39
"Milady..."
She was gently roused by some obscure captain; she had been dozing off in the plush seat of the carriage that was freighting them off to some obscure castle in the west.
"We are nearly there, miss. Please take the time to prepare yourself."
No... These memories... aren't mine...
"Yes, you're right of course, Captain."
The man was covered in a beautifully engraved plate armor, which shielded his chest and shoulders. His face and skull was clasped in a solid silver helmet that shaded his eyes, but even then, a bushy beard poked out from under the face-guard. At his hip was a rapier, the latest in military technology today.
A sword... She looked down at a similar sword on her lap.
Azumaria. It was a simple thing, hardly recognizable from any of the mass-produced blades pumped out by the various empires and kingdoms that dotted the landscapes on the continent. So many warring factions, yet none of them have yet ravaged the natural beauty of this land... yet.
And she was supposed to meet the leader of the greatest, the most respected of them all. El Papa. The Pope. The most powerful man for as far as the sun can see.
All because she was "chosen" by this blade of metal. Some old prophesy that foretold the arrival of a savior will mark a new era of faith. Nothing that she knew about.
On her arrival in Roma, which was funded by the meager savings of the Abbey in Tyre, she was met first with confusion, skepticism, awe, joy, and then near-worship. She enjoyed none of them. Priests knelt, nuns cried, bishops, some of them the spiritual leaders for entire countries, bowed low and begged her forgiveness. Common people looked away, perhaps for fear of being burned up by the force of her gaze, and only dared to look at the air which she previously touched.
God... she hated it all.
But now, she was to meet one who was almost on equal standing with her in terms of reverence. El papa.
Would he, too, bow low and weep to the ground? That would doom her to a lifetime of worship as a deity upon this earth...
God, she prayed not.
The carriage slowed, and then stopped. They were at the moat of this obscure castle. It loomed, foreboding, over them all. At it's gate, a huge tent of the finest purple was set, providing a welcome relief from the summer sun's oppression. Inside it, a long table of mahogany was set upon a beautiful rug that was shielding the precious legs of the table and the shoes of the various officials from the threat of dirt.
Riu took a glance at what the rug was made of. Pure Rajang fur. Of only the softest part, the groin. It must have taken at least the lives of a hundred Rajangs to make up the fabric of the rug.
Or, there are a hundred Rajangs scurrying about with their groin fur missing.
The thought made her giggle, for a second, until she somberly realized that it was certainly not the case.
She stepped daintily onto the rug, in her expensive clothes that she was profoundly uncomfortable in. The Church thought it appropriate to clothe her in a weird mix of the conservative and the latest fashions. It shone a brilliant white, but had the remnants of the deviousness of the fashionable youth's imagination.
Who knew, she thought, that one could expose the shoulders, but not the forearms to the air? The thought kept her preoccupied, but still walking, until she almost collided with the lavishly set table. The finest wines, the sweetest meats, all set on the table for her to enjoy, and her only, apparently. All of the various officials and religious leaders at the table were avoiding the array of food set before them as if it was poisoned.
Maybe it was, she thought. And once it touched her tongue, it would kill her, and she'd be able to go to heaven with Father Patronus. She picked a piece of honeyed pork from a platter, and popped it in her mouth.
"Oh..." The flavor was enough to make her sigh. It was more delicious than anything she every tasted.
One person coughed. Riu looked up, and the man quickly dropped his gaze in fear. Everyone seemed troubled, but too frail of heart to say anything.
Almost everyone. A man, with perhaps the stiffest, most uncomfortable look Riu had ever seen on face, leaned forwards on the most ornate, most decorated chair in the tent. The chair was almost a throne; sitting on it would make any coward look like a king. Next to him, sat an immensely old man, who was sleeping on a hard wooden chair.
The stiff man spoke with a mix of clarity, pride, and a hint of condescension:
"Surely, milady has not forgotten to say our graces before we eat?" A couple of the officials shifted uncomfortably at these critical words.
Riu gulped down the sweet meat immediately.
"I... I'm sorry" She bowed her head. When she raised it, she addressed the man. "Are... are you El Papa?"
The stiff man grew even stiffer at this, and shook his head.
"No- His Holiness... is to my right."
She turned to look at the napping old man. He was the Pope?
"But..." said Riu, confused, "Your chair..."
The man actually grit his teeth.
"His Holiness requested I take the Papal Throne for this particular meeting. I am not worthy- but he insisted, and then replaced my area. I am the commander to the Pope's personal guard, as well as his servant. I am Domas Se, at your service."
Ah, thought Riu. That was why he looked so uncomfortable. If there was one thing she had learned about the silly customs of the countless military officers and religious leaders was that they hated comfort. Sitting in that chair must have been a humbling experience for Mr. Se.
The man, Domas Se, got up quickly, and bent down to speak to the sleeping pope.
"Your Holiness, the child is here."
"...zz..."
"Your Holiness."
"..."
"Father? Are you alright?"
"Boo!"
"...Father, the girl is here. There is no time for jokes."
"You didn't think I was dead? I didn't get you?" Said the pope, smiling. The man was shriveled, and tiny compared the hulk of a man that Domas Se was, and in his flowing robes, he looked even tinier. His eyes disappeared in wrinkled when he smiled, and when he wasn't, they shone full of life.
"Your Holiness, the girl is here." Domas seemed to be used to, but not totally tolerant, of his Superior's behavior.
"Ah!" The Pope turned, "It is good to meet you, my daughter!"
He was talking to a goblet full of ambrosian wine.
Riu giggled at this, to the confused horror of everyone except for the pope. The old man turned to the sound, and spoke softer this time.
"I am sorry, dear. I am nearly blind these days." He smiled at Riu "I heard you might have accidentally skipped Grace. Are you hungry?"
She nodded; she had a meager breakfast this morning.
"Well, let's call Grace, then!" The pope folded, his head, and Riu mimicked him. Before anyone could protest, he shot out:
"Good food,
good meat,
thanks God!
Let's eat!"
"Amen!" said Riu, and the two started attacking the same roast pheasant.
"Wait!" said Domas, "Your Holiness! It is not proper!"
"Ah..." muttered the Pope, mouth full of bird. "mmghm-mm."
"Your Holiness!" Domas Se was almost shouting. "Grace is our sacred moment to give thanks and praise, the Holy Book says-"
"My Son," replied the Pope, "Are you lecturing a pope on the Bible?"
"..." The man seemed to realise how foolish the situation was. "Your Holiness! I beg your-"
"No, no, it's fine." the Pope turned to Domas. "I don't make out Grace to be special because in reality we all should give thanks and praise at all times. Focus less on making special things special, and making more things meaningful."
"I...I'm sorry, Your Holiness." Domas seemed to recover. "But, we still have business."
He turned to Riu. "What we need is to figure how to deal with you."
This annoyed her. He spoke to her like she was a problem. "Would the good lady please give us a demonstration?"
He motioned for a guard. The guard came forwards, carrying a heavy chest. The guard set the chest down, and unlatched it. Inside was not anything, but an enormous bar of rocks, all set in stripes that ran down the length of the chest.
As the bars went deeper, the rocks grew harder. The first layer was pure iron, and then steel, malachite, dragonite, carbalite, novastone... many more strains and crystals that she could not name.
The very top was full of scratches and the occasional deep carve that seemed like canyons upon the iron surface. Few managed to dig deep enough to the malachite. Only one made it to the carbalite, and it looked like something similar to a chainsaw was applied there.
"Surely you can understand the method of this? We wish to gauge the true strength of the holy blade, Azumaria."
Riu held the sheathed sword up to her face. The sheath was almost gaudily decorated, being made after she had arrived to Roma, which stood in stark contrast to the simple hilt and handle that stuck out the sheath's mouth.
"How many of these... chests do you have?" She was breathing hard, and suddenly, the sun was unbearbly hot. The folds of clothes she had on her, that pasted on her back like wet mud did not help.
Domas Se looked confused.
"...only one."
She drew Azumaria. The wind began to howl, clustering about the edge.
She swung upwards, in a upper-cut slash. The flying edge sliced through the chest, iron, dragonite, carbalite, novastone, and the divinely hard rocks at the bottom. The chest fell in two, exposing every last material within it's depths. The edge continued through the chest, through the tent, and out the back. As the two halves of the tent fell apart, all bore witness to the sight of a flying, shimmering edge slicing through a full height, castle. The edge seemed to halt for a second, and then passed through fifteen feet of solid rock, before coming to a halt, almost arbitrarily, at the center of the courtyard within.
Several officials drew the cross over their hearts. Some sat dumbly, at the crumbling, old castle as the entire west wing sank into it's moat below. Most prayed to God.
Domas Se rounded on Riu.
"You! Why did you-?"
She held Azumaria's point to his chest. Domas Se stopped cold, carefully watching the sword.
"This... is the power of Azumaria. You wanted a demonstration, Mr. Se. You have your demonstration, and two new chests to test your weapons of war upon until you are done."
"Ho, ho, ho." The pope looked out at the destroyed castle. "Where did this nice breeze come from?"
"Your Holiness!" yelled Domas "This vagrant has destroyed a valuable military resource! And you are muttering about the wind!"
The pope ignored him.
"My Daughter, why are you here?"
This stumped her. She had drifted, like a doll once she arrived in Roma, following the lead of one or the other.
She glanced down, and pulled out Father Patronus' hunter's emblem. The gold symbol shone brightly in the mid-afternoon sun.
The pope took the coin into his hands, and rubbed them all over.
"Ah... a hunter." He opened his eyes. "A guardian of the people. A fine choice."
"Your Holiness!" interrupted Domas, again. He was starting to get annoying, thought Riu. "This girl must be used to further the Church's glory! We must integrate her into the military at once! The sooner we do, the longer benefit we receive out of her life!"
For once, the pope looked angry.
"My Son, you are mistaken."
"But-"
"We further God's glory, and not the Church's. She is a emissary, a messenger that will herald the eventual return of our great savior. We will let her glorify God in the way she knows how."
He turned to Riu.
"And how do you believe you can best glorify God in your life?"
Riu looked down, and held out Father Patronus' hunter coin. The pope, no longer a religious leader, but a father in spirit, took the coin and her hands into his own.
"Then I instate you as the newest to the Vaticano's monster hunters" He smiled at her. "My holy maiden... and my Daughter... go with God."
"Thank you... Papa."
Yeta woke with a start.
She put her hand to her face.
"Damn it..." She rubbed her forehead. "I'm still getting her dreams..."
And why... she thought, as she gazed out at the new moon... Am I still hearing my name as, Riu?