AN: Just a quick note before I go. A recent guest reviewer complained about the length of chapters. In the first few chapters of this story I was kind of 'finding my feet' and so some of them were on the shorter side, however as a general rule my chapters run a minimum of 3,000 words which is about 8-11 pages depending on the amount of character speech versus narration at a size 12 Verdana font. When I promise a double release day in exchange for donations, I always mean that I will hit that minimum or greater, and the chapters he referred to were in excess of 3,000 for one, and well over 4,000 for the other.
Now, on a related note, I realize my update schedule has slowed down. The reason was that I was sent to an army instructor course that was eating up an absurd amount of time, the 'class' didn't eat up the entire day, however the frequent testing and rehearsal time to present, DID. I have now completed the course and gotten my instructor certification, and here is an additional double release day, one for the Synod, one for God Rising. The Synod will be entering a hold status before long to avoid giving away spoilers, I don't mind giving 'hints' of past events in a future set story, but not outright spoilers. There is a lot left to cover still, and I'll be trying out some new things stylistically to see what works. In the meantime, enjoy this next chapter and have a nice day, expect my release schedule to pick back up, but it'll be awhile before I do more double releases. My tour of duty will be ending soon and I'll have to travel back home. Good thing to, I miss my dogs, my kids, and yeah, sometimes miss the wife. ;)
...Inside Crossroad City…
Moira looked at the fellows with whom she had escaped. "We don't have long." She told them in a hushed and hurried whisper, "People will be out and about soon, and I have no idea what the hell to do next."
"Totally improvising… it can only go so far." A man she vaguely knew by his nickname 'Rascal' for both his fondness for pranks and his fondness for flirtation, he was a boyishly handsome man in his own way, with a crooked little smile that could make even the most salacious statement go from seductive to drawing absurd laughter.
"Maybe so, but it got us this far, but now what?" Moira asked.
"Now we get out of this crap and get the hell out of sight. Ideally, we get out of the city and back to our own lines, but for now we need to get out of these clothes." He said and Moira stared at him in disbelief…
"Not what I mean." he said with a smirk, "I mean we're still looking like prisoners, 'c'mon, follow me!" he said and rushed out of the shadows.
"What did you have in mind?" Moira asked, following close behind him, for all his boyish looks and rakish attitude, Rascal was a quick and adaptive thinker who had more than once proved his versatility.
He laughed, "If this were a terrible book we'd conveniently find a set of clothing for each of us hanging from a laundry line, because residential areas are always right next to administrative centers and prisons."
"Uh huh, but we're not part of some stupid story, so what 'do' you have in mind?" She asked.
"We 'are' close to where a bunch of soldiers work, and what do soldiers and guards like to do?" He asked rhetorically.
"They like to visit whores." Moira said emphatically, "But if you think I'm going to be running around Crossroads with these bouncing around to distract you, you're out of your damn mind." Moira looked back at the rest of them, "And don't you lot say a damn thing." They laughed instead.
"OK, yes, that, but I mean 'drink'. Give me your sword." Rascal said softly, and she reluctantly gave it over as they followed him. It didn't take long to find a tavern, and when they found one, Rascal had them all conceal themselves across the street in the shadows, from a distance what they wore was indeterminant, but it was reason enough that they chose to head down a nearby alley instead. Rascal himself went into another alleyway and disguised himself as a 'passed out drunk'. The first to pass by didn't even notice him.
Moira watched, impressed as his plan unfolded, he simply stood up, covered the mouth of his target, and then pulled the head back and hit him with the pommel of the blade. The man crumpled. Rascal quickly changed clothes with him and stuffed the unconscious man in a barrel nearby.
Moira grinned and looked at her companions, she didn't need to see their faces to know they were grinning back at her. It was to her surprise though, that Rascal abandoned the alley and returned. "What… there are more of us, why are you back?" She asked.
"Can't hit the same place, nowhere else to hide bodies, just that one barrel, if there had been more options I'd stay, but we need somewhere else, but not to worry, this close to where we were held there will be several more places, I can promise you that." Rascal said, and then winked at Moira, "Can't promise we'll find something quite the right fit for you, but I can promise I'll try not to insult you by making it too tight."
Moira rubbed her temple and shook her head, "How the hell did I get saddled with you?" She grumbled in exasperation.
"Dumb luck?" He guessed with a shrug and a boyish grin.
"Dumbass." She said with a laugh, and then the lot of them started to shuffle after him as Rascal made his way further down the street, sticking to the shadows dragged things out, and was almost needless thanks to the now very late hour that was rapidly becoming 'very early' but chances were not something they were prepared to take.
Rascal found another location just as expected, and again he waited until someone suitably sized came out, then he beat the man over the head after playing 'fallen down drunk' as luck would have it, this place had several barrels, so he was able to outfit most of the rest of their party in the same way.
When they started to move to the next establishment Moira asked, "Why are you letting them live? Wouldn't killing them be easier?" She questioned further in a curious tone of voice. She knew Rascal didn't shy from violence.
"Because I want them to be captured, of course." Rascal replied. "They'll know we escaped, but if they find bodies they'll flood the city with guards to look for us, but if they capture these men by mistake, then the hunt will be over in hours, maybe a few days. Maybe they'll just kill them outright and our problems are solved."
"Makes sense." Mananak whispered and stroked his beard. He was relatively short compared to the rest of them, but sturdy of body at least.
"Yours might take a little longer, and I'd rather not attack a child if I can avoid it." Rascal said, looking down at Mananak with a grin.
"Come down here and say that!" He said with faux anger at the tall Rascal, shaking his fists in the air. There was a low round of laughter.
"Moira," Rascal asked, "Where's Melkan, last I saw he was with you?"
Moira lowered her gaze and told the story of his trading places with her. "Shit." He said, "That will complicate things." He said, and Moira looked at him curiously, she was about to ask what he meant, but did not get the chance.
When they found another place, Rascal rushed over to a favorable position and repeated the act, this was a part he didn't like. The last two men were easy, and they were all outfitted, but that still left Moira. She couldn't stay in her guard uniform, and the Slane Theocracy was a conservative place, women rarely dressed like men.
He stood up and waited until a woman passed by who looked roughly Moira's size, he reached out, snatched her by her hair and dragged her into the alley, she opened her mouth to scream only for him to cover it as he got his arm around her, he tilted her head back, and whispered, "I'm sorry." Then he lifted the blade and drew it across her throat.
His face was close, he could see the white terror of her eyes, she frantically tried to pull his arm away from her. She kicked and cried muffled cries, but as her life's blood fountained out away from her, her struggles started to fade to nothing, and Rascal let her fall limp. His comrades could scarcely believe their eyes, he waved them over to him, and looked over at Moira.
"Get dressed." He said bluntly. "We'll keep a look out, don't put your clothes on her." He said.
Moira was mute as they took position with their backs to her, she looked down at the woman, the two might have been cousins, if not sisters, the resemblance was eerie except for their hair color. Rascal's voice had been equally odd, most everything he'd ever said had been with a joke or a laugh, but just then it had been hard and gruff.
"Damn it all!" She cursed and stripped off both her clothing and that of the corpse, she then put the dead woman's clothes on herself, it was a near perfect fit, even if it was a little lower cut than Moira would have chosen for herself.
"Ready?" Rascal asked.
"Y-Yes." Moira said, looking at the backs presented to her.
"OK, good." Rascal said, then added, "This next part is going to be unpleasant."
"Unpleasant… how?" One of his comrades asked.
"Like 'disgusting' unpleasant." Rascal said, looking at the one who'd spoken, it was Romare, a gentle man by temperament with a face that was twice his actual age of twentysomething, a balding head and a perpetually sour expression that belied his energy in dire circumstances.
"Feel free to look away." Rascal said gently, He then went back to the corpse and quickly mutilated the dead woman's ears, he took the cut parts and wrapped him in a dirty cloth he found on the ground, and Moira went pale, as did her comrades.
"What are you doing…" Romare asked in a hushed voice of horror.
"She's blond, if the ears are mutilated, there is a slim chance they'll just assume someone had sex with an elf slave, killed her, and dumped her body rather than dispose of it properly. It happens sometimes, I'd imagine that nobody will look too closely at it, in a few days, she might get reported missing to someone, but it isn't likely anybody will draw a connection between whoever she was in life, and a dead elf slave dumped naked in an alley." Rascal's voice was grim and filled with loathing.
"How do you know that?" Moira asked as he wiped the blade on the hair of the 'elf woman' for added realism.
"No time now, we've got to move, one more thing though." He said, and he hit the body a few times to leave nasty marks in various places, "If we're lucky, nobody will look too closely at that and realize it was done after she was already dead." He said, then dragged the corpse farther into the alley and covered it with garbage that was scattered about to make it look like that was dumped with her.
Moira looked at Rascal with something between fascination and horror as he worked, she looked to the rest of their comrades, they had similar expressions on their own faces. "Come on." Rascal said, and rushed down the alley and out the other side of the street, the rest, reluctantly followed as Moira stuffed the prison guard clothing she wore into a moldy old sack she'd snatched up off the ground.
She bit her lip unhappily, Rascal would have a lot of explaining to do at the very first opportunity.
...Road to Kami Miyako…
Melkan was tired. The carriage he was riding in was clearly intended expressly for prisoners, and he was alone inside it. Whoever had put it together did not have comfort in mind, there were plenty of chains, and they secured him in multiple points leaving him little room to move around. The walls were lined with metal and left nothing to look at, he didn't even have a guard inside with him to talk to, he was all alone.
He supposed that was good, the more isolated he was, the less likely anyone was to realize they'd gotten the wrong person. But still… he was bored. "Moira… please be alright…" He whispered to the empty stale air in his confinement.
He tried to adjust himself, the chains rattled a bit, but he couldn't quite manage to move the way he wanted. "Don't think about itching." He said out loud, just so there would be a voice in the blank and empty compartment. "Don't think about itching, don't think about itching… Goddamn it!" He groaned out, he had an itch. He tried to reach for it but he couldn't move enough, the itch got worse.
He struggled and writhed and tried to scratch the itch behind his knee against the bench he was sitting on, the iron chains however, were stronger than he was and scratching was not an option.
It was a relief when, hours later, the carriage finally stopped and the door opened. A burly looking man poked his head in, "What's with all this'ere racket? You can't be tryin to escape can yeh?" He asked with a snarl.
Melkan shook his head, "No! I've got an itch behind my knee and I can't scratch it and it is driving me crazy!" He said emphatically and continued to try to scratch.
The bald headed, bald faced driver looked stunned for a moment, but as he saw the movement and heard the noise he realized that Melkan was telling the truth, and he started to laugh. "Hold yer leg out there, far as you can."
Melkan looked dubious but desperate, he stuck his leg out, the driver drew his sword and put it behind Melkan's leg.
"No! No please! No! Don't cut it off! Please don't do that! I'll be quiet, I just…" He cried, looking at the driver in abject terror.
Only to feel a sudden relief as the sword edge scraped up and down the back of his leg, scratching the itch.
"Ah ain't a monster, jus a driver, but ah had a leg broke once, no priest, no money, so they wrapped it up for healin on its own, couldn't scratch fer weeks an it drove me crazy. Now you sit tight'n ah'll be gettin food for yah." The man's voice was rough as gravel and his face was so ugly it was one a mother might have second thoughts about, but… he seemed to Melkan to be genuinely kind.
He nodded gratefully, "Thank you." He said, and his stomach rumbled at the mention of food.
A few minutes later he had a bowl of stew in his lap, a skin of warm water next to him, and the driver had lengthened the amount of chain he had available to himself in order to let him move his hands, eat, and blessedly, scratch. "I'll be leavin you like that, you ain't goin anywhere all chained up, so I'll letcha have some extra chain so as yah can lie down and scratch itches. But don't go tryin anythin, you try to get out, an ah gotta get rough." The driver said.
"Thank you." Melkan said as he began to eat, when the journey resumed, he felt genuinely relieved, not just that he could move around and not starve, but also that not everyone in the Slane Theocracy was a heartless, monstrous slice of evil shaped like a human being.
...Yaksun...Early morning…
Vanysa touched Queen Draudillon's cheek. The two were alone, that was how the Queen wished it, she didn't shrink from the touch or rebuke the blond girl, she still felt an abiding gnawing in her gut whenever she looked at the beauty. It was her conscience eating away at her, the former human peasant had come to represent, in the Queen's mind, every wrong and failure for which she'd been responsible. Vanysa's touch was not meant as a taunt or a cruelty, nor, as she looked into the beautiful eyes, did she see a glimmer of hatred, it seemed the girl actually wanted to comfort her, sensing the Queen's discomfort.
"You don't have to be afraid of me." Vanysa said softly as she came closer and her human form faded away and the demoness was present again. "I came because his highness, commanded it, at your request. I have come 'to help you' not 'for you'. Your small failure with the riot was just a learning opportunity." The talons the Queen felt on her cheek did not feel threatening, though she knew quite well how easily they could rip away her face.
"I know, but every time I see you…" The Queen looked down, "I feel the need to apologize again, if there is some living person my rule failed worse than you, I haven't seen them."
Vanysa shook her head, "If you'd known, you'd have helped me. My stubborn pride would not let me beg for aid, not even when I got a decent job and had my salary almost completely stolen."
The Queen smiled weakly, the corners of her mouth turned up in a very slight way and she covered the golden hand of the demoness with her own, allowing it to press into her cheek. "If I'd been competent, I'd have known, but your kindness in forgiving me will not be forgotten. Now, do you know why you've been requested?" She asked.
"Business then." Vanysa said and let her hand fall away, she started to pace and folded her hands behind her back, the change was palpable, and the demoness spoke with a casual professionalism that made it seem impossible that she'd ever been an illiterate peasant girl. "I would hazard a guess that you have people here who need their guilt uncovered and who require being made an example of."
"That is precisely it." Queen Draudillon said with surprise on her face, "How did you guess it that quickly?"
"You asked for me, I did this for you before, and I'm both good at what I do and have more or less finished my larger task with Astraka. Not that I'm finished 'with Astraka', but he is at least ruined and no longer party to the game of kingdoms. It seemed therefore reasonable to me that you'd want me back for something you knew I could do well." Vanysa explained with a monotone of casual competence.
"Well, you're right." Queen Draudillon said, and then explained what she'd seen in the building complex within the city. Vanysa frowned, the little corners of her mouth turned down and her fangs became visible as they came down over her teeth with the change in expression.
"I see." She said quietly. "Sounds bad, so how public do you want this to be?" The demoness asked.
"I want children's stories to tell of the demoness who rips away the guilty from their lives and carries them away to be punished, and I want those stories to be told for countless generations to warn children of the consequences of bad behavior." Queen Draudillon's statement sounded almost comical on its face, but her tone of voice was as serious as death itself.
"Fine. Seems unlikely that those who would do things like that would have any shame about it, so finding them should be as easy as flying above the city and looking around for it. Have your guards make the announcement and lock the gates, have them arrest anybody trying to get out, and I'll handle the rest. I doubt there are very many, but some very visible snatchings will see it done. Do you want me to kill them the way I did the nobles in the purges? Or take them away to Nazarick?" Vanysa asked indifferently.
"What is your preference?" The Queen asked.
"Well Demiurge needs more test subjects, and perhaps the unknown fate will serve better here than visible bloodshed." Vanysa said with a passing wave of her hand, "If it is all the same to you, I'll snatch them up, fly them away over the city, then toss them through a gate somewhere out of sight."
Queen Draudillon visibly swallowed. "That sounds very… effective."
"It is." Vanysa said bluntly.
"Then handle it as you see fit, I'll be riding out this afternoon, I'll send word immediately, I want everyone to see what happens and to know why it is, when it occurs. In the meantime, can I offer you a meal while you wait for your… is it 'work' or…?" The Queen trailed off uncomfortably.
Vanysa laughed, "It's not work, it's a passion, one of many." She licked her lips hungrily, "But I will take breakfast while I wait."
Their meeting had ended after that, word had been sent out, and by midafternoon everything was ready and the army set out.
Departing the city had been trivially easy, they moved out while leaving a small complement of soldiers behind, the shame of Yaksun kept the population passive, few upward looks could be seen as the Queen rode out with most of her army, she didn't look down at the spiritually broken people. Who they were and how they saw themselves had been utterly shattered.
In the distance, she heard a cry and a shattering of stone and glass. She could hear the distant screams, the protestations of innocence, the cackling of demonic laughter as a demoness rose into the air above the city, she carried a man in her talons, he cried out to those below, and people looked up at the gold skinned erinyes and her prey, but as he swept over the passing faces, hope turned to ashes. Hatred for him and fear of the demoness and those she served, that was all he saw.
Queen Draudillon watched them shrink in the distance as the vendetta in demon form carried him beyond sight, and felt, to her surprise, not a shred of pity for the man being carried away.
"Don't be surprised." General Musan said angrily, a sentiment echoed with a hard nod from General Oma. "Anyone who saw that place, would never feel pity for someone who went there for work or for pleasure."
"Pity may have its place," General Oma said over the steady clip clop noise of her walking horse, "but not with anyone associated with… that."
"You're right of course." Queen Draudillon said, ignoring the faint wailing that they could hear in the distance, the entire city of Yaksun had gone silent enough that even from far away, the wailing and the demonic laughter still carried to many ears.
"Though I surprise myself for my want of pity… I am also surprised by my sense of… satisfaction. After all, such an end could not happen to nicer people, could it?" She asked with a sarcastic voice and a grim smile that was quickly imitated by her generals.
"No, Your Majesty, no it could not." General Oma said, and then quietly turned her attention back to the gate they were approaching, trying not to wonder too hard if the next city would imitate Yaksun in the worst ways possible or not.