Gipson glanced at him with a stern grimace and then turned back to the others who seemed unwilling to look at each other at the moment.
"Besides, Domino could be around. He works out of Jrist," Edrick said, surprisingly shocked and angered.
"Yeah, a report of this is the last thing we need," said Seville, trying his best not to make it an attack on Gipson's actions. He motioned to the others that they should start to leave.
"We go, then, we'll find a place to stop along the road." To that the others seemed agreed.
The night road was silent but for the uneven, albeit weak, wisps of wind low along the ground. They walked further apart than usual, with Gipson far in the lead. Nobody even considered mindless talk to keep spirits high; at the time they simply had no spirits at all. Edrick was filled with sick feelings he barely knew, if at all. Three men murdered just before his eyes, by a close acquaintance, a friend even. Of all things he had thought of in the quiet solitude of his normal demeanor, the taking of lives had somehow not occurred to him. The light warriors were not meant to deal death, he was sure of it. They were life savers, not takers.
As usual Seville and Dr. Sylum thought along the same lines, both being of general disinterest in either case. They both cared about not getting caught, not whether or not the event went down. But Seville had one peculiar realization as he watched Gipson tear through the three men with such graceful precision. He thought that if the time came, he could do it, and would.
Herrik Gipson was mainly confused, but felt distant from the group now, detached from it by the sharp words of the priest. He didn't feel that he'd done anything wrong; only protected those he'd come to care for. The scolding almost gave him a physical sensation, like a plasmatic substance had been released through his whole body and was running up and down his spine, making him weak. He knew what he felt. It was criticism for something he'd always done for praise. Until he finally fell asleep that night under cold stars and beside meandering fire, he felt for the first time since long ago in a small classroom the bitterness of shame. But when sleep did come it bid him no welcome.