A sudden knock in the darkness pulled him from slow suffering thought of ongoing torture. He opened his eyes to the sight of their silhouettes as his eyes adjusted to the light. Too late he reacted, unable to move. A sudden, audible crack to the back of his skull. A moment of increased agony and black faded around him.
~ Temple of the Three, Qesa City Outskirts~
~Second of the Smith, Song of Joy~
The sweet embrace, the rise and fall of euphoria,
The rapture and the clarity,
The calm and the calamity
Tears of divine love overflow.
- Order of the Pearl, book of sorrows.
Chapter eighteen verse seven.
It is a dangerous and terrible thing to grow from a child to an adult in the embrace of a home you hate. Armatrine Dupree knew it all too well. Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better to allow what had passed to simply be. An embrace of shadowed fingers upon her body as she entered, turning even the sweetest of emotions sour. It wasn't that she'd been mistreated or hard done by the Order in any way once in the temple, but by the light! When she arrived, crying and mewling in the arms of Arlandus, she had witnessed the outer world, felt the cold of the night chill at the furthest reaches of Neta’s floating islands as one sun set and another rose. Tasted the love in a home cooked meal and the warm embrace of those who claimed to love her. She had loved them. It was all gone, Laan, her family, the people she'd known her entire life. She supposed she was thankful. If not for Arlandus she'd be laying under a pile of rubble, never to see the suns again. Yet part of her yearned for the peasant life she'd been forced by the tricky fingers of circumstance and fate to abandon. Within that lay some resentment to the Order, their underhanded style of child rearing. To cuckoo their way into the nest of another settlement and return only when the child had grown to an age where their purposes for it could be met. Every day she thanked the Three for a teacher as wise and compassionate as Euricles Arlandus. Placing a hand around her shoulder he spoke, “Remembering?” He sighed.
“Sorry master, it's not that I'm not grateful, I truly am,” she began.
“But your heart lies in Laan.” He finished the sentence tenderly, surprising her somewhat by placing a fatherly hand upon her slender shoulder.
“Yes” she spoke truthfully. Her mouth dry.
“Yet Laan is destroyed, had it remained you would always have been one of the Order. It was pre-ordained before you were born. Not by the Three. For all the grace in the world, sometimes it is the will of men which often finds its way to fruition” he smiled. “Try not to ruminate too hard on where you have been sweet young one. You might miss where you’re going.” He let go of her, the warmth of his touch lingering for a moment longer. “We have business to attend,” he instructed as he walked from the main chamber.
The chamber itself was bright with the light of a thousand candles suspended upon bronze dishes from an enormous statue of the Three, proud in the centre of the chamber. No alchemy here, pure paraffin, wick and fire. The sweet tang of its burning hung in the air. The flickering of the flames caused the shadows cast by the statue to dance against the ancient stone wall giving the casual eye, in its untrained glance, a sense of presence. Perhaps the Three at work in all things. Around the statue stood rows and rows of pews crafted from ebony wood. Here a service could be given. The dome echoing the voice of the high priestess in her singular glory. The ancients who built this place understood much. She ran her hand along the smoky wood as she walked to the one door. Her breath echoing around her, intermingled with her footsteps in the illuminated chamber.
In the outer sanctum frescos depicting the creation lined the circular walls. A reminder that all creation existed in a circular state, that all that had come to pass would be again. As she walked she inspected them closely as she often had, especially in the days immediately after she had been brought here. She sought comfort in these images. Something in the depictions of the Three made it so. In her raw anger she'd lashed out at all who'd dared approach her and found herself here crying on more than one occasion.
The first depicted the Three against the illuminated lilac of the sky. At either side, the twin suns burned with intensity, she found that they were almost too brilliant to look at directly. Below, Neta sat. Its lush green forests sprouting upwards yet not touching even the slightest hint of the sky where the Three sat. The second depicted Neta at the top and below a burning ball of energy pushing upward from the core. The third showed the ground breaking away from the core and being pushed downward by the might of the Three. The islands of the Netan sky set into their rightful place above the planet surface, later to become inhabited by the first of the Order when they made their ascent from the world below. There was a beauty in it. They were where they had always been intended to be. There was sadness. What wonderment was left of the world above? Of course, there was a darker side to the story, everybody in the temple knew it, yet none dared speak of it apart from the high priestess, most occasionally, most carefully. The islands had not been raised for the amusement of the goddesses, the world below had become dangerous. An unspeakable terror lurked in the depths of the world. The islands had been raised to save the faithful. They were alive. All of them, in the grace of the Three.
It was time they made their presence known. Collecting her thoughts she composed herself into a bastion of careful rationality, as her training had taught her. Taking heel behind Arlandus they approached in silence, climbing the ancient stone staircase, its winding spiral form extending almost infinitely. Once at the top they took a moment to catch their breath before the guardian announced them. “It never gets any easier does it?” Smiled Armatrine. Her master bent double. His hands propping him against his knees.
“I used to believe they added a few steps every few weeks, just to mess with new acolytes and keep us older ones on our feet” he smiled back.
“Ahem” came a booming female voice, it was the guardian. “They will see you now, and a word to the wise. Wear some humility. Her honour is most vexed.” She smiled grimly under her helmet.
“No change there, shall we?” Smiled Arlandus extending his arm toward her. Taking her place at his heel again they stepped through the large bronze door. The chamber itself was cylindrical in shape, smaller than the dome below and darker, much darker. A few weak candles flickered weakly in protest against the encroaching twilight. They took their place within the centre of the room upon a bronze disk set a foot elevated from the ancient stone. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Armatrine noticed three council members sat in high stone thrones watching intently as they made the proper position. Head bowed in reverence, eyes high with attentive adoration. Quickly she brushed a loose red curl into her covering with the tips of her fingers lest she cause any offence.
When she had finished the high priestess was the first to speak, “Well done, it is to our understanding that you carried out your task in a proficient manner and led the turncoat to an untimely and difficult fate, one he will not soon forget.”
“That is so,” Arlandus began, “I would have liked more time to bring him to justice myself” he confessed.
“Ah,” she smiled, “the bonds of brotherhood betrayed and anger remains in the heart, broken and confused.” A matriarchal tenderness filled her tone. “I do not doubt that the man, Mitrick Tenebris will come crawling here for the removal of the curse and from there we will glean the location of the map.”
“Oh?” He questioned.
“To go about our business brashly would draw unneeded attention, best we wait than risk the consequence of the wrong people discovering an advantageous angle from which to strike,” she soothed.
“Your grace…” he began in protest.
She raised a hand to shush him, her tone becoming sharper, “Prince Johann himself has asked us to keep this undercover for now, in the meantime we are to manage the situation in a more covert fashion, instead of confronting Tenebris or the situation directly we are to send
an individual to retrieve the map, through malign efforts if the need arises.” She spoke plainly. The two at her sides nodded their ancient bearded faces in agreement. “Your heart is full of pain, it is for that reason you are to stay here awaiting further instruction. In your stead your apprentice shall go taking with her all the knowledge and secrets of this mission. This shall serve as her Showing .” She spoke elatedly, smiling at Armatrine, who was taken aback by the sudden swing in direction the conversation had taken. “Unless you, Arlandus, have any difficulties with this and refuse to speak in her honour.”
“None at all your grace, Armatrine Dupree is a capable and conscientious agent, she will serve you well.” He spoke solemnly. Armatrine’s heart ached for him. To lose a brother and his apprentice in a matter of hours would be difficult. For her also, she'd leant on him, his guidance was all she knew.
“Then it is decided” spoke the priestess, with grace. “You are ready young Dupree. You…”
“If I may your holy honour,” broke in Arlandus suddenly. A fire in his voice seemingly sparked from the depths of nowhere. “Indeed Armatrine Dupree is a capable member of the Order, she will serve you well, but she has much left to learn also. It is with time that I believe she, under the right tutelage, will surpass us all. To take her now into the loftier ranks of the Order would be detrimental to both her learning and to our future goals.” His passion subsided as quickly as it had arisen, leaving Armatrine aghast and somewhat dismayed at his sudden outburst. She had always dreamed of making the more honoured ranks, now he would take away her opportunity?
“Master Arlandus,” began the high priestess, an icy edge formed of fury evident in her voice, “it is a poor teacher who seeks to destroy the opportunities placed before his pupil. Need I remind you of the fact that indeed your goals are tied to our own, yet you know nothing of them. So if strategically we feel the girl is ready then the girl is ready.”
“Very well,” he snapped, “but you heed my words. The girl may be ready but a showing is a dangerous and tricky thing. There is no need to rush through only to appease the systems imposed upon us, which you in fact hold the power to change. A blacksmith would not pull a dull or misshapen blade from the forge early to appease a quota”. Armatrine reeled at that, was that how he viewed her, dull and misshapen? Did he see her as unable to complete a simple retrieval? She remained pensive, silent while the argument raged on.
“Who is to say the young acolyte is anything of the sort? The things she has learned from you will carry her through life, but make no mistake, is it time Arlandus, whether you are ready to let her go or not!” The moment the words came from the Priestess’ mouth a chilly atmosphere filled the room, unbearable and disjointed. Silently, angered, he turned from all, those before him, Armatrine and the chamber and strode brusquely away, his robes flowing behind as if caught in a gentle breeze. When he'd left the Priestess turned to Armatrine almost striking fear upon her. Smiling she advised “Young Dupree, as divisive as always I see, prepare your mind and body, the showing will come soon. When it does,” she sighed, “you cannot be ready enough”.
~ The Stormkite, Netan Airspace ~
~Third of the Smith, Song of Joy~
A shriek to the skies,
The burning of the suns.
A man yearns for freedom,
Another betrays.
- Visions of the first Priestess.
He was a heavy man, the ailing priest. Clearly a glutton, his sizeable weight had cast a great burden upon them as they formed a team and carried him from the darkened room of the ancient, crumbling inn through the streets to the waiting transport vessel. Unconscious and unable to struggle it had still taken six of them to carry him down the steep wooden staircase in the dark of the evening. Poor masonry creaking and buckling under the weight the whole time. A small pouch of silver to buy the innkeeper’s silence and they were away. Stumbling with the additional load along the cobbled streets, he almost tripped on the stones once or twice yet had managed to right himself in time. He hated to imagine what might happen if he'd stumbled into the floor. The weight of the huge cursed priest tumbling atop him.
They had made a sight, the six of them carrying him through the docks upon their shoulders like a coffin. A funeral procession of malfeasance as they made their way toward the waiting vessel. Its single white sail filled with the whispering voice of the wind. There had been a singular moment of worry when loading him, like fragile cargo onto the deck of the small boat, that she would not float. Consigning him and the obese man to the depths of Neta’s plunging skies. Yet she held true. Her once purring engine screaming in strain as she struggled. A cloud drake screeched above, hungry and waiting. It was a difficult voyage yet they made it to the kite, where he now carried out deck duties and awaited whatever came next. How he loved the unexpected, the mystery surrounding the most imminent of approaching moments. While consigned to ship’s life he knew that for him there was more. A grander adventure than that of a simple sky-pirate. Something deep inside him yearned to run, to be free. To an extent the kite offered that, yet bound in servitude to Orochi he knew a boy such as himself would never become his own master. Yet this would be his best life for some time, and having witnessed first hand the fate of defectors, he knew to keep his voice low and ambitions high. A cruel wisdom brought forth from experience. His body bore the scars and his mind the learning, for time he'd found to be a cruel mistress and a crueler teacher yet.
A commotion below brought him to attention. A struggling, screaming spluttering borne from the throes of panic and confusion. A sudden voice summoned him to the navigation deck. “Mr Laanson" came the sneering voice of Buckley. A quartermaster. Jumped up and weasel like with no true mandate to address him in such a manner, yet he had the captain’s ear and so Buckley had his.
“Aye sir,” he responded. His voice resolute, betraying nothing of the apprehension gripping his heart in a vice.
“It would seem your guest is causing a terrible commotion below decks.”
“Yes Buckley.”
“Yes who?” Questioned the sniveling lickspittle.
“Yes Mr Buckley.”
The man eyed him suspiciously for a moment “Don’t you forget it” he sneered, knowing well that he exercised power above his station. “Get to it!”
“Aye” Jak began before a third voice interrupted.
“That won't be necessary Buckley,” it was the captain himself. He wore his long coat, leather hose, boots and a fierce sneer of his own. “It would seem the incessant racket has far stripped me of any notion of rest and so I resign myself to the waking world, perhaps however a moment alone with Mr Laanson here would suffice.” He smiled at the wormlike underling. Servitude suited him well, trust not so much, yet command and fear fit Orochi perfectly.
“As you see fit Captain,” he bowed low and scampered from the navigation decks to his waiting quarters below.
“He is truly a worm among men” commented Orochi when the sniveling underling had left his side. “Do you know why I keep him around boy?” He asked, a hardened edge hidden in plain earshot of his pleasant tone.
“It eludes me sir” he answered truthfully.
“Obedience,” the captain stated “obedience and deference. He possesses a respect for the old ways, before even the days of I as the Orochi, captains were kings of the skies. The clouds our private fiefdoms. Our crafts our castles. He reminds me of who I am. Of the respect I am to be afforded by all aboard the kite,” Orochi was marvelous as he spoke. His legend timeless, his tale ageless upon the winds of the tide. Yet he spoke even to one such as himself with such conviction, such honesty. He wore a few more streaks of grey than when they had first met, outside Laan so many years ago. Yet he'd only grown more vicious, a stronger leader and his name had grown in notoriety. A man at the height of his prominence and very much reveling within it. He thumbed the hilt of his cutlass, as vicious and sharp as a drake’s tooth.
“Yes Captain” replied Jak. Uncomfortable at the t
urn of the conversation.
“So how is it that I am awoken from my slumber by the cries of a prisoner I am told you brought aboard my vessel Mr Laanson?” He sneered.
“With respect captain he's only awoken upon the moment, in the absence of proper guard we lashed him to a beam below decks.”
“Very well” sighed the captain. “What have you brought us?”
“Well… there's more captain.”
“Oh yes?”
“Captain, he's cursed. Fallen foul of the Order. You should have seen it. This old priest really gave him something rotten, something dark. Half of what you hear isn't the trauma of being taken by us, but the curse in full effect. It's amazing!” He spoke quickly, excitedly.
“You brought somebody fallen foul of the order aboard here?” His face darkened at the prospect. “Did it occur to you to consult me in this at any point?”
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