The Knights of Sheba Episode 2: "Demons" A

Episode Two: Demons

 

            Geneva lies in bed, staring at her ceiling, and feeling her lips.  She has the window open and sunlight bounces off of her white walls and illuminates the room.  Her room is the smallest in the house, tucked into a corner with a slanted roof and a small closet.  She keeps it cluttered, in part because of negligence and in part to keep her parents out.

            While feeling her lips, she replays that afternoon in her mind.  She argued with her teacher, rode home with Kit, and they talked like real friends.  Kit said her house was nice, and then they kissed.  “No, Kit kissed me,” she says aloud.  Her cheeks grow hot.  “And, maybe I kissed her back.”  She shakes her head.  “I don’t know!”

            She hears the rumble of a car pulling up and shortly after the front door opening.  Beatrice, her older sister, barely has the door closed before Geneva is halfway down the stairs.  Beatrice stops, her purse in hand, and stares at Geneva.  “Yes?”

            “Um,” Geneva says, stumbling on the stairs and nearly tumbling forward.  She holds the handrail.  “Er—Welcome home?”

            “Meeting me at the door now like a good doggy,” Beatrice asks, and she starts up the stairs and passes Geneva.

            The two sisters are, according to their parents, very similar, and according to themselves, very different.  Comparatively, Beatrice is taller, having both longer legs and a slightly longer torso.  She keeps her hair, the color of honey, long.  Both are slightly heavy, though Beatrice wears the weight confidently.  In fact, everything about her seems to bleed confidence.

            “Well,” Geneva says, following her sister back up the stairs.  “I peed all over your bed and wanted to apologize before you found out on your own.”

            “Sweet of you to worry, Genie-pie, but I prefer my bed with a little urine,” Beatrice says, making her way down the short, narrow hall to her bedroom at the end.  She stops at the door and smiles at her younger sister.  “Keeps my sheets clean that way.”

            They enter the room together and it looks very much the same as Geneva’s, though slightly larger and shaped like a box.  Dirty clothes litter the floor and between them, patches of bare carpet.

            “Just because urine is sterile doesn’t mean it’s technically clean, I don’t think.”

            “Pretty sure sterile means clean,” Beatrice says, tossing her purse onto the floor.  “And God, it’s hot out there.  And sticky.”  She removes her shirt.  Her bra follows shortly after.

            “Want me to close your door?”

            “Why bother,” Beatrice asks, bending over half-naked to pick up a shirt.  She sniffs it, gags, and tosses it back onto the floor.  “No one else here.”

            “Someone could be peeking.”

            “They could,” Beatrice says.  “Quick, get undress, too, and we’ll give them a show!”

            Geneva grimaces.  “Just put on a shirt.  I don’t want to see,” she gestures with her hand.  “That.”

            “Oh, come on, it’s not anything you don’t have,” Beatrice says.  She looks Geneva over.  “Okay, well, there might be some things, but I’m sure they’ll grow in eventually,” she says, “Hopefully.”

            “Seriously, Bea, I need to talk to you about something, so hurry up and get comfortable.  Or dressed.  Mostly just dressed.”

            Beatrice lifts an eyebrow.  “You can talk to me while I’m topless, you know.”

            “Bea!”

            “Okay, okay, simmer down,” Beatrice says.  She digs through her closet and pulls out what might have once been a clean shirt, and she pulls it on.  Next, she changes into a pair of shorts.  Then, she pulls her hair out of her shirt and stretches out across her bed.  “Okay, little birdy, sing me a song.”

            “Okay, well, it’s a long story.”

            “Then get to telling, cause I’ve got homework, and I’m willing to bet money, real dollar bills, that you do, too.”

            “It’s big, don’t rush me.”

            “Genie, please.  It’s high school.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It means that while it might seem like a big deal that Timmy the quarterback doesn’t notice you, it’s really not, and by the time you’re my age you’ll have forgotten all about it.”

            “Bea, you’re nineteen.”

            “Exactly,” Beatrice says with a smug smile in accompaniment.

            Geneva sighs, shakes her head.  “And whatever, it’s not about Todd the quarterback.”

            “Wait a minute, Todd?  The quarterback’s name is actually Todd?  Who names their kid Todd?”
            “His parents, obviously,” Geneva says, “Now, can we focus?”

            “I’m waiting on you!”

            Geneva groans, slumps down onto the bed near Beatrice’s feet. “Well—It’s just.” She sighs.

            “Oh no, don’t you sigh.  We haven’t got time for sighs, little missy.”  Beatrice sits up and pinches Geneva’s cheeks.  This leads to a noogie, which leads to Geneva struggling to get free and falling face-first onto the floor.  Smiling, Beatrice rests against the headboard and crosses her legs.  “Okay, now that we’ve gotten that over with, spill.  What’s got you all worked up?”

            “Kit,” Geneva says, rubbing her hurt cheek and nursing her hurt pride.

            “Kit,” Beatrice says.  She scratches her chin.  “Refresh my memory, which one is she?  Your lesbian friend?”

            “My only friend.”

            “Ooooh, that Kit.  Yeah, what about her?”

            “Well, she—She kind of,” Geneva stares off into the distance and squints, as if there is a story she wants to tell but she can’t see the shape of it.  “See, the thing is…”

            “Come on, Genie-bear-buttercup-pudding-cake, we’re on a tight schedule here.  Despite how my essays read, they do not, in fact, write themselves.”

            “Humble much?”

            “The most humble.”

            “Wouldn’t it be humblest?”                                                                       

            “No, now stop stalling.  What’s the dealio, little sister?”

            “No one talks like that.”

            “So, Kit?”

            “Well, she got into trouble today at school.”

            Beatrice waits a few moments, listening, while Geneva fumbles about. “That’s it?”

            “What?”

            “That’s all you had to say?  That’s the big thing you just had to talk about?  I mean, come on, Geneva, you saw the twins!”

            “You made me!”  Geneva groans.  “Anyway, that’s just the start of it.”

            “Then how about you tell me the whole big, bad, scary story, and I reserve my judgment until the end.”

            “You know, I’m starting to regret this.”

            “It’s sad that it took you this long to get to regret.”

            “Fine,” Geneva says, and she takes a deep, preparatory breath.  Then, in the space of one exhale, she says, “Okay, so Kit got in trouble for hitting a girl who said a bad word that she wouldn’t tell me at first but told me later and it was really bad and I had to walk the girl to the nurse’s office and she’s a bad person and when I found out that Kit was going to get in trouble I basically threatened my teacher into talking on her behalf to keep her from getting into too much trouble because that girl is a total, capital B and deserved to get punched in the face and my teacher went back inside and talked to her about it and the girl confessed to saying the aforementioned bad word so Kit got off light though she’s still in trouble and then the teacher told Kit what I did it and…”  Geneva stops to gasp for air.

            Beatrice remains quiet, soaking it all in, and waiting for Geneva to regain her breath.  Afterward, she says, “And that’s all?”

            “Yeah.  Well, no.  Then Kit drove me home.  And kissed me.”

            “Oh,” Beatrice says, nodding, and weighing the information.  “Okay, so I was wrong.”

            “Huh?”

            “That does seem like kind of a big deal.”

            “See!  I told you! I totally told you!”

            “Hey, now, hold on a second. I said kind of a big deal.  I mean, it’s not like end of the world or anything, but it’s worth putting off some homework.”  Beatrice grabs a pillow and hugs it close.  She leans forward.  “So, this kiss.  What was it like?”

            “Awkward?  Yeah, awkward.”

            “Good awkward or bad awkward?”

            “I don’t know, awkward-awkward?”  Geneva picks at her toes to avoid looking at her sister.  “I don’t have much to compare it by.”

            Beatrice sits back, sucks air through her teeth.  “Yeah, that’s true.  Still, did you like it?”

            “I didn’t not like it.”

            “Come on, Genie.  You’re giving me nothing here, girl.”

            “Well, I mean, if I knew how to feel about it, would I be coming to you to talk about it?”

            “I guess not,” Beatrice says, leaning back and stretching her arms.  She thinks for a moment, and then sits forward again and claps her hands together.  “Okay, then let’s sort this out.  First, tell me exactly what happened.  And with details!”

            “What sort of details?”

            “Like, what kind of kiss was it?  Was there tongue? What was it like leading up to it?  How did it end?  Would you suggest the ride to your friends?  You know, pertinent information.”

            Geneva chews her cheek.  “Honestly, I don’t feel like much of anything is really pertinent.”

            “If you want my help, then you’re going to have to open up.”

            “I’m open, I swear.  I just don’t know what to say.  One minute she’s going on and on about what a good friend I am.  Then, wham!  She kisses me.”

            “Okay, then what are you going to do?”

            “That’s why I came to you,” Geneva says, finally meeting her sister’s gaze.  “I was hoping you would tell me.”

            “Sorry, Genie-pear-butterscotch, but I’m not your conscious or anything like that.  I can’t tell you what to do when your best friend kisses you.  My advice is: sleep on it.”

            “Sleep on it,” Geneva says incredulously.

            “Yes, sleep on it.”

            “As in, go to bed.”

            “Yup.”

            “That’s awful advice.”

            “No, it’s not.  Think about it, what good is stressing going to do for you?  I mean, you have classes, and really poor grades, and you clearly have no idea how to process any of this.  And this happened, what, a few hours ago, tops?”

            “Well, yeah.”

            “So, you need time to process it, to figure out how you feel about it in the first place, and I can’t give you the answers.  It’s not a test, you can’t study for it or get it wrong.  So, all I can do is tell you to sleep on it and say that, whatever answer you do come to about this girl and the kiss and all of that, you’re my sister, and I love you unconditionally.”

            “Sappy moment alert,” Geneva says, but she smiles.

            “Sappiest,” Beatrice says, tossing the pillow to the side and tackling Geneva in a bear hug.  “You’re my teeny little baby sister!  Growing up and getting kissed by other girls!”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Geneva wheezes as she tries to wriggle free.  “Maybe you’re right, though.  Maybe I do need to sleep on it.”

            “Told you,” Beatrice says, standing.  “Now, you go on and get.  I’ve essays to write.”

            Geneva stands and hovers beside the door.  She glances at Beatrice, who sighs.

            “Fine, grab your things and bring them in here.  But try to keep it down.  I really do have to focus.”

            “Alright,” Geneva says as she sprints down the hall to her room to grab her things.

 

            Travel in the Realm of Beasts has become infrequent.  Long ago, before the fall, the realm was united under the rule of one demon, one great leader.  He had seventy-two children who, after his death, began warring for his throne and title.  Since, the lands have been separated, caught in a state of constant war.

            As time went on the wars lingered and decayed into on-going stalemates.  It was an uncomfortable peace.  Demons lived everyday with the constant threat of death, and even the nobles, inside of their castles and keeps, weren’t truly safe.  So, no one called it peace, because every demon city was still, ultimately, at war, and the world was their enemy.

            Viscount Salamand Seere was never traditional, however, and never put much stock in the opinions of his peers.  He always cared more about results than methods, even from childhood.  So, when the Gate Tree opened on the lands of Count Andromalius, he demanded a visit.

            He travels with a light entourage.  Twelve soldiers march alongside his carriage, outfitted in patchwork iron plate, polished to a flat shine.  They carry pikes and sheathed short swords and stomp along the muddy, overgrown roads.

            Riding with him inside of the carriage is Ruka, who sits closest to the door and wears a scowl.  He made his displeasure known before they left and has been determined to keep it known through the trip.  Seere ignores him, keeping busy with a book since Ruka won’t allow him to lift the blinds and watch the landscape.

            Still, when Ruka isn’t looking, Seere steals peeks from under the curtain.

            The carriage rocks and jolts with the dips in the road.  Ruka keeps his hands firmly set on his blade, which he has unsheathed and laid out on his lap.  While flipping pages, Seere catches him staring.

            “Yes?”

            “Nothing, my lord.”

            “This is the third nothing so far, Ruka.”  Seere closes the book over one of his fingers and looks at Ruka.  “How exactly may I help you?”

            “My Lord,” Ruka says slowly, deliberately.  “It is just that, the way you’re conducting yourself, I don’t—I don’t approve.”

            “And I don’t approve of your conduct, either, but you carry on.”  Seere returns to his book, setting it open again on his lap.  “It seems both of us are fated to be unhappy today.”

            “Lord, be reasonable!  We’re in the deepest part of the enemy forest.”

            “We’re keeping to the road.  That should be safe enough.”

            “There is no road.  There hasn’t been for years, and the count surely has scouts.”

            “Surely.  And were they threats to us, they would have made themselves known by now.”

            “Maybe, or maybe they’re waiting for us to let our guard down.”

            “Sir Ruka, as you said yourself, we’re in the depths of enemy territory with only a handful of guards and an untested nobleman.  Even were our guard up they could have killed us swiftly.”  Seere flips a page.  “I think we can safely assume that there is no attack coming.”

            “Regardless, it is still dangerous.”

            “And I am not disagreeing with you.  Since the fall, travel and trade between our cities has become something of a myth, remembered only fondly and, perhaps somewhat inaccurately, by the oldest among us.  The sad truth is that we never leave our lands, save to make war.”  Flip.  “I intend to change that.”

            “I don’t see the good in any of this.”

            “And you don’t need to.  You simply need to keep me safe.”  Seere licks his finger, turns another page.

            “Yes, my lord,” Ruka says, and he peers out the window.  Outside, the landscape rolls by, large, thick-trunked trees with black bark and white fog between them.  The forest is silent and damp.  The only sound is that of the cart groaning as it rolls along.  “That demoness, Yima.”

            “What of her?”

            “She makes the guard nervous.”

            “Then perhaps I need new guards.”

            “My lord.”  Ruka looks away from the doorway, toward Seere, and seems hurt.

            “That was a joke, Sir.  You have always been and will continue to be the finest guard.  Still, you needn’t mind Yima.  She is hardly a trouble for you or yours, and she is no trouble to me at all.”

            “Of course, my lord.  I apologize.”

            “Don’t.” Seere looks up long enough to smile.  “Your paranoia is what will keep me alive in the days to come, of that, I am sure.”

 

            Geneva spends the evening in Beatrice’s room, doing homework and being made fun of.  After supper, she spends some time alone, contemplating the school year.  So far, she has seen Martians, saw the end results of a fist fight, argued with her teacher, and been kissed by a girl.  She wonders if these things happen to everyone.

            The next morning, she wakes up feeling haggard and anxious.  She goes through the motions, showering, stuffing dry toast into her mouth and narrowly making it to the bus on time.  An hour later, she arrives at school and plans to be in her history class in only minutes.  Instead, she finds Kit waiting at her locker with a bright-eyed smile.

            “Well, well, good morning there, Genny.”

            “Kit,” Geneva says, trying to stare in confusion while keeping from being trampled.  She makes her way to her locker and pulls it open.  While unloading her things she asks, “What’re you doing here?”

            “I came early,” Kit says.  “Wanted to see you before classes.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says, her cheeks feeling faintly warm.  She grabs her history book and binder, and she closes her locker.  “Is that allowed?”

            “It that allowed?  It’s I.S.S., Genny, not prison.”

            “So, do you or do you not qualify for early release on good behavior?”

            “You know, I didn’t even think to ask,” Kit says, laughing.  “Come on, I’ll walk with you to class.”

            “You…”

            Kit, already having left, looks back and waves Geneva forward.  “Come on, hurry. I don’t have all day, you know.”

            “Oh, uh, sorry!” Geneva stumbles forward, weaving around bodies to catch Kit.

            “By the way, I was thinking, we’re not going to have much time to hang out in school.  I can’t even eat lunch with you.  So, how about me driving you home from now on?”

            Geneva hugs her book and binder to her chest and stares at her feet as they walk.  “Kit, you don’t have to.”

            “Please, Genny, it’d be doing me a favor, really.  After telling my parents what happened I got in pretty big trouble.  Driving you home after school will be the most I can do for a while.”

            “Wait, they’re okay with you driving me home?”

            “They didn’t say they weren’t,” Kit says.  “Oh, come on!  It’s not like they’ll know.  I can’t believe I have to beg you to let me do this.”

            “You don’t HAVE to beg.”

            Kit huffs.  “Sometimes, you’re a big, old stubborn…”

            “Kit, language,” Geneva says, “I mean, you of all people should know how much words hurt.”

            Kit blows a raspberry as they arrive at the class.  Students enter around them while they linger beside the door.  “So,” Kit says after a few seconds.

            “So—Fine, you can drive me home.”

            Kit adopts a broad, beaming smile.  “Great!  Then meet me at my car after class,” she says, and she turns on heel and hurries away, with a skip in her step.

            Geneva watches her leave, still hugging her things tightly.  “Okay,” she says, “Now, I’m even more confused than before.”  She sighs and slouches her way into the classroom. 

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            So far, Nina’s morning has been fairly straight forward.  No fights and no interruptions have pulled her from class, and she has yet to need the assistance of another teacher.  Those facts alone give her a good feeling about the day.  Teaching may be a cover for her, but like all things in her life, she wishes to excel at it.

            At lunch she walks the grounds.  She checks the exterior of the school and the sports fields beyond it before heading toward the Gate Tree.  Her job is to be the watcher.  She is to infiltrate the school, the nearest human building to the tree, and to keep watch where other elves can’t.  She is the first step in the defensive line in the Realm of Man.

            Watches are normally light during school hours and bolstered at night.  Recently, however, the elves have tightened security.  For thousands of years the demons have been sealed away, their gate frozen over by some strange occurrence.  Their return is not only a surprise, but it changes everything.

            Nina finds Erak overseeing a group of elves in the woods.  There are three of them, all dressed in human civilian clothing.  Save for their ears, they look nearly human.  Erak tugs on his clothes and makes his dislike for them known.

            “Sir,” she says, saluting when he turns to her.

            “At ease,” he says.  He has a cigarette in his mouth, an elven blend.  It is made from mixes of elven and foreign plants and lacks the addictive, chemical additives of human cigarettes.  He pulls it from his mouth and cranes his head back to release a serpentine trail of smoke into the air.  “What are you doing down here, Lieutenant?  Shouldn’t you be shepherding the natives?”

            “All teachers are allowed an hour break for lunch,” Nina says.

            “Then shouldn’t you be eating?”

            “I’m not hungry,” she says, “And I think it’s more prudent to use the time for patrol.  Sir, I didn’t expect to find you here.”

            “Well, we are here.  So, you can return.”

            “I would like to stay, if I could.  There’s not much to do at the school.”

            He gives her a long stare, and then flicks the cigarette onto the ground.  “I see,” he says in a haze of smoke.  He stomps on the cigarette absently and turns his attention to a clipboard in his hands.  “Suit yourself.  Just don’t get in the way.”

            “I won’t,” she says.  She walks past him, toward the Gate Tree, and stares up at it.  From a distance it looks different, larger than the other trees.  Up close, it appears infinite.  The bark is a soft gray color and seems to bleed together into a skin if she stares long enough.  The light around it flickers slightly.  “One of my students, the girl who first saw the demons, she described the tree as glowing.”

            “All the gate trees do,” Erak says while making notes.  “It’s all of the energy that passes through them daily.  Distorts the light.”

            “They’re amazing things, the gate trees.  Uniting disparate worlds, connecting all manner of life, much of it intelligent.”

            “Don’t know if I agree with you on the intelligent part,” Erak says.  He looks up from his clipboard, fixes his gaze on her.  “What do you want here, Lieutenant?”

            “I apologize, sir,” she says, turning to him.  “I was just thinking, but if you could, may I have a status update.”

            “Not much to update,” Erak says.  “We’re still piecing things together and looking for our guests.  I’m going to start posting guards to the tree, day and night.  Two shifts, twelve-hours each, switching at nine and nine.  Four soldiers per watch.  If anything else comes through, we’ll catch them.”

            “And orders are to kill?”

            “Orders are to do what is necessary to keep this world safe.  That’s our job here, remember?”

            “Yes,” Nina says.  “But, we don’t know what they want.”

            Erak scoffs.  “They want to kill, Lieutenant.  That’s what they’ve always wanted.  If you need a reminder, pick up a history book.”

            “Of course, sir.  And has there been any contact since?”

            “Does it look like we have fresh, green corpses on our hands?”

            “I simply wish to ascertain the safety of my students, sir.”

            “Of course you do,” Erak says.  He smiles, disdainfully, for a brief second, and then shakes his head.  “Listen, you keep the kids away from the tree.  That’s the best way to keep them safe.  No new threats will come through, and it’ll limit contact like that fiasco with the little girl, and we’ll do the real work.”

            “Sir.”

            “Keep your phone on,” Erak says, returning his attention to the clipboard.  “I’ll contact you for anything else.”

            “Yes, sir,” Nina says.  She checks her watch.  “And I might take my lunch at the school after all.”

            “You did promise not to get in the way.”

            “Farewell, sir,” she says, saluting one last time.  He gives a stiff nod in return, and she leaves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            By lunch Geneva reaches a harsh realization.  As much as she misses Kit’s distraction, she does find it easier to focus on her schoolwork.  Rather than squabbling or joking, Geneva spends her morning taking notes and doing work as it’s assigned.  She still has homework, but she has significantly less than usual.

            This leaves her feeling good as she moves through the lunch line. She starts planning her evening, considering what games to play and what shows to watch.  Once she has her tray, her feelings change.  She steps out of line and stares at the tables, full of people and life, and then finds a lonely corner to sink into.

            Without Kit, Geneva feels like she lacks an identity.  Whatever Lana did to Kit’s reputation, she still had a reputation.  Geneva, on the other hand, is just Kit’s friend.  She casts no light herself, draws no attention, save for what Kit gives her.

            Geneva sits in a melancholy and picks at her food.  Suddenly, she doesn’t feel so hungry.

            By fifth period Geneva’s loneliness is at apex.  She dresses out alone and waits in the back, hugging her knees and staring at the floor.  To pass the time, she imagines Kit in the I.S.S. room, which she likes to think has windows with bars over them and a jailer with a nightstick.

            Ms. Olivia takes roll and then starts stretches.  She paces between the students, adjusting them, offering advice.  She stops by Geneva and widens her stance.

            “Hey, Ms. O,” Geneva says as Ms. Olivia turns to leave.

            Ms. Olivia stops, watches her stretch.  Her face is impassive, but Geneva still gets the feeling that she is being scrutinized.  “Yes, Ms. Oaks?”

            “I just wanted to say thanks.  For, well, for Kit.”

            “You said it yourself.  One bad decision is not worth ruining her life.”

            “Yeah, well, still, it’s lucky you feel that way.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “Maybe, though I can’t imagine my testimony did much to sway the principal’s opinion.  It was most likely the words of that girl, Lana.  You told me how horrible she is, but she was quick to forgive.”

            “Forgive,” Geneva says, standing straight.  “No, Lana doesn’t forgive.  Or forget.  She’s got something planned.”

            “You speak as if she is evil.”

            “That’s because she is.”

            “You know, you’re rather casual with your instructors, Ms. Oaks.”

            “I’m casual with most people,” Geneva says, and she glances at Ms. Olivia’s blank face.  “Or should I be more respectful?  I mean, I’m sorry, I…”

            “You are fine, Ms. Oaks.”  Ms. Olivia drifts away and blows her whistle, drawing her students’ attention.  She gathers the class around her.  Geneva joins the group and loses herself among them.  Even within the crowd, she feels invisible.

 

Knights of Sheba 102 A…End