Esmerelda paused to look up at the sky, unsure of whether to be amused or irritated. Hadn't it been just a couple of days ago when the sun had been shining and she had been wiping sweat from her forehead, and now here she stood watching the short huffs of her breath turn to vapor and drift lazily up to the steely gray clouds? Wouldn't it have been something if the warm weather had just lingered on to carry the last vestiges of heat from a scorched city and left them all with a cold snap, as though Nature herself was trying to sooth Paris' fevered brow? Poetic and pretty, but also annoying when you were trying to rebuild.
That and...her blue-green eyes darted about as she walked, the feeling of unease growing ever so slightly every time she saw someone in more muted clothes looking up at the sky with her. She knew as well as any other gypsy that none of them had any sort of control over the weather, and ill-fortune was more belief than any sort of magic, but that didn't stop people from believing it just the same. Two weeks had passed since the repairs had begun, and though the city was still showing signs of gradually returning to a liveable state, a shadow had begun to descend upon the city just as the clouds were gathering ominously above.
At first, everyone was glad to help out everywhere they could, and it didn't matter if you were a long-time Parisian or a passing wanderer. Gypsies and city dwellers worked shoulder to shoulder and had cleared away the entire square, repaired the cathedral with Quasimodo's help, and now the work could be turned solely on the city proper. But that was when the first signs of trouble had begun.
When the square was being worked on as well, there was ample space for everyone to move about and lend a hand wherever they could. But when the repair efforts had moved to the narrow, winding streets, coupled with the laborers themselves being exhausted and discouraged by how little progress was moving forward, things had rapidly begun to sour. Cheerful talk turned to sullen silence, broken more and more often by a heated arguement about the misplacement of some unearthed possession or a person of a certain ethnic group getting more than their fair share of food or water. Often it was one certain group accused more than the other for all of the small misfortunes, and Esmerelda found herself worrying that it was only a matter of time before the city suffered a relapse and her people would no longer be safe walking the streets as they recently had been.
Of course it didn't help that CERTAIN people in the position to sway others to their side were more interested in petty bickering of their own! Esmerelda blew a few stray hairs from her eyes in irritation as she recalled about a week ago when Phoebus had all but chased down Clopin on his horse to yell at him about letting little children gather weapons to melt down into building materials.
The result was a rather impressive shouting match that had every person within a three street radius come flocking over to witness it. In the end, a small child got knocked down by Achilles and Clopin was closer than he had probably realized to being the first reason to rebuild the stocks since the battle. In the end, both parties had stormed off in a huff and left behind two distinct groups of individuals to finish what they had started and argue the point to where no more repairs were completed in the area that day.
They were two of the most important men in her life, and while Esmerelda understood that they were both in their own way protecting the self interest of their groups, she wished they could just be less selfish and put forth the effort of just being ONE group. After all, what good would it be to rebuild if things just went back to the way they were? By then it might not be home to her people at all, and they would be forced to leave. And nothing would ever change.
Sighing the rest of her troubled thoughts and watching them float away, Esmerelda continued on her way, stumbling slightly to regain her balance at a 'gentle' nudge from Djali, who had spent a considerable time sitting beside her wondering what the big holdup was and had finally lost his patience. Stifling a chuckle, Esmerelda reached down to pat the goat in the sweet spot between the base of his horns. "Sorry Djali; just thinking. Let's get going."
She walked through the square, for now blissfully empty of both people and debris, and walked over to the large doors of Notre Dame cathedral. Not bothering to knock, she carefully opened the door and walked in, sombered at once by the silence. Unlike the city outside, the cathedral had, thanks to the Arch Deacon, remained a place of relative calm and peace; no arguements or ill will festering here; just people in hushed contemplation broken only by sputtering candles and the barely perceptible strain of a Gregorian chant.
She didn't have to look too far to find the person she was looking for; these days the Arch Deacon could only move so far at any given time. He approached her now, leaning heavily on his walking stick but not allowing the pain to cloud the happiness in his eyes upon seeing her. "You are most kind, my child; thank you so much for coming." Smiling back, Esmerelda reached into the folds of her dress and handed a small bundle wrapped in a colorful handkerchief to his one free hand. "Livinia told me that these will help with the pain; just put them in your next bowl of soup. How is your leg today?"
He sighed and looked down at it. "Well I can't say it doesn't pain me in more ways than one." He looked wistfully towards the door, hanging open by the barest bit since Esmerelda had come in. "I can't help but think that it marks some sort of failure in me. I know we are all incapable of much without God's help, but I can't help but think that had I been younger, stronger..."
As gently as she could, Esmerelda reached out and placed a hand on the Arch Deacon's shoulder. "Believe me, I've seen younger and stronger out there recently, and they're not helping as much as you think. You're a voice of wisdom, and we all need that now. If only we could just keep it as peaceful outside as it is in here." A dry chuckle escaped from the old man. "Yes, if only..."
"Sir..." A young voice carried over to them, and both turned their heads to observe a young man in a monk's robe emerge from the shadows. "I have an id- oh, I didn't realize you had company." Esmerelda looked at the newcomer with mild interest, if only for the warm way the Arch Deacon seemed to react to his presence. "Not at all, my son." He turned back towards Esmerelda and smiled warmly. "Have you met Father Matthew yet, my child?"
Before Esmerelda could answer, a sudden commotion drifted through the crack in the cathedral door and reached the ears of everyone there. Blinking in surprise, Esmerelda turned and walked quickly to the door, pushing it open with Djali right at her heels, followed closely by Father Matthew. She watched as several people ran past the cathedral steps, shouting in agitation. "Wait!" Esmerelda cried out, spying a familiar face in the last of the group. "What's going on?" The young gypsy paused and pointed in the direction of the disappearing group. "There's a crazy man at the fountain; he's yelling at the crowd and I think there's going to be fighting!"
Her mind going immediately to either Clopin or Phoebus (though wouldn't her friend use their proper names?), Esmerelda hitched up her skirt and raced across the square, as fleet-footed as a deer, Djali's hooves thundering behind. She didn't have to wonder about the direction, for not only was whoever it was talking loud enough for his voice to carry easily, but just like before, a mixture of gypsies and city folk were quickly crowding around the Fountain of Innocents, the large covered platform above the taps making a perfect stage.
Esmerelda stopped short when she saw the speaker, and for a fleeting moment she wondered how the young man she had not-quite met at Notre Dame had beaten her there so quickly. But a closer look revealed that this was a different person altogether. The robe was an exact replica, but the face revealed from the hood was longer and more angular, and she didn't have to get much closer to see that the man's eyes were full of contempt instead of warmth. With a sudden jolt of foreboding, she realized that she had seen such eyes before...when she had been staring at them through a haze of smoke as she had struggled against the blackness brought on by a raging heat beneath her feet.
"Citizens of Paris!" the man was shouting, "Do not continue to be led astray! Your souls hang in the balance, and only you can make the decision to climb forth from the muck and reach forth to take the Mother's forgiving hand! But first you must cast aside your most grievous sin; your acceptance of help from these heathen devils among you, those who would profess to be your friends and yet weave their garments of lies and deceit to walk among you as wolves among sheep!"
Angry murmers rose up from the crowd as the man continued. "They have already chosen to live outside of the holy light; beware lest you end up the same! For God looks after His own, but has no welcome for those who willingly choose to stray! His will be a great and terrible wrath, as it is foretold, and any who side with these witches and devils will be beset with sorrow, and share in their torment! For your families, for your children, for your own salvation, drive them all from your sight, and allow your mighty city to be brought back as a holy light for all the world!"
The horror Esmerelda was feeling sprung forth with an equal mixture of anger. After all that had happened less than two weeks ago, after so much had been accomplished; it was as though Frollo had come back from the dead and was seeking to undo it all! Fear momentarily seized her rage as she tore her gaze from the angry figure on the fountain to the crowd distributed below him. She saw heads shifting from side to side, feet shuffling to move ever so slightly away from others, hands going protectively into pockets, and above it all an angry buzz like so many hornets trapped inside a jar.
A few of the people in the crowd began to shout then. "Who do you think you are, you maniac?!"
"Get out of here; we don't need your crazy talk!"
"You wanna help us so much, shut up and pick up a hammer!"
Clenching her fists, Esmerelda raised her own voice to the tumult. "Wasn't burning the city ONCE enough for you? Why are you trying to set us all against each other again?!"
The man's eyes bulged at her words, as though he had heard her the most clearly above the rest of the crowd. "THERE IS NO 'US'! Only lambs of the flock and the goats who walk among them!" Any indignant bleating on Djali's part didn't have a prayer of reaching anyone's ears. "Open your eyes, good people! The influence in your own city has caused you to turn on those who would steer you towards the light! The bones of one already lie in ashes at the foot of your cathedral steps, unmourned and without any remorse! God would demand your penance!"
"TO HELL WITH YOUR PENANCE!" A loud voice rang out, one that Esmerelda was all too familiar with. "That lunatic had the blood of hundreds on his hands, and his quick death was more honor than he could EVER hope to deserve! I hope that lead was his first taste of Hell on the way down!" A rousing cheer went up from the gypsies in the crowd as they recognized the voice of their king, spotting him in the back of the crowd as he clung precariously to a tent pole left from a construction crew.
The already red face of the man turned even redder, but before he could say anything more, yet another voice rang out from the crowd. "Father Mark! What are you doing?" The crowd parted in surprise as another person in a brown robe appeared, and Esmerelda recognized Father Matthew from the cathedral. He marched through the crowd until he was directly below the other, looking up at him with a strange mixture of both outrage and sorrow. "What sort of talk is all this? Why are you turning brothers against each other? We're here to heal, not harm! This is not our way, brother! This is not GOD'S way!"
"LET THOSE WHO HAVE EARS LET HIM HEAR GOD'S WAY!" The voice of Father Mark boomed suddenly over the crowd, as though the largest bell in the cathedral had come to knell among them; a few in the crowd put their hands to their ears in shock, and Clopin almost fell from his pole. "Hear the pronouncement of the Living God! The unclean and unholy shall be cursed within these walls, and those who see fit to call them brother will bring his house to ruin with them! Heed me well, and turn back to Heaven's light before it is too late!"
The air above the fountain was suddenly filled with smoke, and as the crowd clamored forward to see what had happened, the top of the fountain stood empty. Esmerelda recognized one of the smoke pellets she and her friends had used during the festival...how long ago had it been? How had someone like him even gotten a hold of one?
A sudden thundering of hooves heralded the arrival of at least a dozen soldiers, being led by Phoebus as they quickly surrounded Father Matthew, the only brown-robed figure they could immediately see. Esmerelda quickly ran up to Achilles, deftly dodging hooves right and left. "It's not him, Phoebus; it was someone else! I don't know where he went; he vanished!" One nod was all it took and the soldiers dispersed in all directions, searching in vain for another plain, brown robe.
"Better late than never, you blockhead!" Clopin's voice rang out almost cheerfully even as Phoebus whirled his head and saw nothing but an empty space save for a quivering pole. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to Esmerelda and Father Matthew. "Either of you want to tell me what happened here?"
By the time they had all walked back to the square and the entrance of Notre Dame, everyone was contemplating what Father Matthew had said. "So this brother of yours- brother of the cloth, that is, Father Mark," Phoebus finally said, "He's insane?" Father Matthew sighed. "Well, he's always been...enthusiastic, to say the least. But not like this. I had been told he had changed, but...I didn't want to believe it of him. We received our fatherhood together; we were going to bring light to the world..."
"Well he brought something, and it's not good," Phoebus said with a sigh. "I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to insist you stay here with the Arch Deacon, Father; at least until we find your 'brother' and make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble."
"I understand," he replied, "And let me know if I can help in any way I can to undo the damage he has done."
"Not likely," Phoebus muttered under his breath, but only Esmerelda was close enough to hear him. She moved in closer as they both walked away. "Do you think anything is going to happen after what that man said? About a curse?" Phoebus snorted but stifled his initial reply at seeing the gypsy woman's worried expression. "Don't worry," he said instead, "We'll find him. And we can get back to rebuilding the city. But for now we have to make sure that lunatic didn't sow any discord."
No more than was already there... She thought to herself as she remembered what she had seen in the crowd before they had started calling back: the shuffling of feet, the shifty looks. Much as she would have loved to have put her faith in her love's words, Esmerelda couldn't help but divert her eyes back up to the sky, where the looming clouds were thicker than ever, and the puffs of her breath rose up to meet the first snowflakes drifting down from above.