Here Shines the Sun (50 page)

“I am Saint Asteroth of the Lights.” spoke the Saint. “But yes, this is the armor of the legendary Saint Bryant of the Horn. The same Saint Bryant who slew the Cerberus of Apollyon. Saint Bryant of the Horn, who brought gifts of plenty to the people of Aeoria during the great wars.”

Rook’s hand went to his mouth. A tear tried to escape his eye. The legends of Saint Bryant had not been lies. As a boy, Rook had spent his days of starvation and despair clinging to the hope that one day the Saints Caliber would come and make everything better. The stained glass window in the church that depicted Saint Bryant of the Horn had filled his mind with dreams that one day things would be set right; that heroes did exist. But the demon, Bulifer, had taken those dreams from him. Bulifer had tricked him into gambling his future away on his adoration of the Saints Caliber. The day he first saw one of the Saints Caliber he thought he was living in a waking dream. That golden-haired Saint was so beautiful, and her Caliber bright and glowing. But she had not come to save him or his people. She had come to slaughter them all. And as she and the other Saints cut down everybody he knew, every dream from his young, little world was shattered. The demon had won. Bulifer had been right. The Saints Caliber were evil, and all his hopes crumbled like dust in his tiny hand. He had come to believe that Saint Bryant of the Horn was no more than a fairytale to give children hope where none existed.

But now the sight of Saint Bryant’s armor before him was like a great wind through his heart and mind that swept away everything once shattered. All those days, as a little boy, when he had sat in the church staring at Saint Bryant’s picture, hoping and dreaming of a better day, those dreams had not been built on lies after all. Saint Bryant was not a myth. Such a great Saint did walk this earth long ago. There had always been hope. Rook’s heart couldn’t take anymore. He had to turn away lest the tears start to fall.

“Karinael,” said Ertrael. “There is much I want to discuss, but I fear my time is very short.”

Karinael walked up to him and took his hands into hers. “Your sanguinastrum is safe.” She smiled.

Ertrael’s ruby eyes seemed to light up at that. “It is? But, how?”

“Erygion took them all.” said Karinael. “He took every last one of them from Sanctuary. You can’t be recalled. None of the Saints out in the field can be recalled. We’re all free.”

“Is Erygion with you?”

Karinael’s face sank. “We both have a lot to discuss.”

“We’re here for Ovid.” said Saint Raziel, as if the statement had been eating at him for an eternity and the very name was a release for his anger and hatred. “He’s here, and he’s going to answer to our swords.”

At Ovid’s name Rook started. His heart pounded.

Ertrael looked at Raziel. “Ovid is here?”

“He is.” said Asteroth. “My lights tracked him here. He has much to atone for and only by death will his debt to us be settled.”

“Is there a safe place to talk?” asked Karinael. She looked at Rook. “For all of us. I have much to tell you as well.”

Rook looked at her and nodded. “Come with me.”

Rook quickly led the group back to Diotus’s shop. From every rooftop and alley the eyes of people gazed in awe at the sight of so many Saints. At first the looks were cautious and wary, the people uncertain if the Saints should be considered friend or foe. But as more and more curious children came from their houses Karinael stopped to offer friendly smiles or pats on the head, and the wary looks softened until there were outright cheers from the people.

Rook watched all this with some interest, taking note in the way these new Saints seemed a slightly disparate bunch. Karinael, more than any of them, delighted in the children. She was not shy with her greetings, and her smiles were genuine when she spoke; her laughter heartfelt when the children would ask her odd questions or stroke their hands down her Star-Armor. Hadraniel was much like Ertrael, shy at first but quickly warming to the attention. Both took pleasure in speaking with the townspeople and their children, and both had a warmness to their character. Rook noted that the one named Sodiel—the one with the bo-staff—also seemed to warm to the crowds. Although he was more reserved than Karinael and Hadraniel, he didn’t seem bothered to be amongst the people of Bellus. Asteroth and Raziel, on the other hand, did not seem comfortable at all. Both held themselves aloof of the crowds, but where Asteroth was quiet and withdrawn, Raziel was cold and indignant. More than once Asteroth urged Karinael to move on, and did his best to ignore the people and children around him. Raziel, however, flinched and snapped at the children who got too close to him, and in short order he was largely being left alone.

Word spread quickly that five more Saints had come to offer Rook aid. By the time they finally got through the crowds to Diotus’s shop Rook could estimate another three-hundred new faces in the streets. Some were even defectors from the King’s ranks of knights, easily identified by their shining armor and fine weaponry. There were more from the city guard too, and even a few from the upper-class. The people cheered, saying that Aeoria was with them; saying that Bellus had been blessed by the Goddess. With so many Saints on their side, their spirits and their resolve was bolstered.

This was good, Rook thought. The more who joined with the people of this city, the less fighting in the streets there would be. He held hope that in time, all the people would realize that the only enemy was the King and his daughters. And with the arrival of Karinael and her friends, Rook even dared hope that one day all the Saints who fought for Sanctuary and the Kings might come to realize that. Rook felt Diotus’s hand on his shoulder and his voice in his ear. “
Hic Sollas Lumin.
Well done, boy. Very well done.” Rook couldn’t help but smile.

Rook led the group into the basement of Diotus’s shop. It was overcrowded with two-dozen injured, but with the help of Karinael and her Saints they were able to heal the ones who had been waiting on Ertrael, whose Caliber was running weak from nearly non-stop service. With Diotus’s help, Rook was then able to clear out everybody, including Grandon Faust.

Grandon put up some resistance and took being dismissed as a slight. Rook didn’t like working with Grandon, but the man held a lot of loyalty with the other slave owners and the upper-classes. Rook tolerated the man only in so much as he would rather be working with him than fighting against him. Still, Rook didn’t want him privy to everything and wasn’t so blind as to think the man wouldn’t usurp the entire city given the chance. The only people Rook allowed to remain with him and the Saints were his parents, Kierza and Diotus. By now Sierla was doing well and was up and about, although much like Kierza, her scars were still sore and she kept herself covered with a long, brown robe.

Saint Karinael explained to the group all that had happened recently: Erygion fleeing Sanctuary with all of the sanguinastrums of the Saints Caliber; of Ovid’s betrayal to them and the ensuing fight with Leviathan Hydra; and finally of Erygion’s death. She explained how Erygion had been working with them all for a long time, and had been working with Saint Isley for even longer. She told Ertrael of her ability to link the Calibers of the Saints, and explained to him why he had felt her and why his Caliber had acted strangely those days.

The more Karinael explained, the more Rook realized that big things were in motion and that Sanctuary was not the all-powerful entity that everybody—including the Saints—thought it was. Rook could not even fit all the pieces together in his mind. Talk about a Saint Isley in Duroton and finding a woman named Celacia had him a little lost, although he understood that it all had something to do with finding and awakening the Sleeping Goddess. One thing Rook got from all the talk was that he wished he had been able to meet this Saint Erygion, one of Aeoria’s Guard. He had never heard about Saints more powerful than the Saints Caliber and Erygion sounded like a kind and wise Saint.

But then the conversations turned to Rook. Karinael explained how she and Hadraniel had come to meet, and how they had met Gabidar and started helping him deliver the shipments of food that Rook was sending in. Gabidar had rarely let Rook in on the details of his travels. He knew that Gabidar had befriended some Saints, but Gabidar never mentioned how incredibly dangerous these missions were. He hadn’t realized that Gabidar had lost so many companions bringing in the shipments, especially in the earlier years. And then the news turned even more devastating. Karinael explained to him exactly why they were here in search of Ovid. Not only did Ovid’s treachery lead to the deaths of Erygion, Saint Baradiel, and Raziel’s lover, Gadrial, but Ovid had also killed Gabidar and had come here in search of Rook.

“So, you’re the one who nearly killed Ovid all those years ago in Caer Gatima.” said Hadraniel. Then more apologetically he added, “And in that case, we have met before. I was there that day. I wish I had not been.”

Rook looked at the silver-haired Saint. The memory was an old one, and the Saint’s face was changed by the terrible burns he had endured, but now he saw a familiarity. Hadraniel was one of the Saints he hated and cursed that day, ten years ago, when he was just a boy. Hadraniel was one of the Saints that had come to slaughter the people of Caer Gatima. And Rook wanted to be angry. He wanted to strike Hadraniel down where he stood. His hand went to the pocket where he kept the Golothic. He could feel it warming, becoming hot. He chewed his lip as a new surge of anger took hold of him, but then he felt Kierza’s hand brush against the small of his back and she pulled his hand from his pocket.

Rook breathed deeply as he looked at Hadraniel. He looked at the burn scars all over his face, more that his armor and bodysuit covered, all in an attempt to save the one he loved from the hands of a monster. In Rook’s pocket he could feel the Golothic still burning; goading him; trying to coax out his feelings of hatred. But Rook took some satisfaction in ignoring the vicious artifact. Each time he refused to succumb to its whim was a victory over the demon, Bulifer; a slap to the creature’s face. Rook exhaled his anger, reminding himself of his own words, that everybody was in this world together. Perhaps Hadraniel had paid for his crimes. Perhaps he had atoned for them by helping Gabidar. Rook nodded at Hadraniel and wrapped an arm around him. “All is forgiven.” said Rook.

“Thank you,” said Hadraniel.

“So, why does Ovid seek you out?” asked Saint Asteroth. “He said you had something he wanted.”

Rook placed his hand over the pocket that held the Golothic, suddenly feeling protective of it. Ovid had seen it that day. Ovid wanted to know how Rook had managed to call a demon and make a bargain. Rook had stabbed the Saint in the neck and left him for dead. Apparently, Ovid hadn’t been dead enough. Rook breathed deeply, steeling himself for the confessions he would soon be making. He could feel the eyes of Diotus and his Ma and Pa on him; could feel their curiosity as certainly as he felt the warmth of the Golothic. Kierza alone knew of the Golothic and his bargain with the demon. He wasn’t sure he could tell anybody else, especially not Callad and Sierla.

“What is it that you have that Ovid is so intent on?” asked Raziel.

Rook looked at the Saints. “He knows that I owe somebody something. He wants in on the debt.”

“What debt?” asked Sierla. “What is it you owe, my son?”

Rook frowned. He turned to her and Callad. “When I was a boy, somebody came to me. He promised to help me and my sister, but I would owe him a favor.”

“Owe who?” asked Callad, but Rook could see the understanding suddenly light up the Saints’ eyes. Diotus’s green lenses showed nothing, yet somehow Rook knew the old man understood.

“A person of great power.” said Rook. “I owe him a weapon.”

Rook felt Kierza’s hand fall on his back. Callad and Sierla looked at him, not understanding.

“What weapon?” asked Callad. “What person? Who is he? Is he one of the nobles? An Exalted?”

Rook shook his head. “Somebody very powerful.” He breathed deep and closed his eyes. It took everything he had to overcome his fear and apprehension. He wanted to hide the Golothic from everybody, not because it was grotesque, but because it was his. It was a promise and a covenant, deeply personal and deeply private. It was a reminder of deeds done in darkness, but also of a hope. The demon promised safety for him and his sister, Ursula. And the Golothic meant she was still alive, somewhere.

“Who?” prodded Callad.

Rook clenched his jaw. Then at last he pulled out the Golothic and held it in his palm. He could feel the warmth of it pulsing through his hand. It was made of a red, sandy-textured stone in the shape of a hand, nearly closed into a fist. Etched upon it were strange runes.

Sierla gasped. “What is that terrible thing?”

“A Golothic.” said Saint Asteroth. “The promise for a demon to be Unbound.”

“Oh my poor son!” Sierla broke into sobs, falling into Callad’s big arms. “What have you done! What have you done!”

Tears began to roll off Rook’s cheeks. Kierza embraced him. “I was young. Just a boy left alone with my baby sister.” said Rook through his tears. “She was starving. I had no food. I had nothing and nowhere to go. The demon promised to keep us safe, and in return all I had to do was promise to make him a weapon one day.”

“Son…” began Callad, extending his arm to Rook.

Rook shook his head, tears streaming from his red eyes. He looked at the Saints. “I refused the demon at first. I told him the Saints Caliber would come. I told him that somebody like Saint Bryant would come to save us, and the demon laughed at me. He told me he would save us and let us go if I could answer him ‘yes’ to one question, but if I answered him ‘no’ then I would owe him a weapon.”

“What was the question?” asked Asteroth.

“Do you still believe the Saints are good and are here to protect the people of the world.” said Rook. “And I believed!” he cried out in anger at the Saints. “I believed in all of you! I believed in Saint Bryant!” Then, as Rook’s body was wracked by sobs, he said, “But that was the question I had to answer the demon as Ovid slaughtered all the children in the church.”