Here Shines the Sun

by M. David White

  Kierza stared down at the scroll in Rook’s hand as Sierla slipped out of the room. She chewed her bottom lip, resisting all urge to say anything as Rook unrolled it, scanning it with his eyes.

  Rook rolled it back up and slipped it into the waist of his black, leather armor before Kierza could see what was drawn on it. “I have to go.”

  “So, you’re going out?” She tried not to sound as bitter as she was, but failed miserably. She knew it. She knew by the way he was still wearing his leather armor and carrying his sword at his side. She knew he couldn’t just stay home, not even for one night. Rook was hardly home at all anymore. During the day he was with Sir Rivenal, Tamus and all the others on the First Council whose names she couldn’t remember. He’d spend the day at the Council Manor poring over documents and ledgers or compiling plans based off what news his scouts and quick-hounds would return with. At night he’d be at Diotus’s lab building more bolt-throwers or doing stars-know-what. He had promised to stay home tonight and let Blake and Dontis deal with the returning scouts and quick-hounds. He had kept part of his word by spending the evening playing games with the boys, but Kierza had been looking forward to her own time alone with him.

  “I have to go to the gate. I need to speak with Blake.” said Rook. Kierza did nothing to hide the resentment on her face and she let him take it all in. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He brushed his hand through her hair but Kierza turned away from him. If it weren’t for the sleeping boys, she’d have a few choice words to say. Already she was mentally perfecting them for when he did eventually come back home.

  “Do you want me to go instead?” asked Ertrael, chomping on a cookie.

  Rook shook his head. “Thank you, but… No, I better just go.” He looked at Kierza. “I’m sorry, but this is important. I’ll be back soon.” He lifted her veil to give her a kiss but she swatted his hand back down.

  “It’s always important. Stay as long as you need.”

  Rook pursed his lips in a frown. For a moment he looked as if he might say something else, but then he turned from her, letting his hand slowly slip from hers as he went to the door. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him as he walked out, shutting the door gently behind him.

  “He wants to be with you.” said Ertrael. He took a gulp of milk even as he chewed his cookie. “But duty is a mistress. The people of this city look to him. He is the keystone that holds everything here together.” He gulped down the rest of his milk.

  “That was a beautiful song,” said Kierza, not wanting to hear another word about duty or responsibility. She watched Ertrael set down the glass of milk and look at her with a creamy mustache. She almost giggled. She pointed at him. “You have a…” She motioned at her own mouth.

  Ertrael wiped a hand down his mouth and Kierza thought she could even see him blush. “Sorry.”

  She walked over to him and leaned on the wall beside the bed. “Where did you learn how to sing?”

  Ertrael reclined in the bed. “I once told you that there is somebody I love back at Sanctuary. Her name is Asriel, and she often sang to the dead.”

  “To the dead? That sounds a little morbid.”

  Ertrael breathed deeply. Beside him Galen stirred slightly but then his ragged breaths began their gentle rhythm again. “She was haunted by their voices. She told me that the voices only stopped when she sang. Sometimes, when we were together, I would hold her in my arms and sing for her. It was the only time she was ever at peace.”

  Kierza gently sat down on the edge of the bed next to Ertrael and placed her hand on his leg. “That’s sweet.” she said, smiling at him.

  Ertrael stared up at the ceiling and smiled too, as if lost in a pleasant memory. “At night I would hold her and sing her songs until she fell asleep beside me. I think those nights were the only time she ever slept.”

  Kierza gently scooched her way beside him, careful not to jostle Galen. She leaned back on Ertrael, resting the side of her face on the cold metal of his breastplate. “Would you sing me another one of her songs?”

  Ertrael gazed down at her amber hair. She felt his hand hesitantly nestle on her back. Then his voice began into a gentle song, and Kierza closed her eyes and listened. This was a sadder song than the last, of snow falling upon a grave and a man who would come each morning to clear it, until one day he didn’t show up and another grave was set beside the first.

  She put her arm over Ertrael, stroking her hand over the smooth, glassy surface of his star-metal pauldron. She loved the way it felt to the touch, and how cool it was on such a summer night. As his song played in her ears, she thought about Rook. Where once he had been like a stone for her—something that was solid, certain and always there—he was becoming like water in her hand and she felt him slipping between her fingers. But it was more than that. It felt like he was the one letting go, and she was left to grasp at what little remained in her palm.

  Duty is a mistress. Ertrael’s words floated in her mind like a discordant instrument against the melody of his song. She was being selfish, she knew. She didn’t need Ertrael to remind her that the people of this city needed Rook. But love is a selfish thing, she thought. The heart wants the love of somebody special all to itself. In fairytales, love was always an immutable thing. It stood fast against all odds. But this world was not a fairytale. The only thing immutable in this world was star-metal, and it was a cold, black thing.

  Kierza stroked her hand upon Ertrael’s breastplate. She had learned a few things from him about Star-Armor. It was passed down from Saint to Saint, haunted by the memories of those who came before. Perhaps love was like star-metal. Perhaps it could stand fast, but change owners; always to be haunted by those who came before. She hoped that wasn’t true. She loved Rook. But was she becoming relegated to memories; becoming the one who came before duty arrived?

  A tear fell from Kierza’s eye and rolled off the sleek surface of Ertrael’s breastplate. She closed her eyes, taking in his song as if it were his Caliber. As she lay there with him, she was reminded of the days and nights that he cradled her in his arms as he healed her with his Caliber. He had taken all her pain away, and she never wanted to leave his embrace. As she thought about Rook, she wondered if his Caliber might take that hurt away too.

  Kierza stared at her reflection in the mirror surface of his breastplate. Her veil covered her mutilated nose. The rest of her face was disfigured by pink stripes from where the Sisters had flayed the flesh from her. Kierza wondered that if duty was a mistress, if it had become a more beautiful one than she in Rook’s eyes. More silent tears rolled off Kierza’s cheeks. And then Ertrael’s voice cut short in the middle of a song.

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Kierza, not looking up at him.

  Ertrael breathed deeply. “I… sometimes I feel her, like Asriel is reaching out to me. Like I can feel her fingers in my Caliber, not unlike what Karinael could do.” he said. “I… I thought I felt her now, is all. I thought I felt her reaching to me from a dark place; a painful place.”

  “Can you shine your Caliber for her?” whispered Kierza. “Maybe if you shine it, she can find you.”

  Ertrael didn’t say anything. They both lay together in a silence broken only by the soft breathing of the boys. At last Kierza spoke, her voice plain and without emotion, “Do you want to go to her?”

  “I don’t know.” whispered Ertrael. “I am torn between two worlds. Though I love her, she is part of an old world; a world that becomes uglier to me each passing day. But in this house I feel I am reborn to a new world. It’s a world strange and foreign to me, but one that somehow feels right; a world I do not want to slip from my hand.”

  “Will you shine your Caliber for me?”

  Ertrael was silent, but she felt a warmth embrace her. She closed her eyes, squeezing away the last of the tears. She pushed herself further up on him, hoping he might put his other arm around her and hold her lik
e he had done so many times when healing her. She puffed a hot breath, fogging Ertrael’s breastplate. Then, in the dim light of his golden Caliber, she wrote Rook’s name upon it. Ertrael began another song, placing his other arm around her. She watched as Rook’s name slowly faded from his breastplate, and then she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Rook was surprised to see Ralf outside the cottage. The pudgy man was bent over and breathing heavily, bathed in the light of a gaslamp just outside the door and was in an old suit of leather armor that was at least two-sizes too small for him. The brown leather was badly scuffed and the metal studs were rusty, but Rook could see that Ralf gave it all the love he had, having oiled it and polished it as best he could. Unlike his armor, the dented helmet that capped his head was too big and sat low on his brow, sweaty cords of red hair sticking from it. He was sweating profusely and the gaslight made his pallor seem more jaundiced. “Ralf?”

  “Rook,” gasped Ralf, struggling up to his feet. He swallowed hard. “Rook, Blake needs you right away. It’s really important.”

  Rook looked down the hill the cottage sat upon. Even from here he could see all the torches at the city’s main gate, their bright flames reflecting off the armor of the knights gathered there. The message Blake had sent Ralf to deliver had a drawing of a star above a drawing of the city gate. That meant a new Saint had shown up. There was only one star, and Rook hoped that number was accurate and not just scrawled for lack of time. He didn’t hear any bolt-thrower fire, so he was hopeful that whatever their number, the Saints came in peace. The message also had an ‘X’ on it, which was code for Rook to come alone without Ertrael.

  Rook looked back at Ralf. The man wiped a big hand down his face, drawing away a sheet of sweat. His knees were shaking and he looked as though he might collapse at any moment. Rook knew that Ralf had a big heart and wanted to do his part to help secure the future of Free Narbereth. Rook had talked Blake into training Ralf as a city guard, but now he was worried that maybe Blake was pushing the man a little too hard. “Is there just one Saint?”

  Ralf nodded, but Rook could see his eyes darting about the shadows of the cottage.

  “Are you okay, Ralf?”

  Ralf’s head bobbed up and down.

  Rook took Ralf by the shoulder. “Come on, Ralf. Come with me to the gate. I’ll meet this new Saint and afterward I’ll take you home. It’s getting late.”

  Ralf pulled away from Rook and shook his head, the over-sized helmet twisting on his scalp.

  “Ralf, there’s nothing to be afraid of. If the Saint meant us harm we’d certainly hear bolt-throwers by now. Come on.”

  “It’s not that, Rook.” said Ralf, his eyes scanning the darkness around the cottage. He swallowed hard and moved closer to Rook, then he said in a small voice, “There’s something out here.”

  Rook looked around but didn’t see anything. He thought guard duty was most certainly getting to be a little too much for Ralf and that he was just spooked by the arrival of a new Saint. Rook looked Ralf in the eyes and smiled. “Come on, Ralf. If there is somebody out here, then all the more reason I need an escort from one of our city’s finest.”

  Ralf forced a smile. “Well, okay then, Rook.” The man took one last look around and then trundled behind Rook, doing his best to keep the brisk pace that Rook was setting.

  As Rook and Ralf came upon the high wall of the city, Blake began running toward them. “Saint!” cried Blake. He was in his full armor with a bolt-thrower over his shoulder. “A Saint!”

  “Who is he?” asked Rook, jogging up to him.

  “Said his name is Adonael of the River’s Edge. Said he would only speak with Saint Karinael.”

  “Where is he?” asked Rook.

  “Outside the gate.” said Blake. “Won’t come in until he sees Karinael.”

  “Well that’s a problem.” said Rook. He hurried the rest of the way to the gate with Blake. Atop the wall there were about a dozen knights with their guns trained down. In front of the closed portcullis stood about a dozen more with bolt-throwers ready. Rook pushed his way past them and saw the lone Saint standing beyond the bars, his hair shining like polished rubies in the torchlight. He was tall and imposing, but not quite to the same degree as Asteroth, with smooth, rounded Star-Armor similar to Cabiel’s. The Saint looked nervous, his crimson eyes darting all around at the knights on the wall. At his side he carried a star-metal sword in a scabbard as black as his Star-Armor.

  There was something familiar about this Saint. Rook thought he had seen him before, he was certain of it. A memory of himself when he was just a boy stirred in his mind. And then he could place the face. This was one of the Saints who had come to slaughter the people of Caer Gatima. This was one of the Saints who had been with Ovid and Hadraniel that day. Rook forced himself to choke down his anger. He had forgiven Hadraniel, and he could forgive this Saint as well, provided he had been a friend to Karinael.

  “Saint Adonael of the River’s Edge,” called Rook, coming up to the portcullis. “I am Rook Gatimarian. I speak for the people of Free Narbereth. Are you friend or foe?”

  “I will only speak with Saint Karinael.” said the Saint, scanning Rook with his eyes.

  “So you are a friend?”

  “To Saint Karinael.” said the Saint. “Is she here?”

  Rook looked at Blake and then back to the Saint. “Her friends are here. Saints Hadraniel, Asteroth, Cabiel, Loganiel, Sodiel and Ertrael. Will you speak with any of them?”

  “I might with Ertrael, Hadraniel or Asteroth,” said the Saint. “But I do not know the others you speak of. These are strange times and I will not speak with a Saint I do not fully trust. Where is Karinael?”

  Rook motioned with his hand to raise the portcullis. Gears began to clank and Rook slipped his way under them even as they rose. He approached the Saint alone. “Please, will you follow me? I will take you to Hadraniel and the others.”

  The Saint eyed him suspiciously, his gaze alternating between Rook and all the knights beyond the wall. “Why can I not speak with Karinael?”

  Rook breathed deeply. He looked the Saint in the eyes. “She fell in battle, against a Saint named Nuriel.”

  Adonael turned his eyes down.

  “I believe I have seen you before.” said Rook, and the Saint returned his eyes to him. “Ten years ago you were at Caer Gatima in Jerusa, with Saint Hadraniel and Saint Ovid. You slaughtered the people of my city.”

  Adonael placed his hand on his sword but did not draw it. “In that case, you also know the one who killed Karinael. Saint Nuriel was there that day as well.”

  Rook wondered if she was the golden-haired Saint that day. She was the first Saint he had ever seen. He had been captivated by her beauty and the magic of her Caliber as it radiated from her body. She could have been an angel. But his awe had quickly turned to fear when she loosed her sword on the townspeople. Rook returned his attention to Adonael and said, “I was just a boy then, but Ovid left knowing my knife. He came here shortly after Karinael arrived, though he was no friend to her or the others.”

  “Is Ovid here now?”

  Rook shook his head. “I finished what I was not able to accomplish when I was a boy.” Adonael looked at him skeptically, but Rook continued, “If you are a friend to Karinael, then you are a friend to me and the others. Will you let me take you to them?”

  Adonael regarded Rook for a moment. At length he nodded his head.

  Adonael kept his hand close to his sword, scanning the ranks of soldiers with his eyes as Rook led him inside the city’s walls. Blake fell in beside Rook and leaned into his ear and whispered, “Want me to come with you?”

  Rook shook his head and replied in a low voice, “I’ll have Ralf come with me.”

  “Ralf?” Blake was incredulous; his whisper a little too loud, causi
ng Ralf to look their way.

  Rook looked toward Ralf and waved him over with a smile. “Do me a favor,” said Rook quietly. “Give Ralf a few days off. He’s spooked and I’d hate to see him have a heart attack. I’m taking him back home after this.”

  “You sure? Ralf hasn’t spooked yet, and I sent him outside the city to scout with the others last night. He’s actually doing quite well.”

  “He was pale and spooked at my house.” said Rook. “I think his nerves are getting to him. I’m sure he wants to put on a brave face for you and the others.”

  “Alright, you’re the boss.” said Blake as Ralf rolled up to them. Blake handed Ralf his bolt-thrower and slapped the man on the shoulder. “Take good care of Rook and our guest.”

  “I will, Blake. I will.” said Ralf with a nod.

  Wanting to avoid as much attention as possible, Rook escorted Adonael through the dark roads of the city. Ralf tagged behind, the bolt-thrower at the ready and his eyes scanning every alley and rooftop with what Rook thought an uncanny amount of professionalism. The moon shone brightly in the sky when it could be seen between the tall buildings, and it was haunted by wispy clouds reflecting in its silver light. But for such a moonlit night, Rook had to admit there was a strange darkness about the streets and alleys. There was a chill in the air as well. It was not carried by the breeze, but instead seemed to be intrinsic to the shadows. Adonael appeared to be keenly aware of it, and Rook noticed the Saint was on edge, looking around the rooftops and alleys in the same manner Ralf had been doing back at the cottage. “Your city has an ill feel to it.” stated the Saint.

  Rook looked back at Ralf. The pudgy man didn’t speak it, but Rook could see the concurrence in his pale face. Now he himself began to wonder if he had been too quick to dismiss Ralf. He was reminded of Sierla now, and how she had seemed to notice something out the bedroom window earlier. He began inspecting the rooftops and the shadows between streetlights more thoroughly. Blake had warned him that Grandon and his men were up to something and there was concern that he might launch an attack. Rook knew that the attack would likely be against him, and his mind began toying with the idea that Grandon’s men might be watching him now.