Here Shines the Sun

by M. David White

  “Shoot them!” urged the man standing in the living room as he hugged his wife tight. He looked at the man with the bolt-thrower. “This day has been too long in the making! Shoot them already! Shoot them while you have the chance!”

  The man licked his lips. His finger quivered on the trigger. “Ursula, I’m so sorry. Aeoria forgive—”

  Ophelia dropped her sword and grabbed the man up in her Caliber. She waved her arm and tossed him across the room where he crashed into the wall, smashing a small table and lantern as he fell.

  “Help! Help! They’re in here!” cried the man by the door. He ran to it and was about to open it when Ophelia pushed Agana aside and pounced at him, tackling him to the floor. He screamed but Ophelia brought her fist down hard and his skull crunched and flattened. His wife screamed and Ophelia dove at her and wrapped her arm around her neck as she tackled her. With a twist, Ophelia broke her neck.

  Ophelia struggled to her feet, balancing on her left leg as she held onto the wall near a curtained window. Agana ran to her and threw her arms around her, nearly knocking her over. “I’m scared, Ophelia.” she sobbed. “Why are they attacking us?”

  “I don’t know.” Ophelia stroked her hand through Agana’s hair as she opened the curtain a crack. She heard bolt-thrower fire echoing through the streets, and off in the distance saw the gothic spires of the church in flames, black smoke billowing up into the stormy heavens. More immediately, however, she saw knights and townspeople surrounding the cottage. Some were coming up toward the front door, bolt-throwers at the ready.

  She looked down at her ruined right leg and hissed from the pain. She was starting to feel dizzy and light-headed, but she had no time to try to heal herself. She looked around the cottage. There was nowhere to run, even if she could; nowhere to hide, not that it would do any good. She looked up to the thick rafters on the ceiling and the golden thatch of the roof that was woven between wooden slats. She picked Agana up and the little girl threw her arms around her neck.

  “Hold on tight.” Ophelia took a few quick, deep breaths and encompassed herself in golden, Caliber energy. As men broke through the front and back doors Ophelia leapt up, crashing through the roof just as bolt-thrower fire riddled the house. Wood and thatch broke over Ophelia’s fist as she sailed into the air above the cottage, clutching the screaming Agana to her bosom. Thunder rumbled the dark skies above as men in the streets raised their bolt-throwers and fired into the air at them.

  Lightheaded from the loss of blood, Ophelia felt as if she hung in the air for longer than was possible. She looked to the east where the castle sat atop the high hill. There were fires in some of the windows, red flames curling up and lapping at the dark stones, scorching them black. The eldritch forest that surrounded it and the hill was in a frenzy. Gnarly branches writhed and waved in desperate agitation, seeking any way they could to protect the castle. Lightning flashed in the black clouds above the hill, and in its brief light Ophelia caught sight of Exalted Lord Kalarus bounding through the forest. His great, wolfen form leapt across the castle’s moat and latched onto a tower. He crawled his way up to a window as easily as a spider. He tore out a barred window, ripping away the stone encasement, and slipped inside. The last thing Ophelia saw before she began to fall was a gusher of blood pour from the broken window and a dozen mangled knights tossed from it.

  Ophelia came down onto the adjacent cottage, her feet crashing through the weak roof and landing hard inside the home, tumbling across the floor with Agana as broken slats and thatch rained down on them. Ophelia rolled onto her back, panting. She was so dizzy now. She looked at her mangled leg and noticed very little blood was coming from it. She felt cold. Her Caliber energy was fading.

  “Ophelia!” Agana knelt beside her, holding her head in her lap. “Ophelia!”

  Ophelia struggled onto her side and placed her hand on Agana’s cheek. “Agana, go hide up the chimney. Hurry. I… I can’t go any further.”

  “No! I can’t leave you! I won’t!”

  “You have to, honey.” said Ophelia. “The bad men are coming for me. Hide in the chimney, and when you’re certain they’ve all left, sneak back to the hill. The forest will protect you and Lord Kalarus is at the castle now. He’ll smell you and come for you. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Why are they attacking us! Ophelia! Ophelia!” Agana tugged at her arm, But Ophelia lacked the strength to stand back up. “Come on, let’s go!”

  “I love you, Agana. I love you so much. Hurry. Hurry. Hide up the chim—”

  Crack! The door was kicked in. A dozen men and knights of Valdasia stormed in. Bolt-throwers were trained on Agana and Ophelia as the soldiers surrounded them. Then Sir Erich Spengle stepped into the room. “Don’t shoot them yet.” he ordered, slinging his bolt-thrower over his shoulder.

  Ophelia grabbed Agana to her breast and whispered into her ear, “Don’t look.” Agana nodded as she sobbed and buried her face into Ophelia’s neck. Ophelia fixed Spengle with her eyes. “You are sworn to protect her! You are a knight of Valdasia!”

  “Not anymore.” said Sir Spengle. He motioned to one of the men and the man came up, placing the barrel of his bolt-thrower to Ophelia’s head. “We are through sacrificing our sons and daughters to the Dire Mother! We are through having friends and family vanish in the night to become spare parts for the Withered King!”

  The other men all cheered.

  “King Verami will sweep plague across this city if you kill her.” growled Ophelia.

  Spengle chuckled. “Tiffany of the Graves shall see to it that he rests peacefully in his own.” Here his voice took on a more venomous tone, “As for you, it’s time to put you in yours, Ophelia of the Many Tears.” He practically spat her name. “How many families have you torn apart? How many babes have you taken to die at the breast of the Dire Mother? You took my son fifteen years ago. His name was Marlon. Marlon Spengle!” he roared. “I found him in a jar in Queen Loretta’s chamber! You call yourself a Saint, but I swear upon my son’s soul you shall burn in Hell for your sins!”

  Sir Spengle stepped forward and grabbed Agana by the hair, ripping her from Ophelia’s grasp. She yelped as Spengle held her firmly, twisting her black hair around his fist. Tears rained off her cheeks and diffused into the blood stains on her white dress. “Don’t hurt Ophelia! Don’t hurt her!”

  Spengle’s lips furled in disgust at her. “And you, you monstrous little bitch, you’re going to burn upon a stake for all to see.” Agana screamed as Spengle tossed her across the room by her hair.

  “You bastard!” growled Ophelia. She pushed herself up.

  Startled, Sir Spengle jumped back. “Shoot her!”

  JINK!

  “Ophelia!” cried Agana as she watched the back of the Saint’s head explode. JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK! Bolt-throwers from every direction riddled Ophelia’s body, blowing chunks of meat from her unarmored belly or exploding off her Star-Armor. “Ophelia!” wailed Agana, running toward her with arms outstretched. A man grabbed her from behind, forcing her arms backward. She was lifted off her feet as she struggled in his arms. “No! No! Saint Ophelia!”

  Spengle pointed to the man holding Agana. “Take her to the town square. Let all the people witness the death of the Vampire of Valdasia!”

  Agana wailed in the man’s clutches as tears rolled from her red eyes. Her sobs weakened her voice as she cried, “Why, Ophelia! Why did you have to die! No! No! Ophelia!”

  There were some sickening pops and cracks of bone and Ophelia’s mangled body began to quiver. All heads turned down and watched as her body was consumed into her armor, arms bending and breaking gruesomely as they were sucked into the breastplate; legs twisting and cracking as they were engulfed by her star-metal skirt or her grieves.

  Agana went limp in the man’s arms, her head turned down in broken defeat as horrified silence filled the room. Then Agana looked up.

 
“You killed her.” Agana’s voice was as cold as castle Valdaria and as deep and haunting as its shadows. Her eyes turned the color of blood as she stared down at the Saint’s empty armor. “You killed her.” She looked at Spengle. Blood began to flow over her bottom lip like water from a pitcher. It came down over her dress and spread out upon the floor. The man holding her dropped her, and her polished, black shoes splashed in the blood.

  Spengle backed away, fumbling for his bolt-thrower.

  “You killed her!” Agana stepped toward Sir Spengle. Fangs revealed themselves at the sides of her mouth. Black nails, like the talons of a raven, grew from her fingers. “You make me hungry!”

  JINK! Fire flashed from the muzzle of Spengle’s bolt-thrower. Agana staggered back, her black shoe slipping in the trail of blood she was leaving. The man behind her screamed as a hole was blown open in his belly. He collapsed, convulsing, as his intestines spilled and slid out over the floor.

  Agana faced Spengle, crimson-filled eyes focused on him. Her lips furled, making her sharp fangs seem all the longer. There was a hole in her white dress at the center of her chest, and one out the back of it, but no wound could be seen on her flesh.

  “I’m hungry! I’m so hungry!” She moved in on Spengle.

  JINK-JINK-JINK! Spengle fired his bolt-thrower again. Agana’s body twisted and jolted as holes opened up in her dress, but she kept coming, the shots having no effect on her. “Help! Help me!” he squealed.

  “Silver!” cried one of the other men. “We need silver!”

  “Give me your blood!”

  Spengle screamed and fell backward onto the floor as Agana came at him.

  From behind a man ran up, the butt of his bolt-thrower raised. Agana lunged for Spengle, but the man brought the heavy, iron gun down hard on her head and she collapsed. As she lay limp upon the floor in a puddle of blood, her fangs retracted into her mouth, and her black talons receded into her fingers.

  “Bind her! Quickly!” ordered Spengle. “You must burn her!”

  — 25 —

  A Land of Gods and Monsters

  The narrow hall of the Holy Palace was dimly lit by gaslamps set upon the stone walls and it felt eerily cold to Eulalee as she was escorted by Saint Gabriel of the Watchtower. Her steel boots seemed to clomp more loudly than was comfortable to her and she walked with her hands balled together at her waist. It was supposed to be a great privilege to be invited to the Holy Palace, but Eulalee knew it wasn’t exactly privilege that had called her here. She took a deep breath and wanted to look around and admire the ornate tapestries that hung on the walls, but she was too nervous to take her eyes from the floor.

  She felt Saint Gabriel’s armored hand rest upon her steel pauldron. It felt heavy and burdensome within the Star-Armor. “Relax.” he said. “They just want to know what happened.”

  Eulalee swallowed hard. “Is… is Maximiel going to… Are they going to…” She couldn’t figure out how to word her question without terrifying herself even more.

  “I doubt it.” said Gabriel as he strode beside her. “This is not the first time a Saint has killed another in Sanctuary. Aeoria forgives. Remember that.”

  Eulalee nodded. Ahead, there was a plain, wooden door and she felt herself tremble as Gabriel came up to it. For some reason she had expected something more ornate, more fanciful—a door with a golden plaque bearing some sort of stellaglyph or strange writing she couldn’t read—but the simplicity of that door somehow made it more imposing.

  “Just relax and be honest.” he said. He opened the door for her. Beyond was a windowless, circular chamber lit by gaslamps glowing with their yellow-green light. At the center of the room was a large, round table with decorative, high-backed chairs around it. Sitting upon the far end was the Oracle of the Holy Few. It wore its red, hooded robe and Eulalee found her crimson eyes staring back at herself through its mirror mask. Behind the Oracle stood its flock of Sin Eaters in their red robes and black, beaked masks. They hunched around the Oracle like ravens, their green goggles all appraising her. Eulalee swallowed hard.

  “Ah, little Eulalee. It is a pleasure.” said the Oracle, standing up. He beckoned her to take a seat with a black, gloved hand.

  Eulalee found it hard to make her legs work but she forced herself forward nonetheless. Her hands trembled as she pulled out a chair and sat down. She played with her fingers as she stared at her lap. The door clicked shut behind her and she flinched.

  “Do not be frightened,” said the Oracle as it sat back down. “We just have a few questions for you.”

  Eulalee nodded, still looking at her lap and playing with her fingers.

  “I understand there was a scuffle in your dorm room.” it said. “Please, tell us about it. How did it all start?”

  Eulalee swallowed and looked up. All she could see was her own reflection in the Oracle’s mirror mask and all the green eyes of the Sin Eaters staring at her. She licked her lips. “M-Maximiel stopped by and wanted to talk. I… I was working on some drawings and didn’t really want him to come in, but… But I told him it would be okay, for just a moment.”

  “Go on.”

  Eulalee played with her fingers, trying to steel herself as she stared at the edge of the table. She noticed it was carved with strange, serpentine figures. Dragons? She breathed deep and then looked back up at the Oracle. “And that’s when Preil, Theliel and Dumariel came in.”

  “I see.” said the Oracle. “What were you and Maximiel talking about?”

  Eulalee felt her mouth dry up. “We… He just wanted to see my drawings.” At that the Sin Eaters became more animated and she heard them hissing the word, “Sinner! Sinner!” She swallowed hard even though her mouth had no saliva at the moment.

  “Yes.” said the Oracle. “I understand you are quite the artist. You know, Saint Karinael is also an artist. She used to paint pictures of landscapes when she was here at Sanctuary. What do you draw?”

  “I… well, mostly dragons.”

  “Dragons?”

  Eulalee bit her upper lip and fidgeted in her seat. “Well, just one, really.”

  “And which one is that?”

  “A black dragon.” she said, playing with her fingers as she stared down at them. “A giant, black dragon.”

  “Interesting.” said the Oracle. “And why a black dragon?”

  Eulalee hiked her shoulders. The Sin Eaters began hissing their accusations of “Sinner!” again. She swallowed hard. “I… I see him in my dreams.”

  “Interesting.” said the Oracle. “You know dragons are only myth, correct?”

  Eulalee nodded but the Sin Eaters began bobbing and swaying. “Sinner! Sinner! Sinner!” She fidgeted in her seat again and brushed the crimson hair from her face, unable to look the Oracle in that silver mirror mask.

  “Let’s go back to what you and Maximiel were talking about.” said the Oracle. “It was more than just about your drawings, I gather?”

  Eulalee sniffled and nodded. She felt warm tears welling in her eyes.

  “What were you talking about? Be honest. There is nothing to fear.”

  “I… I had a bird.” she said. She felt tears falling from her cheeks. She sniffled and wiped at her nose. “I found it out in the yard and I healed it but it still couldn’t fly. So I kept him.”

  “I see.” said the Oracle. “Although it is against the rules to keep pets, it sounds as though your intentions were good.”

  Eulalee wiped at her eyes and nodded.

  “What happened next?”

  Eulalee sniffed. “That’s when the others showed up. P-Preil took the bird, and…”

  “Go on.”

  Eulalee wiped at her eyes and nose again. “He threw it out the window.”

  “I see.” said the Oracle. “Sin begets sin. Helping the bird was a sin against our rules of Sanctuary, and sin is always repaid i
n kind. You must always obey the rules, Eulalee. You must always do as you’re told by those in charge.”

  Eulalee nodded and buried her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

  “You are forgiven.” said the Oracle. “Let us continue. Tell me what happened next.”

  Eulalee sniffed and wiped her eyes. “That’s when the others left. I didn’t see them go, but Maximiel closed the door before Preil left. The next thing I knew he was choking Preil.” Eulalee wiped at her eyes some more.

  “Take your time.” said the Oracle.

  She breathed deep and sniffled. “He… he cut Preil’s arm off and then… And then he threw him out the window.”

  “Why did Maximiel throw him from the window?” asked the Oracle.

  Eulalee couldn’t stop the flow of tears. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I… I don’t really know. He told Preil never to touch his stuff. And I think he meant me.” Eulalee was broken by her sobs. She buried her head in her hands and struggled to get her crying under control. She looked up at the Oracle, her face was red and streaming with tears. “He told me that since I wished I could fly, he was going to show me what it was like for a Saint to fly. I-I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! I should never have let him come in my room!”

  “It’s not your fault.” said the Oracle. “Try to remember your Templar training, and remove all blame from yourself. As a Saints Templar, you must have faith that your actions are guided by the Goddess.”

  “I know.” cried Eulalee. “It’s just hard, sometimes.”

  “I understand.” said the Oracle. “Tell me, Eulalee, how did that make you feel, to see Preil thrown from the window after he had just killed your bird? Were you glad? Were you happy to see him suffer for having caused you pain?”

  Eulalee felt slightly revolted by the question. She wiped her eyes with her hand and shook her head.

  “Sinner! Sinner! Sinner!” hissed the Sin Eaters.

  Past the tears Eulalee could see the Sin Eaters bobbing and staring at her. She looked at the Oracle. “M-Maybe just a little. But… but I didn’t want him to die!”