-IS 703-
Futch-
The demon Pesmerga came to me in a dream. I do not recall much of what transpired, if anything, but upon awakening felt you ought to know. I write this hastily; though the dream itself was rather peaceful and silent, disquietingly so, I feel now as if the mightiest hordes of Hell have gathered at the base of my tower-quarters. I can hear their teeth gnashing and remember of course that it is merely wind and snow, as it is every morning, but there is a certain foreboding tone to it all, a frankness and freshness like an anticipated cough.
There is a measure of happiness in the assurance that the demon is still a presence. I will speak of this with Our Divine Father presently.
I am compelled to wish this be borne to you in great haste, though I am uncertain as to why.
-Sasarai
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Lightweight-
He got you too?
Same deal over here. I passed out at my desk, believe it or not, woke up with a signet imprint on my cheek. And ink in my hair. Haven't done that since I first took up the Rune.
I'm hoping it's not much to worry about. Good luck getting information out of your sleepy dad. If it's not a compromise to empire security, let me know?
-Futch
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Lightweight-
Addendum. I hope this next bird knows the way. This makes two nights. Same drill, though this time I woke up with the stamp in my other cheek.
If you don't have a bad feeling about this, I hope you're drunk as opposed to insane.
-Futch
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Futch-
Do not be concerned as to my sanity. What I have lost, I lost long ago. I have, perhaps not as overwhelming a concern as you, but to be sure I am concerned. However, I hope to allay some of yours.
It is fortuitous that I did not immediately reply to your earlier letter, considering you sent the second. In truth, I intended to wait for the completion of a short vigil and ritual, on the advice and with the aid of Our Divine Father and, also, Orosi, whom I upon inquiry discovered had both been subject to a similar vision.
We prayed through the night in Our Divine Father's chambers—Orosi having returned from the Island Nations for this express purpose—and the Demon made his presence known in the darkest moments of the night. Perhaps this is when you also had your dream, but for the three of us, a dream it was not. The Demon acknowledged Orosi and me, then discoursed briefly with Our Divine Father.
Our Divine Father deferred to him, after his fashion. "Hallowed one," he called the demon, "toward what end hast thou manifested in the minds of Us and Ours?"
The demon said, "I came not to your mind, but your quarters." He looked like himself, but he was no longer wearing the ancient armor I had seen him in last waking, now girt after the fashion of a Marlint Warlord's retainer. Was it so for you, Futch?
"Wherefore hast thou then granted such a rare blessing?" Our Divine Father asked.
And the Demon replied, "It is no blessing."
"Then, speak of thy pains, fore surely thine errand need be conveyed with more than a glance."
"My errand was to appraise. Having done so, no further words were necessary."
"Have We cause, then, to further glean knowledge of thine intent?"
"Orosi," he said, turning his eyes toward him. Only his eyes, these dying stars within the red hollows of his helm. I don't believe anyone strayed from his position during this entire exchange.
Orosi had never beheld Pesmerga, even in over a century of life. I do believe he was awed. I myself was rather afraid, given my past alliances with the Great White Turncoat and, by extension, Yuber. And Orosi looked to Our Divine Father, who told him to speak freely.
"Your power is humbling, Demon of Order," my son said. I believe it was an appropriate thing to say.
The Demon asked if Orosi understood his offer.
Orosi replied, "No."
The Demon said then, "I will quiet the voices."
I understood his offer, then.
Orosi drew in a deep breath, and I remember it rattling. He said, "We will enact Our Father and Our Divine Father's will on earth."
Futch, do you perhaps remember the moment after you, sought out by a party of recruiters, acquiesced to their pleas, joined a cause not your own? The feeling that, perhaps, the path behind you has been barred and drowned in fog, and remains only in your memories, never to be returned to by earthly means? That you are, perhaps, the single remaining grain of sand needed to tip the avalanche and reshape the mountain's face?
The Demon turned his eyes on me and spoke my name. Our Divine Father instructed me also to speak freely. He called me "my child," as he had not in years. Perhaps I deserved it.
I turned to the Demon and inclined my head, and said, "We are as a black stormcloud against the vastness of your auspiciously-starred absolution, and mar you with Our past unworthy actions." Orosi protested, but I went on, "Forgive Us Our years spent hand-in-hand with those who served your adversary."
"There is no need," he said.
I told him he was too magnanimous. He asked if I understood his offer. I told him, "Yes."
He said, "I will warm your heart."
I felt like he said it inside my head. It echoed, Futch, like things do in Eldest Living's cave, it surrounded me, filled me, stopped the words in my throat like a cork stops the vapors in a bottle of old wine. And I saw his eyes properly then, like Yuber's, reflected. I expected that, I think, yet still it tightened my chest.
I told him, as my son had told him, "We will enact Our Divine Father's will on earth." It was evasive, I know, but it said what I meant to say. I thought of you, Futch, as you are one of the few things other than my mission keeping me attached to the breathing world at all, and I do not want to leave you.
The Demon turned to Our Divine Father then, and asked the same question without preamble. Our Divine Father understood. The Demon said nothing more.
"Our mission is not counter to thine," Our Divine Father said, "and We will continue to enact it as We have been. All this time We have served an end not unlike the one thou strivest toward. Wherefore then dost thou ask of Us to change Our means?
The Demon removed his helm and held it beside him, looking between the three of us in our masks and robes. Orosi was the first to understand what this meant; he removed his mask, and I mine, and Our Divine Father his own as well. The Demon seemed to evaluate us, but only nodded in an irritatingly inscrutable fashion, and was gone.
When we awoke—for, somehow, we had slept, all three of us there—we spoke not a word of this. I do not suspect we ever will. Nor should you and I breach the subject further.
You will understand his offer should he bring it to you, as I expect he shall.
I think, perhaps, that in sending this letter I have expressed a selfish desire, that you not receive what he desires to give you, for to do so is to step aside. You will understand, and I will understand if you choose to walk astride him. For his offer is tempting, Futch, as all others bestowed by his ilk, and perhaps it is in your best interest to comply.
It is a hard thing to articulate, this churning in my breast; as ever, for you, I desire what keeps you happiest, but…ah, now the allusions come.
Envision the moored bird of whom you so often speak. He is beholden to the matronly grasp of the earth; indeed, as you again so often say, he is already dead. He is no longer himself, and can no longer hope to be himself, and so he despairs. But in his dreams, he finds solace in flights remembered and conjured, though these leave him hollow and dysphoric as morning comes.
Of course, if this moored bird was as sensible as you purport his kind are, he would have 'jumped when the others flew'. Suppose, friend, that he cannot. For reasons known only to the powers that govern this earth and laugh at our expense, he cannot in good conscience break his body on the waves and sink so that others may ascend.
An offer is made to the bird; that he may fly in dreams from which he need not wake. The despair will not redouble; the memories never fade; the heavens themselves will expand to account for this eternity of soaring, untroubled within and without.
It is a tempting offer, as I said. As all others bestowed by his ilk.
I pray for you, Futch. I pray for you, selfishly.
-Lightweight
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Sasarai-
Thanks for the warnings, and of course the prayers. Unfortunately, he doesn't waste words on me. Well, maybe fortunately.
He keeps showing up around corners when I least expect it, once, maybe twice a day. I don't know how he managed to find the time to come to you all if he's so busy haunting me. Maybe I'll take your advice and actually look for him instead of trying to ignore the guy, but frankly I'm of the belief that you just don't go looking for demons. For any reason. Especially if they're looking for you.
I'll keep you posted on whether he says anything or just spends the next few days trying to creep me out. Hopefully he'll get bored and go back to chasing that black-hatted bastard like he's supposed to be doing.
And you have no idea why either, it seems. Or at least no idea that you can express without resorting to poetry and memories that make me cringe. Not that it's been so long since I've thought about Chaco…but I tend to rely on the songs and the stories and the spontaneous explosions when I think of him. It's all a blur—I've rehearsed the past so many times in my head that I have to wonder if I'm remembering the truth. Did we really almost burn through the seat of Hoi's pants with a defunct fire spear? Did Sid really fling him out of the War Room just to prove he weighed less than Gabocha? Did you ever really walk in on me with two of the girls? I know we three watched the sun rise on Eldest Living's island, but were our hands joined at the time?
Did he really jump when the others flew?
I have my memories, and I have the Rune's, and the Rune has mine. Sometimes I wonder if it's fine-tuned the edges a little, just to make them more hair-splitting.
Anyway, I'll keep you posted on whether Pes decides to fess up or not. You'll be the first I tell, I'm sure.
-Futch
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Futch-
Yes, they were, but we two were wearing gloves, though I believe Chaco was not.
Something strikes me as rather ominous about Pesmerga's 'haunting' you, as you rightly describe it, but then, there is always a feeling of foreboding to be had around men as old as they. Perhaps my time spent with Our Divine Father and, yes, Yuber, has desensitized me some to the aspect of awe, aerated the fear and left only a precipitate of knowledge that these beings have seen more than I, perhaps, ever shall.
(And yet, no, in the case of Our Divine Father, who shall never behold the world of Wings and Scales as I have, at your good grace, nor has he seen the corners of the world to which I have, at your behest, made my pilgrimage to. The literal, to have seen, is eclipsed by the figurative, to have lived.)
My dearest friend, I apologize deeply if I have uprooted that which you would have buried. If it is of any consolation at all, I regard any memory I have of you, of those times, of those who are now gone to be precious, just as the useless and troublesome everyday tools of old are regarded by those who set their picks and shovels toward the past. A dark memory is a memory still, and proof that we were once better, more living creatures than we are now. Even if I was never mine, I was, in a sense, whole; I do not feel so, now.
It is worse, now Pesmerga has come and gone. I know I have made my decision, though, and by it I stand.
I pray your heart will settle.
-Sasarai
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Sasarai-
It's been almost two months. He's everywhere. I need an old priest and a young priest. I think you'll do for both, right?
-Futch
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Futch-
I will do what I can from here.
-Sasarai
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Lightweight-
Wrong answer.
-Futch
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Futch-
He will not speak to you if I am there, nor will he leave. I will do what I can from here.
-Sasarai
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Lightweight-
No, really, wrong answer.
-Futch
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Futch-
You are declining to say something.
-Sasarai
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Lightweight-
So are you.
-Futch
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Futch-
Wait.
-Sasarai
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Lightweight-
What was that you said about having lost your sanity long ago?
-Futch
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Futch-
In the name of all things holy, trust me.
-Sasarai
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My Son-
There was no time to tell you. I awoke from the most horrifying of visions and am gone, I know not for how long. Be me when I am needed. Our Divine Father already knows, no doubt.
I tell you only that I have gone looking for demons.
-S
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-IS 704-
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My Son-
I am sorry for the burden I have imposed on you these past weeks.
I need more time.
Do not reply.
-S
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My Son-
Again, I must apologize, even aware of how long it has been. I can speak more at length now, but I cannot return to Harmonia, I know not for how long.
The joint vision of which we three no longer speak was not exclusive to us. I have reason to believe that all of those encumbered with True Runes were subject to something, if not the precise intrusion that came about for us three in the Valley. Let it also be known to Our Divine Father that the Demon was rather lenient with us three in comparison to other bearers. Our firmness in our decision is not universal, and those who were not as forthcoming as we about our intentions regarding his proposal have since experienced complications. I am attending to the well-being of one such bearer, you have no doubt guessed to whom. I had thought to abstain from interfering. And then, that night, I fully understood the tantalizing extent of the Demon's order, and the degree to which he had already tempted my dear friend.
I am selfish, and I am acting beyond my station, and perhaps I am even a traitor in some respects; and yet, no. I have done something that I consider best, for my friend, for my country, and indeed for my own well-being, because I know that if I was to lose him I myself would become a dangerous, unstable thing, and not even you, my son, can convince me of the contrary. I defy Our Divine Father now so that I may serve him later.
Please indulge me a little longer.
Do not reply.
-S
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My Son-
I will return on the heels of this letter.
I thank you for your patience.
Do not reply.
-S
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from Commander Futch Schvarzeleber of the Dragon Knights of Goya
to His Eminence the Bishop Orosi II of the Holy Harmonian Empire, Chief Overseer of Nakula and Governor-in-Absentiam of Razril
I am in your debt.
Despite your father telling me pretty damned strongly that he doesn't want me to elaborate, I think you have the right to know some of what was going on. Besides, you're an intelligent man, you probably know most of it. And I'm just as selfish as your father is—I want you to trust me.
You know what that black-helmeted son of a wolf and a leprous corpse wanted of you. He wanted it of me too, probably more than he wanted it from you guys. Maybe because I'm more unstable, maybe because I don't believe the enemy of my enemy is my friend…but most of all because I wanted it too. I think he stuck around haunting me as long as he did because even when I told him to go away, I was curious. And he could tell, the bastard. I have to admit…I was scared because he was right. That's when we usually get scared and defensive, you know. Because of the truth. Outright lies don't bother people as much as incriminating evidence. I mean, if someone was to spread a rumor that I was terrified out of my wits of the color pink, I'd probably laugh and pretend to be scared just so that your country's army showed up with pink-painted armor and frilly new banners, but if someone said I was afraid of living I'd, well, curl up and die. Which is pretty much what I did.
I was becoming incredibly tired. I couldn't…well, didn't want to…admit to my associates that I was scared, and to be honest a few of them didn't believe me when I actually did tell them about, you know, guys in black armor showing up around corners with the implied intent of taking me out of commission. "But isn't Pesmerga your ally?" they kept asking. "From the wars long ago?" What could I tell them in response to that? "Yeah, but the Archbishop Sasarai is supposed to be my enemy, and now he's the only thing keeping me from flying as high as I can until I run out of air"?
Your father is an angel.
Maybe literally.
I'd already kind of fallen under when he got here. He told me what he saw, but I think that's his place to tell you, not mine, and let me just say that most of it was true. A lot of it only I was seeing, though.
So he woke me up. Figures it was his turn to play the Knight in Shining Armor and charge in, defeat the demon—more about that later—and make sure I got back on my feet. You'll understand if I have difficulty calling myself a princess. I feel more like an old man, actually. But then, the prince is older than I am, as well he should be.
He and I both suspected that this is happening elsewhere. In fact, we're quite certain that it happened a long time ago to someone we both knew. Well, not what the demon was proposing, precisely, but something like it. You'll probably know too when you think about it. In fact, enemy of yours that I am, I'm inclined to believe you knew already and just kept it under wraps for a couple of centuries, but that's just the bitter cynic in me talking. It doesn't matter. Well, it matters, but we can't do anything about it now and aren't sure we should.
Which brings me to defeating the demon. In the end…it wasn't Pes himself that was getting me down, it was, of course, me, and so your father defeating his hold on me wasn't exactly defeating him. We really can't do something like that, shouldn't do something that goddamned stupid. Defeating him means Yuber wins—which is part of why I let him get to me—but Pes winning isn't good either. Your uncle, may the bastard rest in peace, was right about that at least.
So…I guess Goyan Isolationism isn't really dead. I've gotten on the bad sides of both Order and Chaos, but then, you and your father and your sleepy Granddad are on both of their good sides and that can't be much fun either. Although, from what your father has told me of your relationship with Yuber, you're not so much on his good side as out of bounds. Can't say I envy that, but then, you can't really envy my position either.
Thank you for not invading my country while I was out, and thank you for being such a devoted son to your father. If it wasn't for you, well, I couldn't be with him. And I need him, more than you could ever know.
Well, maybe you can know. For all I know you have a story like ours.
-
Futch-
Permit me to include a postscript to this letter.
I tried to dissuade him, but he would have none of it.
-Sasarai
Postscript, from his Eminence the Bishop Orosi, etc.
You're welcome. Just don't let it happen again.
We are glad you're well, and pray that you remain so. Selfishly. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to be two people for eight months?)
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