Chapter IV
The Demon and the Mourner
A metallic taste filled Ephraim's mouth as his mind struggled for consciousness. His head ached painfully from where the tray had hit him, and his vision was blinded by white dots that glittered merrily at him. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision and his monster of a headache, he was greeted with the sight of large, teary crimson eyes blinking inches from his face.
"Myrrh!" he yelled in surprise, jerking backwards slightly from the small girl. Myrrh was very pale and looked almost terrified, kneeling on the ground and clutching her hands together in white knuckles of fear.
". . . You weren't waking up," she said weakly. "And I was scared . . ."
"It's all right, Myrrh," he said softly, his heart rate quickly returning to normal as he stood. Much to his fury, the Siegmund was gone from his person and he didn't have so much as a knife to protect himself or Myrrh. Ephraim's eyes flickered to their surroundings; those vastly different from that of the Rausten village that bordered Darkling Woods.
They were in an empty meadow, the brown grass crackling under his weight and the only illumination on the field was the full moon above them. Ephraim frowned darkly as he stared up at the night sky.
There weren't any stars. The sky, aside from the perfectly round, white moon, was pitch black and empty.
"Do you know where we are?" he asked the small Manakete by his side. Myrrh shook her head.
"General Seth was looking for Eirika . . . and I was with him. Two of the people in that house . . ."she sniffed back tears, "The girl kept saying 'Paradise'. She grabbed my neck . . ."
Ephraim could tell immediately what had happened. Alice, or the zombie-like maids of the manor, had knocked both Myrrh and Seth unconscious as they had done to him. What he couldn't understand was how two women – one of them being only a young girl – had managed to subdue an armed General of Renais. Unless they hadn't…
"Myrrh, do you remember if the girl knocked out Seth?"
She shook her head quickly. Ephraim nodded and looked around at the dead field of grass, trying to find any path that could lead to a town or a village or even a farm. Just any place that wasn't out in the open like this would be wanted.
"Let's go, Myrrh."
She nodded and kept close on his heels as he walked north, hoping that they'd be able to come upon some sort of civilization – a town, a city, a shack. Ephraim's mind was pounding at an almost unbearable level, both from where it'd been hit with a tea tray and from unanswered questions.
Where were they? Rausten's landscape was mainly thick forests and small hills in the northern part and, through the travel through the theocracy, Ephraim had never seen such flatland there. And where were the stars when the moon was still omnipresent in the sky? When his mind drifted to Alice – the girl he was sure had brought he and Myrrh to this desolate place – his head throbbed worse.
He needed answers, or even just a weapon would suffice. He hated not knowing anything, especially about where he was. But he knew that his answers lay with Alice McGee, or even Madame Radcliff. Both of them had been involved with him falling unconscious, and Alice had knocked Myrrh out cold.
"Does ye wish to take this path?"
The sudden voice made Ephraim jump quickly and look to his right, the direction where the sleep voice had come from His hands flexed for the wooden feel of a lance shaft when he saw the person perched to their side.
To their right was a single stone well, which didn't seem to have been there a few moments ago. Seated at the edge of the well was a young boy, maybe Myrrh's age (physically, of course) who grinned cheekily at Ephraim. It took a while for Ephraim to see the boy; he blended almost perfectly in with the night, his hair, skin, and eyes deep, dark brown. There was braided belladonna and laburnum around his wrists and neck, a circlet of the poisons resting on his head and mud caked on his coat and leather clothing.
"Who're you?" Ephraim asked quickly, making sure that Myrrh was behind him. Even though she could certainly take care of herself with that monstrous dragon form of hers, he still felt as though she needed protection.
The boy smiled wryly and tilted his head in an angle, much like a bird would do. "Min name be Cat, yet ye be unknown to me. Pray tell, what is your purpose in min wood?"
What wood? There was only dead grass!
"Ephraim . . . He's not human . . ." Myrrh's voice was hushed and fearful, her red eyes looking at the dark boy in the utmost fear. Ephraim looked at the grinning boy in surprise, though not by much. Something in the boy's eyes mimicked the dead quality in Alice's gaze and his grin never flickered, staying perfectly still as if painted onto his young face.
"Ge be correct, human not human," Cat simpered coldly, standing onto the edge of the well and glaring at them intently. "Though I would have to admit, thou art my kindred, yet ye be of a different bloodline."
The cryptic quality of Cat's voice was irritating, and the last thing Ephraim needed was another annoyance with the Siegmund gone, Myrrh in his charge and the both of them lost in a field of dead grass. His voice, however, was calm when he spoke to the grinning boy.
"Can you tell us where we are?"
"In Paradise," Cat responded swiftly. "Now, would ye wish to take this path?"
"What path?" Ephraim said hastily.
The field, apart from the well where Cat sat, was completely devoid of anything resembling a street, road or path. But Cat's eyes glittered wickedly and he leapt down from the side of the well, slipping his hands into his overcoat's pockets.
"Because ye denies the path be there. When ye accept the path being where the path be, than thou can traverse the path."
When Ephraim opened his mouth to question Cat in an angry tone, the boy held up one thin finger and pointed it at Myrrh, who flinched and held Ephraim's hand tightly.
"The Engel of Music can tell thee where the path lays, yet thee must first speaketh with the Engel."
"Where is the Angel?" He was fighting to keep his voice calm while his temper mounted violently.
"Thou art must travel the path to find the Engel of Music." Cat's eyes sparkled, seemingly, in response to Ephraim's irritation. This didn't make any sense, no sense at all . . .
Ephraim inhaled deeply and spoke through ground teeth. "All we want is to get to a town. Will you tell us that much?"
". . . For a price . . ."
Myrrh's eyes widened violently as Cat turned towards her, pointing his long finger directly at the Manakete. "Relinquish the human not human, and ye shall receive the information regarding anything ye'd wish. Even how to leave Paradise, if that be what thou wishes."
Paradise? He and Myrrh . . . they were in Paradise? Didn't Alice . . . hadn't she spoken of Paradise? Unintentionally, Ephraim's fingers curled in the usual position he gripped his lances with, but for now he was out of a weapon and had to stare at Cat with proud defiance in his eyes.
"I'd never give up Myrrh." His voice was cold and venomous, as was the cerulean glare directed at Cat. The dark boy's grin flickered for a single moment and slipped his hands into his pockets.
"Then ye'd be damned to Paradise, less ye be willing to part with the human not human." Cat's eyes narrowed maliciously as he withdrew a long silver knife from his pocket. "And thou shall be parting with her one way or another, young King."
"Run, Myrrh," he hissed and Myrrh looked up at him—swallowing painfully, it seemed.
"But Ephraim . . ." she began to protest.
"RUN!"
Cat charged towards them and the indigo-haired girl by his side fled as fast as her small legs would take her. Ephraim, although he preferred a spear to any other form of combat, knew how to hold his own without a weapon. He dodged Cat's lunge with the knife and grabbed the boy's arm, twisting it to his back so that the bone snapped. To his great surprise, Ephraim's antagonist chuckled heartily and turned his head around to stare at the Prince of Renais. The bones of his neck cracked as it spun around, so Ephraim and Cat were face-to-face.
"Ye care for the human not human?" he asked and, shifting all his weight to his left foot, pressed it as hard as he could against Ephraim's boot. He ground his teeth painfully as his bones snapped and instead tightened his hold on Cat's broken arm.
"Tell me where Paradise is," he said darkly. "On Magvel?"
"Paradise be where Paradise be, and ye be in Paradise." Cat jerked his elbow into Ephraim's gut and jerked away from the prince, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "And ye be damned now that ye harm a numeral of Paradise."
This made little sense, although nothing made any sense in this horrific place. Ephraim blinked rapidly to try and clear his pounding head and felt a fist collide with his jaw. The sudden force knocked him to the ground, his mouth filling with the metallic taste of blood, his blazing eyes turning to Cat's body, yet it wasn't the same small boy he had been talking with moments ago.
"Ye be no match without a weapon, be ye?" Cat snarled through his elongated teeth, his eyes glistening. Monster was the only word that could describe the hideous form Ephraim was staring down at; a subhuman creature whose thick claws flexed dangerously and whose red eyes cut through the darkness like lanterns.
Ephraim was not afraid of monsters, by any means. He had killed dozens of them with no fear when in combat with them, but now . . . Now he lacked a weapon of any kind and his foot was broken, crippling him. And he was staring at a monster who could assume a human guise, one who looked like he could tear him limb from limb in an instant.
Still, he had to steady his nerves as he stared into Cat's pitiless eyes, and the deformed creature merely chuckled darkly. "Ye be brave, young King? Brave, nay, ye be fool-hearted says I. Stupidly foolish, says I, and I say truth, young King."
"You're the foolish one, coward," Ephraim said coldly, balling his gloved hands into tight fists. "Armed with claws and a knife against an unarmed man?"
"I be not interested in slaying ye like a lamb. Ye be of more worth than food, and I be not interested in flesh." Cat threw down his knife and stood on the balls of his feet so that he could look Ephraim in the eye. "Ye, though thine flesh be too tainted with vice."
Unsteady on his broken foot, Ephraim grabbed the fallen knife as Cat continued speaking, his voice calm and even. "Ye abandoned thine family just when war arrived. Ye allowed another man to claim ye father's life, whilst ye battled for glory? Glory, or be it carnage?"
"Shut up." Ephraim's heart was pounding in his ears. Damn it; it wasn't true! He'd left Renais to help defeat Grado, not for anything else. He'd left to save his home country, and his family.
"Did thou leave a country with the elite of an army so that thou could fulfill lust? Lust for battle, for the feel of playing creator and committing the vice of murder? Did thou enjoy silencing those who harmed ye, and those that didn't?"
"SHUT UP!"
Cat laughed in his sick manner. Why were those words, those untrue accusations, making fear enter Ephraim's mind for the first time in so long? He wasn't a warmonger, he knew that instinctively, but . . . DAMN IT!
"There once was a young child who was poor in studies and fine athletically, like thyself, young King. This child was tormented for laziness and lack of intelligence, such as ye was when ye was a childe?"
Sure, Eirika and Lyon had teased him for his poor marks in Father MacGregor's classes, but tormented? He was never tormented. Still, his shaking fingers were clutching the knife's hilt too tightly.
"This childe, a girl-child, was so miserable that she could not last another day without extracting revenge on those who harmed her. Thus this girl-childe did. Fifty paid the price of their crimes, their vices, their sins. And two who taunted her . . . Two were pierced with a lance in a manner identical to how ye silence humans." Cat's smile, even though it seemed impossible, stretched wider.
Ephraim shut his eyes tightly to steady his nerves and convince himself that he was nothing like that. No, he killed people only in self-defense and in defense of his country. He didn't kill for revenge; he didn't enjoy killing people.
If that was true, if his thoughts were true, then why the hell did some small part of him think that what Cat was saying was correct?
"I speak truth. Ye be lusting for blood, for joys of war and battle. I speak truth, ye murderer."
"Shut up . . ." Ephraim's mind was abuzz with pain and confusion as he sank to his knees, barely noticing the pain from his broken foot. He should be stronger then this. He was the leader of the army of Renais; he should be able to deal with something as trivial as this . . .
"Ye be needing to find the Engel of Music, if ye wishes to pay for thou's transgressions. The Engel gives all redemption." With that, Cat left Ephraim by the well with his features returning to those of a human boy with the sickening sound of cracking bone and his off-key singing.
The Prince of Renais stared at the knife he clutched in his palm with misted eyes, trying to gather his thoughts and ease the doubt that echoed in his mind.
It was a small cemetery, far removed from the main town and rarely visited by anybody. In recent years, with the fifty murderers committed by Alice McGee – the Red Queen, as the media had named her – the graveyard had seen a lot of visitors, but now it was rare that anybody came, except for the undertaker who patrolled the grounds.
Today was different. A young woman was starring up at the carved marble statue of an angel before her, angry tears trickling down her freckled cheeks and a bouquet of snowflake lilies in her quavering hand. She was not a pretty woman, with a shapeless body and a face befitting a farm girl, but she was famous for her singing, as her sister Mina had been.
The plaque beneath the angel statue was carved perfectly, with graceful handwriting that seemed impossible to get onto stone. The plaque, as the woman read, was for a Wilhelmina Christine Moore, who had been taken from the world when she was only sixteen. The woman's hand shook violently and her breathing grew ragged as she recalled the reason Mina was dead.
She had been given the lead role in a play, a role that she had wanted and strived for. The role of a lovesick opera singer in a musical she had loved since childhood, and Mina had had the voice of the angel that now marked her grave. Mina Moore had died because the other actress who had strived for that role had been Alice fucking McGee.
Mina had been murdered because some rich little snot had wanted to play the lead role in a play!
The woman looked up at the angel's face, unable to keep tears of rage from spilling down her face. She could still hear Mina sing for that role in the play, but she'd never sing again. She'd never smile, never date, never marry . . . All she could do now was feed the worms.
"I'll avenge you, Mina," the woman said, choking on her tears as she laid the bouquet on the base of the angel's feet. "I'll tear McGee limb from limb. I'll tear out her throat like she did to yours!"
The government didn't do anything. They would have given McGee the pleasure of a lethal injection, and she would have been there to see McGee die, but she had been placed to rot in an asylum all her life instead. No retribution; no payment for any of the victim's families. Why was that, she asked, why did divine redemption pass on Alice? It was because her mummy could pay the government and control where her daughter went.
Money does make this goddamn world go round, the woman thought bitterly. Go round and round, like a toy top for the rich.
The woman thought back to the morning when she had discovered McGee's handiwork; that evil morning last year. The image of Mina's bedroom flooded the woman's mind.
The sight of the white room, red with blood from her baby sister, had been filled with sunlight when she had entered the scene, wondering innocently why Mina hadn't been down to breakfast yet.
Mina's body had been placed delicately on her bed, with her hands folded over her chest and her throat gone from her body. Her face was full of fear, her mouth frozen and eyes wide and pale. She had already been dolled in black, fit for a funeral, and the knife that ended her life was still in her mutilated neck.
But there had been words painted on the wall in Mina Moore's own blood, a single phrase that nobody had been able to understand. McGee never said what it meant and it made the woman's blood boil to know that the message would forever be illegible to her.
Siegmund and Sieglinde. The Twins of Renais.
We Guard the Gate.
"With God as my witness," the woman hissed through clenched teeth, "I'll kill McGee and find these Twins of Renais. They must have had something to do with your death—accomplices or something, I just know it. I'll avenge you, Mina, even if it means that I'll take the electric chair that should have been McGee's fucking throne." Her eyes flashed as she marched from the graveyard, her voice hard and full of ice. "I swear it."
She, Megan Christine Moore, would make Alice McGee and those Twins of Renais pay for killing fifty innocents. She'd make them pay for killing her sister, even if she went to jail or died in the attempt.
I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.