Part VI: Harken, atoner
- O-
Every day the Dragon's Gate drew closer, yet every day it seemed to be slipping further and further away. The rains came and went, and sometimes they fell so harshly they turned the pathways to mud. Renault kept his ears to the ground; the longer the travel continued, the more of the army grew restless, but their collective mood remained the same. Nergal was waiting for them—impatiently, perhaps, but he was waiting, and he would continue to wait no matter how long it took for them to arrive.
One evening the caravan's front wheels caught in a large rut, made into a near mudslide by the force of the rain and the northerly wind. They again stopped for the night, and called the stoutest of the warriors in camp to help extricate it. Wyvern knights and footmen and fighters alike pushed against the sides and against the pounding rain. The days melted together and coated the passing of time in cascades. For days at a time his only visitor might have been Merlinus with a plate of food or a fresh candle, but after so long on Valor, even Merlinus fell silent. Days went by without Renault uttering a single word, falling asleep in fits and starts, suffering pieces of his past in bloody bits in his dreams.
One night, after a week of rain, the skies doubled their wager. Rain cold as ice and heavy as steel fell unending. Again the wagons sunk into the earth and the caravan came again to a sudden, jerky halt.
Some urge beyond reason possessed Renault that night to leave the covered wagons and wander out into the rain, amidst the sounds of the storm and the anguished grunts of Lord Hector and the knights desperately pushing to force the wheels free. The bishop's boots squished and sank into the mud as he walked and ventured into the densest part of the thicket. He walked as quickly as he could managed, as though he were being followed.
Somewhere in this darkness. Where I belong. Somewhere out here...
Within minutes the water had soaked through his robes and his tunic to his bare skin. Renault shivered, his entire body cold and wet and rough with gooseflesh. Not even he believed that his faith could sustain his quivering flesh, but something stopped him from turning back.
Why?
Renault cast his eyes to the ground. Once, legions shuddered in terror before his blade and his axe. Now he shuddered in the cold and even the prospect of returning seemed impossible. Renault shook his head, water sliding slick down his hair and into his eyes.
"Mother, why?" he muttered. Now before him there stood a figure swathed by a cloak, wreathed in darkness. The rain and the wind drew Renault's head downward, away from meeting the cloaked shadow's glance. He was far beyond fighting against his own faith. It wasn't even the sins of the past that weighed him down, anymore.
Ever watchful, ever kind
Ever humble, ever blind
He fell to his knees. No, the truth was far less sinister. No, the truth was far less easy to justify.
The rain was beginning to abate and the sky beginning to clear in a bright circle around his head. Slowly the storm began to taper and the sky parted like a suit of mail punched through by a sword. All around, a calm had settled in.
Ever loving, ever brave
Loved are he who shall be saved
"Warmth again."
All around his person the wind died down, and like an open clearing in the center of a grove spread a halo of sunlight. As suddenly as the storm had hit, it seemed to fade with almost as much alacrity, moving outward from the center of the circle beginning with the bishop himself. It was a miracle. Renault clasped his hands in prayer, with fingers locked tightly to stop his shaking. It was a miracle.
We are blessed, we are loved
Embraces us does She above
Eyes pressed shut, tears streamed down his face without sign of abating. White light filtered from above, casting uneven rays down through green canopy.
"Father? Father? Your Excellency!"
An angel called to him sweetly, bringing good news and faith. Renault found himself lifted off the ground, hoisted up against the angel's shoulders, and together they walked and cast fleeting shadows against the domain of Death.
"Blessed Saint, holy Saint," praised Renault. "Thank you..."
His thoughts faded and he gave the last of his life to Elimine. Guilty, but with few other choices, he surrendered to the lightness.
"Thank you for forgiving me my weakness."
- O -
Renault woke in darkness and felt fear. A single spot of light burned in the darkness: a dancing flame rising serpentine upwards. Instantly Renault felt the coals being raked over his skin and the scourges white-hot on his back. The smell of brimstone filled his nostrils. His eyes burned with cold fire. There in the depths he stood on stone, a giant figure, horns jutting into the air, there to torment him. Glowing eyes transfixed him. Around him necrosing people threw themselves off ledges and fell forever. An endless stream of black blood flowed from their wrists. Their necks were all twisted at angles, strangled by barbed wire biting into their gangrening flesh.
Renault's knees buckled. Sweat froze hot on his burning flesh.
Lord, no!
"Why? Goddess mine, why?" he wanted to say, but he choked on the scent of iron and ash. Voices called out to him –lency— they imposed upon him –ather— they tormented him-your excell—and then—
"Father Renault!"
Renault flinched, drawing himself up to his full height. His heart raced in his chest and every muscle from his brow to his ankles tensed. His hand clutched jealously to his stave. A man held up a flickering candle before his face, bringing light to a look of concern drawn deep on his features.
"Your Excellency! Be—be at ease! I am a friend!"
"Ah...ahn?"
"You're alive," the man said. He was nearly as tall as the bishop, with stocky shoulders and short blond hair. "Praise the Saint."
The old bishop rubbed his temples. The air no longer seemed rich with sulfur, only with the familiar scent of forest loam. It took only a few moments for his sight to get accustomed to the dark, and soon he recognized the face of the man who showed him such succor.
"Sir...Harken?"
"That is I. Your Excellency, sit back and rest. You've had a trying day."
Renault laughed weakly. "I'm not that infirm. The Saint somehow has seen to that."
"As I ken you are very aware, it probably isn't a rather good idea to wander off in a storm like this." Harken gestured with the hand that did not hold the candle, towards the outside where rain continued to slam furiously against the moving caravan.
"The storm?" Renault echoed, bewildered. "The rain stopped. I saw it with my own eyes."
Harken shook his head. "Nay. And it doesn't seem to be letting up, either. I had heard tell of the weather on the Dread Isle, of course, but I hadn't expected anything like this. If this is the calibre of Nergal's magic, then—"
"But, but—the sun! No, I definitely saw the sun. There was a circle of light and the storm yielded. In the forest! I remember that much, anyway."
The knight of Pherae smiled very slightly, clearly understanding but obviously disputing the bishop's account. "Your Excellency. Be at ease. It's not enough to watch after the spiritual health of us all. Just, watch out for your own health as well." Harken rose to his feet and set the candle by Renault. He lifted the thick hood of his cloak over his head and pulled it around his broad shoulders.
"Wait, Sir Harken."
The knight stopped and turned a shoulder. "Yes, Father Renault?" He stood motionless, wreathed in the darkness.
"Thank you."
- O -
By the next morning, the violent storm had finally ended, and a pleasant damp calm had taken over. For the first time in a while there had been a skirmish with a group of morphs, and by the time the bishop had awakened, there was already a tall pyre of homunculi sending smoke rising high into the empty skies.
Renault walked around the small field and the ruins of a temple where the battle had taken place sometime before. Everyone he saw wished his health well, and Serra had even stopped to say a prayer with him, despite guessing on half the words.
As he walked, the events of the day before became clearer and clearer to him. A voice had called him to that clearing, and regardless of who had spoken to him that moment before his consciousness faded, of one thing Renault was certain. In his time of greatest need, his Saint had not forsaken him.
Did this mean he was forgiven? Had Elimine already weighed his sins and judged him fit to sit beside the lord above? Renault had never considered until that moment, but that perhaps these years of suffering themselves were his penance. He'd taken the cloth, of course, to ease the burden of his soul, that maybe through prayer he could win back the innocence from sin he had been born with. It was the fear of being judged irredeemable that brought him to Elimine, the knowledge that his faith would protect him as he studied the holy word enough to be recognized as a bishop by the Church of Etruria. His faith had become his armor, a tool to bring him to salvation.
I've changed only by slivers in a hundred years...thought Renault, suddenly cold. He had the urge to do as he once did, standing on the deck of a grand galley, gutting the throats of the crew one by one. Perhaps he'd slaughter these so-called heroes, as he had much abler warriors in his prime. If he could only remember a spark of what had let him live so long, he could kill them all and not even flinch.
Then the fear returned. He'd lived his entire life a slave to his impulses, and against them his armor of faith meant nothing.
If not armor, then what? What have I done to earn Elimine's love?
Renault wandered about, still lost in thought. Somewhere near the ruins, he met Sir Harken, sitting around a small fire with a leg of lamb in his hands.
"Good to see you well again, Father Renault," he said as Renault approached.
"I've seen worse," Renault said simply. From the lips of another man it might have seemed condescending, but his words carried the sharp tones of honesty.
Harken nodded. "I do not doubt."
Renault sat opposite the knight and stared at him through the campfire's steady flame. "Have you been a knight of Pherae long?"
"Long enough, yes. I...swore an oath to Lord Eliwood's lord father. A long time ago."
"Lord Elbert of Pherae?"
"Yes. Did you know him?"
Renault shook his head. "I did not."
"Then how would you know his name?"
"I was here on the Dread Isle. When he took his last breath, I was here."
Harken regarded him curiously. The mention of the former marquess of Pherae had seemed to set him on edge. He shifted slightly in his seat, his jaw set, glancing at the holy man with his chin tilted low.
"He is one more for whose sake I must atone."
"Atone?" asked Harken.
Renault paused. "I'll do what I came here to do, and then—who can say? Maybe I'll go die at peace."
"Die at peace..." Harken seemed to think for a few moments. He tore at the last bit of lamb and pitched the bone into the fire. "With all due respect, Father, there is no such thing. Not for us. I've done nothing to deserve a peaceful death or a peaceful life."
"What you've done has nothing to do with it. Make peace with yourself, and you die peacefully. From there on is the Goddess's prerogative."
"I had one chance at peace," Harken said. His expression had turned dark. "And I let it slip away."
"Your liege's death is a heavy burden to bear, of course..."
"If that were all it were, it needn't be so hard to throw myself on the closest sword. But it isn't." Harken shook his head. "I confused my love for my lord with my love for myself. If I had heard Lord Elbert's guidance in my head, I would have heard him beseeching me to find my reason to live. But I refused to hear it! I heard only what I wanted to hear! I heard only the devil on my shoulder telling me in my own warped reasoning to seek death. But even if I yet live, there is nothing I could say or do that could redeem me now. I've abandoned them, betrayed them, let them all die. By being alive, I've hurt the people I hold dear. Lord Elbert. Lord Eliwood. Isadora. Marcus. My father, who bade me find purpose! My mother, who wasted away wishing for my happiness. My fellows who died first for the glory of Pherae!"
Harken thrust his blade into the dirt so hard the earth around sundered.
"My death would only bring them grief. And my life brings them only suffering. So if I mustn't die, and I mustn't live, then tell me, Father, what am I worth?"
Renault hadn't an answer. For years upon years he'd sought a reason for living. For years upon years he'd sought a reason for dying. At last he'd come to the verge of life and death, teetering, and in the end he had a reason for nothing. He did the only thing that came to his mind; he stepped forward, wrapped his hand around the Brave sword Harken had left into the earth, and pulled it out, pointing it at its owner.
"Let us decide," Renault said. Simply holding the blade made the fear of an uncertain afterlife fade away. "We will find out today...just what we are worth."
~To be continued~