by Ain Soph
Before Edric can respond, the door of the Reaper compound opens and a pudgy man with a small, upturned nose pops his head out and faces in my direction. Luckily Edric isn’t leaning on the door anymore or else he might have been knocked over by the force the man used to open it. “Luxem,” he snaps, enunciating my name in a short, clipped tone accompanied by a cold once over, “We’re ready for you now.” The man turns his balding head toward Edric with a harsh glare, “You can leave now. I don’t know what message you gave to our esteemed leader, but it was enough. You need to leave and the sooner, the better.” With a quick, envious glance at Edric’s sleek, shiny hair (not a single strand was out of place), the man huffs and returns back inside the compound, subtly brushing his hand over the bald patch on his head.
As the door slams shut, I catch it and try the handle. Good, whoever the guy was, he left the door unlocked for me to enter whenever I’m ready. As much as I enjoy talking to Edric, and as much as I want to know what he’s been up to, I need to get this mission first.
Edric arrogantly smirks, his ego obviously stroked by the man’s envious glare and turns toward me, seriousness etched in the fine features of his angular face. “I’m sorry about Lucie, Lux. I really am, and I wish there was more I could currently do to help you. She was like a baby sister to me too. The only information I can give you though is my absolute certainty that the Dagger Corps aren’t kidnapping people for their own nefarious purposes. And you should know that if I saw your sister in danger, I’d do anything I could to help her, regardless of it broke the contract with my militia.” Edric’s eyes take on a sharper, gaze more intensely focused on my face than before, “Anything that could ever hurt you, I’d make sure to stop.”
Edric draws in a deep breath and pops open the door to the Remnant compound, most likely gauging how much longer he can keep me without the Remnants becoming impatient. He lets the door shut and turns toward me with downcast eyes, “My dad went missing too.” I jerk my head in his direction, surprise evident on my face. I’ve known Edric’s father since we were children. Has it really been that long since I was in Timberwood? When had Edric’s father even gone missing? Edric answers my unasked question as he continues, “It was two years ago, and for just a fleeting moment in time, even thought I knew it was treason to think so, I considered the possibility that maybe the Dagger Corps was kidnapping people. I had just started working for them at the time, and I hoped that maybe if I could investigate them enough or catch a higher up off guard, I could find some clues. But they’re clean, Lux. They do a lot of brutal stuff- they’re powerful and intimidating- but as tough as they are, they leave innocents out of their fights. The Dagger Corps aren’t kidnapping innocent people.” Edric keeps our gazes even with one another and gives me a small smile of understanding. I’m still not sure how much of the Edric I knew has changed while working for the Dagger Corps, but I’m certain that when his father disappeared, Edric combed their camp, searching for him. The very fact he’s so certain of the Dagger Corps’s innocence convinces me that he must have found undeniable proof that they’re not kidnappers.
“You better get inside now before Bulfort pitches a fit,” Edric winks at me and I lift the corner of my mouth in a half-felt smile. Bulfort. So that’s the name of the man they sent to retrieve me. How fitting for him. I nod my head toward Edric in farewell and turn to open the heavy, wooden door in front of me. As I crack it open, Edric begins to descend the stairs behind me before pausing and facing toward me once more. “Luxie,” he calls. I look over my shoulder to see Edric standing at the bottom of the steps, a cargo messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and his hands in his pockets. His blue eyes have the entirety of their focus directly trained on me, and I squirm slightly under his gaze. “I’ll be visiting Timberwood again in about two days if you find yourself passing through there. It would be great to have more time to catch up.” He flashes me a grin and saunters away from the Remnant compound.
As I enter the camp, I entertain the possibility of visiting Timberwood again. I haven’t been there since Lucie and I move away after our parents’ disappearance some five years ago. For the first year, we remained close to Timberwood and Lucie visited as often as she could. At some points, it actually felt like they still lived there. While they were still close, Timberwood felt stifling, but maybe it’s been long enough that going back would actually feel like a good thing instead of a prison sentence. Perhaps this time, it would actually be nice to see the small village of people I once called a family.
Instead, I’m here- the manor of the Remnant leadership, an imposing three story building with not one, but two towers at the top. The other buildings scattered around the Remnant camp only had one tower- if they had a tower at all. It isn’t hard to see why the leadership chose this building to be their headquarters. Usually the outside of the manor felt unintimidating, but tonight, with its black outline looming above me in the evening sky, it just gives me chills. Regardless, while there are other homes in the area for aristocracy, grangers, and mercenaries (leaving the impoverished to live in the dirt), none are as nice as the leadership’s manor.
The inside is absolutely gorgeous; I’ve always admired the interior of the leader’s home. Wooden walls, amber lights- the same ones they have outside- gold trim, and elaborate molding similar to the house I went to with Isoline make the interior an aristocrat’s paradise. And that’s exactly how they treat it. Different faceless aristocrats with elaborate dresses and three piece suits are lounging on the plush, silky furniture in the entrance., candle lit around them for, as far as I can tell, absolutely no purpose other than aristocracy elitism. As far as I can see, I’m the only mercenary in here, but no one pays me any attention. Most aristocracy couldn’t care less about mercenaries. To them, we’re just barbarians that provide them with the luxuries they require to live out their lives in comfort.
The manor’s interior is much cooler than the crisp air outside and I shiver again. At least this time though, it’s actually from the temperature instead of my unfounded sense of foreboding. I walk past the lounging fools scattered around me and head straight for the fireplace on the far side of the room. I’ll warm my hands and then head to the leader’s office. A few members of the aristocracy give me snide looks for taking away some of their heat but I just ignore them. Responding wouldn’t end well for me anyway. When militias first arose a couple year’s after the war’s end, the aristocracy was the leaders’ families- both immediate and extended. I’m not sure if the aristocracy now is directly related to the current leader, but they are for sure related to the ones who initially began the Remnants and that was enough to give them absolute power over the grangers, impoverished, and mercenaries. It’s best to stay on their good side.
When the Remnants first began, its founders just wanted a serene retreat away from the violence and bitterness of the bigger cities, and I have to admit that even still, the camp definitely has a more peaceful feel than most of the other places I’ve been to. Then again, the majority of my time is spent either on the road or sneaking through Artif bases in search of some obsolete item. I don’t get to go touring through random militias for fun. Although, since seeing Edric, I catch myself now and again wondering what the Dagger Corps camp looks like. I’ve always avoided them, partially because I never had any interest in dealing with them, and partly because I was worried Edric was contracted with them and I had no idea what I’d say to him if we ran into one another. Until today, I didn’t know for certain if Edric was even a mercenary for Dagger Corps, but I knew the possibility was high. After seeing him just moments ago- and in the Remnant camp of all places- I can’t help but wonder what his life has been like all these years. We didn’t depart on the best of terms, but I can’t help myself from worrying about him. What’s his home like? Who are his friends?
I warm my hands over the fire and try to cleanse my mind of Edric by listening to the Remnants conversing around me. As much as they don’t care about mercenaries, most of them dropped
their conversations down to a whisper when I entered the room. I’m still able to hear snippets of the dramas happening around camp though- aristocrats are notorious gossip mongers. All of the gossip was superficial and unimportant though and mainly about people I don’t even know. It’s hard to not roll my eyes at their pettiness. The aristocrats have no idea how good they have it- actually no one in the Remnants realizes how good their lives are- even the impoverished. They have no idea about the starvation, torture, or disappearances happening around them. A part of me is a little envious of their ignorance, but I’d still rather know the ugly truth of the world than live with a blindfold over my eyes.
Night is rapidly descending, and with summer coming to a close, bitter winds are rolling in from the east, rattling the windows with enough force to make multiple women gasp in surprise. The Remnants are one of the most sheltered militias I’ve seen. I can’t imagine any other militia fretting over domestic matters while their mercenaries risk their lives outside the bubble of camp. Life is hard for everyone, but for the Remnants, things are different. I blame Bliss, a tea created from some top secret concoction of herbs that relaxes the Remnants and makes them easier to control. What it really does is just keep them in a permanently drugged up state to where they can’t determine the difference between reality and fantasy. Mercenaries and grangers were only allowed to drink it once a week because of the nature of their work, but aristocrats acted like it was as important to their diet as actual food.
A butler (yes, they do, in fact, have butlers here) walks by me and offers me a tray with a cup of Bliss on it. I’m surprised by his offer. Usually there’s a predetermined night of the week for Bliss, creatively dubbed Bliss Night. I’m almost positive though that Bliss Night isn’t for another couple of days. “No, thank you,” I respond. “Is tonight Bliss Night?”
“Our esteemed leader had decided to throw an impromptu Bliss Night. It’s quite considerate of him as moods do tend to fall as summer comes to an end.” The butler’s acting almost smug, as though having Bliss Night tonight was somehow his idea. “I do have to say though, miss, I’m quite surprised you do not want any Bliss. You’re the first tonight to turn it down, and the only in the camp not participating in this wondrous occasion.”
I sigh and shove my hands into my pockets. I have to deal with a line of questioning every Bliss Night I’m accidentally here for. “It’s just not really my thing. Maybe if I wasn’t about to get a mission, I would, but the life of a mercenary never stops!” I give him a tight smile, breathing out a sigh of relief when he finally walks away. I’d never, ever drink Bliss, but I just said that more for his benefit. Some bliss (the actual feeling of bliss) would be nice, but the tea turns you into a drugged up zombie, and I can’t stand that. The last thing I want is to join in with the creepiness that for some reason makes them say “our esteemed leader.”
It’s surprising that the Remnants even have something like Bliss. Having all of their members completely out of it puts the camp in danger. They could be overrun at any time, and there’s nothing anyone in this camp would be able to do to save themselves. Whether it’s their Bliss tea, or the Reaper rumors are true, the Remnants feel comfortable enough to live their lives in a fantasy world far away from reality, but one day, their delusions will become their undoing. I just hope I find the Reapers before that happens.
“Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased by tales, so is the other.”
-Francis Bacon
CHAPTER FIVE
“Luxem!” Bulfort marches his stubby legs toward me as fast as they can move. His lips are set in a deep frown that furrows his bushy brows and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at how ridiculous he looks. “Come with me immediately. You were to report directly to the commander’s room upon entry.”
“My apologies, Bulfort,” I purr, instigating him just slightly, just enough for me to have a little fun. “I had no idea. You really should have told me. Your esteemed leader will be very disappointed.”
“Our esteemed leader,” Bulfort huffs, dragging me by my elbow down a long hallway with warn landscape paintings and ornate wood paneling toward a small black door with multiple interlocking gears holding it closed. The only sound around us is the clicking of our boots on the marble floor. It’s incredible how tucked away the office feels. The aristocrats aren’t that far away, but the hallway is so secluded and soundproof, it feels like we’ve entered into an entirely new building.
Bulfort must be Ulric’s new messenger. Ulric, the esteemed leader of the Remnants. It’s not that I actually met Ulric’s previous messenger in person, as he only gave us our orders through letters, but I’ve rumors around camp that he recently bailed on the Remnants. I’ve never seen Bulfort before, but he seems to get irritated with every mercenary that’s unlucky enough to cross his path. Bulfort stops outside the intricate door and gives three sharp raps that echo throughout the quiet hallway behind us.
“Bulfort, I already told you to just bring her inside. There’s no secret knock that you have to do,” Ulric calls through the door. His voice sounds like sandpaper and when I enter the room, I see his eyelids are drooping and heavy. Ulric acts like he’s ancient. He’s certainly not young, but it’s obvious that life has treated him poorly- ironic considering he’s leading the Remnants of all militias.
I don’t know much about his personal life other than he was married to a women named Medora in a high class neighborhood called Illiadison before the war. As far as I know, the only survivors from his family were Ulric’s sister, and Medora- for a while. She was only with him for about six years after the war until she died in childbirth along with the baby. I’m not sure how he ended up in power- he isn’t one of the founding fathers of the militia- but somehow, Ulric was put in a position of leadership somewhere along the way. I feel sympathy for him sometimes. All he ever wanted was a quiet life with his family. Instead he became the leader of the Remnants.
As I got to know Ulric a little better while doing missions for the Remnants, I started to feel bad for judging him and the first mission he ever gave me. Even now, when I reminisce, it’s easy to write him off as a silly old man who needed a mercenary to finish what he started, but in reality, I really like Ulric and as much as that memory pokes fun at him, I respect him and the missions he gives me.
“Are you alright, Ulric?” I’m slightly concerned by his haggard appearance. I’m not very close with Ulric, but his gentleness is something the world is severely lacking and I enjoy being in his presence for that very reason. “You look like today might be your last,” I quirk and eyebrow at Ulric and give him a cheeky grin. Even though I actually do have a little worry about him, he’s still fun to tease, and I could use a little bit of a distraction to quiet the memories of Isoline that still play on repeat.
“Not particularly my dear,” he whispers, motioning for me to close the door as I fully enter the room. I kick my leg back to close it and accidentally hit the door hard enough for it to slam shut and shake on its hinges. Ulric sighs at my aggressiveness and offers me a cup of tea, much like the butler did outside. I give him a look and shake my head no. Ulric should know that I don’t drink Bliss. He laughs slightly under his breath, “I didn’t think you’d accept it, but I still wanted to offer. Your predictability is a relief. I don’t know what I would have done if you had accepted Bliss tonight.” Before I can open my mouth to deny my predictability, Ulric puts up a hand and smiles, “It’s a compliment, Luxem. Would you like any other type of tea? I have multiple variants here that are safe for you to drink.”
I shake my head again, “Sorry, Ulric, I’ve just never much cared for the taste of tea.”
Ulric gently nods his head and stands, motioning for me to follow him to two plushly upholstered side chairs he keeps behind his desk. I expect him to give me my mission briefing immediately, but instead he stares into his steaming mug for several minutes before speaking. “I assume you’ve wondered how we
manage to protect ourselves even though we have no trained soldiers and community drinks Bliss to get them through the week.” I slightly nod my head, briefly wondering how much Bliss it would take to calm Bulfort’s eternally anxious demeanor.
It’s out of character for Ulric to start off my mission briefing with a conversation. It’s not that we’ve never casually conversed with each other, but usually when it’s time for me to receive a mission, we’re both professional, and the briefing is always as quick as possible so that I can be on my way. He knows that I like to start my missions as soon as I can. The faster I complete them, the more missions I can take on, and in the end, the more information on the Reapers I can learn. Ulric looks at me intensely and searches my face, causing me to uncomfortably shrink back under his stare. What is he looking for?
“And I know that you’ve heard the rumors we have a very close relationship with the Scarlet Reapers, as they call themselves.” I nod my head once more, wondering where all of this is going. It’s true that the rumor about the Remnants and the Reapers is pretty commonly heard, but to hear it said so explicitly from the mouth of the leader was something new. At the very least, it’s definitely caught me off guard. I draw in a sharp breath to respond to Ulric, but change my mind at the last second, fighting down the burning desire to interrupt him that’s threatening to erupt from my throat. Up until now, pathetically enough, I haven’t been sure about whether the Remnants were just stringing me along with false promises or not. I was just driven by a deep hope that they actually had all the information they claimed they knew. Now though that it seems Ulric is bringing up the Reapers on his own, I have a long list of questions that I’m dying to ask him, but it seems like his thoughts are slowly unraveling in front of me and I don’t want to ask him something and interrupt the process.
Ulric sets the cup of tea on the end table beside his chair and clasps his hands together, resting them in the emerald blanket he has resting over his lap. I can see the slightest tremor pulsing through them and I subtly adjust my position in my chair, leaning closer toward him. I’m now extremely curious about what he has to say. If his shaky hands are any indication, whatever it is, is going to be big. I’ve always had a slight feeling Ulric could be easily rattled though, so it may not be as important as I’m thinking. Ulric’s peaceful and kind, but there’s always a nervous quiver running below the surface that he seems to struggle to keep at bay. Now though, not only was he talking about the Remnants potential involvement with the Reapers, but he’s visibly nervous about something. Maybe my initial thought was right, and Ulric is about to give me some much needed answers.