Melmond Manor, Twenty-four Years Ago
Fall eased into winter once more, and the Rot spread. Redden could see it from his window as morning gave way to afternoon, a line of devastation creeping across the landscape, relentless and inexorable. If he sent his senses through the aether, he could feel it. Gods, it might have been his imagination, but he almost thought he could feel it now, with only the senses granted to an ordinary man.
From the south fields where Bram's spells had halted its progress, the Rot had swept north and west around the crescent-shaped island like a ponderous brush fire. East of the cape, where it met the sea, the local fishermen reported that the fish either fled or died. On land, nothing survived it; where the Rot set in, plants decayed into stinking slop and every living thing - even the insects - moved on. At the west boundary of Melmond Manor's estates, it had come through under the high stone wall, breaking it in the middle. Huge, jagged pieces sank into the once-solid ground.
Nothing could stop it. Not Redden, not his brother, not the faithful soldiers who journeyed back to the cave with them month after month as they strove to continue Bram's work. And certainly not the useless white mages from Titan's Cathedral. They'd been a string of failures; only a handful capable of even understanding the spell, none as powerful as Bram had been. Two had died attempting the ritual: one to a surprise attack by the undead that roamed the caves; the other, a man as old as Bram had been, of the toll the spell had taken on him.
They were down to apprentices now, the latest an arrogant coxcomb who thought he knew it all already. He'd shown up two hours late for his practice with Redden yesterday. Today, he was more than three hours behind schedule; Redden began to suspect he wouldn't come at all.
At a timid knock, he called, "Enter," but didn't turn toward the door; he knew who it was, and she wouldn't appreciate his gaze.
"My lord?" came Charis's small voice as she stuck her head in. The new housemaid was shy around men, but otherwise diligent in her duties.
"Has Louis arrived?" he asked.
"No, my lord. That is, I don't know anything about that, my lord. Lord Westen summons you."
"Tell him I'm coming."
The door clicked closed. He turned away from the window, fetching his jacket from the foot of the bed where he'd tossed it after breakfast. He checked himself in the mirror, used the water from the basin to slick back his unruly white hair. Cid's still had some red to it, if less than before their monthly forays to the south cape had started, but Redden had given up on his own when the color faded with the summer, letting it grow longer, a shaggy mop that now hung past his ears.
He hurried down the hall but stopped at the top of the stairs. At the bottom, Cid stood with Jayne, murmuring softly into her ear, a tender moment Redden didn't want to disturb. She'd been crying again, he saw before he turned away to give them more privacy. She often did when the full moon approached, knowing it signaled Cid's return to that blasted cave. That depth of feeling was half the reason Westen had acquiesced when Cid asked for Jayne's hand.
The other half was Cid himself. No one was more qualified to be the next Lord of Melmond. While Redden had focused on overseeing the ritual and coordinating with Titan's Cathedral, it was Cid who had recruited, inspired, and led the men who cleared a path for him, fighting those accursed creatures. He'd proven himself again and again these past months.
Redden heard their muttered farewells, then Cid calling up to him, "Are you done skulking in the shadows?"
"I didn't think you'd appreciate an interruption," Redden said, coming down the stairs.
Cid smirked up at him, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Westen summon you too?"
Redden nodded. On the landing, Cid fell into step beside him as he turned to take the next flight down. "Have you and Jayne settled on a date yet?"
"Midsummer," Cid said. "If there is another Midsummer. How'd your meeting with the mage go this morning? What was his name? Lawrence?"
"Louis," said Redden. "He didn't show."
"Titan's teeth," Cid cursed.
Redden shrugged. "I don't like it either, but he does know the spell. I saw that yesterday."
"Fine enough," Cid said, shaking his head. "But if the idiot doesn't learn how to take this seriously in the next three days, he'll die in that cave. I'd rather leave him behind if he can't follow orders."
"We don't have a choice, Cid. He's the last one left in the cathedral."
They walked in silence the rest of the way to Westen's office. A guard bid them wait in the hall. Redden could hear voices shouting inside - Westen's and at least three others - cutting off abruptly as the guard announced their arrival. "My lord, the sons of Titan are here."
"Send them in, man!" Westen shouted.
Redden cringed at his tone, but followed when Cid strode confidently into the room. Cid bowed low, and Redden copied the gesture. Cid said, "You sent for us, Lord Westen?"
It was then that Redden saw who was in the room: Melmond's harbor masters, a trio of former captains, fearless men, hardened by long years at sea. They should not have appeared shaken, not for anything, and yet it was surely fear Redden saw in their eyes. "What's happened?" he asked.
Westen's mouth twisted in disgust. "The Rot has reached the city."
"No," said Cid. "It's barely breached the estate's walls! We've weeks left before it reaches the West Gate!"
"Not from the west," one of the harbor masters said, terror edging his voice. "From the south."
"It's come up from the water," said another.
"The docks are sinking," Westen said.
The Earth Cave, Present Day
From the top of the hill overlooking the old mine, Redden watched the weak light of an overcast sunrise spilling over the cave. Leo crouched beside him, a contemplative lad but a scrappy one, all lean muscle over sinew and bone. "It almost seems worse by daylight," the young pirate said. "Like the light out here only makes it seem darker in there."
"In there is as dark as it gets," Redden said.
He hadn't been prepared for the feeling like a punch to the gut when he laid eyes on the cave again. They'd reached it after sundown, their day's march from Melmond prolonged by the extent of the Rot - worse even than it had been at its peak more than twenty years ago - and the sight of that gaping black maw under the moonlight had chilled him, a primal fear that he had thought he had outgrown.
"Do you see, my lord? All quiet," the lead soldier had said, a West Hills man by the name of Killian. "Lord Leiden really has been keeping an eye on it, as I said. We've all of us been to check it many times." There was nothing condescending in his tone, only respectful reassurances, as there had been throughout their journey south. Even as Redden had been sicking up from the press of the Rot, Killian and the other men had been quick to tell him all would be well. Killian addressed the others, saying, "Light the torches. We'll make camp in the first cavern."
"No," Redden had said. "We camp out here."
They'd looked at him like he'd grown a second head, but they obeyed. He was sure they'd laughed at him when he insisted they set watches through the night.
They weren't laughing this morning. He turned back to the camp where they were tending to the injured. Redden had done his best to Cure the worst of them, but he was no white mage. They would bear scars for the rest of their lives, but they lived. Killian sat with his head in his hands. He looked up at Redden's approach, and his face was ashen. "I swear, Lord Carmine, I've been here dozens of times! We've never seen anything like this here before!"
"Leiden has," Redden spat. "He knew this was a possibility. He let this happen."
He heard Gus come up the hill behind him, heavy boots tromping through grass made brittle by the heat. Over his shoulder, the big pirate carried a warhammer that made Lena's white mage weapon look like a child's toy. Two of the Melmond men walked with him, faces grim but determined. "I think that's the last of them," Gus rumbled.
"Did you crush the heads?" said Redden.
Gus nodded. "I saw to it."
"Alright," Redden said. "Let's go in."
A hush fell over Leiden's men. They were all looking at him. Killian sputtered, "You can't be serious, my lord! The seals are broken! We have to go back and report this to Lord Leiden!"
Redden shook his head. "The first seal is still there. I can feel it. I'm not going back until I've checked the others."
Leo cocked his head. "But you said the dead couldn't pass the seals."
"They can't," said Redden. "And yet they were here." How? he wondered. He had believed all these years that the force that created the undead was bound to the cave; had he been wrong? "I won't order you men to come with me; this is nothing you were prepared for. But I ask you, if you're brave enough, will you follow me?"
The guards looked at each other, at the ground, at the remains of the campfire - at anything but him - too cowardly to meet his eyes.
Redden sighed. They would have followed Cid, he thought. Cid would have known what to say. When he turned and began to walk down the hill, only Gus and Leo walked with him. "Are you sure?" he asked them. "You saw what we faced last night. There could be worse inside."
Leo shrugged. He wasn't much older than Kane, but he reminded Redden of Orin, the way he faced every situation with calm patience as if he had seen it all before. "You said it yourself, Redden: the dead are already out here. We might as well go in."
"Thank you," he said. He heard a commotion from the hill, and looking up he saw Killian and a few of the other men coming down, torches in hand. Not all of the men, but more than he had expected. "Thank you all."
Gus lifted the pendant he wore - Leviathan's mark - to his lips and kissed it. "If you'd seen what I've seen at sea, you wouldn't fear anything buried in the earth."
Redden chuckled bitterly. "That rather goes both ways."
"Mayhaps," said Gus. "But I'm with you all the same."
Redden nodded, more grateful than a simple "thank you" could convey. With one hand, he accepted the torch Killian offered him. With the other, he drew his sword. Their footsteps echoed back at him as they stepped inside, into darkness, but he could still hear Gus's muttered prayers: Sweet Leviathan, be with me now.
He remembered, with a pang of sorrow, visiting Titan's Cathedral as a child, kneeling at the altar with his brother beside him, reciting prayers of his own, and though he hadn't prayed in years, the beginning of Titan's prayer came back to him: Titan shield me. Guide my steps.
He couldn't remember the rest.
Thad watched the dragon with some interest. It wasn't how he'd imagined a dragon would be: barely taller than a man, a sickly green color, with thin, drooping whiskers even a kitten would have been ashamed of. It was, however, as long as three men put together, and that was nice. The stories always said ten, but a puppet that size would have required a storage trunk as big as an ox when it wasn't being paraded beneath cloudy skies down Farplane Avenue.
It only had one head, but Thad let that slide: this wasn't a professional act, but rather an amateur production put on by the merchants' guild. The two men inside the contraption - half puppet, half costume - slithered it into the square, moving its mouth and eyes with some hidden mechanism as it spurted flames of red cloth over actors in tin armor. The play soldiers screamed unconvincingly as they writhed in the street.
"Face me, foul beast, and know your equal!" called the actor who was supposed to be Ffamran. He wore a gleaming mail shirt that might have been real but had certainly never seen battle. His sword, Thad suspected, was made of mirrored glass; it flashed as he waved it. The women in the audience sighed.
"You've got to be joking," Thad muttered. Real warriors didn't talk like that when they were fighting, did they? Kane didn't talk like that. Still, the audience seemed to approve: the women watched the hero adoringly, the men cheered each strike of his sword.
Plays were traditional at Midsummer in Melmond, Orin had said. People were putting them on all over town, with performances ranging in scope from children in their parents' clothes acting out bedtime stories to career actors in a famous theater in the Blue Quarter. This street performance was somewhere in the middle. The merchants' guild could afford costumes and props, but the lead roles apparently went to whoever volunteered and looked the part regardless of their acting abilities. According to the announcer who spoke before the play started, Ffamran was played by the son of a weaver, while the dragon - half of it anyway - was some sort of armorer.
Thad had never liked theater. Lena had invited him to come along while she and the others went to the big theater today but he had turned her down, thinking Orin had better plans for him. Yet, here he was, stuck at a play anyway. Even the coordinated efforts of the two men working the dragon were not interesting enough to overcome what looked to Thad to be a fake and unnatural fight. He barely knew anything about swords, but even he saw the way the lead actor's exaggerated movements left him open to attack. A boy Thad's age, standing beside him and eating salt crackers by the handful, spit crumbs as he called, "Get 'im, Ffamran!"
"Ffamran's dragon was a girl," Thad grumbled. The other boy only laughed, as he had when Thad had earlier pointed out that Ffamran was supposed to be a paladin, skilled in white magic. Thad had read the story to Aryon back in Elfheim, he knew how it was meant to go, but this cracker-munching urchin didn't seem to care about the play's inaccuracies.
The battle went on, but Thad stopped paying attention, focusing instead on the man Orin had set him to watch. Vince Pollendina, the lord secretary of Melmond, sat beneath a shade tent in front of his tavern, lazily applauding the production. The tent seemed unnecessary on such a cloudy day, the oppressive humidity merely hinting at the possibility of rain while making the heat that much worse. Pollendina looked too thin to Thad: a thin man with a thin smile behind a thin, dark goatee. He was attended by a girl Thad recognized from the Chubby Chocobo, who occasionally ran into the bar to refill her master's drink. Other of his employees roamed the crowd with bottles of booze; for a gil, they would pour a shot for anyone who had their own cup. The play - which was in Pollendina's honor, the announcer had said, to thank him for funding the Midsummer celebrations on Farplane Avenue - would be followed by dancing later; Pollendina would preside over that as well.
In short, he was not the sort of target that required the dedicated attention of any kind of spy, not today. Thad sighed. It was possible Orin hadn't known, but Thad doubted that: the monk always seemed to know more than he should have and certainly more than he let on. No, the old man had brushed him off, he was sure of it. The question was why. They'd spent the previous day following Bayard to a number of dirty dives, listening to his conversations. Thad had thought he was doing well: he was sneaky, he followed instructions, he knew how to be quiet. Even though Orin insisted that spying was not the same as thieving, Thad thought otherwise. Weren't they "stealing" information?
He thought over all the things he'd heard, trying to sort out what might have prompted Orin to head off without him, but they hadn't learned anything, nothing that wasn't common knowledge. People talked about the white mages, blaming them for the Rot in the countryside. Of course, they blamed the Rot for what they called the "night plague", the thing that killed the white mages. It apparently ran rampant through the outer farms, setting in while people were asleep. No one knew how it spread: even isolated farms weren't safe. Sometimes it took whole households, sometimes only one or two people, causing sores on the neck and arms and extreme weakness that lasted a few days. Aside from whatever had happened with the white mages, only the very old or very young ever died of it; other people generally recovered. The key, people said, was to live through the second night.
The play came to its dramatic but expected end at last, the dragon slain. The actors bowed to enthusiastic applause, accepting praise and handshakes from their peers as they left. A few guild members began to call orders to a group of workmen who had watched the play from nearby. The workmen brought plank benches from within one of the shops off of the square and arranged them in rows facing Pollendina's pavilion. The secretary didn't stir, but the crowd began to thin out as people drifted away.
Thad frowned. He tugged the sleeve of a well-dressed man who stood nearby, chatting with another man in a tailored coat. Their clothes were of fine cut but common cloth. Merchants? Thad guessed. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "Where is everyone going? I thought there was going to be dancing?"
"That's not 'til later!" said the man, chuckling. "Guild's got to vote on next year's officers first."
Thad's spirits lifted. "Oh? That sounds important!" Maybe this was what Orin had intended him to see? Lords and kings were all well and good, but Thad knew it was the big guilds that really ran cities. Back home, Mayor Gordon ran Pravoka, but it was the Captains' Council that ran Mayor Gordon, though she would box Thad's ears if she ever heard him say such a thing.
The two men laughed. "Aye, they like to think so," the second man said. "You're welcome to stay if you like. The proceedings are open to the public."
"As if anyone would!" the first man said. "There's no surer way to die of acute boredom than a guild election. Why don't you run along to High Street? I hear the Ladies' Charitable League is running some sort of games for the children today."
Thad shook his head. "My master told me to wait here for him."
"Suit yourself, lad. Try not to melt in this heat," the man said, smiling and tipping his hat before he and his friend left.
Thad watched them go, then looked back at the remains of the crowd. There were probably a hundred people assembling for the meeting, men and women. Some had their children with them; all of the children, without exception, looked miserable. Many were settling in for a nap. Can you really die of boredom? Thad thought. Where was Orin?
"Order!" the announcer from the play called. "Let us have order!"
Somewhere in the crowd, a child whimpered. A mother said, "Hush, darling. It's only a few hours."
Hours? Thad groaned. He should have gone with the others. Surely, even the theater was better than this.
Kane was surprised to find that the Saucer, the famous theater in the Blue Quarter, wasn't actually in the Blue Quarter, but was instead just outside of it, on the edge of the lower town. That had surprised him as well, the way one moment their armed escort of four guards led them past colorful mansions and expensive shops and suddenly, only one street over, they walked among shacks and lean-tos and decrepit townhouses with broken windows. The theater was the only place in sight that seemed structurally sound, a massive building, three stories high but as wide as Cornelia's castle yard. It wouldn't have fit in the Blue Quarter, clearly. Kane wondered how many of those crumbling townhouses had been demolished to make room for it, how many families might have lived in them.
He looked up as they approached it, taking in the architectural details, but the movement caused the scarf he was wearing to come loose again. The others - Harvey, Ruby, Gabriel, and Lena - were all wearing festival masks, but Kane had opted for a scarf, not wanting Jack to feel singled out. Jack had lent him the blue one, the one Sarah had given him; Kane couldn't help but think of her as he straightened the cloth, a situation made worse by how many times he'd had to straighten the damned thing already.
He growled in frustration as he tried to get it right. "Gods! How do you stand these things all day?" he asked Jack over the top of Lena's head. Ruby had chosen their outfits for them again, with a black jacket and new green scarf for Jack and a green silk dress for Lena. The white mage held to Jack's arm, and despite the guards - two ahead, and two behind - Kane felt better for keeping her between them, where they could more easily protect her from whatever the lower town might have to offer.
Jack cast him a slant-eyed look. "Easily. I simply remind myself I have no alternative."
"Ah," Kane said, at a loss for a better response. "Of course. Sorry."
Harvey, walking slightly ahead of them with the leading guards, chuckled at the exchange. "Stepped right into that one, didn't you, Kane?" He looked back at them, and his smile wavered. "Are you alright there, longshanks? You seem out of sorts today. Gray skies got you down?"
"I slept poorly," Jack said, voice rough enough that Kane winced. He'd left Jack to the floor last night, taking the huge bed for himself. Kane had slept well, a night full of pleasant and silly dreams he couldn't remember now. When he woke that morning, he'd found Jack sitting in the corner, knees tucked up, shivering violently. A nightmare, the mage had said, but Kane had seen the frost forming on his clothes before he settled himself. Jack's hold on the aether was slipping.
"He doesn't like crowds," Lena said in a dreamy voice, startling Kane, as he hadn't thought the white mage was paying attention to their conversation. "Neither of us likes crowds." She went back to staring vacantly at the press of people in the street.
Jack wasn't the only one who seemed out of sorts. Neither Ruby nor Lena were themselves. When Kane had come in last night, he'd found the two girls still up, drinking sweet wine and playing cards though their other guests had long since parted. Harvey and Gabriel bundled Ruby off to bed. Lena, though… Kane couldn't decide if she was truly drunk or simply reflecting Ruby's giddy mood. She'd seemed to sober up as he escorted her to her room. Today, she seemed distracted. All morning, he found he had to speak to her more than once to get her attention. She's different around different people, he thought. But there were so many people in Melmond.
"Well, you're in luck there!" Harvey went on. "We've a private box in the balcony. Limited seating, only us and a few friends. How does that sound?" Quincey grumbled at that, as two of his three brothers were among Harvey's friends; the young Leiden had extended an invitation to them over tea the day before.
"Capital," said Jack, absently patting Lena's hand.
"Anything sounds better than yesterday," Kane said. He hadn't asked Jack how his day with Lord Unne had gone, but his own had been one dull introduction after another. He'd politely accepted so many cups of tea he'd thought his stomach would burst. He was sure his bladder nearly had. Their evening had ended with Quincey taking them around to his commanding officer's house, where the commander and his wife had served them their first decent meal of the day, rather than tea cakes and finger foods.
Harvey barked out a laugh. "Ha! Yes! And unlike with social calls, if you don't like the play, we can always prop you in the corner for a nap."
Behind them, Ruby groused, "Oh, don't be such a pessimist, Harvey! It's supposed to be a wonderful play this year! Isn't that right, Gabriel? That's what you said?" Kane forced his eyes to remain forward. Grumpy and short-tempered from being more than a little hungover, Ruby was looking more like her cousin than ever today. Not that Kane had ever seen Sarah hungover, but he couldn't recall ever seeing Ruby as less than unflaggingly cheerful.
The sergeant, who walked with Ruby on his arm, sighed. "I said nothing of the sort. For the last time, Ruby, you can't trick me into revealing something I don't know."
Ruby made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "But we all know Diana is playing the lead this year! Surely she's told you something?"
"Diana? You mean the commander's daughter? The one he was talking about last night?" Kane asked looking back at Quincey, trying to ignore the jolt that the sight of Ruby's blond hair sent up his spine, the feeling that if he reached back and plucked that mask off her face, he'd find his princess underneath.
It was Harvey who answered. "Yes, she's the one! And look! They've done a poster of her!" They were nearly to the doors now, jostled by the crush of people filing inside. The poster in question was pasted to a wall already replete with posters, layer upon layer like a bizarre, colorful wallpaper.
The young woman in the picture bore little resemblance to the woman Kane had met the night before, the commander's wife, who wore bright red lipstick on a face of hard angles that would not have been pretty had she not smiled so joyfully. That smile made it easy to see why, according to Quincey, more than half the Melmond guard corps was infatuated with her. Though the poster showed that her daughter looked nothing like her, with a delicate, heart-shaped face, and a pert nose, she did have that same smile.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" said Harvey. "I keep wondering when Gabriel will make his move!"
The sergeant rolled his eyes. "I only know her through her father! She certainly doesn't know me well enough that she would blab to me about this year's secret play."
"Yes, but you can't honestly think her father keeps inviting you around just because he enjoys your company?" said Harvey. "He likes you for her!" One of the rear guards chuckled.
The conversation was put on hold as they made it inside. Harvey produced their tickets and an usher escorted them to a set of stairs that led to a row of curtained doorways, all numbered. Some of the curtains were open, revealing the private boxes Harvey had described, little balcony rooms perhaps five strides across, each with ten chairs. When they reached their box, the guards checked inside and then, apparently finding nothing objectionable within, took up positions in the hall.
The box was already occupied. Logan Quincey, the second oldest of the Quincey brothers, sat at the opposite end of the box from two girls in bright dresses, his attempts at conversation hampered both by the space between them and by the taller girl's refusal to turn and face him. Kane vaguely recognized the girls from Leiden's dinner party two nights ago; the Hornwoods, if he remembered correctly. Ruby's mood improved when she saw them. "Oh, good! You made it! Did you learn anything from that servant of yours?" she said, untying her mask as she spoke to the shorter of the two young women.
"A little," the girl said, twirling her own feathered mask by its strings. "The word is that they've brought back one of their retired plays!"
"How exciting!" Ruby said. "Do you know which one? Is it one we've seen?"
The girl shook her head. "I'm afraid that's all I know." She smiled up at Kane and reached out to shake his hand. "Kane, yes? Nicole Hornwood. How do you do? And this is my sister Beatrix."
He extended a hand to the other sister, but she only smiled sweetly at him without taking it. "We've met," she said. Kane thought she must be mistaken, but let it go.
"Has Victor arrived yet?" said Harvey. "I invited him as well."
"Victor won't be coming," Logan said. "When he heard the rumor that it was a repeat performance he declared it a waste of time."
Ruby made an unladylike snort. "Well, I disagree! I often see the same play several times each season! I'm always sad when they retire them!" She seemed to quiver with excitement. "Oh, I wonder which play it is!"
Beatrix shrugged. "I'm hoping it's Parrish. You remember? It had that ghost of the murdered father and the sword fight at the end."
Nicole shook her head. "No, we know Diana is playing the lead! It has to be one of the romances."
"Maybe it's Henry and Evangeline?" said Ruby. "The one with the star-crossed lovers?"
The girls continued to chat as everyone took their seats, all except Lena, who stood at the balcony railing and looked at the people below where there was standing room only. Her eyes darted about as if she were trying to take in every detail of the entire crowd. Could she feel all of those people down there? Kane whispered to Jack, "I've never seen her like this before."
"Hmm?" The black mage had been sitting with his eyes closed, clearly distracted by his own problems, but he did look over at Lena and his brows drew together in a concerned expression. "The emotions build up, she said. I know water usually helps. She was fine when we were at sea." Jack went to her and said something in her ear. She let him guide her to the seat between his and Ruby's, barely responding when he reached up to undo the ties of her mask.
She swims, Kane thought, remembering an episode back in Cornelia when he'd heard Lena beg Orin to get her out of the castle to visit a cove on the far side of the harbor. She'd been in trouble for that later, he knew. He'd wondered at the time why she would do such a thing but had forgotten about it after all that happened in the days that followed. He turned to Harvey on his other side. "Say, is there a good place to swim around here?"
"Swimming? I shouldn't think so. You've heard of crocodiles, haven't you? They're a bit of a problem in these parts."
"Look! It's starting!" said Ruby.
A hush fell over the crowd as a man in a suit walked out to the center of the stage. "My lords, my ladies, honored guests! I welcome you all to this afternoon's performance. Though it has long been Midsummer tradition to unveil new plays during the festival, this year, the Lords' Council Company has chosen another path: an old tale, made new again!" The man waited for the light applause to die down. "A tale of the Melmond civil war…"
From the corner of his eye, Kane saw Gabriel sit up straighter. "They wouldn't…"
The audience murmured, but the man on the stage talked loudly over them. "Of forbidden love in that war-torn land!"
"They would," Logan rumbled.
Ruby gasped. "I can't believe it!"
The man on the stage went on, yelling now over the rising noise of the crowd. "A love that heals hearts and conquers hate!"
"They're angry," Lena said, looking over the railing again. "Why are they so angry?"
"No, no, no…" Gabriel muttered. "Please, Titan, I don't want to put down a riot today."
"Calm down!" Harvey said. "They couldn't be fool enough to stage Odelia given how everyone feels about white mages! It has to be some other play!"
The man on the stage raised his hands for silence. "Good people, I present to you the tale of Bertrand and Odelia!"
"Shit," said Gabriel.
When the meeting finally ended, mind-numbing hours of bylaws and points of order later, and Pollendina went back to his office in the Chubby Chocobo, Thad didn't bother to follow him. Instead, he walked, looked in the shop windows, watched the preparations for the dancing. After the workmen cleared the benches, he found a rubber ball, likely left behind by one of the merchants' children, and he wandered the square bouncing and catching it. He called up the aether sight and watched the way the aether responded to people, trying to see the auras Jack had been telling him about in his lesson the night before. He wasn't successful, but Jack had said it would take practice.
Perhaps he was getting somewhere with it though, because he knew, even without looking, when Orin arrived. Thad had wandered into an alley, bouncing the ball against a stone-walled accounting office that was closed for the revels. He didn't bother to turn around when the old man approached him from behind. "So now you want my company?" he asked. "Are you sure you don't have some other important things to do?"
Orin chuckled. "I do have other tasks, but the most important one is, of course, to continue your training. Come, we have places to see."
He turned to give the old man a piece of his mind, but Orin was already walking, slowly, away. "Wait!" Thad said. "You're limping!" He hurried after him, moving in close so the monk could lean on him.
Orin grasped Thad's shoulder with one bony hand; there was steel in his grip. "Yes, young Shipman, but your observational skills need work. I have been limping for several days."
"No!" Thad said. "You were faking it before!"
"I am faking it still. Hush now. Your whining draws attention."
Thad started to argue, but he saw that the old man wasn't lying about that at least: people were looking curiously at them. He closed his mouth, but he could feel how heavily Orin leaned on him, more heavily than he had done these past few days.
From the business district, they passed through a wealthy residential area full of huge houses in disgusting colors. The wealthy houses gave way eventually to poorer ones, smaller and shabby with a lack of maintenance. From there, they came to a second business district, more dubious than the first, with fewer accounting offices and more dark storefronts, their windows filled with questionable objects. There were more guards here. Thad knew from studying the city map that the guardhouse was nearby. He had to remind himself that he had no reason to feel nervous around them. Despite all the petty thievery he'd committed in his short life, he had done nothing wrong here. Well, not today. At least, not so far.
His instinct to hurry through the area was hampered by Orin's slow shuffle. "If you're supposed to be faking, do you really have to lean so hard?" he asked.
"It must appear convincing," Orin replied. "But if you doubt your ability to perform your own role, you can go and play with your new ball. I could find a walking stick..."
"I didn't say that!" Thad said a little too loudly. A guard looked over at them from across the street, walking in the opposite direction. Thad threw him a smile that he hoped didn't look guilty. The guard turned and began to walk toward them. "Crap baskets!" Thad said.
"Is that really the sort of thing a Warrior of Light should say?" Orin asked.
"Who cares? Walk faster!"
"I will not," said Orin. "We have nothing to hide."
"But, Orin!"
"Hush," the monk said, giving Thad's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I would not let anything bad happen to you, young master Shipman. Now, keep quiet. Watch and listen."
The guard was on them in a few strides, smiling politely. "Good afternoon," he said, his tone respectful. "You seem lost, grandfather. Something I can help you find?"
"I believe I know our way, young man, but I thank you for asking," said Orin.
"I haven't seen you around before. Master…?"
"Sylkis," Orin said, supplying the man with the same fake name he had given the registrar at the docks. "We are only visitors, for the revels. We could show you our papers if you wish."
Thad would have run if not for Orin's grip on him - he hadn't given his papers a moment's thought since their first day in Melmond and didn't know where his had got off to - but the guard shook his head. "That won't be necessary. What brings you to the lower town, master Sylkis?"
"We wished to see Titan's Cathedral."
A shadow passed over the guard's face, there and gone again in an instant. "I thought that might be the case when I saw your leg there. I'm sorry to tell you, but the cathedral's closed."
Orin shrugged. "So we had heard. We only wish to see it. We have heard it is a marvel of Melmond design."
"No different from the Lords' Council chambers on High Street. I could direct you there?"
"Such a helpful man!" Orin said, smiling so that his face wrinkled up. "A true credit to your profession, but as we have come so far already, I believe we shall continue on."
"Are you certain?" said the guard. "The streets are in terrible shape over there. A lot of mud. I would hate to see you strain yourself."
"Never fear. My young apprentice will see me safely there."
The guard looked at Thad with one eyebrow raised then slowly turned his gaze back to Orin. "Master Sylkis, I wouldn't want to frighten guests to our fair city, but I would be remiss were I not to inform you that the neighborhood around the cathedral is… not the best."
"Oh?" said Orin. "Are there thieves? Miscreants? Are we likely to be set upon in broad daylight?"
"No." The guard's face remained blank. It wasn't natural, Thad thought, but a carefully held blankness, as if the man had practiced for hours in front of a mirror to achieve it. "Nothing like that. There are rumors, that's all. No one knows what really happened to the mages there, you know. Some of that white magic may still be around."
"White magic?" said Thad. Orin pulled at his shoulder, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Why would anyone be afraid of white magic?"
The guard stared at Thad as if he'd just belched at the dinner table.
"My apprentice has much to learn," said Orin, pulling Thad behind him. To the guard, he said, "Young man, I have heard these rumors you speak of, and while I appreciate your concern, I believe I will rest easier when I see for myself that the cathedral is empty, if you understand my meaning."
The guard nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Do not let us keep you from your duties," Orin said. He motioned Thad forward, leaning on him once again, and as they began to walk away, the guard turned back toward his original course.
Thad looked over his shoulder, and when he was certain the man was out of earshot, he asked, "What was that about? You made it sound like you don't like white magic! And he was scared of it! Why was he scared?"
Orin shook his head. "White magic can do evil things. They are very rare, and rarely spoken of. Perhaps I am not the best one to explain such matters."
Thad thought back on everything he'd read in his copy of the Adept's Grimoire, everything Lena had told him about her abilities. As far as Thad understood it, the sort of people who were able to learn white magic with any skill were incapable of evil, plain and simple. "But how? What sort of things? It shouldn't work! White magic comes from love, doesn't it? Everyone says that!"
The monk gave an exasperated sigh. "Young master Shipman, when you are older you will come to understand, as I do, that the greatest evils are often those that spring from the purest of intentions."
It started with a sword fight. A very impressive sword fight, in Kane's opinion. The actor playing the hero, Bertrand, almost made it look real as he fought against three rebel soldiers. The murmurs of the crowd died down as the scene went on. The fight ended with Bertrand, a roaming swordsman, rescuing the rebels' victim, the beautiful Odelia, a lady of the royal court, whom they had planned to hold for ransom.
"My husband leads the king's armies," she said. "He would be pleased to have a man of your skill."
"Then I shall see you safely home, my lady, and perhaps find further work there," Bertrand said, setting the audience to whispering again as the stagehands changed the scenery.
Up in the box beside Kane, the Quincey brothers were having a whispered conversation of their own. The sergeant looked angry, gesturing with his hands, while Logan only shook his head.
"What is it?" Kane asked. "What's wrong?"
Harvey said, "She was supposed to be a white mage. Originally, the rebels took her because she wore white mage's robes. They needed mages and she couldn't fight back. There was no ransom; they didn't know who she was. The players have changed it."
"Cowards!" Gabriel spat.
"I would have thought you'd be pleased?" Kane said. "You were worried about rioting a moment ago."
"It's one thing not to do any plays with mage characters! It's another thing to write them out as if they never existed!"
"It's entirely understandable," Logan said. "They can't show themselves to be pro-mage in this political climate."
"But they were! They were the last pro-mage faction that held any sway with the Council!" Gabriel was so angry he was shaking. "Damn it! Half their plays have magic or mages in them!"
"Apparently not anymore," said Logan.
It hadn't been much farther to Titan's Cathedral, which was convenient since Thad didn't think he could have dragged Orin along another step. Thad had expected a decrepit, dilapidated building, perhaps with the windows boarded up, but he found instead a grand compound of gleaming white stone. It was shaped like White Hall in Cornelia, with the large chapel area on one side, and the white mages' apartments on the other. From what Lena had told him of her life in White Hall, Thad assumed there would be other rooms there: mages' workshops, classrooms, perhaps a library. The top of a tree was visible over the roof, as if it were growing in the middle of the building, like at the tavern he had visited in Elfheim.
As they drew closer, Thad could see that the walls were stained here and there with mortar over old cracks. "That is where the Rot damaged it many years ago," Orin said. "Most of the buildings in the lower town were lost. They were predominantly wood. Everything in this area had to be rebuilt."
Thad looked up and down the street, a sad showing of wooden shacks and crumbling plaster houses that looked like they needed rebuilding still. Aside from a small crowd milling about the chapel steps, a thin but steady stream of people came and went through its large, open doors. The people on the steps watched Thad and Orin approach, and Thad recognized one of the Avenue Inspectors from the Chocobo bar, though he was out of uniform today. The man came down the steps to meet them.
"Inspector Lamontagne," Orin said, inclining his head respectfully.
"Lord Orin," the old guard said. "Chief Inspector Turley said you were investigating the dark mage attacks. What brings you this way?"
Orin smiled a smile that made him look like a harmless old man but which Thad had grown to consider highly suspicious. "Why, those same investigations."
Lamontagne's answering smile seemed confused. "Oh? How so? There have been no dark mage attacks near the cathedral."
"Exactly," said the monk, pressing a finger to the side of his nose in a conspiratorial gesture. "That is curious, yes?" He gestured to the small crowd on the stairs. "I was told the cathedral was closed."
"It's closed for healing, as all the white mages are gone, but we still open the chapel for worshippers. You're just in time for a prayer meeting if you'd care to join us."
Thad couldn't think of anything he would care for less. His grandmother had often taken him to such meetings back home and they were all the same: hymns, then prayers, then more hymns, boring sermons, more prayers, and sometimes more hymns. He felt he could do without sitting through another one ever again for the rest of his life. He was relieved when Orin said, "I thank you for the invitation," for it sounded like he meant to refuse, but then the old man went on to say, "That would be lovely."
"But I don't want-" Thad began, but he stopped when Orin pinched his ear, hard. It was more surprising than painful: the monk had never done such a thing before.
"Let us not be rude to the nice inspector, Thadius," Orin said. When the inspector looked between them with questioning eyes, he added, "Forgive my apprentice. He was raised Levitian. It would be good for him to see another religion's ways."
"Of course." Lamontagne nodded. To Thad, he said, "You'll find we're not so different from what you're used to, young man. But if you'd prefer to worship in your own way, there is a chapel to Leviathan in the harbor district. I don't know if they have regular meetings; it's mostly used by passing sailors. Remind me to draw you a map." A bell rang from within the compound. "Well, shall we?" the inspector said, motioning them inside.
Kane sat forward in his chair, lost in the play. He'd seen festival plays before, but this was something else. These Council players were so skilled, Kane kept forgetting he was watching events on a stage. He hadn't even known Melmond had had a civil war. Surely his tutors had mentioned it, but he'd been a terrible student. History had always seemed so far removed from what he could see, what he could touch, that he'd never paid attention. Here was history brought to life.
"He means to make war against the rebels," Odelia said of her husband, General Doma. The conflict between Old Melmond on Half-Moon Mountain and the smaller coastal city of New Melmond had come to a head. The "city by the sea", the city Kane and his friends were currently sitting in, had begun to fight back against overtaxation.
Bertrand had his back to her, pouring himself a drink at the table. "The rebels made this war themselves, when they cut off supplies from the harbor."
"But they were in the right!" Odelia said, grabbing his arm. "I believe that now! Please! Is there anything you can do to sway him from this course?"
"You know as well as I that your husband is the king's creature," Bertrand said, throwing back the shot he'd poured and slamming the glass down.
"But if it comes to war…" Even from his seat in the balcony, Kane could see the actress's lip tremble. "I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."
Bertrand turned to face her. They stood so close, it was practically an embrace. "Run away with me," he begged. "You love me, Odelia - I know it! Come with me. I've made my living with my sword until now; I can do it again. I have nothing to offer you but my heart. Please, Odelia, come with me."
"I can't," she said, stepping back. "However I may feel about you… I still love my husband."
The audience gasped. They'd seen what the general had done to the rebel prisoners in Act Two, something Odelia was not aware of. Doma would do anything in the name of his lord, following the letter of the law no matter who it hurt to keep the old court in power. He was not a good man. Kane let out a slow breath.
"Right?" Harvey whispered. "Now just imagine how that line goes over when a white mage says it."
Kane did imagine it. He was so busy imagining it, in fact, that he missed Bertrand's next line.
Odelia declared, "We can't choose who we love!"
"No," said Bertrand. "But we can choose where we stand. I'll not stay and fight for an unjust cause." He stormed off stage.
The curtain fell, signalling the end of another act. The shuffling of stagehands changing sets could just be heard over the audience's quiet mutterings. Kane heard sniffling to his left. He leaned forward to look past Jack, over at the girls. He couldn't make out the Hornwood sisters' expressions in the dark box, but Ruby was crying into a handkerchief. Lena covered her mouth with one hand, and her shoulders shook as she cried in her quiet way.
Even Jack had tears in his eyes, though it was not the tears that Kane noticed first. It was the way they glittered in the light of a faint white corona. Kane pinched the mage sharply in the thigh.
He jumped, hissing, "Ramuh's beard!"
"Your eyes," Kane whispered.
Jack must have caught his meaning. He blinked several times, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In his lap, his hand made a gesture Kane recognized as the sign of the staff.
On Kane's other side, Harvey said, "You know, I'm surprised how little the play has changed. The plot is almost entirely unaffected by whether Odelia is a white mage or not. It almost makes you wonder why they wrote her as one to begin with…"
Gabriel's face went ashen. "Gods above and below," he muttered. He looked to his brother.
Logan nodded. "I know," he said. "It occurred to me already. The only place in the plot where it really matters is the ending."
The curtain rose. Another act began.
They sat with the other worshipers in the unpadded pews, hard seats, with the back at an awkward angle, too steep for sitting but not steep enough to recline comfortably. As Thad's feet didn't touch the floor when he sat in them, his only real option was to sit rigidly upright. There would be no napping through this meeting. Not that anyone else looked to be in a napping mood, the few whose faith overcame their fear of white mages and the mysterious disease that had killed them. Perhaps less than two dozen people gathered in the large chapel, a space that could have held hundreds. He and Orin sat near a window in one of the center pews, and they had the whole row to themselves.
Thad was surprised when Lamontagne himself went up to the altar to lead the service. Right, there are no white mages. There are no priests, he thought. The inspector cleared his throat and began to sing in a strong, tenor voice. The rest of the congregation joined in, a song Thad had never heard before about the "rock" of faith. He assumed it was a metaphor; Titan was an earth god, after all. It went on for several verses.
And now the prayers, Thad thought.
Right on cue, Lamontagne bowed his head. The other worshipers did likewise. The inspector prayed, "Titan shield me. Guide my steps. Be my strength when I must stand for those who cannot."
Thad sighed. He hated being right sometimes.
His gaze drifted to the window. There was a square garden in the center of the compound, arrayed around a tree in the middle, the same tree Thad had seen from the outside. The garden was laid out in a pattern with walkways along the four points of a compass, dividing it in quarters, squares within squares, each corner containing different plants. Someone was sneaking around out there, darting between the bushes. A short person, Thad noticed as he watched more closely, carrying a basket in one hand. He realized this was the boy from before at the play, the one with the crackers.
The prayer went on. And on. Thad quickly surveyed the people in the chapel, their heads bowed, their eyes shut. Even Orin's eyes were closed. Slowly, quietly, Thad stood and crept away, placing his feet carefully so that they wouldn't sound against the hard tile floor.
It took a bit of exploring to find the right hallways, the right doors, that led to the little garden. Almost every door he tried was locked, and though he could have picked them easily, it seemed likelier that the boy had gone through an unlocked door. When he finally found his way out, the boy was still there, crouched beside one of the garden beds with his basket beside him as he plucked small, green shoots from among the larger plants. "Hello," Thad said.
The boy cried out and fell over on his bottom, looking up at Thad in alarm. Then he smiled and gave a nervous laugh. "My, you don't half make noise, do you? You scared me good."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to," Thad said. "What were you sneaking around for?"
The boy stood, looking cautiously toward the chapel windows, but they were on the far side of the tree; it seemed unlikely anyone would notice them. "No one's supposed to be out here. The inspectors keep it all locked up. They only open the chapel for prayer meetings, you know." He wiped his grubby palms on his pants then offered a hand to Thad. "Name's Noah."
Thad accepted the handshake. "I'm Thad."
"Nice to meet you," Noah said, crouching down again, plucking the little plants. "But if you don't mind, I'm going to keep working. I only have 'til the prayer meeting's over."
"What are you doing?" Thad asked, crouching beside him. He looked at the plants, but he didn't know anything about gardening. People didn't garden in Pravoka, aside from what could be grown in pots.
Noah cocked his head toward the basket. "Weeding."
"Can I help?"
"Sure." Noah handed him one of the shoots he'd picked. "These are what we need, with the spiky leaves. But pull them out carefully. You want to get the whole root."
They worked side by side, the air around them thick with distant thunder as if the sky would open up any minute. It took some trial and error for Thad to get the hang of picking the plants without breaking them. "Why aren't you at the prayer meeting?" he asked.
"I never saw the point of them," Noah said. "Seems like Titan'd have better things to do than listen to us yammer on. I know the white mages were strict about prayer meetings, but something tells me when we get some new ones out here, they'll be more pleased that the herb garden is in order than that a few people kept up their prayers."
"Do you think you'll get new ones?" Thad asked. "I thought people didn't like them anymore."
"Those people are stupid. You can't have a city without white mages. Just look how bad things have got here."
Thad shrugged. "I'm not from Melmond. I've only been here a few days."
"Well, let me tell you, with no white mages around, nobody does anything nice! No one's taking care of orphans… or, you know, widows or old folks… No one gets any healing - people die of really dumb things! Like…" Noah waved a hand, reaching for an example. "Like infections!" He sat in the dirt, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "People used to be able to go to the white mages for anything, you know! To settle arguments, to get extra food when they couldn't afford any, to sleep under a roof instead of on the street! There's nowhere to go for help anymore!"
"Well..." Thad said. It was clear the boy felt strongly about white mages. Perhaps he was one of those orphans the mages had cared for? Had slept under their roof to escape the streets? He clearly knew his way around the compound to have found his way to this garden past all the locked doors. Thad wondered what else he might know. "But what about the bad stuff? Isn't there bad white magic?"
Noah scoffed. "Necromancy? Please. You obviously don't know any white mages. That's just a horror story. It never happens."
Thad nearly argued that yes, he did know a white mage, thank you very much, but remembered not to at the last second. Instead, he only shrugged. "I met a city guard on the way over here who said that's what killed them." The guard hadn't used that exact word, but as Thad didn't know what that exact word meant, he ran with it anyway.
"That guard's an idiot. The mages died of the night plague. Everyone knows that. A few of the white mages went to the outer farms to treat it. One brought it back with her. Wiped out the whole lot in one night."
"One night?" Thad squeaked. He hadn't heard that before.
Noah rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. It's not usually that bad. Most people live through it. Besides, you only get it out in the country. The cathedral was the only case of it in town, and that was nearly a year ago."
The cathedral bell rang out again.
"Time to go," Noah said. "Come on, you don't want to get locked inside."
They hurried through the empty hallways, their steps echoing after them, back to the foyer. People stood chatting with one another, slowly making their way out the door. Thad saw Orin talking with Inspector Lamontagne and strolled casually toward them. He glanced back to bid Noah farewell, but the boy was already gone.
"The sermon was very well done, Inspector," Orin said. "It is clear you are a man of great faith."
The inspector waved off the compliment. "No more than any of my comrades. The other Inspectors and I take turns," and here he gestured to some of the men standing on the outer steps, visiting with the congregants as they left. Though they wore no uniforms, Thad knew they must be Avenue Inspectors as well. "But I know whenever I do it, I always feel that the priests would have done better."
"Inspector." They all turned to face the ragged woman who had spoken. She wore a threadbare dress of plain brown cotton, and her hair hung lank around a tear-stained face. "Have you any news about my son?"
Lamontagne shook his head. "No news, ma'am. I'm sorry."
The woman nodded, hollow-eyed, and shuffled away.
The inspector scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Her child is missing?" Orin asked.
"Teenager," the inspector corrected. "I know boys that age tend to wander, but he's been missing nigh on a week, and with no word. He wouldn't have done his mother that way. They were close. I fear the worst." He watched the woman's slow progress down the steps and away. "She's nearly lost her wits over it. I wish I knew how to comfort her. The priests would have done better there, too. White mages train for that sort of thing."
You can't have a city without white mages, Thad thought. Or maybe you could. It just seemed life was a little worse off without them.
Kane was surprised Jack lasted as long as he did, to be honest. The play's fourth act was a whirlwind of emotion. Lena's quiet sniffles grew more and more pronounced as the audience took it in. When Odelia finally learned what her husband was - too late, for Bertrand had already gone over to the rebels' side - Lena buried her face in Jack's chest and sobbed. Jack turned to Kane, panicked eyes in a pinched expression as though he were in physical distress. His hand, as he patted Lena's hair, maintained the sign of the staff.
Was the box a little colder than it had been before?
The mage left after that, as soon as Lena had calmed herself. When Quincey sharply asked Jack where he was going, Jack begged a nervous stomach and said something about finding the facilities. Kane saw how hard he was concentrating then to contain the aether he'd let rise. He moved stiffly, and when he spoke, it was in a distracted monotone, like a child reading aloud from a text he didn't entirely understand.
Act Four ended with Bertrand telling the rebels what Doma had done to his prisoners, causing the peace negotiations to break down. Kane moved over into Jack's vacant seat to hold Lena as she cried again. What a pair they make, he thought. He can't handle his own emotions, and she can't handle everyone else's. But, he reflected, Lena would be fine once they got her away from the crowd. Jack couldn't escape himself.
The battle in Act Five took place behind closed curtains, all shouting and the clanging of steel. Even so, Kane sat at the edge of his seat, engrossed. The theater could never have held all the violence and bloodshed of war, but it held the idea of it more than well enough. The curtain rose to reveal several of the characters lying motionless on the stage, rebels and kingsmen alike, drenched in blood. The only one who moved was Bertrand, equally bloody, dragging himself toward the body of a fallen comrade before he too collapsed.
"Huh," said Harvey. "I thought for sure they'd skip this part. I mean, if she's not a white mage, she can't heal his wounds. He's supposed to fight Doma to the death."
Odelia came onstage. One by one, she checked the fallen soldiers, searching for her love, desperately calling his name.
"How is it supposed to end?" Kane asked.
"Haven't you been paying attention? The rebels won the war! This is the city by the sea!"
"I caught that much," Kane snapped. "I meant the fight with Doma!"
"Well, Bertrand strikes the mortal blow. Odelia tries to heal Doma, but he's so evil the spells don't work. His men see it, realize they're fighting on the wrong side, and concede to the rebels."
Odelia cried out as she found Bertrand.
"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm sorry I left you. I should have stayed."
"No!" she said. "I should have left with you. I should have followed you to the ends of the earth. I love you..."
Her anguished wail when he died echoed through a theater gone silent, as if no one dared to breathe.
It made Logan's harsh whisper sound louder than it was. "No. This is bad. This is bad."
Odelia plucked up the sword of the fallen rebel nearby. "To the ends of the earth," she said, plunging the blade into her gut.
"We need to go," Gabriel said, standing sharply. "Where's your brother?"
Kane hesitated, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to have a brother at all. "He's not back yet."
The sergeant swore, sticking his head into the hallway and barking orders to their guards. "Find the bastard. We need to leave now!"
"But it's not over yet!" Nicole protested.
Below, on the stage, Doma and his men appeared, surveying the field. "The rebel army is broken, my lord," one of the men said. "Victory is ours."
"It's over for us," said Beatrix. "Gabriel's right. We don't want to be here when those commoners figure out they've been watching white mage propaganda."
Logan hauled Harvey up by his shirt to get him moving faster. "We'll make for the townhouse. It's closest."
"I agree," said Gabriel.
Kane glanced at the stage one last time as they left. Doma stood over his dead wife, screaming in rage, blaming the rebels. Kane watched as the general ordered his men to destroy the city by the sea. The curtain fell as they rushed to obey, the entire course of Melmond's history changed for lack of a simple Cure.
It's what you wanted, isn't it? Kane thought. A world without white mages?
And yet, no one applauded.
Redden led them through the cave, the caverns so familiar to him that it was like a cruel parody of coming home. He knew these musty smells, the way his steps echoed off the stone walls, the coolness of the air despite the summer heat outside. Again and again they fought against more of those creatures, the dead, and each time the Melmond soldiers grew a little more fearful. They had truly never seen the like before, but then they had never come this deep either.
"Where are they coming from?" Killian asked. "Why have they appeared here now?"
Redden beheaded the thing he'd put down to keep it from rising again. This one wore a black robe. It wasn't the first. He wondered, if he took the time to search, would he find the black sun amulet of the Penumbra Brotherhood? "They don't simply appear," Redden said. "These men came to this cave for some reason. Maybe they were looking for something."
"I'd say it found them first," said Leo. The young pirate stood ahead of the others, the light of his torch playing over stones stained reddish-brown. There were bodies, pieces of bodies, so mangled that it was impossible to identify how many bodies there actually were, and in the center of that carnage, the stone altar that had once held a sword. "What could do this? Some kind of beast?"
"No," Redden said. "This was magic."
Gus whistled. "Sweet Leviathan, I never knew black magic was capable of such destruction."
Redden shook his head. "It isn't. This was white."
Author's Note: 7/7/17 - I've been gaming for a long time. Sometimes I forget how long. Yesterday as I was working in the library, shelving some books near our public computers, I overheard two pre-teen boys exclaiming over a video game they were playing online. "Look out!" said the first one. "She's trying to kill us!" Then they both groaned in frustration, apparently killed by the mysterious girl.
"Where did she come from?" the second boy asked.
The first boy shrugged. "I don't know, but she's good. Hey, how come your health is going up faster than mine?"
"I don't know."
"His stats must be higher than yours," I said over my shoulder.
"What?" they asked.
I turned to face their blank looks. "Character stats. You know? Whatever stat effects health regen. His is going to be higher."
They looked at each other as if I'd just spoken to them in Japanese.
I sighed. "Look, you have defense, right?"
The first boy shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so."
"Are you wearing armor?" I asked. They nodded. "Is there a screen that shows your character's armor?"
"Yeah, but it doesn't do anything," the first boy said.
"Let's see it," I said, coming around the table to look at the screens over their shoulders.
"You've played this before?" the second boy asked.
"No, never," I said. But I might as well have said yes, because the screen they showed me looked like so many others I'd seen before. There were their characters, and there were the stats, and here were two young boys who had obviously never heard of min-maxing. I pointed at the little number labeled "DEF". "Boys, I'm 'bout to blow your minds."
A five minute lecture and some armor swapping later, their minds were indeed blown.
As was that sniper chick when she came back around for them.