Chapter Five: The Jaws of Demise, Part Three
His job was far from over. As far as he was concerned, it was never over. As the townsfolk began celebrate their survival, Shirou slipped away to where the infirmary was in the cathedral.
Disease and poorly-treated injuries festered in the Middle Ages.
The blade wounded. Arrows killed. And disease? It massacred. The bubonic plague and smallpox were only the most noticeable examples.
He could stop that. He would stop that.
Shirou weaved through the crowds, a silent shadow, until he escaped the celebration. His disappearance went unnoticed, so deep in festivities the people were. The streets were relatively empty onwards—likely because everyone had gone to celebrate. Save the occasional soul running towards the festivities, Shirou headed to the cathedral alone.
When he pushed open the doors inside, he was struck with the odor of blood, smoke, sweat, and alcohol. The injured lay on the blankets spread along the pews. The clergy crossed the aisles in a hurry, carrying buckets and bundles to wherever they were going. Not one glanced him. Shirou paced quickly through the pews, doing his best not to look at the dead piled at the side. There was work to be done.
recovery three
Approaching the front of the church, where the paths between the pews lead to steps up an elevated platform, Shirou wielded a single blade in his hand. His approach caught the eyes of several of the clergy. One nearly cut him off, but was stopped by the hand of a single keen-eyed man. Father Mason watched Shirou climb the platform and stop beside the altar before the statue of the twin goddesses. Mason felt it on his skin before he saw it, a warmth that rippled from the altar like a blast of summer air.
The sword Shirou had been carrying was left upon the base of the altar. An ethereal glow from the sword almost overwhelmed the sunlight pouring into the cathedral from the stain-glass windows.
Then, Shirou walked away as if nothing had happened.
"You there, guardsman!" shouted a man. Shirou stilled, turning hesitantly to meet the gaze of one of the Fathers. "Come with me. Sister, get me a runner. Tell the runner to send Guardsman Captain Sid to my office."
A nun nodded and left the Father's side.
"Guardsman, come with me."
Shirou nodded slowly. The Father didn't wait for a response; he walked briskly towards the stairs, ascending several sets before exiting on the fifth floor and navigating empty hallways to his office. Shirou followed closely behind, wordless but wary. When they reached the office, Mason let Shirou inside and shut the door firmly behind him. The first thing the Father did was produce a bottle of rum hidden in a cabinet beside his desk, and a small glass. He drank quickly, feeling the sweet liquor run down his throat.
"Would you like a glass?" Mason asked.
"No sir."
"Not 'sir'. You only call your superior officers 'sir'. Address me as 'Father' or 'Father Mason'."
"Yes Father."
"Good." Mason downed another glass. "I called you here because I need to know whose side you're on."
Shirou's stoic expression broke way to confusion. "Pardon?"
"Why are you in the guard?"
"Because I want to help protect this city," Shirou answered.
"Good." Mason poured another glass. "What happened downstairs? You brought in a sword and set it upon the feet of the goddesses, and then there was a—a light? An energy?"
Shirou was quiet for a moment. "It was magic."
Mason's eyes widened. "Truly?"
"Yes Father."
"I see." Mason did not drink. There was a thoughtful gleam in his eyes as he swirled the drink in his glass. "And this magic of yours: how well can you use it?"
Shirou couldn't believe what he was hearing. It showed on his face. "I can use it well enough, Father."
"I like to think of myself as a practical man. When I heard from Sid that a talent had entered the guards, I was dismissive. When stories of your prowess against the demons reached my ears, I wondered where your loyalties lay. But now, I see that you are much more than what I took you for. And with this revelation, I want to know how invested you are in this city."
"I do not follow, Father."
Mason set his glass on his desk and stared out the window of his office. Below, a mob of people celebrated with deafening noise. "I have lived in this city all my life," he said solemnly. "I have watched it grow despite the monsters outside these walls. I have seen friends die to protect it. We all believe our sacrifice is worth the cause, as there is no safer haven in this world than Rabona. But we are also aware that there will come a time when our sacrifices will not be enough. When that happens, the walls of this city will crumble, and Rabona will be swept aside like dust in the wind.
"I have become a Father because this is how I can best serve the city. So I ask you—if you care for this city or its people at all—how far are you willing to go to protect it?"
Shirou didn't answer. For a long while, he stared straight ahead.
"Why were they calling me a Saint?" he finally asked.
Father Mason blinked, glancing at Shirou before understanding dawned upon him. "Ah, yes. You are not familiar with the Holy Scriptures." He retrieved a single book from his bookshelf. "In the Holy Scriptures, the Saint Marie was given her title after the goddess of justice bestowed upon Marie powers to defeat Her enemies. It is one of the more popular stories." Mason slid the book across his desk to Shirou, who accepted it hesitantly. "It seems that those who witnessed your powers considered them gifts by one of our divines. Thus, Saint Shirou."
"But I'm not—"
"Look, it doesn't matter if you're not," Mason interrupted with a stern stare. "Saint Marie was not called a saint in her time either. What matters is the meaning. This title means the people consider you a symbol of their hope."
You can help. You can be their hero.
Unspoken words whispered in Shirou's ear. He shut his eyes. Fire danced in his memories, fire that consumed the earth, the sea, the sky. Metal striking metal echoed in his mind, the fire drawing the shadows of men and women in armor fighting to the death. Armies of them, crashing against each other, shedding oceans of blood, leaving trails of corpses in their wake.
Something else. Rabona. Hundreds, thousands of lives hidden behind crumbling walls. An endless darkness surrounding them, growling and snapping at the heels of the defenseless.
He could stand against that darkness. He could protect Rabona, and the people living within it. It was tempting. His heart screamed at him to do it, that it was the right thing to do.
"I need to think on this. May I think on this?" Shirou asked.
Father Mason nodded. "Do so, son."
There was a knock on the door, and Sid entered the office. Apart from his tousled hair and a heavy scrape on his breastplate, Sid seemed unharmed. But when the guard captain's eyes found Shirou, they hardened.
"You sent for me?" Sid asked Father Mason.
"Yes, I did. Come in."
Sid obediently stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Did you know about what he could do?" Father Mason asked immediately.
Sid looked at Shirou while answering. "I… heard what happened at the walls. To the giant yoma besieging the city. I find it difficult to believe such a thing could happen, but if it's Shirou then I think I can believe it."
"And why is that?"
"Guardsman Shirou seems to be blessed with the luck of the gods."
"As a captain of Rabona's guards, what is your opinion on how to proceed with this new knowledge?"
"The guardsmen would be most honored if guardsman Shirou would continue his service in protection of the holy city," Sid answered resolutely.
"Would you recommend guardsman Shirou to a promotion to the rank of captain?" Father Mason asked.
Shirou's eyes widened. He knew how the system of merit and rank worked in Rabona. In terms of a group the size of the city guard, a promotion from a lowly footman to a captain was akin to a peasant becoming a prince overnight.
"Yes, Father," Sid answered.
Shirou objected. "Father, I cannot—"
"Do not be mistaken." Father Mason turned his gaze back to Shirou. "This promotion is due to your actions as a guardsman during this most recent plight. You performed well above and beyond all expectations. You have earned this. Sid, we are done. You are dismissed."
Sid nodded, exchanged looks with Shirou, and departed.
"Now, Captain Shirou," Father Mason continued, Shirou wincing at the rank, "I would like to inquire about the nature of your… magic."
"You have caused quite the stir."
On his way back from the cathedral, Shirou found a strangers in thick cloaks in his path. It was a side street far from the large main road that spanned Rabona. This alley would be the perfect place for a secret discussion—or a mugging. From the curvature of their figures, Shirou assumed the strangers to be women. He tensed his body in preparation for a fight. He was answered with something unexpected;
"My greetings, milord Saint," one said. It was an awkward moment when Shirou found a person he didn't know kneeling for him. It dawned on him then that this behavior was likely the first of many, many future occurrences. The thought left a lump in his throat. "It is an honor to be in your presence."
"Stand. Please, stand."
The woman did. Thankfully, none of her companions had done the same.
"Did you need something from me?" Shirou asked.
The woman who had knelt raised her hood a bit. He saw her silver eyes. He remembered.
"I am here to offer my congratulations," the woman said, her words polite yet cheerful. It was difficult to tell if she was being sincere. "It is not often that one sees the deeds of a Saint firsthand."
"Yes," Shirou answered carefully. "Many are under the impression that I have been blessed somehow."
"I have heard. From what I have seen, I find no reason to disagree. But where are my manners?" The woman gestured to the others. "She is Yuliana. She is Eliza. And she is Zelda. I am Flora." He nodded at each. "They are my subordinates for this moment. Forgive them if they are a bit rude."
"My name is Shirou, though you may know." He hesitated. "What are you, anyway? You smell like yoma."
Flora stiffened, but hid her discomfort quickly. "We do not call ourselves by any name in particular. We are simply warriors. What names exist are given to us by the people. 'Silver-eyed witches' is the most popular. 'Claymore' is another term, thanks to the weapons we wield."
"Is there any reason you and your team are in disguise?"
"We're not welcome 'round here," Eliza answered, disgruntled, "even if we saved a few necks."
"It is the way of the people of Rabona," Flora added. "Rabona guards against all threats, including us warriors. That policy is what protects Rabona from the dangers in the world."
Shirou sighed. "That is something I don't entirely agree with. You four did help out, after all."
"That is something all of us deal with."
"I think you mentioned being... number seven? So there are at least three individuals like yourselves? "
"With all due respect, sir," interrupted Yuliana, "this information is not relevant to a civilian, saint or not." Yuliana turned to Flora. "Flora, we should go before anyone else catches wind of us."
"You're right. I thank you for your time, milord Saint."
"Just Shirou is fine."
"Then thank you, Shirou."
"Oh, c'mon!" Eliza complained. "I wanted a drink at the very least. I'm sure the saint here can pull us a few strings." She grumbled as the others leapt atop one of the houses in a single bound. Eliza glared at Shirou. "Next time bring some ale with you. Or at least something to eat."
When they were well beyond the city's walls, and well beyond earshot, navigating the smoldering corpses and body parts strewn about the valley surrounding Rabona, Flora spoke.
"Not a word of this to the Organization," she said.
"They don't approve of us keeping secrets," Yuliana said. "But I think I will agree."
"Just because you were a good little church-going girl doesn't mean the rest of us were," Eliza bit out. "Why should we keep quiet?"
Flora aimed a scathing glare at Eliza. It was startling considering how composed Flora normally was. Eliza, despite her rebelliousness, clammed up. "I am serious, Eliza," Flora hissed. "If the Organization finds out, who knows what fate will befall this city."
"Are you suggesting something, Flora?" Yuliana asked.
"You two may not be old enough, but I am. Misfortune befalls those under the Organization's scrutiny."
Zelda nodded. "Flora is right."
Both Yuliana and Eliza nearly tripped. They didn't know Zelda could speak.
"When I was a child, a warrior passed by the village I lived in. She killed the yoma in the house across the street. Unfortunately, the village couldn't pay the entire cost." Zelda went quiet again, staring into the distance. When she continued, her voice was lower, as if whispering a secret. "Yoma annihilated the village in a fortnight. The Organization found me a day later."
"My story is similar," Flora stated simply. "So keep this a secret."
The ensuing silence was heavy.
The bakery was in ruins. His mind immediately went to the owners, Jonathan and Bethany. It was likely they were inside when the building collapsed. He asked a few passing civilians, and they told him. The news left a bitter taste in his mouth. The Bakers were two more he couldn't save. He searched the fallen rubble, taking note of the pieces of dust-covered bread scattered about, before he left, resigned.
When he reached his house, however, he found a surprise.
Sitting on the ground in front of his doors was Shirley. Her knees were drawn into her chest, her head hung. Her hair was covered in dust. When he reached her, she slowly stared up at him.
Her reddened eyes were dry of tears. "Shirou."
There was nothing he could say. He kneeled, helped the girl onto her feet, and let her inside. He found a towel and tried to wipe her clean. Her hands were covered with blood and welts.
"Mother and father are dead," she said, devoid of emotion.
He wanted to tell her it would be alright, that she would be alright. The words didn't come to him.
"Father sent me out for deliveries. I ran and hid when the monsters came. When I returned to the bakery, everything was destroyed."
What could he tell the child of those he couldn't save?
"I tried to find them, but when I couldn't I came here. Everyone else is…" She shook her head and wept.
It was then he felt something. A feeling, a memory. It was like remembering a long-forgotten dream. It stirred in the gap in his heart, warming his soul with faint embers. It brought feeling to his hands, a fire into his chest, and the energy to keep going. In his mind he saw the visage of a middle-aged man with flames dancing behind him. He grasped at this intangible feeling.
Shirley looked into his eyes. "What do I do now?"
It was purpose. A reason for him to preserve. While it never truly faded from his heart, having been cast over him like the sheath of a sword, he felt it resonate within him, a vibrant feeling. He had not lost this world yet. This was not Fuyuki City, the cemetery of his old life. The fires of the last Holy Grail War had not touched this plane. That alone was enough to cast aside the restraints of doubt and move forward.
Chains that had held him back for three years fell aside.
"Stay here for now," Shirou answered, finding strength. "We'll figure something out."
a/n: In response to SilverIceRing; I think the primary reason why I want to change up UBW is because I have some bad blood with the F/SN community I've encountered so far. I don't remember exactly what brought it about (it's been years), but it's there. It feels as if a large group of writers in the F/SN community believe in rigidly following the Nasuverse lore; it's like a religion to them. Sometimes the rigidity feels like zealotry, and it drains all the fun out of writing.
Of course, I'm not saying everyone is like that. It is, however, my impression of the community at large. My changing UBW is... basically saying "Fuck off."
That said, some of the more fun stories I've read come from this fandom. Hells, this fandom is a large part of why I started writing at all. It's a love-hate relationship.