Friend
Ballad of the Skylark, Verse Three
From darkness she came, the great Puppet Queen
Born from the shadow of the pure Mother's heart
Her mind was twisted from the start
Whilst the great one took her name from the heavens above
The shadow took her name from the scum of the land
Pitiless hatred dwelt in emerald
A mane of blood and a gown of black
Accepted by those as a fellow goddess
Peaceful and kind she was
She was, at the beginning
The mortal eye is a fickle thing
And deceives the mind as illusions do
The greatest illusions belong to this Puppet Queen
Who controlled all with strings of flesh and whips of blood
First came sickness
As ill men fell and died in their beds
None knew how to deal with this
Since nothing had ever come before
Millions fell
Thousands dropped
And the Puppet ignored the pleas and cries
Next came monsters
Humans with disfigured forms
They hunted flesh, they drank fresh blood
Again, nothing could be done
Our Goddess turned blind eye away
Finally, finally came war
With avarice and prejudice and fellow sins
Planted in the minds of innocent men
Conquest came like a plague of flies
It ate away the joys of living in this world
It slaughtered children who screamed for salvation
Man's steel blades cut down women like nothing more then butter
And men, no man was safe any longer
Those who could not fight had been discarded
Those who could fight had been killed
And from her seat in the clouds above
Those emerald eyes
The emerald gaze of She who controls
With the earth as her blood and body
She sat and did nothing to prevent our sorrows
She just licked her lips and cooed her temptress words
And proved that we were nothing more then minor pawns
The living flesh posed a hindrance to Karen's travels. Many times did she stop and wait for her companion to catch up. The dark power surrounding the fields was affecting him much quicker then she had anticipated, much to her sick amusement. Eliwood's tan skin was going the color of sour milk, his eyes tired and unfocused. It truly looked as though he were very ill and needed to be bedridden. It had been at least two days since his arrival here, and he had neither eaten nor drank those two days. It seemed her prediction would come closer to reality with each passing moment.
She hadn't been out of the fields of blood in a very long time; she had enjoyed Lock and Miranda's daily battle so much that she had kept herself within the dead grasslands for several centuries. Now, at the edge of the vast landscape, she was looking at the ruins that had once been an imperial capital. It had once been suspended in the sky, held there by magic, as had the majority of cities, but the structure had fallen to the ground, killing all its inhabitants. The stone buildings had all collapsed upon the cobblestone ground and numerous frozen statue-like people were cluttered around the dried up fountain, the chipped ivory statue in the center of the fountain was a one winged, armless angel that had been decapitated. The stone in the angel's shape was chipped and dulled with age; though you couldn't call the form standing amongst the gothic city an angel.
Eliwood was interested in the Statues for a while until Karen had explained to him that they were still could see everything, they had just lost the ability to move. Needless to say, he had been unnerved again by it all. He stared at the dried fountain longingly, clearly very thirsty, but turned his attention to the marble ruins which had once been the king's castle. A massive fortress of a building, the north and west towers had crumbled as well as the four walls. Dead ivy wrapped around the columns surrounding the mahogany doors, which were hanging off of rusty hinges and covered in a thick layer of death and icy, but dry, mold.
The moon had risen, casting its bloody light across the stone ground. Karen was seated on the edge of the fountain, buried in her tome whilst Eliwood searched through one of the buildings. She had no idea what he was looking for and had no desire to ask. It wasn't her business and she had no care to make it hers. Only when he called her name did she glance up, standing lazily.
"Karen, you said that I was the only living person here."
Leaning her book open on the stone of the fountain, she walked slowly towards him and saw what he was looking at. It was indeed, another living one, male again and slumped at a table in a half-crumpled tavern. His body was wrapped in a thick brown cloak, the hood pulled up over her face. You could tell he was alive by his hands, which were a deep, chocolate color and the warming aura that surrounded him, which was unlike everybody else's in the city. Eliwood pulled back the hood to reveal an oval-shaped face surrounded by mattered brown hair, tied back by a thin strap of leather. He was breathing shallowly, numerously bleeding cuts on his face and hands. The young Marquees inhaled deeply.
"Saint Elimine thank you," he breathed, "It's Mark."
"I presume that you know him then," she said, examining his facial features. They weren't anything like the angular face structure of Eliwood's; Mark had a more oval, rounder shape to his face, though the features were weather-worn and somewhat faded. A black and emerald scarf was tied loosely around his neck.
"He's saved my life more times than I can count," said the Knight Lord, shaking the young man's shoulders gently. Mark's head lolled to his shoulder, the lips moving open slightly. He was either in a deep sleep or in a coma. With a heavy sigh, Eliwood tried to lift up his friend but he proved to be heavier then expected.
"Let him rest," said Karen, "If I am not mistaken, the living need a lot of sleep, don't they?"
He gave her a look with a raised eyebrow, which she took for a yes. She stared at the tanned boy a little while longer. He certainly looked like he had done a lot of traveling in his lifetime, which made him look older then he probably was. "How do you know this man?"
"He was the tactician for my army a year ago, the best there ever was."
"From your tone of voice, I'm presuming this young man was the only strategist you ever dealt with?" Eliwood gave her a sharp glare, which she returned with her usual dark and eerie smile.
"The city you stand upon was once the capital of the barbaric empire, lead by Lord Kazul. He is in hell because he slaughtered all of the grassland's people. Prejudice drove him mad. The people he killed are either in heaven or wander the fields, though we have met none. They clutch their weapons, ready to fight, but their words are slurred when the speak."
He was apparently trying to ignore her, busy trying to shake awake his tactician. Mark's head fell to his chest, as lifeless as a doll. Eliwood sighed deeply and turned his gaze to the castle. "Does anybody live there?"
"The soul of Kazul's daughter, Moria. She is cursed to dance forever, for she danced with her lover and he killed her in that waltz, so the story says. Dagger went through her neck." He looked sickened.
"Do you really gain some pleasure in telling these tales?" he asked in a snappish tone. She appeared to have touched a nerve.
"I can gain no pleasure from your disturbance, living one, I tell my tales because I feel the need to. That is all." She walked lazily towards the fountain, where she sat and read longer. Eliwood sighed and shook Mark's body some more, all the while yelling his name. Though she could not feel annoyance, Karen was getting tired of listening to him constantly repeat the tactician's name.
Finally shutting her book, she looked up at the lord. "Punch him in the stomach, that's how you woke up."
With another look at the girl, Eliwood balled his right hand into a fist and swung it into the other man's gut. With a grunt of pain, Mark's eyes – as brown as his hair and skin – snapped open and he fell backwards, holding his stomach. He blinked several times, finally registering Eliwood's face in his memory.
"Lord Eliwood! Glad to see you again," he said cheerfully, then looked around at the city, getting to his feet. "Where . . . are we?" he asked slowly, his smiling face quickly being replaced with a frown.
"A paradise for the damned," said Karen lazily, turning a page of her tome without looking up, "A haven for failures, some say. The capital city of an empire run by a man with a heart as black as the sky above, to be more exact, deemed Kaden-Karo by the living centuries ago."
Mark jumped, turning to look at Karen. She glanced up with her gaze unfocused again, then returned to her book. "My name is Karen and you are in limbo."
"Limbo? Saint Elimine help me, I'm DEAD!" yelled Mark, staggering backwards and staring at his lord in horror, "Your dead to?"
Karen gave him her trademarked dark glare and returned to her book. "Life is a delicate thing. I am no longer alive, but you and Eliwood are. In a few days, that life of yours will be gone. You cannot find food or water here. Your bodies will be wasted away; your souls will become trapped here like everyone else." She gestured towards the Statues. "They are in suspended animation, per say. They see all, but cannot move. Please don't bother them."
Mark narrowed his eyes at her, which she ignored. About to reply to her scathingly, a look from Eliwood silenced him. He turned to the red haired lord, confusion on his face. "Who exactly is this girl?" he hissed quietly.
"She's my guide," he explained in a whisper, so Karen could not hear, "Apparently she committed suicide over a thousand years ago."
"Wonderful," said the young strategist with heavy sarcasm, "So she's like a ghost or something?" Eliwood nodded. Karen swung her legs over the edge of the fountain so that her feet were in the water and began to scrub them free of the blood caked onto the toes and soles.
"I suppose you need sleep?" she asked and, though her voice was still a monotone, Eliwood thought a flicker of sympathy was in her words. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of such thoughts. She said it herself; she was like Nergal's morphs, emotionless, empty and soulless. Why would she have sympathy towards him when she had spent the last two days sniping at him about how he'd die soon?
Mark's dark brown eyes flickered to his one-time employer. The red-haired Knight Lord was pale from lack of sleep and lack of food; he looked like he was going to collapse at any moment. "Sleep is a good idea, but where the hell are we suppose to find it in this pile of rubble?"
Karen pointed a finger at the castle, shutting her book with a snap. "Lord Kazul's mansion might be a good place, living ones. Unless you count the cursed Moria, it has been deserted since the city fell. Besides, as live men, I do think you may enjoy Moria's eternal dance. She was called the Goddess of Beauty in her lifetime."
Eliwood scowled, the memory of his conversation with Lady Eleanora returning with a painful stab to his heart. He rubbed Thor's Ire with his thumb absently and Mark's gaze turned to the ring. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Karen had begun to walk towards the castle, her gait slow and silent, buried again in her book. The two followed her, as silent as the grave. Both were examining the shambles of the city.
It had once been beautiful; he could tell that at a glance. All of the buildings were made of carved marble, which surprised him. They were at the edge of a vast field where no quarry could have been. Buildings had been crafted with the greatest care, with domed ceilings and intricate designs carved into the windows and door frames. There were many statues of the same woman perched in a small alcove above each door, a woman with the face of an angel and draped in a long gown that barely covered her chest and legs. Her hair brushed the ground. Eliwood assumed that this must have been either a queen or a saint.
The many frozen Statues that they saw on their way to the palace gates disturbed him greatly. They were all in positions with their faces revealing terror or sorrow. There was a young couple locked in a kiss, the woman pulled to the man's chest and a little girl holding her mother's hand, pointing with tears dripping down her face at the fallen body of a man, who had to be the girl's father. The mother was sobbing too. There was a dog that was animated, nuzzling a boy's fallen body. It growled as they passed it, but only half-heartily, before whimpering and licking the boy's pale face, as though trying to get his playmate to wake up.
Karen, as ever, was emotionless as she walked along the dingy streets, focused completely in her book. Mark looked on the verge of tears, which was saying something. The tactician had seen many events in his life, many battles and fallen soldiers, and here he was about to cry at a dead boy's body. Eliwood himself was trying to ignore everything, which was nearly impossible. He was twirling the magical ring around his finger again and again, rubbing the ruins engraved into the band of silver.
The castle looked even more decrepit up close. Where it may have rivaled the glory of Bern Manse thousands of years ago, it had brown ivy crawling up the sides and a layer of mold so thick upon the doors that it took both men slamming their bodies into it to pry the wood apart. The doors flung open, one falling off its ruined hinges in an instant. The courtyard was filled with dead grass and a female Statue with gray hair, smiling wistfully at a boy and girl, who were playing near the wall. They to were frozen.
The inside of the castle was empty, though the smell of death and decay was present in every knock and cranny. Moth-eaten paintings covered the corridor walls, burnt out torches hanging in brackets near windows whose glass was covered in dust too thick to ever see out of. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the deserted halls and Karen was still buried in her book, turning the pages as though she were simply in a library.
They finally reached a broken doorway that both crumbled the second Eliwood touched it and lead to a massive ballroom, the floor covered in dust and cobwebs marring the glass chandeliers on the ceiling. This room had a single occupant, who was clearly the Moria Karen had spoken of. She was indeed beautiful, with a face elegantly carved with the eyebrows slanted perfectly and skin glossy and flawless like polished stone. Dressed in a gown of ivory and ebony silk, her skin was as pale as newly fallen snow and her hair, pulled into a knot at the back of her skull, was a lifeless and dull shade of red. Her eyes, perhaps once haunting emerald in color, were as dead and empty as Karen's black orbs. She was waltzing without a partner, her face one of happiness as she gripped the air in front of her. She spoke to, cheery and seductively, seeing a dancing companion that none others could see. She took no notice of their presence, still twirling around and around in her waltz, occasionally spinning as though a man guided her body.
When Mark opened his mouth to call her, Karen looked up from her book. "She cannot see us. She is trapped in the memory of her dancing with her murderous fiancée."
"What kept her from going to heaven?" asked Eliwood softly, still watching the woman dance.
"She was unfaithful. Pregnant with another man's child. Her love found out and killed her in this dance. The amusing thing was that she became pregnant because her brother raped her. Isn't that funny?"
He didn't find any humor in the tale, blue gaze watching as Moria spun and reached up to kiss her invisible partner. Her eyes grew wide as a gash appeared on her throat, blood pouring out of the wound and onto the dusty. She seemed to fall to the ground in a graceful arch, eyes still open but now dead. Blood dripped from her open lips, which were petal pink.
Horrified and unnerved greatly, Pherae's marquees turned and fled from the hall, trying desperately to clear the image of Moria's dead body from his mind.
End Chapter Three
