“Our road is not a good one, child. We fight often, and you would always be in danger were you with us,” Victory said.
“We will check out the Aspectvar close when we get there. Then make our decision, if the priest isn’t to our liking or the place doesn’t seem safe, we will find another option.” Havoc’s words surprised her and Victory as well, by her guess, if the way his head whipped around to look at his companion was any indication. Havoc gave him a shrug and took another bite of meat. “What? Badger was a friend, and I don’t like priests.” He shook his head, and turned his full attention back to his meal as if the matter was settled. Victory shook his head and shrugged at her and began to eat as well.
It was late the next day before they rode into Bliss. The village was little more than a few scattered houses sprawled near a crossroad. The Temple was the largest building and stood out among the houses as a hawk would among sparrows. While the other buildings had sod roofs, the Temple stood tall and proud with clay shingles, and seemed a neat, orderly place. She could see Fortune’s mark on the front of it, standing between two others she didn’t recognize.
“Love, Luck, and Healing. That’s a good sign,” Victory said.
“If you are a brainless twit. Give me Protection, War, and Healing, and I’ll feel the better for it, knowing that at least one in the building knows how to use a blade,” Havoc replied, his tone dry.
“For a child, I think love would be better than swords, don’t you?” Victory replied mildly.
“Depends on the love, I’ll have a good look at this priest before we ride off. If he so much as looks at her the wrong way, he’ll be a head shorter.” Havoc pulled his horse up in front of the Temple and dismounted.
“Bad luck to kill a priest, you know, especially when it’s a priest of Luck.” Victory smirked as he dismounted. Turning, he lifted Jala down from the horse as well.
“If I kill him, I have a reason. And if Fortune has a problem with my reason, he can bloody well take it up with me in person.”
Jala watched the two of them silently and followed Victory up the stairs to the Temple door. Although made of solid dark wood, the Temple door looked worn. There were faint images on it, as if it had once been carved, but they had faded past recognition, and she couldn’t tell what it had been a picture of.
“How about you let me judge his character. I’m not quite as harsh of a critic as you are and chances are I’ll find fewer reasons to dislike him. You have gotten rather protective in a single night. It’s really not like you at all, Havoc,” Victory said with a glance toward the Firym before pushing the door open.
“Kid has had it rough enough. You asked me for compassion and you are getting it. Why are you complaining?” Havoc asked, with an annoyed look.
She followed them wordlessly into the Temple’s dim interior, quietly hoping Havoc didn’t like the priest. Not enough to kill him, but enough that he wouldn’t leave her here.
“I’m not complaining. I’m simply not used to your caring about such matters,” Victory clarified.
“I care, just not as much other times,” Havoc objected. He looked around the main room and back to Victory. “Should be a bit more attentive toward their own Temple, shouldn’t they? How are they going to keep track of a small child when they don’t even notice when people have entered the building?”
“Patience, Havoc!” Victory chided with a bit of amusement.
The door in the back of the hall pushed open as he spoke and an older man made his way through it. He was dressed in old, but tidy robes, and his hair was gone to white with age. He moved slowly and his expression seemed kind as he approached.
“Oh he will never keep up with her,” Havoc scoffed as he watched the man approach. The Firym looked ready to leave at just the sight of the priest.
Victory elbowed him into silence and smiled to the approaching priest. “Greetings, Father,” he called.
“And a warm welcome to you, Son. How may our Temple be of help to you and yours?” The old man replied.
She thought she heard Havoc mutter something but couldn’t make out the words. Moving closer, she stood beside him and gazed up, hoping he would pick her up and leave this place. It wasn’t that the Temple looked like a bad place. She simply didn’t want them to leave her. They had known her father, and that made them more than strangers.
“I would have a word in private with you, if there is no objection,” Victory replied smoothly. She saw Havoc’s mouth fall open to object, but a simple look from Victory kept him silent. The old priest nodded, and she watched him and Victory disappear back through the door.
Havoc gave a sigh and dropped heavily onto a pew and looked to her. “You know he did that so I couldn’t find something wrong with him, right?” He asked with another sigh. She nodded and sat down on the pew opposite of him. She split her gaze between Havoc and the door and folded her hands in her lap. She still silently prayed that they wouldn’t leave her here. “You are tough, kid, I’ll give you that. Most would be wailing right now.” He stretched his feet out in front of him and crossed them and leaned fully back on the bench.
“I think I ran out of tears. I still feel like crying, but they just ran out,” she replied quietly. In truth, her head ached from all of her tears the day before. Her stomach felt wrong, and her throat still felt tight. She didn’t think she had ever felt this miserable.
He looked at her and nodded. “I’ve had days like that, a lot of them lately. Seems like the world will never be right again. It will be though. You can’t have the light without the dark. And while it may seem the darkest right now, kid, you will see light again. If you are Badger’s girl, you will be tough enough to see it through. He never gave up, and always kept fighting, no matter how dark it was.”
She remembered her father racing down the hill running straight toward the danger, and she felt her eyes mist again. Not true tears only going glassy. She nodded slowly in reply. She wasn’t sure if she could get words past the lump in her throat.
Havoc watched her and to her shock his eyes were glassy, as well. “Badger was a friend. Not a close friend, but he saved my life more than once. If you have need in the future, Kid, look me up. Same for Victory. Be careful who you ask about us, but if you are in true need, find us and we will help.”
“You think he is going to leave me then?” She asked in a whisper.
He nodded and looked back toward the door. “I’m not sure what Caspian said to him when they spoke last night, but he has been back there too long for it to be otherwise. He wouldn’t leave you in a bad place, though, kid. If you are staying, you will be safe. Victory was closer with Badger than I was, and he will do right by his child.”
She frowned at his words. She hadn’t seen anyone talk to Victory but perhaps she had been asleep. “Why do you call Daddy that? His name was Toby, why do you call him Badger?” She asked.
Havoc shrugged a bit and gave another sigh. “We have many names in life, girl. The first our mother gives us, then as we grow we might get a nickname from family.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “I’m guessing that yours was probably Curly.
She gave a slight nod. “Daddy called me that sometimes,” she admitted.
“The last name you earn. Some never earn one. Those that seek to change things, do. You gain a reputation, you gain a name. My mother didn’t give me the name of Havoc. I earned it through deeds.” He gave her a rueful smile. “As you can tell, they were not the best of deeds, but I stand behind what I have done in life. Your father earned the name Badger for his tenacity. He never quit, and he never gave up, no matter the odds. He might have been smaller than whatever he was facing, but that would just make him fight harder, like a badger protecting its den.”
The door across the hall opened and Victory emerged, followed closely by the old priest. They both smiled at her in that way adults had that was meant to reassure. She didn’t feel reassured at all by it.
“Jala, this is Father Belson. He is going to look after you
now. There are two other priests here as well, but they travel often and aren’t here at the moment. He is the Speaker for Fortune here, though, and he will act as your guardian.” Victory motioned toward the old man, and he moved forward.
“May Fortune bless you child, and you are most welcome here.” He gave her another smile and looked to Havoc. “I understand you have doubts of leaving the child here. I give you my word she will have the best care I can offer.”
Havoc raised an eyebrow at the old man and snorted. “She best. I’ll check back and if anything is amiss Fortune will need a new priest.” His words were not spoken with anger, but words filled with facts
Victory sighed and leaned over to give Jala a light hug and kiss on the forehead. “Keep safe child and learn what you can.” He stood and looked down at her with a sad smile. “May our paths cross again in better times.” He looked back toward Havoc and motioned to the door before he headed that way himself.
Havoc looked away from the priest and down at her. “I’m not the hugging sort,” he said gruffly and unbuckled a small knife from his worn leather belt. “And this isn’t the sort of gift one usually gives a small girl. But you keep it. It’s mine, and I’ve kept it with me for long enough that it knows it’s mine.” She looked down at the small knife he offered and wondered how a knife could know anything. It was pretty in design with a large red gem set in the worn hilt. “You ever need us, a decent mage can find me by that knife. Keep it safe and keep yourself safe.” She took the knife from him with a slight nod and he ruffled her hair and turned to follow Victory out into the bright sunlight. “Don’t forget my words, Priest, I won’t,” he called over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.
Outside the Temple, Victory waited already mounted Avalanche. He was watching the Temple with an expression that made Havoc pause mid step. “You look like you just did something very bad Victory,” Havoc said cautiously. “What did you just do and will I have to kill you for it?”
Victory looked over at him and shook his head. “I’m not really sure what I just did, Havoc, and I don’t know if you need to kill me yet or not. Only time will tell on that matter.”
Havoc’s eyes narrowed and he looked back to the Temple doors before turning his gaze back to Victory. “You will explain that before I even think of getting on my horse.” His hand had dropped to the hilt of his sword, and his tone was dangerous and quiet. “You know I hate priests and this wasn’t something I liked to begin with.”
“It’s not the priest, Havoc. I found nothing wrong with Father Belson. It was Caspian. When I spoke with him in the mind link last night, I explained everything. I showed him the girl and told him of the mark. He was so quiet I thought I had lost the link. When he did speak again, he told me to bring the girl here and leave her. He told me to have the priest keep her well away from the troubles of the world.” He rubbed his jaw and frowned.
“Can’t say that’s a bad thing considering what the world is. There are times I’d rather if left me alone as well,” Havoc replied, his tone cautious. “Out with the rest of it, though. That’s not the whole of it or you wouldn’t be bothered.”
Victory’s frown deepened. “He told me to leave coin enough for the girl to be well provided for, and to leave instruction with the priests. When she reaches age, she is to be sent to the Academy in Sanctuary for first circle training.”
Havoc’s expression changed from caution to confusion. “Why would Badger’s daughter need first circle training?” he asked.
“Exactly!” Victory agreed. “So you see my difficulty. I’m not sure what I just did to that child’s future or why I did it. But I have my orders and must follow them.” He turned his horse and with one last glance rode away from Bliss. Havoc frowned and mounted his own horse. “Bugger orders, Caspian will explain this when we get back to the fortress,” he grumbled and followed after Victory, ignoring the nagging feeling in his guts that he wouldn’t like the explanation.
Chapter 3
Bliss
Ten years later.
Jala woke with a start and fought off the last hints of the nightmare. It had been a long while since she’d had one and the experience left her a bit shaken. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and noted by the light streaming through the window that she had overslept. She sat up with a groan and wondered why Gretchen hadn’t banged on her door yet. The surly housekeeper was never shy about waking her up. Her breath fogged in the early morning air and she cringed at the thought of leaving the warm quilts or putting her bare feet down on the cold tiles. Bits of her dream crept back to her as she sat there. Unlike the ones she’d had as a child, this one had been more from memory than fantasy. It had been forever since she had remembered that day. She had tried to push it to the back of her mind. It still hurt to remember. After all this time, even the bark of a dog was like a razor if the memories were too close.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and crawled out of bed. As she had expected, the floor was icy beneath her bare feet. She quickly dressed, changing from her sleeping shift to the first dress that met her hand in her meager closet. She pulled her boots on soon after and crossed the small room to the basin and mirror that waited on the dresser. Her eyes were blurry as she splashed the water on her face and the shock of it banished the ghosts from her mind. She looked up from the basin and studied herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there were faint dark circles under them. Her hair was a mess of curls as always but for all that she still looked pretty, if in a worn, tired way. She smiled ruefully and tried to pull her brush through her tangled hair. She rolled her eyes as it began to frizz and sighed heavily. On a good day, her hair was her best feature. This was not going to be a good day. With practiced ease, she began to work it into a tidy braid, choosing to ignore the few wild strands that escaped her work. She was tying it off with a ribbon when the first bang of a fist hit her door. “I’m up,” she called over her shoulder before Gretchen could bellow her displeasure.
“And plenty late about it, too, have you forgotten what today is?” The old woman’s voice was muffled through the door, but not by much. Gretchen could match voice with the best of them and leave many wanting.
She cursed herself under her breath. She had forgotten what day it was. Her mind had been filled with memories and she hadn’t even given anything else a thought. She was leaving the Temple today. They had been preparing for it all week by sewing new dresses and packing. She felt the lump rise again. She was going to the Academy today, whether she liked it or not. Father Belson had been firm about it when she had objected to leaving. It had already been arranged, and that was all he would say on the matter. She loved the old man like a grandfather, but the answer made her want to choke him. Arranged? She had not been asked about it at all, not even consulted.
“The coach will be here any moment, Jala, and you’ve still not even eaten. At this rate, you’ll be taking breakfast on the road with you,” Gretchen called through the door again, and Jala felt her nerves fraying. While she loved the old priest, she certainly did not love Gretchen. The old woman was a sour thing.
“I’ll be out in just a minute,” she called back trying to keep the irritation from her voice. She didn’t want a fight with Gretchen today. Really she just wanted to crawl back into bed, but if she did, the housekeeper would just pound away on the door until she either opened it or the wood surrendered and crumbled before the assault. With a muttered curse, she buckled her belt around her waist. It wasn’t exactly a feminine addition to her outfit, but it was practical. Two pouches hung from one side. One swayed heavily, with small odd pieces that proved helpful, while the other hung much lighter and held the few coins she owned. She buckled the small knife onto the other side and paused to run her thumb across the red gem. She briefly thought of seeking Havoc but didn’t think being sent to school would qualify as a crisis to him so she quickly dismissed the thought. She pulled her cloak on last. It was faded to a dull grey, and most would have thrown it out,
given how tattered the ends of it were. But it was the cloak they had wrapped her in when they found her, and she would keep it until it gave away to threads.
She glanced at herself in the mirror again and wondered briefly at her image. She was pretty. She knew that without vanity. Her face was smooth; her skin a pale cream with full lips the color of roses. Her hair and eyes were unique. She had never seen anyone with the same color. She frowned at the thought. Her father’s hair had been a dark brown with warm golden brown eyes. Her mother’s hair had been dark as well only a shade or two lighter than black and her eyes had been a clear hazel. She could see neither of her parents in the face that stared back at her from the mirror. Her mind was not as clear on her memory of her younger brother, she hated to admit, but he had been small, and she had been so young. She could remember his hair had been dark, though, and while she couldn’t remember his eyes, she was sure they hadn’t been violet.
She gave a heavy sigh and smoothed her dress. It was one of her favorites, she noted, amazed that she hadn’t even noticed which she had put on. It was worn from use, but it was comfortable and gave her the appearance of having more curves than the gods had seen fit to grant. The deep blue color of it made her seem paler too, which suited her dark hair well. Almost drawing attention away from my bloodshot eyes she thought with a smirk. The banging came at the door again, and she eyed the reflection of the dress in the mirror darkly. If only the door could hit back, she mused silently. “I’m coming,” she called as she crossed the room. She gave a last look at the room that had been her home for the past ten years and stepped through the door.
Gretchen towered above her in the hall, her gaze that of a storm cloud. The old woman was huge, bigger than most men. Her brown hair going more to grey was pulled back in its customary tight bun giving her an even more severe appearance. She eyed Jala critically with her hands on her hips, her expression clearly disapproving. “Look at you in that ratty cloak and that dress. You think to be off like that? What will they say about the Temple if I let you leave here looking an urchin?”
The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey Page 5