by P. A. Peña
“Thank you.” Virgil took the envelope, stashing it in his coat pocket.
“If you happen to change your mind, meet me at the bus station tomorrow at noon. Registration for the exam doesn’t close until Friday, but I’m afraid the registration site is a two-day bus ride from Liron. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll assume the answer is still no.”
Virgil departed, leaving with Billiam back to Petra’s joint. As Virgil rode in the back seat of the car, he pulled out the envelope and counted his payment: five thousand dollars in crisp hundred-dollar bills. He couldn’t help but beam at the cash in his hands. It was the most significant payout he had seen in a while, and more than enough to continue his witch hunt. If only he had a clue where to search next.
The rumbling in his gut begged him to hightail it to the nearest restaurant and gorge himself. He had certainly earned it after the night he had. Experience, however, directed Virgil to ease the tension in his muscles with a hot bath. The mere thought of hot running water was nearly intoxicating.
After cleaning himself up, Virgil filled his stomach with eggs and sausage at a nearby diner and returned to his room at Petra’s. If he hadn’t had been awake for nearly a day, he would have considered doing some recon work to figure out his next move. Since keeping his eyes open had become a more difficult task than breathing, Virgil elected to get some much-needed shut-eye instead.
Chapter 3
Virgil stood still as a corpse in a graveyard, his eyes focused on the door in front of him. It was made of cedarwood, and there were no fancy designs or insignias. It didn’t have a window or anything special carved upon it. All it had was a simple black doorknob, rounded and smooth. He stared intently at the door, but then again, there wasn’t anything else he could look at. Except for the door, Virgil was stuck in an abyss with darkness as far as his eyes could see.
He had been there many times before. More than he cared to remember. There used to be a time when Virgil would avoid opening the door. He once turned his back to it and walked away. He walked for what seemed like hours, but the moment he turned back around, the door was there as if he hadn’t taken a single step. Another time he tried to destroy it, but no matter how hot he made his flames, it remained unharmed, beckoning Virgil to release the terrors held within.
With each passing moment, his heart pounded harder until it thumped in his ear like clashes of thunder. He reached for the doorknob, his hand trembling. Slowly, Virgil opened the door, revealing a bedroom he knew all too well.
The room was small, consisting of just a bed, a chair, and a nightstand. In the bed lay an old man, brittle and decrepit. His skin was just a few shades lighter than Virgil’s. However, it was nearly void of life. The man could barely keep his dark brown eyes open, and it was clear his life hung by a single worn-out thread. His white hair was thin, the feeble strands separated by rough patches of skin. In the chair sat a boy. He was a younger, much more foolish Virgil.
Virgil sucked in a deep breath, trying his best to keep his knees from wobbling. It felt as if the walls were closing in, and yet, they hadn’t budged. He shook his head and turned to leave. Per usual, the door was gone, leaving Virgil no other option but to stand there and watch. He held his breath. He hoped doing so would also hold back his tears, but of course, that never worked.
“How are you doing?” the younger Virgil asked, his words nearly strangling him.
Reluctantly, Virgil turned around.
“I don’t want to talk about me,” the old man said, wheezing. “Tell me, son. How are your studies?”
The younger Virgil paused for a moment. “I haven’t been keeping up with them,” he confessed. He couldn’t lie to him. Not after what happened. “I’ve been looking for a cure. I think I’m getting close.” A frown emerged on Danté’s face. “What’s wrong?” Virgil asked.
“I don’t want you to spend your life taking care of me. You’ll be eighteen soon. You should be—”
“I’ll take care of you until I’m eighty if I have to!”
Danté paused, his breaths shallow. After a brief moment he finally spoke. “What kind of life would that be?”
The young Virgil looked away, his attention falling on a picture frame resting on the nightstand. It was of a middle-aged man and two boys. The man and one of the boys resembled each other significantly, while the other was taller and a shade darker. They all had smiles painted across their faces. The taller boy was holding a fish he had caught on a line, and the happiness emanating from the photo was undeniable. The longer he stared at the picture, the wetter his cheeks became. And yet, the young Virgil couldn’t bring himself to pull his eyes away.
“Please don’t cry,” Danté said, reaching for the young Virgil’s face, but they might as well have been oceans apart.
The young Virgil did his best to suck in his tears. “I’m fine,” he said, as he took his father’s hand. “I promise, Dad. I’m going to make you better again.” He waited for a response, but nothing came. “Dad?” Gently, the young Virgil prodded Danté’s shoulder, but to no avail. “Dad!”
The walls faded away revealing the infinite darkness. Virgil watched through tear-filled eyes as his younger self panicked, trying to save Dańte. In the pit of his heart, Virgil hoped things would be different this time. Even if it was impossible, he wanted to see his father restored. Just once would be enough.
“Such a tragedy,” a devilishly tender voice rang out from the darkness.
Virgil turned around to find a woman standing there, her petite frame clad in robes decorated with ancient runes. Her white skin was lightly tanned and she had green snake-like eyes.
“Cecelia,” Virgil said, a monsoon of anger and hatred boiling inside him. His hands became immersed in roaring infernos. “This is all your fault!”
Cecelia laughed. “Are you sure about that, little boy?”
Virgil raised his hand, unable to contain his wrath any longer. Something tugged on his coat. He turned to find a young boy holding his coat tail. “Danny?”
“It was you,” the boy said softly. “You did this.”
“No. I didn’t. I—”
“You did this,” the boy continued, his voice deepening until it was no longer human. “You did this. You did this! YOU DID THIS!”
Virgil’s eyes shot open. His harsh breaths echoed through the room, drowning out his racing heart. He didn’t need to check to know the walls were scorched. The scent of roasted wood filling the air was evidence enough. Virgil wrestled the blanket off his body, desperate to escape the sweat-drenched bed. He stood, but unsteady legs sent him back to the bed with a thud. He sat, elbows firmly set in his thighs, as he cradled his face with his hands.
“Not again,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Virgil forced in a breath of air as he twirled the Fang of Kayveon between his fingers. Slowly, his heartbeat lessened its ravenous pulsing. Despite this, however, he couldn’t shake Orlando’s words echoing in his mind.
“I couldn’t do that to him,” Virgil said, shaking his head as he stood up.
He made his way over to the shower and stripped down, telling himself he’d be fine. He repeated it again and again, but no matter how many times he echoed those words, he couldn’t steady his nerves. He moved at the pace of drizzling honey as he turned on the water. Thoughts of his family ran through his mind.
“I have to move on from here,” Virgil said to himself as he rubbed the bar of soap into his washcloth. “Maybe Sofield. Danny was last seen there after all. Maybe I missed something.” He let out a hefty sigh. “No. Cecelia would never go back there.”
Virgil rubbed the washcloth across his chest, pausing when his fingers touched his scar. Eight years had passed since Cecelia dealt him that blow. In all that time, its presence had yet to fade. Virgil stared at his chest. The disfigurement pulled at him. With every ache, it was like she was there, taunting him.
Once dressed, Virgil left his room. This time, however, he had his satchel with him. As a traveling hunter, it
wasn’t much—a few changes of clothes, some emergency rations, and a stack of maps he had collected along his journey. Virgil headed over to the motel bar and perused the bounty board. He prayed someone had posted a job relating to witches in the time he was away, but of course, it was still as sparse as it had been the night before. He tried Petra next, but to no avail. With no other option, Virgil began combing the streets for leads.
It hadn’t been more than an hour before he rested on a park bench. He told himself it would only be for a minute, but one minute became two, and two became four. Before he knew it, he had been there for a half hour, hopelessly lost in thought.
“What should I do, Dad?” Virgil asked. He breathed deep and cradled his face in his palms. “If I joined them, it would only be for a little while. Just until I can make things right like I promised. Would you hate me if I did that?”
Bells chimed in the distance, prompting him to check his watch. It was half-past eleven.
“It would be worth it, right?” He took hold of his necklace. As he looked at it, he nodded. “It’s got to be worth it.”
Virgil rushed over to the bus station. Just as he had said, Orlando was standing on the platform to board the bus to Ekrham. The nymph had ditched his suit. Instead, he wore a weathered vest, jeans, and a pair of steel-toe boots.
Orlando beamed as Virgil approached. “I was hoping I’d see you again. Good thing I grabbed you a ticket. You almost didn’t make it.”
“Just a minute,” Virgil replied. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“Okay. However, and I’m not trying to be a dick here, the bus will be departing like now, so I really need an answer.”
“I just want to make a few things clear before I sign my life away.”
Orlando pursed his lips. “You make it sound like a death sentence, but go on. Ask me anything you like. Just please, make it snappy.”
“You said that as a Crusader, I’d have access to a nearly limitless pool of resources. Right? I assume this includes privileged information not accessible to the public.”
“Certain information is locked behind rankings, but yes.” Orlando reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a glistening black card. He showed it to Virgil, revealing the bright gold C.A. printed on the card along with Orlando’s picture and a white gem in the bottom right corner. “In addition to that, you get one of these. A Crusader’s license is proof of your accomplishment and servitude to the Alliance. This card grants you full access to businesses and services worldwide. Of course, there are limitations and budget constraints. However, purchases made with your license are almost always approved.”
Virgil nodded. “Now answer me this. What exactly is the price I would have to pay to enjoy those perks?”
Orlando paused, gathering his thoughts as he stroked his chin. “I’m not going to lie to you, Virgil. The price is steep. As a licensed Crusader, you would be tasked by the Alliance to carry out missions. While it may sound like a continuation of everything you’ve been doing as a hunter, make no mistake. This is the big leagues. Every assignment given to you will be of significance, and there will be no room for debate. And that assumes you make it through the exam. Hundreds lose their lives every year attempting to secure their spot in the Alliance.”
Virgil fell silent, allowing Orlando’s words to sink in.
“This is the last call for the bus bound for Ekrham,” a voice on the loudspeaker called out. “Please find your seats and prepare for departure.”
“One last thing,” Virgil said. “I’m looking for someone. Someone I owe a great deal of suffering.”
Orlando rubbed his neck. “I was afraid of that. The way your ears perked up at the mere mention of a witch. Look. There will be periods where you can do as you please, but you will always be at the beck and call of the Alliance. With the resources they can provide, there’s no doubt you’d have a much greater chance at fulfilling your quest. However, you may also miss the opportunity to find the peace you’re looking for altogether.”
“All right.” Virgil turned his attention to the bus. “That’s all I needed to hear. Let’s go to Ekrham.”
Chapter 4
Virgil sat across from Orlando. The bus to Ekrham was moderately empty, and it moved along the highway at a steady speed. The scenery was gorgeous, filled with rolling cliffs and vast mountains off in the distance. Despite this, Virgil knew he couldn’t last two days staring out the window.
“So, Laughing Squid.” He turned towards Orlando. “What’s the Crusader’s Exam like?”
Orlando chuckled. “You noticed my code name, huh.”
“Yeah. I’m assuming you all have one. I hope I don’t get saddled with something so embarrassing.”
“I’ll have you know my code name is amazing, but to answer your question, it’s against the rules to discuss the details of the exam. Past, present, or future.”
“Of course it is,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Well, you’re a queen. Right? I imagine that ranking must be pretty high, especially considering it’s your responsibility to round up new meat.”
“It’s up there,” Orlando said as he leaned back and crossed his leg over his knee. “Assuming you make it through the exam, you’ll get a rundown of the hierarchy then, but I could break it down for you if you’d like.”
Virgil leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”
“I guess the best place to start would be the divisions. The Crusader’s Alliance is broken down into four of them: Diamond, Onyx, Ruby, and Amber. Each division is a representative of their respective nation that makes up the Alliance. Crusaders are then classified by their rank, with each rank having a set of duties and responsibilities.”
“How many ranks are there?”
“Six. From lowest to highest, you have the pawns, the knights, the bishops, the rooks, the queens, and finally the kings.”
“Like chess,” Virgil replied with a nod.
“Precisely.”
Virgil leaned back in his seat and stroked his chin. “So you’re one step from the top, huh. Impressive.”
“You sound surprised,” Orlando said. “But I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s the responsibility of the rooks to actively seek out nominees every year. As a queen, I have to scout out new recruits every three years. Of course, the kings have the authority to nominate applicants as well, but that’s extremely rare.”
“And what about when you’re not recruiting?”
“Then I’m carrying out missions for the Alliance. I can either work on my own or lead a team of lower-ranked Crusaders. Serve as their mentor and whatnot. Mostly though, my job involves working with my king.”
Virgil smirked. “Is a longer leash a privilege reserved for the queens and kings?”
“No, smartass.” Orlando rolled his eyes. “Rooks have the same options as queens. The only real difference between them is their level of responsibility and the fact that queens are appointed by their king. Each king has two queens in their service, but there is no limit to the lower ranks.”
“Interesting. So, do you prefer to work alone? I mean, you don’t have a team with you.”
Orlando fell silent, turning his attention to the window. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Something like that.”
“I’m telling you he’s real,” Virgil heard from a group sitting just a few rows ahead of them.
“And I’m telling you he’s just made up,” his friend retorted. “There’s no such thing as the Scarlet Mage.”
“And there goes another one,” Orlando groaned as he turned in the group’s direction.
“Tell me about it,” Virgil agreed. “You have no idea how many hunters I’ve run across searching for that pipe dream. Frankly, I wish it would just die already.”
“Oh, no. The Scarlet Mage is very real. We’ve confirmed his existence, although it is my duty to head over and assure them that there’s no such thing.”
“Wait,” Virgil said, “the Scarlet Mage is real?”
“Yes. You do
know what confirm means, don’t you?”
Virgil huffed. “Obviously. But if the rumors are true, then why is the Alliance pretending they aren’t?”
“That is beyond my paygrade. If I had to guess, though, I’d say the Alliance wants to avoid mass panic.”
“Are you serious?” Virgil asked. “You don’t think people deserve to know a mass murderer is on the loose?”
Orlando pointed to the ceiling. “Like I said. It’s above my pay grade. Besides, is it really so bad to keep the knowledge to just a rumor? Don’t you think people would sleep better at night thinking that there might be a boogeyman out there as opposed to knowing there is one?”
Virgil fell silent. As much as he wanted to argue against Orlando’s point, he couldn’t deny the value of letting the populace rest at ease in blissful ignorance.
“Well,” Orlando said as he rose to his feet. “Excuse me while I go tend to my Crusaderly duties.”
Virgil scrunched his nose. “Crusaderly? Please don’t tell me I’ll have to start saying corny shit like that.”
“Yeah. It sounded a lot better in my head.”
Virgil returned his gaze to the window, and Orlando walked over to the group ahead. “Who would have thought the rumors were true?” Virgil said to himself. He smiled. “Perhaps when I’m done with this Crusader business, I’ll track him down myself. With a payday that big, I’d never have to work again.”
“You don’t get it, mister,” a man up front said. “Not only is the Scarlet Mage real, but I hear he’s working with witches now.”
Virgil perked up as he turned his attention to the group ahead.
“Listen,” Orlando began, “I understand what you’re saying, but without evidence—”
“I have evidence.”
Virgil rose to his feet, promptly making his way over. “What did you say?” Virgil asked, interrupting the men.