The Record of the Saints Caliber

by M. David White

  Those sparkling, black eyes of Saint Ophelia fell upon Britina. “Your name was drawn. Your duty to Valdasia comes due.”

  “No… No… Please…” Britina pressed herself into the rocking chair, curling her legs up beneath herself. It wasn’t even her own baby, yet she could hardly give it up to such a cruel fate. The babies taken to Queen Loretta were never seen again. It wasn’t spoken about, but everybody knew what happened. Loretta was known in whispers as the Dire Mother. Her womb and breasts were as barren as her heart.

  Behind Saint Ophelia came a number of knights in black, lacquered armor. They wore red capes bearing the raven crest of Valdasia. In their arms they held bolt-thrower guns. Upon their sides hung swords. They took up positions around Saint Ophelia.

  “Please,” pleaded Britina. She had no idea why she was crying. This wasn’t even her child. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t even human, that she was just handing over somebody else’s unwanted doll. But her heart knew better.

  Ophelia walked over to her, letting each of her footfalls sound with heavy finality. She leaned into Britina and took her face in her gauntleted hand. Britina could feel the absolute cold of the armor upon her cheeks. “Give. Me. That. Baby.”

  Britina closed her eyes, squeezing tears from them. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t give it up. She squeezed the screaming babe tightly to her chest. “No… No… Please…” she squeaked.

  Britina’s eyes went wide and she released a blood-curdling scream as a cold, piercing pain erupted in her crotch. Ophelia held the tip of her sword between Britina’s legs. The fabric of her blouse ripped as the star-metal eased its way in. Blood began to paint the blouse and the chair.

  “Give me the baby or you’ll never have another.” said the Saint as coldly as her star-metal sword felt forced inside her crotch. “I’ll even wait for your husband and see to it that you match down there.”

  Britina wailed horrifically as she gave the child up. “Aeoria forgive me! Aeoria forgive me!”

  “That’s better.” said Ophelia, taking the child into her own arms.

  Britina wailed. “Aeoria have mercy on her! She’s just a helpless baby!”

  Ophelia tossed a small coinpurse and it chimed heavily as it landed in Britina’s bloodied lap. “The King and Queen thank you for doing your duty. You’re a true patriot.” Ophelia huffed a laugh and walked out of the house with the baby in her arms.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  The dank chill of the castle room goose-pimpled Loretta’s breast as she exposed it from her black, silken gown. It was a large breast, full and firm and ample to please a man, but it was no more than an empty vessel. Her mangled nipple was red and raw, looked fiery to the touch, and blood formed a pink ooze upon it. Loretta adjusted the infant in her arms, hiked him back up to her breast. He wailed a deathly, feeble, fading sort of cry. She stroked his bald head. His sunken eyes were closed. His hands balled into tiny maces upon arms as emaciated as autumn twigs.

  “There, there, now,” whispered Loretta. She moved his head so that his mouth was upon her nipple. He began to suck and Loretta cringed from the burning pain it brought to her raw nipple. It was a short-lived pain. The child spat it out and made that same failing whimper. “Come, drink, child. Drink from mama.”

  The child flailed its arms angrily. Kicked with its withered legs, tearing off the linen it was wrapped in. Rows of ribs shown like sticks against thin, pale skin. Its belly button still looked fresh upon its sunken abdomen.

  “Drink, child. Drink from mama.” She smashed her breast into the babe’s face and its breath snorted and stuck. He flailed and fussed, chewing on the nipple before spitting it back out again.

  “Drink!” Loretta’s terrible shriek echoed off the dark, gray stones of the chamber and even caused the light from the gaslamps to waver. She smashed her breast into the babe’s face, forcing it into its mouth. Its wails became choked and in a moment the child fussed no more.

  Loretta stood up from the padded chair she was seated in, letting the dead child fall to the floor. It had so little mass to it that it scarcely made a patter upon the cold stone. Her hands went up and gripped at the long black hair that fell from beneath her lithe, golden crown studded with rubies. “No!” she shrieked. “No!”

  From behind her, a ragged breath drew in. “There, there, Loretta,” said a voice that sounded much older than the man it came from. He coughed a hoarse, sickly cough. “It’s alright, my dear sister. Ophelia is bringing you a new one.”

  Loretta turned around. “It’s never all right!” she shrieked, pulling at her hair. Long strands of black came off between her fingers. Her eyes were like the storm clouds that circled the castle and they became tiny beads as they focused on the withered husk of a man who sat in the wheelchair before her. “I’m barren! I’m barren! It’s your fault! I’m barren because you can’t give me a child of our own!” She grabbed her exposed breast in her hand and squeezed so violently that the torn, raw flesh of her nipple blossomed outward and erupted into a giant ooze of blood.

  Her brother, King Verami, drew in a ragged breath and coughed. The golden crown on his head shifted upon the sparse, black hair that was left. Despite the heavy black and red robes of his high station, he looked but a frail skeleton sitting in that cold, iron wheelchair. His pale face turned up to his sister, eyes as dark as her’s staring out from sunken pits. “Loretta,” he rasped. He sucked in another ghastly breath. “I am sorry.”

  Loretta was young, full and pleasing to look upon, yet in that moment her face twisted into a cruel and terrible nightmare. “You,” her voice growled with such venom as to give even a mongoose pause. “You impotent, worthless, withering excuse of a man!” Her hand flew and slapped him hard across his black-bearded cheek, nearly toppling him off his wheelchair. From within his robes his boney legs curled up.

  Loretta grabbed his robes and tore them open, exposing the supple flesh of a man in his thirties, but the sunken chest and frail form of a skeleton. She reached down and tore at his pants, exposing his shriveled genitalia. “Give me my child! You disgusting, sickly, worthless man, give me my child!” She hiked up her silken gown and tore off her underpants and got on top of him. “Give me my child!” she shrieked.

  Verami drew in a terrible breath and wheezed it back out. His boney hands went to her bleeding breast and squeezed. She began rocking on him, his wheelchair making rusty squeaks like cemetery gates. His hand went to her cheek and caressed its sharp angles, his breaths coming more frantic, more ragged. His eyes began to close and his head began to tilt to one side.

  “Get it in me!” she shrieked.

  Verami’s head fell limply on his shoulder. His chest was heaving with every rasping breath as he struggled to open his eyes. Loretta got off him and cast him a hateful look. She reached her fingers up into her crotch and tore them out. She looked at them as they glistened in the gaslight. She rubbed them together. “Your seed better take root this time.”

  Loretta went over to the mirror and straightened up her gown and her crown. She brushed her raven-black hair down with her hand. Blood from her bleeding nipple oozed through her gown. She sniffed and turned and walked over to the floor where the dead baby lay. She picked the naked thing up and cradled it in her arms one last time, stroking her soft hand upon its bald head.

  “I am sorry, dear sister,” croaked Verami from his wheelchair. “I’m sorry my seed is as rotten as the rest of me.”

  Loretta sniffled. “It’s not your fault.”

  She took the dead babe and went to the wall where racks of large, glass masonry jars were lined by the dozens and many deep. Upon the highest shelves tiny, pale bones and skulls leaned upon the cloudy glass. Lower racks were heavy with jars containing boney protrusions from rotting flesh and sunken, milky eyes staring out. Loretta grabbed an empty jar and sniffled as she placed the dead babe within it. She held it up and looked upon him one last time. She kissed the jar and placed the lid on and secured it tight by latch
ing the metal bar over the top.

  She walked across the dark chamber to where a lone cradle sat upon the stone floor, next to an old, tattered stuffed bear. She reached in and grabbed out a baby. Its limp arms and legs—nothing but skin and bone—dangled over her arms. A tear ran down Loretta’s face as she stroked its sunken cheeks. She sniffled and walked over to the shelves and placed that one within a jar as well.

  “Loretta,” croaked Verami again. “One day your love will find a child. I promise.”

  Loretta walked over to her brother and sat upon her knees, hugging her face against his chest. She could hear his erratic heartbeat, hear the liquid bubble and spit within his chest and lungs. Tears fell from her eyes as he stroked her hair. “When will Ophelia be back?” she asked softly.

  “Soon, my love. Soon.” rasped Verami.

  They sat like that for a time until there was a soft knock upon the nursery door. From beyond could be heard the muffled cries of a baby. Loretta’s head shot up from her brother’s chest. She looked at him, a smile brightening her face. She ran to the thick, wooden door and swung it open. Saint Ophelia of the Many Tears was standing in the gaslight of the dank, dark hall beyond. In her arms she cradled a dark-haired baby that was red in the face, screaming and wailing.

  Loretta’s hand went to her mouth and she gasped. “Oh… She’s… She’s beautiful!” She scooped the baby out of Saint Ophelia’s arms. “Thank you, thank you so much, Ophelia! I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Ophelia smiled. “You’ll take good care of this one. I know it.”

  “Thank you, thank you so much.” said Loretta, and she dismissed Ophelia and shut the door. She ran over to her brother. “Oh brother, look! Look at our new child! Isn’t she perfect!”

  “She has your hair and eyes even,” said Verami, smiling. His boney finger reached out and wiped the tears from the babe’s red cheeks. “I think she’s hungry.”

  Loretta cooed to the child as she ran over to the padded chair and sat down. She fumbled with her gown and exposed her breast, still oozing blood. “Shh,” cooed Loretta. “Mama’s here now. Drink, my child. Drink from your mama.”

  She brought the babe’s head to her breast. Its mouth immediately found the nipple and settled into sucking. Loretta watched for a moment. The child calmed down. It made smacking sounds as it sucked upon the oozing blood. Loretta gasped. “She’s… She’s drinking! Brother, she’s drinking!”

  The wheels of Verami’s chair squeaked as he slowly rolled himself over to her. He looked down and watched for a moment. He looked his sister in the eyes and stroked her cheek. “She looks like you. She’s…she is really our baby.”

  The baby sucked for a few long minutes before spitting out the nipple and starting to cry. Her face was smeared with blood.

  “She’s still hungry,” said Loretta. Her nipple was no longer bleeding. She tried to place it back into the babe’s mouth, but it would just take a few sucks and then spit it out and cry. “She’s still hungry,” she said more frantically.

  Loretta shot out of her seat, carrying the babe in her arms. She strode quickly over to the large dresser against the wall and opened one of the drawers. She pulled out a long, silver knife. She looked at her brother, then she looked down at the crying babe and her exposed breast. She ran back to her brother and handed him the child.

  “My dear, what are you doing?” asked Verami, holding the child.

  She looked at him, then she took the knife and sliced deeply into her nipple. Blood flowed forth in thick globs. She dropped the knife and it clanked upon the stone. She grabbed the child back from her brother and brought it to her breast. The baby began sucking, began drinking.

  “There, there,” cooed Loretta, stroking the child’s black hair. “Mama’s here. Mama will always be here. Drink my child. Drink from your mama.”

  “It’s a miracle.” rasped Verami. “Aeoria has blessed us at last, my dear. We have a child.”

  Loretta smiled softly down at the baby. Her eyes were closed as she suckled contentedly. Her little hand smeared at the blood around Loretta’s breast, playing with it. “She’s so precious. So peaceful.”

  Verami wheezed a breath. “What shall you name this one, my dear?”

  “Agana.” said Loretta. “I name her, Agana.”

  After a while Agana stopped sucking and rested peacefully in Loretta’s arms. She looked up at Loretta with big, black-blue eyes and smiled through the blood that smeared her mouth and cheeks. Loretta smiled back. She stood up and brought Agana over to the shelves of mason jars. “Look Agana,” said Loretta, bouncing her in her arms. “Look at all your baby brothers and sisters. You’re going to have such a good life. You’re going to get so much love. Mama will take care of you. Mama will always take care of you, Agana.”

  Agana’s eyes scanned over the shelves. She chirped a little laugh.

  “You like them?” Loretta took down one of the jars and brought it close to Agana’s arms. “This one is your brother, Caleb. He died just before mama gave birth to you.”

  Agana’s bloody hand reached out toward the mason jar and she smiled. The glass smeared with blood from her hand.

  “But not you,” whispered Loretta. “Not you, my little Agana. You’re never going to die. You’re going to live. You’re going to grow up and be my daughter.”

  — 26 —

  KARINAEL

  The Rock Barrens were an expanse of desolate, wasted earth that spread out eastward from Mount Empyrean to the shores of the Great Narberethan Lakes. Closer to Mount Empyrean, the Rock Barrens were littered with fragments of strange, glassy earth and stone and tremendous boulders that looked as if they had been blasted and melted into eerie formations. Further out, past the Holy Walls and its towers that circled the mountain, the Rock Barrens became a sea of rocky earth strewn with megalithic boulders and creepy rock formations. Karinael had been out in the Rock Barrens that surrounded Sanctuary before, but never out of sight of the Holy Wall and its watchful towers. Being this far out left Karinael with an exhilaration and excitement she had never felt before.

  Karinael stopped and looked behind her. Mount Empyrean loomed far away in the distance. Not even the Holy Wall could be seen. She couldn’t help but smile. The sky, the earth, the air…everything was new. She had dreamed of going out into the world, and now here she was! And the best part was, she was even with Nuriel. She turned around to catch back up with her friend. She took a few clumsy steps in her new Star-Armor before something colorful amongst the dreary rocks caught her eye. She bent over, nearly toppling, and picked a frail green stem of small, yellow flowers that was poking out from beneath a stone.

  “Look, Nuriel,” said Karinael, marveling at the strange flowers. “What is this?” She held it to her nose and sniffed. It didn’t really have an odor.

  “It’s a weed,” said Nuriel. She looked exhausted. Even her voice had an uncharacteristic croak to it. She stopped and placed her hands up against a towering boulder and leaned over, almost panting for breath.

  Karinael made a stiff-legged walk over to Nuriel. It had been two days since she got her Star-Armor and she was still having trouble walking in it. She had gotten used to the coldness of it, but it was just so heavy. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good this morning.”

  Nuriel rubbed her face. She put her back against the boulder and slid down it until she was sitting upon the rocky earth. She looked up at Karinael. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them and she just looked exhausted, like somebody who hadn’t slept in a week. Karinael admitted that camping out overnight in the Rock Barrens left much to be desired, but Nuriel didn’t seem to be taking it so well.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Karinael, coming up to her. She almost fell over and her hand shot out and grabbed the boulder to catch herself. “Whoa!”

  “You need to hurry up and sync with your armor.” snapped Nuriel. She scowled and looked away.

  Karinael frowned. Nuriel had been tired, snippy and irritable ever since the
Call to Guard Ceremony. “I’m sorry. Geesh.”

  “We left Sanctuary two days ago and we’ve barely gone twenty miles. This isn’t some game out here.” shot Nuriel. “We have to make it all the way to Jerusa. You need to get with it. You need to hurry up and sync with that armor.”

  Karinael sighed and sat down next to Nuriel. She stroked her hand over the cool, smooth surface of her star-metal breastplate. It was slightly more ovular than Nuriel’s, and where Nuriel’s was rounded hers had interestingly angled facets. The matching pauldrons on her shoulders were similarly faceted, and the bracers upon her upper arms, forearms and elbows were also cut with diamond-like angles that made her Star-Armor catch the light in a pleasing way. Unlike Nuriel’s suit that had the skirt of feather-like plates all around her waist, Karinael’s had a pair of wider, heavier, faceted plates hanging off her hips, as well as a white, leather scabbard that held her star-metal broadsword. The upper and lower parts of her leg armor, as well as her boots, all matched the rest of her armor.

  Karinael loved her new armor. She had inherited from Saint Sariel of the Sands, and she thought it was beautiful. Karinael was sorry that such a good Saint had died in the line of duty so that she could have it (and had been consumed into it, though that was a thought she tried not to dwell on), but she was determined to do Sariel justice and make the most out of being a Saints Caliber. She mused over her beautiful new armor for a moment more, and then looked at Nuriel with a sigh. Nuriel did not return the gaze, she just stared out ahead of her at nothing.

  “Are you not feeling well?” asked Karinael.

  “I’m fine.” grumbled Nuriel.

  Karinael regarded her friend for a moment. “I’m glad you’re with me, you know.” she said. “But… I want you to be happy too. You didn’t have to give up being an Eremitic Saint to apprentice me.”

  “Yes, I did, actually.” snapped Nuriel. She looked at Karinael with those darkly-circled eyes and an almost disgusted scowl.