Here Shines the Sun

by M. David White

  “Blessings to you as well, Saint Isley of the Long Hours.” said the father, his voice grim but hopeful as he ran his hand through his daughter’s hair.

  “Please help, Saint Isley,” said the mother quietly. “She fell ill last month. The Jinn gave her medicine, but it has not helped.”

  “You should have come to me sooner.” said Isley. “Nobody should suffer so long.”

  “We… we are sinners,” admitted the father. “We do not attend the sermons here. And, I bought a slave.”

  “Please,” pleaded the mother. “Please, will you help our daughter? Do not punish her for our misdeeds.”

  Isley took the mother’s hand in his. “None who come to me are turned away, just as none who came to the Goddess were turned away. You can come to me at any hour.”

  “Bless you.” said the mother, a tear falling from her eye. “Bless you.”

  Isley looked at the little girl and stroked a finger down her cheek. It was hot with fever. Sweat dripped from her brow. “Tell me, what is your name, little one?”

  “Avyra.” Her voice was despondent. She swallowed hard. “It hurts.”

  Isley smiled softly at her. “I understand.” He had been healing the people of Duroton for long enough that his Caliber could feel the clutches of death already upon her body. Within his Caliber he did not feel sickness, but rather disease. It infiltrated her organs. Her blood was sour.

  “Can you heal her?” asked the mother, hope and fear squeezing at her voice.

  “I can only do what the Sleeping Goddess allows.” said Isley. “But my faith is strong, as should be yours, for my hand is Aeoria’s.” He looked down upon the girl and placed his hand upon her chest. A warm, golden light encompassed it. When he spoke to her, he spoke softly. “I offer my Caliber to you freely, just as the Goddess gave it to me freely. Will you accept her love?”

  She nodded. She swallowed hard again, then in a weak voice asked, “Will the Goddess help me, even if she does not know me?”

  “Do you know the story of the hundred suffering sinners?” asked Isley as his Caliber permeated her body. He could feel her organs as surely as if his hands were upon them.

  She shook her head.

  “Upon the hills of Ogalath Aeoria came upon one-hundred suffering sinners.” spoke Isley. “Each was bound and nailed to a four-pointed star. Their backs were flayed from whips. They had not had a drink in days. All were near death. Aeoria spoke loudly and said that each of them should be let down immediately. But when the soldiers who stood guard before them heard that, they said, ‘But they are sinners. They are wretched thieves and murderers. They do not walk in your love, and you do not know them, so why should they be let down?’

  “To this Aeoria replied, ‘The ones who have done this to them do not know me or walk in my love either. Bring them down so that I might take from them their pain.’

  “After Aeoria had healed them the sinners gathered around her and they asked her why she had helped them, for they had all done many terrible things. Aeoria looked upon them and said, ‘Because to love against all reasons one should not is the greatest power in this world. And it is a power that each of you possesses. The power to make heaven or hell is within the hands of all men, and the kingdoms of both are always nigh. We all live within the world that we create. Now go upon your ways, and know that I have given you a great wisdom.’”

  Isley felt the disease break within his Caliber. It was like glass shattering to dust, swept away by the winds. The girl gasped. She sat upright, as if she had just woken from a long sleep. The pallor left her face and color returned to her hands. Her mother and father cried even as they laughed and they hugged her closely, repeating over and over again their thanks to Isley.

  Isley smiled. “Go forth with your life, Avyra. Walk the path of Aeoria.”

  She smiled and wrapped her arm around Isley’s neck, hugging him. As she did, her finger found the stellaglyph scarred upon the back of his neck. She looked at Isley and asked, “What is this?”

  “That is the name Aeoria gave to me.” said Isley.

  She sat up and craned around, looking at it. Then she turned back to him, a curious look on her face. “That is Isley?”

  Isley smiled. “No. It is the name of my star and cannot be pronounced in the tongue of mortals, for it represents all that I am, all that I have done, and all that I will ever do.”

  “But, why are there two stars?” she asked.

  “I believe one is for me, and the other is for one whose path I must walk beside.” said Isley.

  “Whose path is that?”

  “A woman named Celacia.” said Isley.

  The little girl looked at him. “Are you the big star?”

  Isley smiled and shook his head. “No. I am the little one.”

  “Why do your disciples wear your star?”

  “Because they too believe in my path and wish to share it.”

  “Why do they call themselves the Wolves of Aeoria?” she prodded.

  Isley smiled. “I was once known as Isley the Wolf because I hunted for the truth. Like me, they hunt. Together, we are all Aeoria’s pack.”

  “When I’m older, I want to be one of the Wolves of Aeoria with you.”

  Isley stroked his hand down her head. “With the Goddess’s blessing, our hunt will be over by the time you are grown.” he said, to her disappointment. “But even now you can walk the path with us. All you must do is have faith in the Sleeping Goddess, and know that she will be awakened. Love as She loved, and no evil will ever have sway over you.”

  “I will.” she said, smiling.

  Isley said his blessings to the parents and sat alone in his chair for a while, thoroughly exhausted. At last he picked himself up and retired to his private chambers at the top of one of the church’s many spires. They were modest quarters, though cluttered with shelves and cases overloaded with books. Upon the floor were many crates containing loose documents and he had a small desk where other papers were laid out.

  Isley pressed a small, brass button on the wall, and after a couple of clicks and pops the gaslights came to life. He noticed that on his bed was a new stack of documents and on top was a note from one of his Wolves. Curious, Isley picked up the note and read it. These new documents were all taken from a hidden vault in the castle and the Wolves specifically targeted them because they were in a file dated ten-years ago, the time when Celacia went missing.

  His interest piqued, Isley opened the small window, letting in a cool, dusk breeze and then set the stack of papers upon his desk. He took a seat and began paging through them. He found a document authorizing forces to invade the Icelanders, and some others about a road-widening project for the Yotun Mines. Feeling he was on to something, he dug further. He came across some drawings of a mechanical arm designed by a Jinn named Diotus. It was rather fanciful, with feather-like etching upon it. The drawings called out to some type of object being used for a primary piston, but Isley set it aside.

  Behind him, near the open window, a dark portal silently opened.

  Isley pulled out a few more pages and found a rather hastily written document from Councilman Balin and signed by King Dagrir. Isley scanned over it. The document was authorizing the opening of a place called the Dark Holds for inspection, and for all the cells to be locked and sealed in preparation for a prisoner. Isley’s heart beat faster. Could the prisoner in reference be Celacia? He went back to the top of the document to read it more thoroughly. But then he paused. Something stirred in his Caliber. It was a cold and lifeless feeling. Threatening. Maleficent. A dank scent of iron caught in Isley’s nose.

  “Return to your rest.” said Isley, not turning around. “Know that Aeoria loves you.”

  It stepped closer. Isley heard a stone blade hiss from a scabbard. He stood from his seat and turned around. Before him stood a tall and menacing figure cloaked in black, i
ron chains diseased with rust. Its face was a disfigured iron mask with a crimson shockwave painted down its center. In a gloved hand it held a long, curved dagger of black, glassy obsidian.

  Isley stared into its dark eye-slits. “Peace be with you, my brother.”

  The figure lurched, swimming forward like a snake on the water. Its blade flashed at Isley’s throat, but he stepped aside before it struck. The figure turned with ethereal grace, swiping out with its dagger. Isley stepped backward, avoiding the slash.

  “My hand is as Aeoria’s own.” said Isley. He held up his right hand and it glowed with Caliber energy. “I fill it only with love for you, my brother.”

  The figure lurched again, its blade stabbing and slicing with uncanny speed. But Isley flowed with each strike, twisting and moving until he was inside the creature’s space. He grabbed the arm it held the dagger with. Even above its iron cloak Isley could feel it was cold and stiff. The masked being hissed. Smoke billowed from where Isley held it. It twisted away, slipping from Isley’s grip.

  The figure was taken aback. It flowed backward as Isley approached it. “Is the healing touch of Aeoria so displeasing to you? Come with me, my brother, and I shall lay you upon a peaceful grave and speak to you your rites. The Goddess shall cradle you in her arms and you shall slumber contentedly with her for eternity.”

  The figure bent forward at the waist, fixing Isley with its dark eye slits. It snaked forward again, its dagger whipping back and forth. Isley calmly turned with each until he was backed against his desk.

  “The Goddess’s will protects and directs me, my friend.” said Isley. “Your path can cross mine, but can never block it.” Isley raised a hand glowing with Caliber light. “Behold Her grace, and you will know Her name is Love when I lay my hand upon you.”

  The being slashed with its dagger. Isley moved in quick, grabbing its cold wrist. He twisted around, bringing its arm behind it while grabbing it around the head with his other arm. The creature shrieked in pain as smoke billowed from its cloak and mask. It struggled with supernatural strength, and Isley’s Caliber intensified as he strove to hold it to his breast.

  “Oh my Goddess, forgive us of our sins, and save us from the fires of Hell. Lead all souls into heaven, especially those most in need of Thy mercy.” Isley’s voice was soft, calm; as caring as a father’s as he held the creature’s back tightly against himself, one hand holding its dagger down, his other wrapped around its forehead. It shrieked and writhed, but Isley continued. “Oh Goddess, do not forsake this soul in his time of distress. I ask You to stand by him with Thy grace, and defend him from all evil, and that You prepare his soul for a happy passage to eternity, where with your Angels and your Saints, he may praise You forever.”

  More smoke came pouring from the figure as Isley’s healing Caliber infiltrated it. He could feel old, tireless bones; muscles cold with rigor and a heart long bereft of any life. Within its lungs putrid air stirred and within its bowels only rot and decay. It hissed and wiggled, its iron cloak slipping in Isley’s grasp.

  The creature kicked its feet up, pushing against the desk, trying to force Isley off of it. But then it seemed to take notice of one of the papers there. For a moment the thing gave pause, relaxing in Isley’s arms. He thought he had won over the creature when it suddenly twisted with all its strength, tossing Isley back. It lunged, swiping with its dagger and Isley hopped back. Then it turned around and snatched the stack of papers from the desk. Isley raced forward but a dark portal opened and the creature vanished.

  — 6 —

  Brothers and Sisters

  The house that Sierla Venzi kept was modest and neat. The golden sun of a late morning streamed through the open windows of the cottage, falling upon rustic furnishings. Kierza came into the dining room and saw Rook sitting at the long table with Callad, idly chatting about the day’s agenda. From the adjoining kitchen Kierza could hear the crackle of meat frying in a cast iron pan as Sierla, in her green dress with an apron around her waist, gently laid strips of bacon upon it. She was Escalapian and had long, straight black hair and a tawny complexion. Kierza always admired her exotic, almond eyes of fiery brown. A green, silk veil hid the rest of her face. Kierza watched as Sierla opened the wood-burning oven and a warm, summer breeze swept the sweet aroma of bread through the house.

  Kierza breathed deep, taking in the delicious scents from the kitchen as she strode up behind Rook, her brown, leather pants and jerkin tight around her limber body. She wrapped an arm around Rook’s shoulders and lifted her yellow veil—the same color as the silk shirt beneath her jerkin—as she leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. Rook wore his typical black ensemble of leather pants and vest over a black shirt. She noticed he had his boots on as well and thought that he probably intended to get a quick start to his day after breakfast. Rook turned his head, fixing her eyes with his and smiled. He lifted her veil and kissed her on the lips.

  “Morning, Kierza.” said Callad from his seat at the head of the table.

  Kierza walked around to him. He was a large, barrel-chested man who always smelled of coal smoke and metal. It was not an unpleasant smell to Kierza, and Rook often smelled the same after a day spent in the smithy. As Kierza came up to him he reached out a thick, sinewy arm covered in coarse hair and slipped a meaty, calloused hand around her back as she lifted her veil and gave him a peck on his bearded cheek.

  “Morning, Pa,” said Kierza. She pulled out a chair next to Rook and slid her hand into his as she sat down.

  Sierla fluttered into the room carrying a large, silver platter laden with bacon and eggs and a couple loaves of her delicious honey bread. “I see my hungry family awaits,” she said in her rich, exotic voice as she set the platter down on the table. She walked around and sat upon one of Callad’s tree-trunk legs and gently plucked a strip of bacon and held it to his mouth. He smiled at her as he bit into it with a playful growl.

  “Thanks, Ma.” said Rook as he scooped some food onto his plate.

  “Mmm,” hummed Kierza. “It smells delicious.” She grabbed a steaming slice of the honey bread. Sierla and Callad Venzi were not her or Rook’s real parents but they treated them as their son and daughter nonetheless. Rook’s last name was Gatimarian and he was a slave brought in from Jerusa some ten-years ago. Kierza knew the story well. Rook had told her how his father and mother had died of starvation, leaving him alone with his baby sister, Ursula. Ursula was taken away from him and he was sold as a slave to Callad and Sierla. But Callad and Sierla had not really been buying a slave that day they brought Rook home. They had been looking for a son after having finally come to terms with the fact that they would never be able to bear a child of their own. Though Rook was legally considered a slave of Narbereth and he bore the brand upon his neck, Sierla and Callad treated him as if he were their boy and never anything less.

  Kierza herself was a slave and she too bore a scar upon her neck. Kierza, however, had no last name of her own. She had been born into slavery and never really knew her own parents. She and her brother, Chazod, had both been bought by Grandon Faust and therefore had the last name of Fausts, denoting their ownership. After having been won by Rook as a girl and taken into possession by Sierla and Callad she could have changed her last name to Venzis, but she didn’t. Part of her still wanted that connection to her brother, the only real family she had.

  Around her neck she always wore an old, tarnished heart pendant. It had once belonged to her mother and was all she had to know her by. Chazod, for all the monster he was, had given it to her. He was a few years older than she and had memories of their mother. He said she was beautiful and had the same pale skin, brilliant green eyes and honey-colored hair as her. He gave it to her saying that since he had the memories, she could have it as a token to know her by. If the pendant was any indication of their mother, it showed she was a simple, beautiful and caring person. Kierza was content to believe that.

 
“So what are my handsome boys up to today?” asked Sierla as she held her veil above her mouth and nibbled on some bacon.

  “I’ve got to finish that Everlight sword for Lord Anubeth.” said Rook.

  Callad looked at Rook. “I thought you finished that?”

  “It was almost done.” said Rook. He took a bite of food and swallowed hard. “But, um, I messed up part of the blade and had to restart. After I eat I have to make a run over to Diotus’s shop for more materials.”

  “Absolutely not.” said Callad. “You heard the word. The Sisters might be coming.”

  “Might.” said Rook, eating quickly. “I have too much to do to worry about ‘mights’.”

  “I hear her carriage and entourage were spotted three days ago near Bealte just south of here.” said Callad. “That means they could stop here in Bellus today as they head back to Narberia.”

  Rook kept eating as he waved a dismissive hand.

  “It’s not a good idea to go out.” said Callad. “I’ve seen the Sisters and what they do. Trust me, son, it’s best not to go out.”

  “My parents were from Escalapius.” said Sierla from Callad’s lap. “They came here seeking a better life and brought many silks to trade and sell to build their life here. They did not know that they take our noses. But that was not the worst. The worst came to us the day the Sisters arrived in town. They heard of my parent’s silks and the dresses my mother made with them. They wanted to see them with their own eyes. My mother greeted them, wearing one of her dresses. I remember the screaming. I remember seeing their nails ripping at her. My father dragged me off then. The next day I watched my father scrubbing the stones in front of the shop. He was weeping. I will never forget how red the water in the bucket was, or that rag he held in his hands. There was blood—so much blood. I never saw her again.”

  Kierza saw the grimace on Rook’s face. They had both heard the story before. “They don’t scare me.” Rook said between bites.