by Rae Nantes
Rika cringed. Just the sight of him was putting her on edge as if darkness itself clung to the man.
Valgus turned back to her in another whisper. "We still need to get Saito. He shouldn't be far from where I think I ported him."
"Then get him," she said. "I'll keep up with these... people, and you can come after."
He nodded. "Deal."
The worry in his face told Rika that he wanted nothing to do with this fanatical cult, and she didn't blame him.
Mondego spoke against a coming wind. "I take it you are prepared and decided."
"We are," she said.
One of the cultists stepped forward, chanted under his breath, and a portal door spawned between them. It pulled snow dust to whirl around it.
"Then let us depart," Mondego said.
3:5
Ediha woke with a start.
He was in a bed, similar to the one at the Beijing hotel. It was comfy, and the linens smelled fresh.
He looked around.
Stone floors, stone walls, stone ceiling. Sunlight poured in from narrow slits near the ceiling. A window with iron bars. This was a prison cell.
He felt around at himself. He was unharmed, yet for the life of him, he didn't know why. The last thing he remembered was the battle between himself and the paladins. The only proof that it wasn't a dream was the soreness that gripped his entire body.
Flashes of memories raced by - faces of resolve, terror, anger, pain. Scarlet and white and blue like a Nahuatl painting on a stone wall. The images of gods flashed in. Was the might that he had tasted, if only for a second, that of a god?
Footsteps echoed beyond the iron door. Keys rattled. Ediha pulled himself out of bed and looked furiously for a weapon, anything to defend himself with. There was no certainty to what was happening or who was coming or even if he was safe. For now, he was vulnerable.
The door clacked with a metal echo, then creaked open. A face peeked in. Pepper grey hair and five-day-old stubble. It was John, dressed in leather pants and a loose shirt. His face held a few sutured cuts, and he walked in with a slight limp.
"Ah, he's awake!" he bellowed. His voice echoed off the empty walls.
Ediha backed into a corner and raised his fists. "You! What happened? Why are you here?"
John raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "I took you."
Ediha spoke under his breath. "You captured me." He dropped his gaze. "Of course. Like a true warrior would.”
"Oh, come now! Don't be so down, boy!" John laughed hard - a deep, belly laugh. "You fought well, surely! It was only a matter of chance that I was able to capture you and bring you here."
Ediha dropped his arms. He remembered now how this man seemed immune to magic, impervious to it, and no amount of physical strength would afford him a victory over this titan. He took a deep breath and met John’s gaze. "Where am I?"
"Rhodes."
"I... don't know where that is."
"Doesn't matter!"
"So... now what? Am I your hostage? Will you sacrifice me or—"
"Ha!" John shot at him. "I will do no such thing." He sauntered over and sat on the bed. Even sitting, he was eye-level with Ediha.
"You see," John continued, "I saw promise in you. The fires within your soul, the fires of resolve, the might of a leader, the determination of a warrior, the wisdom of a king! You are carbon, unrefined. If you allow me to take you under my wing," he leaned in, "you will become diamond."
"I've only ever known gold," Ediha said.
John laughed and slapped his knee. "You're cunning, too! Tell me, native Aztec boy, why were you following around that heresiarch Rika and her acolytes?"
"They were my friends."
"Mhmm. And they were to teach you how to be a hero?"
"Yes."
John shook his head. "Can a blacksmith teach a prince how to be a king? Can a peasant, or a cook, or a fisherman?"
Ediha didn't answer.
"They had spirit," John said, "I will admit. But the most they could ever teach you would be the ways of black magic, the art of deception and trickery. Basic swordplay and beginner's spellcasting." He shot Ediha a grin. "If you want to become a hero, you must learn from a paladin."
Ediha dropped his head in thought. He had no real intention of abandoning his homeland or his friends or his people. He didn't like the thought of taking on another teacher, another master, and it felt like an insult to Rika to even consider it. Yet the memory of that devil Mondego returned in his mind, the memory of his family, his people, his pride that had evaporated with his city and his home.
Yet his pride was still there, and his people still needed saving. If bending the knee to this strange warrior meant that he would learn yet another angle to the edges of the world, if it meant moving even further toward being a leader and a hero and a savior, then so be it, if that was the cost of his freedom.
John stood up and offered his hand. "Follow me and find wisdom beyond teaching."
Ediha steeled himself, and he shook his hand.
3:6
Rika fell through the black portal and landed in a wood cabin. It was dark, damp, and the other cultists were falling in behind her. The entire trip only took seconds, convenient she supposed, since most of the cultists knew the teleport spell. It only took three or four hops, chain-cast teleports through mountains, deserts, jungles, then here.
"Welcome!" Mondego said from atop the stairs. "To the beautiful lands of the Kongo!" He turned and swung open the door. Light poured in with the sounds of a bustling metropolis.
They pounded up the wooden staircase and took a deep breath of the humid air. It was so thick, Rika felt she could nearly swim in it. Cloudy white skies, warm weather, and a wooden dockyard right in front of them.
Ships were docked at the piers bearing the green, red, and white flags of Portugal. White sailors were at the end, talking with exaggerated hand motions at a handful of dark-skinned merchants donned in heavy robes and wide-brimmed hats.
"Mondego," she said. "Why are we in Africa? Is this where the paladins are?"
"No," he said. His cultists walked past and continued up the dirt road. They've been here before. "I have business to take care of here."
"Mondego," Rika said through her teeth. "Why are we here?"
He sighed. "Charging into the Pax Divinus blindly would not be efficient. Things take time. Things take planning." He turned to her. "It's like an art, you see, a world revolution of ideology must be carefully crafted and nurtured. Uprooting rival groups are simply small stepping stones in the garden we are planting, but we must plant one stone ahead of the other."
Rika glared back. "That didn't answer my question."
He took a deep breath, then smiled. "Come," he said as he started off.
She followed beside him as they walked along the well-traveled path. Beyond the docks was the ocean that seemed to extend forever. The other side was the port city, wood and brick buildings weaved in and out with arched doorways and open windows. People of varying status walked in and out of sight, some smiling faces, some wrought with poverty. Down the road, a distant jungle.
They walked in silence. Rika was waiting for the argument to start up again, the argument of their past, the argument of Blood Magic. She knew that as soon as Mondego would bring it up, they would have another one, a violent one as they always did. An argument that would result in the deaths of tens of thousands.
They passed the edge of the city and into the jungle. Birds chirped in the trees. Insects buzzed. Their feet crunched along the narrowing dirt path.
They crested a small hill and found the other cultists gathering at a clearing in the jungle. Ancient stone walkways lined the place, overcome by weeds and plant growth and dirt. In the center, a decaying stone temple. Cracked pillars with faces carved in, old etchings lined the walls and the massive entryway, vines threatened to wrap the entire thing to pull it back into the earth.
Rika caught a glimpse of a veiled woman stepping out, but with
a blink, she was gone. She shook her head and blinked again. She had been playing so long, her eyes were playing tricks on her.
"This is where it all began," Mondego said.
"A temple," she said.
"The Temple of Lightning," Mondego said. "Before we met, I was but a simple friar, sent to the Kongo to help convert the populace - by the Kongolese king, himself. I stumbled upon this place during one of my daily hikes, I stumbled inside to the hum and violet glow of the altar, I stumbled as I slipped my hand to grasp the power, and then I became it. This is where I found the power, this is where I saw the light, this is where I had the vision of God."
“Vision of god?” Rika asked.
“The destiny of the world, both yours and mine,” he smiled. “A tale for another time.”
A dark figure stepped out from the entryway. The cultists stood on guard. Then, a familiar voice rang out.
"Yes, yes! Again we meet, again by fate - yes, yes." A grin behind a painted frown. Puma eyes and a tuft of chin hair. It was the spook-lord, Garrock.
Rika groaned at the sight of him. She wasn't sure how much more she could take with these creepy people around her all the time, and by watching Mondego march up to the guy and hug him - she cringed as she watched - she wanted to be far, far away.
"Ah, foot-girl!" Garrock clapped as he saw her. "How fun - yes, yes - how fun!"
"Please die."
He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked far around. "But where are your comrades? Oh where, oh where, oh where?"
Rika stood with crossed arms, refusing to even look at him. "Busy," she said.
"Kidnapped," Mondego answered.
Rika glared.
Mondego grinned. "Say, old friend, you should accompany us once again. We will be... aiding her quest to rescue her old companions. A dreamer such as yourself is more than welcome."
Garrock smiled wide, his lips peeling back to show them his jagged teeth. He looked more like a snarling dog. A rabid one. "Of course," he eased out as if stumbling upon some grand idea. His eyes slid over to Rika. "Of course!" he shouted with wide eyes. "Let us be comrades - yes, yes!" he clapped.
"For fuck's sake." Rika’s palms rested over her eyes to hide from this nightmare.
As wildly uncomfortable as she was, she knew this was not a bad idea. Not entirely. Having one more player on their side could be useful even if the only thing Garrock could be was bait. She was certain that any holy paladin would want to erase that spooky clown dude from the earth at first sight. "I'm... going to get my magic now."
Mondego bowed slightly and waved his hand toward it. "By all means," he said. "For all people deserve to see the light."
She walked past them, felt her skin crawl, then climbed the stone stairs to the entrance. Her footsteps echoed into the darkness of the temple, and as soon as she crossed the threshold, she could see it.
A faint violet glow at the far end.
She walked over.
The air was static against her skin.
The hum grew louder.
The altar pulsed with light, a faint buzz creeping out. She placed a hand over it and pop. An electric jolt shocked her, then she felt it.
A rush of electricity raced through her body and her limbs and tingled her fingers. She flashed with a violet glow and then—
Lightning Element unlocked.
She swung out her player screen to see what skills she unlocked, and she was immediately let down.
She had completely forgotten about her new ice abilities, and now that she had unlocked a new element, she didn't have the ability points to even invest in it.
Rika was busy going over the expanding skill trees, ruminating over possible character builds - ice walls or lightning strikes - when a voice crept up beside her. "To your liking, yes?"
She jumped back and felt for the sword at her waist. There was none.
Garrock stood in the darkness, basking in the violet glow of the altar. "A good power, yes?"
"I don't have the points to spend, and I'm out of gold at the moment."
His eyes widened, and a demonic grin eased across his face in the dim violet light. "Then how about we find some?"
3:7
Vic stepped across the gangplank and onto the pier. It was a sunny blue day, the air smelled of saltwater, the wind brisk, the Muslim traders smiling and laughing with their Christian counterparts.
All seemed at ease.
He walked up the pier, admiring the tan stone architecture, the cobblestone pavement and roads, the arched windows reminiscent of more Byzantine times.
The Knights Hospitaller had used this island as its base for more than a hundred years. An entire century of pillaging the Turkish coasts and raiding heretic merchants and other general piracy. Yet it seemed with the emergence of a new brand of heretic, those dreadful Players, the divide between Muslim and Christian had shortened.
Now, a new schism had torn the Order asunder, and it appeared the Pax Divinus had taken its place.
Vic paused his stride when he noticed the terrified stare of a young man in armor. Chainmail, white tabard with a gold cross. "Yes?" Vic said.
"Oh, apologies," the man said. "I, uh, was not expecting an inquisitor to visit."
"No one does."
"Well, sir," the boy said with a crack in his voice. "Normally, we receive word from the Vatican ahead of time before such visits."
"A pity," Vic said. He walked over to him, each step draining even more color from the young knight's face. "Tell me, knave, are you with the Knights of Rhodes?"
"I, uh..."
"Well?"
"Yes."
"Take me there."
"Y-yes sir, at once," he said with a nod. It was a chilly day, and yet sweat poured from him.
Vic followed the young knight up the town streets, narrow stone roads flanked by walls of buildings. A series of doors and windows in spotted intervals, torch lights, and brick houses. They took a corner, up an incline, past a grove of evergreen trees, and they soon found themselves at the gate of a tan-colored castle.
This far up the hill, Vic could see far into the deep blue Mediterranean, and on the other side, land in the distance - Anatolia. "This-this way sir," the young knight said. "This is the palace of the Grandmaster."
Vic followed after, nodded at the shifty-eyed, bearded paladins at the gate, then paused when the gates' iron bars slammed shut behind him.
He sighed.
This was a common occurrence during his routine visits to castles and walled towns. Guilty-minded nobility and aristocrats would always behave this way, and it never failed him that they be guilty of some heresy. What did fail him, however, were the powerful connections that pulled at the Vatican to save such heretics.
Vic stepped into the courtyard and gazed at the walls around him. Thick stone, well-kept battlements, flags flapping in the breeze bearing the golden cross. This was a proud place and strictly maintained.
"Hello!" a voice bellowed. It echoed off the walls of the courtyard. "I was not aware of such esteemed guests today!" A face peered down at him with reddened cheeks and a broad smile. An older man in good shape, with a white sailor's shirt and leather adventurer's pants. Graying hair and week-old stubble.
The young man spoke with downcast eyes. "Sir, this is our Grandmaster, John."
Vic offered a polite bow. "Good afternoon. I am Inquisitor Vic Donnadieu. Today I speak on behalf of the Vatican."
"Ah. So it shall be. Come in, friend!"
Vic soon found himself in an open room fit for a king. The balcony was open, the brisk air wafting in and rustling the curtain veils. Sunlight poured in, reflecting off the sea and bringing its blue into the room. Distant ocean sounds and the echoes of the city faded in.
Vic sat on the comfy couch. The Grandmaster sat across from him, holding a chalice. He smiled politely at Vic as a young tanned-skinned woman filled his cup. She started over to Vic, who shook his head at the attempt.
The woman left, a distant door clacked sh
ut, and they were alone.
"So tell me, Vic the Inquisitor, how are you these days?"
"Well," Vic said.
There was a cold pause between them. Vic knew why, for he was terrible at small talk.
The Grandmaster feigned a cough. "Uh, so what news do you bring from the Father? Anything new of note within Christendom?"
Vic nodded as he stared out the balcony from his seat. "Another new heresy has grown within the Holy Roman Empire. Protestants, they call themselves. They are predominantly less mystical, but no less dangerous."
"I see. And how goes your search?"
Vic furrowed his brow at him. "Which one?"
"Mondego."
Vic thought a moment, then answered. "He was not in the new world, the last I checked."
The Grandmaster nodded. "Rumor has it, he was in the far east."
"Is that so?"
"My men have had numerous clashes against his forces, one recently in a region called Tibet."
"His forces?"
"The Templar Magi."
Vic brought out his notebook and scribbled a note. "I was aware of the clashes between yours and the Templar Magi, but I was not aware of Mondego's role in this. I appreciate your information."
"Indeed," the Grandmaster said. "It seems that the devil is consolidating his power. We would do well to exchange information regularly."
"We would," Vic said. He scribbled another note. "I have one question for you, Grandmaster."
"Just John," he said.
"The church reports on rumors of a recent battle between the Pax Divinus and the Templar Magi, but with a small group of unaligned heretics present." Vic stared into John's eyes. "A youth was taken after this event."
John gritted his teeth for a moment, then fell back into a fake smile. "This is correct."
Vic was unwavering in his glare. For him, this was the usual business. "Was the boy a user of the dark arts?"
"No."
"Did the boy willingly cast black magic for the purpose to harm, maim, or otherwise kill?"
"...No."