The Knights of Sheba, Episode 3: "Never Forgotten" B

 The Knights of Sheba 103 B…Start

 

            Geneva is just inside of the door before she is greeted by her mother.  They meet in a mostly one-sided embrace and Geneva struggles not to drop everything on the floor.  From the living room, her dad yells a tired greeting between sips of beer.  She isn’t sure if he even takes his eyes off of the television.

            “So, did you have fun,” Geneva’s mother asks, following her to the kitchen.  She watches Geneva stow away her leftovers in the fridge.  “Did you have enough money?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, tossing the wadded bills onto the table.  “Kit footed the bill.”

            “Geneva, you could have…”

            “She insisted.”

            “Well, still.”

            “You can have the rest, if you want.  It’s cold, but it was really good.”  Geneva hugs her books to her chest and goes for the stairs.  Her mother follows close behind.  “I still have a lot of homework, though.”  She stops at the top of the stairs and looks down at her mother.  “I did have fun, though.”

            Her mother smiles.  “Good.  I’m glad, hon!  That’s all I want.  Now, get up there and get your homework done,” she says, and she climbs the stairs to hug Geneva and give her a kiss on the forehead.  “Then, get your butt into bed, miss.  You still have school tomorrow.”

            Geneva wipes her forehead.  “Yeah, yeah.”

            She goes to her room and closes the door behind her.  Rather than study, she tosses her books on the floor, climbs into bed, and awaits Beatrice’s inevitable appearance.  A few seconds later, the door flies open.

            “My, you look cozy,” Beatrice says before sitting on Geneva’s legs.  She tickles her younger sister’s feet until the wriggling knocks her off.  “So, how did things go,” she asks while settling with her back against the wall.

            “Well, it was awkward at first.  But, then Kit and I,” Geneva hugs her knees.  “We totally went all the way.”

            Beatrice goes wide-eyed.  “What? No way.”

            “Way,” Geneva says, “Totally way.  We were uncomfortable and everything, and I finally had enough. So, I said, ‘gimme some sugar, baby,’ and then she did. And, heh, let me put it this way: I had sex.”  Geneva holds out her fingers.  “Here, smell these.”

            Beatrice swats Geneva’s hand away. “You did not!”

            “No, of course I didn’t!  Because it was weird!  And there’s nothing to talk about.  We had burgers, studied, that it.”

            “So, you didn’t even ask her about the kiss?”

            “I did.  But…”

            “No buts.  What’d she say?”

            “She said she liked me.”

            “Well, that’s good,” Beatrice says. She pauses.  “That is good, right?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            “Well, I think it’s good.  So, how do you feel about her?”

            “I don’t know.  Hence the whole not knowing whether it’s good or not thing.”

            “Well, that’s silly, because I already told you that it was good.”
            Geneva rubs her face.  “Oh, God, please leave me alone, Bea.”

            “Sour puss,” Beatrice says, and she blows a raspberry.  Then, standing, she ruffles Geneva’s hair and uses her head for balance.  Geneva sits, frowning.  “Just sleep on it and figure it all out tomorrow.  That’s what I’d do.”

            “No, you’d sleep with her tonight and then figure it out in the morning.”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Same thing.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes and curls up in her bed.  She waits until Beatrice is in the hall and then tugs her lamp off.  She has homework still, but her mind is in too many places.  Kit drifts through her thoughts and so do the demons.  Geneva pushes them out, though, and forces herself to think about something, anything, that she can digest.

            Sleep doesn’t come easily to her.  She keeps thinking about the ring hidden in the bottom drawer of her desk, of the rich girl who is her best friend and possibly something more, of the classes that are already overwhelming her, and how one life could possibly accommodate all of that trouble.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Alfheim, the Realm of Light, home of the elves and throne of the Council of Races.  From here, all decisions affecting the council, from the military to the people, are made.  It is also from here that Nina will make her case against Erak, and it is here where she will face judgment.  She steps out of the gate tree with a suitcase in hand and her jacket folded over her arm, and she hopes that things will go well.

            The Realm of Light is and has always been nearly one giant, lush forest.  Despite their technology, the elves grew symbiotically with nature.  Their early existence brought some wear and tear on the world, but since the founding of the council, the elves have worked hard to repair what little damage they caused their ecosystem and to live in harmony with their world.

            Most buildings, including the Gate Station where Nina stands, are built into or around trees and use materials from outside worlds rather than mining from their own.  Technology in this realm is powered exclusively through wind or solar energy.  Compared to the other realms it is a paradise, and the elves who live here enjoy every luxury.

            Nina feels somewhat anxious returning.  She hasn’t been back in months and doesn’t really feel right returning now.  Ever since her first combat tour, the Realm of Light stopped feeling like home, and even in her youth she felt somewhat out of place among the other elves.  That was the appeal of the military.  It gave her opportunity for travel, for exposure, that the life of an aristocrat lacked.

            It is early morning here and still quite warm.  The air is thick, even in the shade.  The elven gate tree is located within a large jungle on one of the southern islands.  The station, which has a glass canopy for natural light, swelters even with the open airways inside.  All of the people around her, traveling between worlds or return to their home, only make it more stifling.

            She moves through the people and registers at the front desk.  A clerk takes her name and time of arrival and stamps some paperwork for her.  Then, she sends Nina on her way with a smile and a wave.  Nina climbs the stairs and steps out into the empty, early morning streets.  Sunlight peeks through the canopy with thin, shimmering fingers.

            The air is fresh, clean, and humid.  It feels thick in her lungs and not at all like the human world’s.  The smells are different, more natural.  She stands in the street, taking stock of her surrounding, wondering where to go, how to pass the time.  She has the weekend there, and her trial will be later.

            A Council trial isn’t a rare thing, though it is important.  The Council of Races, composed entirely of elves, carry all of the power of the empire.  Their every action not only has weight but far reach.  Composed of five members from the most affluent of elven families, they have complete political, military, and economic power over the elves and all of the elven colonies.  Their court is located just east of the gate tree station.

            Nina goes west.  She walks a few hundred feet and finds a nearby hotel.  Checking in, she stows her bags away in the room and reviews her case.  Her decision to resurrect the knights was unofficially supported by one councilor.  It offers some comfort to her, though she never knows how the other councilors will vote.

            She waits around her room for a few hours, eats a small meal in hopes of settling her stomach.  It doesn’t help.  Then, as the trial approaches, she dresses in a dark suit that accentuates her shoulders and gathers her things.  She leaves her room and the hotel and starts the journey to the court.  On the way out, the clerk wishes her well.

            The court is a large, domed building that, like all elven architecture, relies primarily on natural light.  A large tree grows out of the center, offering shade to them.  The interior is composed of narrow halls and small ancillary rooms and one large, circular room at the center where the council will be.  This room has a raised platform where the five councilors sit and two podiums at the center where the speakers make their cases.

            Upon entering, Nina hears nervous whispers from those in waiting.  Her decision to resurrect the knights is not a popular one.  The elves fear humanity, and they fear the knights even more.  Some view them as an even greater threat than the demons.

            Nina arrives early and waits at her podium.  It has a small chair set beside it that she sits inand reviews her notes.  The doors open and Erak enters.  He is escorted by a group of soldiers from the border guard.  They sneer when they see her.

            “Lieutenant,” he says.

            Nina stands and salutes.  “Major.”

            “So, you insist on fighting this losing battle then?”

            “I insist on doing what is right,” Nina says.  After a second’s hesitation, she adds, “Sir.”

            Erak makes a noise, a scoff or a laugh, Nina can’t tell, and he stares at her.  “We’ll end this madness today, Lieutenant.”

            “I hope so, sir.”

            He shakes his head.  “So much promise,” he says, and he mutters while walking over to his podium.

            Nina takes a deep breath.  She rests her notes on the podium as she stands at it.  At the far wall, the councilors enter through a nearby door.  They take their seats.  Nina sees Marilith among them, and she sees her wink.  It comforts it is a small comfort but not enough to keep her stomach from stirring up.

            The councilors take their seats, with Mariltih at the far left.  She is wearing a dark red suit and has her hair back in a conservative bun.  She looks, as always, perfect, precise, and business-like.  That is how Nina remembers her, dignified even on the battlefield.  Hers was a classical beauty, and one with inherent power.

            After everyone settles, the councilor seated in the middle stands.  He is a tall, thin elf with long, angular features, wearing a light gray suit.  His hair is a faded blond, thin, and kept back in a tight ponytail.  Nina recognizes him instantly: Councilor Arland, old elven blood who firmly supports a strong, elven-led government.

            He looks out at the two of them imperiously.  Light slips through the glass canopy and seems to frame him.  “Lieutenant, Major, today you two bring a grave matter to us, an accusation of treason made against one of our officers.  Major, you will be arguing your claim, and Lieutenant, you will be allowed to defend yourself.  After hearing both arguments, we will retire and discuss the matter among ourselves before passing judgment.  And whatever conclusion we reach, it will be final, do you understand?”

            “Yes, highness,” both soldiers say.

            “Good, then Major Draco, you will start.  Explain to us what it is that the Lieutenant did, in your own words, and why it should be constituted as treason.”

            “Yes, your highness,” Erak says.  He steps forward from the podium, into the center of the room, where the sunlight makes him glow, and he gives a low bow.  Straightening, he looks at the council.   “Good councilors, I come before you on a grave mission.  Under my watch, it seems a terrible act of treason has been committed, against both the council and our colonies, who depend on us for survival.  A soldier under my command, perhaps out of sedition, perhaps out of misguided kindness, has made an attempt at resurrecting the Knights of Sheba, and has done so without word from elven leadership on the matter.  She has made a unilateral decision that endangers us all.”

            “What danger do the knights pose,” Nina shouts from her podium, and she earns a sharp glare from the council.

            “Lt. Olivier,” Marilith says, her tone sharp, “I ask that you respect both Major Draco and the Council and wait until it is your turn to speak.”

            Nina frowns and bows her head.  “Yes, councilor.  I apologize.”

            Erak smiles back at Nina, and then at the council.  “Thank you, councilor, and I also apologize for my subordinate’s outburst, though at this point I think that I can hardly control her.  To answer her question, however, the knights are a weapon, and one we cannot wield ourselves, if you remember our history.”

            Erak pauses momentarily, as if to sort his thoughts, and then begins pacing.  He watches the council, moving his eyes between them, making sure to keep eye contact with each one for a brief second.  “You see, however benign humanity may be now, our forerunners knew the danger they could pose.  That is why the knighthood was expunged, and why the rings were sealed away.  Now, Lieutenant, I don’t know how you got your hand on the signet ring, and that is a matter that can be addressed later.  For now, we must consider the ramifications of your behavior.

            “Long ago, the knights turned the tide in a war.  They were monumental in the defeat of the demon horde which was at our doorsteps, and I am sure it is with that in mind that you sought their return.  The demons are at our door again, but I fear you forget what the knights did, what they became, the treason their leader committed, and the reason they were forgotten in the first place.  Humanity cannot be trusted.  I’ve lived in the Realm of Man for decades now, and I know this for fact—you give man a measure of power, and they will destroy themselves with it, and everything around them.”

            He sighs and hangs his head.  Then, fixing his gaze on the council one last time, says, “Council, please, hear me when I say this: I, as much as anyone, respect the Lieutenant’s career and achievements, and I am not here to deny her commitment to the council or the elven people, but her decision to fight an unknown threat by creating yet another.”

            Erak pauses and lets his words linger.  The Council watches him, their faces impassive.  He stares back, solemn, heartfelt, his hands folded in front of him properly. 

            After a long, contemplative silence, Councilor Arland says, “Thank you, Major.  You may return to your podium.”  He watches Erak go, and then turns to look at Nina.  Despite his age, he seems tall, stout, and lively.  He folds his hands in front of him and looks down on her.  “Now, Lieutenant, you may have your chance to speak, to convince us of the good of your deeds.”

            Nina looks at Marilith, who nods.  Then, taking a deep breath, she says, “Yes, Councilor, and thank you.”  She steps down from the podium and glances at Erak on the way.  He wears a small, proud smile so subtle that the Council would overlook it.  It is for her to worry over and her alone.

            She stops in the center, under the warm light, magnified by the glass into a sauna.  Her suit sticks to her, suffocates her.  She pulls at her collar and clears her throat.  “Council,” she says, and her tongue feels dry and unruly.  She clears her throat again and takes a breath.

            “Lieutenant,” says an elderly male councilor named Kray, “If you could, our time is valuable.”

            “Yes, councilor, I apologize.”  Nina wipes her brow.  “I.”  She closes her eyes and clears her thoughts.  Opening them, she looks the councilors head-on, sharing a glance between the five.  Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Marilith smile.  “Councilors, I will be succinct.  The major warns of a violent future with the elves dethroned and humanity feasting on the ruined remains of our empire.  He speaks of it as if this is the reality on the horizon, that with one push, one misstep, we will be there, and that everything we’ve built will come tumbling down.

            “I am here to tell you that we elves, and the council we’ve established, are not so fragile.  Our foundations are strong, as are our people.  The future ahead of us is a bright one, should we choose to take it.

            “It is true that the major has lived in the Realm of Man for a time, but he has never lived among man.  I have.  I have also served in the military, in the front line, unlike him.  I have seen humanity, at their weakest, and at their best, and I have seen our military in the same, and I can tell you this: a lone human with a signet is not enough to topple an empire.”

            Nina looks between them again, reads them.  She can see Marilith’s faint smile.  She can see Arland’s telling frown.

            “We created a council and an empire from it.  We’ve united disparate lands under one rule, won battle after battle, war after war, changed worlds and the civilizations that inhabited them, and yet we fear one single people for the sins of their forerunners.  Can you, councilors, look at me and say that the elves are who they were two thousand years ago?  Have we not grown, evolved?  And so, too, can humanity not grow and evolve?

            “I am not here to say that there is no danger in this, but there is danger in anything we do.  Here is the reality: the demons have returned.  Long ago, humanity worked alongside us, helped us to set the foundations of what we could become.  We, the superior race, do we not also have an obligation to lift them up, as we have others?  Do we not have an obligation to give them tools to defend themselves and to serve the council, as is their responsibility?

            “Danger exists everywhere, Councilors, but change does not come without cost.  We cannot judge a people by the acts of a few, carried out hundreds of centuries before, nor can we expect a change in them if we do not give them the opportunity to grow.  I cannot tell you for certain what humanity will do.  They are a vast people, both in culture and in belief.  I can tell you what they can be, if given the chance.  And I can tell you whatever happens, our people, the elves, the leaders of the next world, are stalwart enough to weather it.”

            “So,” Marilith says, leaning forward and staring down at Nina from on high, “What you mean to say is that this is a test?”

            Nina looks at her and nods.  “Yes, councilor, that is exactly it.  Once, humanity stood beside us.  I feel it is time we give them the opportunity again.”

            Arland locks his fingers, frowns around the room.  “Is that all, Lieutenant?”

            “Yes, councilor, and thank you for hearing me.”

            He grunts and then looks at his fellow councilors.  “Then we will retire,” he says.  “Return in an hour’s time.”

            Both Nina and Erak salute as the councilors stand.  On the way out, Marilith flashes a smile and winks Nina’s way.  Nina allows a small smile in return.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina spends most of the hour outside.  She waits on a bench across from the courthouse and stares up at the sky.  The air is warm here, as it always is, and thick.  The light casts everything in gold and makes it glow with life.  Everything about her world is different from the human world.  There, the weather is changing, cooling.  There, the streets are paved with stone.

            After an hour she returns.  She takes her podium and stands with her hands wrapped around it and her knuckles white.  She stares ahead, even as Erak takes his podium, and she imagines the verdict.  Marilith will take her side.  Arland will vote against her.  The others are a mystery.

            The councillors returns.  They each take their seats, and Arland calls attention.   A heavy silence settles while he sorts his papers.  Then, folding his hands in front of him, he stares out at assembly.  Nina chances a glance at Erak.  He seems entirely at ease.

            “The Council has reached a decision,” Arland says.  He sounds tired, strained.  “And that decision is to reinstate the knights.”

            Erak’s face faults.  A flash of rage passes by and then, after swallowing it, he leans against his podium.  “Councilor, with all due respect…”

            “Silence, Erak,” Arland says.  His voice bounces off the walls and rafters, echoing in emphasis.  “You’ve made your case, and so has she, and our decision is final.  Now, you two will be working jointly here.  Lieutenant, you will be placed in charge of the training and preparation of the knight-candidate you have chosen, but you will still answer to the major in all matters pertaining to the defense of the human realm.  Do you understand?”

            “Yes, sir, and thank you, sir,” Nina says, struggling to contain her smile.  She looks toward Marilith, who also seems quite pleased.

            “Now, mark my words, this is a trial run, Lieutenant.  We want to see if humanity is what you claim it to be, to give them the chance that you seem to think they deserve.  I challenge you, prove those of us who voted against it wrong.”

            Nina nods.  “Sir.”

            “We will be calling this Operation Advent.  If it goes well, it may lead to a full resurrection of the knighthood.  Among other dramatic changes.  The fine details will be sorted out later.  For now, we will retire.”

            With that, Arland stands and leaves.  Nina lets out a deep breath and looks at Erak.  He responds with a glare.  Climbing down from his podium, he stops beside hers.  “It seems your idealism is infectious.”

            “Thank you, sir.  Your congratulations mean a lot to me.”

            “Watch yourself, Lieutenant.  You still answer to me, and I won’t make this easy.  You might have friends in the Council, but in the field you’re alone.  I’ll be looking for mistakes.”

            “Then I will simply have to keep from making any.”  She salutes.  “Sir.”

            Erak grunts.  “Lieutenant,” he says, and he storms away.

            Nina climbs from her podium and allows a smile.  She tucks her folder underneath her arm walks the long hall to the foyer.  Outside, she finds Marilith waiting for her.

            “Congratulations, Lieutenant,” she says.  “Let me buy you a drink.”

            “If you insist, Councilor.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Marilith leads Nina to a small, outdoor café where they grab tea and dessert.  On the way, Nina drops her files off in her room.  Midday is fading into afternoon and the sun grows both fuller and dimmer.  It seems to melt the landscape with its color.

            Nina stirs her tea.  Her dessert, a fluffy pastry lathered in fruit sauce, sits on a little ornate plate, untouched.  Elven food, she finds after spending time with the humans, is too rich.  Looking around at the elaborate woodwork of the buildings, at the flowing, winding streets, at the skyline, she realizes everything that the elves have is rich.  It is because they gain without cost.

            They are alone at the café and are being waited on by a pretty dark elf waitress.  She wears her white hair in a tight bun.  The uniform is tight against her shoulders and midsection.  It looks to be tailored to lithe, elven fashion.  After serving them, the girl curtsies and leaves.

            “Should we be seen together,” Nina asks, removing her spoon and setting it aside.  She sips her tea.  It, too, is rich and somewhat tart.  “Considering your position, rumors might spread.”

            “Then let them spread.  We’ve reached our verdict, and I did not win the vote alone,” Marilith says.  She has a tea of her own, and a slice of cake topped with green fruit wedges.  Using a small fork, she picks at the edge of it and chews it with great luxury.  “Besides, Nina, I’m a Councilor.  I am above suspicion.”

            “That is hardly true.”

            Marilith smiles.  “With my reputation it’s not.”  She sips her tea.  “That is to say, I have enemies here or there, but I have more friends, and I have far more power.  They wouldn’t dare to move on me, not unless they can kill with one strike.”  She looks Nina in the eyes and bites on her fork for emphasis.  Sliding the fork out between her blood red lips, she adds, “And they can’t.”

            “Of course,” Nina says.  “And should I be asked, where did I get the ring?”

            “You took it of your own accord,” Marilith says.  “Technically speaking, there are no regulations against it.  Most elves avoid the rings merely out of superstition.  The act of taking the rings was never considered treason to start with, at least not by those learned on the matter.  It was the resurrection of the knights that worried the Council, and we’ve addressed that matter thoroughly.”

            Nina nods, sips at her tea again.  “And my support?”

            “Is minimal.  Leinn and I voted in favor.  Arland against.  Tia was on the fence, and by surprise, Kray threw his vote in with us.  It ended four-to-one,” Marilith says.  She smiles at Nina’s surprise.  “Kray is old blood.  He hates Erak’s family as much as he hates yours.  The difference is, you’ve served on the front line.  Whatever your report said, he can’t fault your record, and so he voted with that.” 

            “I see,” Nina says.  “What was it, a new world built on our sins?”

            “We do what we must.”

            Nina nods.

            “So, how is it, Olivier?”

            Nina looks up, pulled from her reverie.  “Excuse me? How is what, exactly?”

            “The Realm of Man! You’ve been there for months now.  Report.”

            Nina shrugs.  “It is different, I suppose.  Cooler, for one thing.”

            Marilith stabs at her cake.  “And that’s all?”

            “No, not all,” Nina says.  “Humans are…so busy, always working, always moving and changing.  They’re never static.  They build these monuments, wages long wars, and make and remake the world around them, and yet they feel so powerless.  Those who do have power are feared as delusional or corrupt.  Those without are pitied.  At times, they remind me of us, of the elves, and at other times,” Nina laughs to herself.  “Elves like Erak fear them so, but even if they were to overthrow our government, they would forget the struggle as soon as it ended and go searching for something else to complete them.”

            “You seem fond of them.”

            “Maybe I am,” Nina says, staring at her darkened, distorted reflection in her tea.

            Marilith nods.  “Well, it is a good experience, Lieutenant.  I never got to travel much, not as anything but a conqueror, at least.”

            “Even still, you saw,” Nina says.  “It is strange.  In the other realms, the Realm of Night, the Realm of Wood, the Realm of Water, we are looked upon with such fear and animosity.  Among the humans, however…”

            “Maybe that’s why the major hates them so.”

            Nina laughs again.  “Most likely.”

            “And your candidate?”

            “Yes?”

            “What of them?”

            “Well, she is still just a candidate.  She has yet to don the ring.”  Nina flexes her hands, presses them flat on the table.  She avoids Marilith’s gaze.  “I don’t want to push her.”

            Marilith pauses.  She sets her fork down, pushes the empty plate away.  “That is opposite of how I would handle it.  Regardless,” Marilith reaches into her breast pocket and pulls a small, folded note from inside.  She slides it across the table.  “Some help, should she make up her mind.  Those books are all we have on the knights, and should give you some direction, at the very least.”

            Nina opens the note and looks it over.  It is a list of unfamiliar texts.  She folds it again.

            “Literature pertaining to the knights is limited, at best.  After Belquis’ betrayal the elves purged the histories. What little that remained were considered harmless.  You’re a clever girl, and you know from experience that what is forgotten is not harmless.”

            “I do,” Nina says, and she tucks the note into her jacket.  “Thank you.”

            Marilith hums.  She picks up her fork, licks the end clean.  “So, tell me about her.”

            “Who?  The candidate?”

            “Yes, of course,” Marilith says.  “She must be spectacular to impress you.  So, what is she like?”

            “She is strange,” Nina says.  “She seems to lack direction or investment, and yet she doesn’t hesitate for an instant to help those that are in trouble.”

            “Good,” Marilith says, dropping her fork.  She smiles as the hostess returns to take their plates away.  She takes Nina’s pastry only after prolonged insistence.  “We need people like that, for the new world.  Altruists.  People who help because it is necessary.  Because they should.”  Marilith yawns and stretches.  “You will have to bring her to the Realm of Light one day to speak before the Council, to prove to us that not all knights—or humans, for that matter—are the beasts were imagine.”

            “In time, maybe, but she is still adjusting.”

            “I imagine so.  Her entire world has been shattered.”  Marilith stands.  She pulls a few elven bills from her wallet and tosses them onto the table.  “Now, you’ve books to grab and a world to return to.  I fear Erak has already taken lead, and he will not be happy to be left waiting for you.”

            Nina stands and nods.  They embrace, briefly, even somewhat stiffly.  Marilith pats her back.

            “You’ve done well, Olivier,” she says.  Stepping back, she smiles into Nina’s face and tucks back some of Nina’s hair.  “You’ve come a long way, but there’s still a long way to go, a lot to make up for.”

            Nina nods again.

            “Before you go, how have the dreams been?”

            Nina looks away.

            “I see,” Marilith says.  “It’s a long road, isn’t it?”

            “It’s the one I chose.”

            Marilith pats her shoulders.  “It is.  Take care of yourself.  You can’t save anyone if you’re dead or dying.”

            Nina salutes.  “Yes, ma’am.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude’s first shift ends with a whimper, not a roar.  He spent years training his body and mind, certain of the destiny that awaited him, but he never worked quite like this.  As ten p.m. rolls around he staggers out of the kitchen with a plate full of food in one hand and a drink in the other.  The banquet is long over, but the chef was kind enough to keep a plate set aside for him.

            He eats alone in the corner of the dining room, staring blankly at the chair across the table.  The food is lukewarm and delicious, though he isn’t sure if that is quality or hunger that melts onto his tongue.  He just feels grateful to eat.

            “If you don’t slow down you’re going to choke.”  The woman who helped him earlier sits across from him.  She doesn’t have food, but she does bring a smile.  “I’m Marisa, by the way.”

            “Claude,” he mumbles through a mouthful.

            “Nice to meet you, Claude.  So, you’re new around here.  How are you liking it?”

            “It’s,” Claude pauses, thoughtfully.  “Busy.”

            She laughs, a smoky, friendly laugh.  “Sometimes.  You wouldn’t expect it to be, but Eddie is a good cook, and Tom loves this place, and it shows.  So, we get like this.”

            Claude nods.  “I feel like my legs are going to fall off.”

            She laughs.  “Everyone feels that way.  Don’t worry, you’ll adjust.  We did.”

            He smiles, tiredly, and leans back in his seat, fatigue showing in his face.  His plate is picked clean.  “How long have you been here?”

            “Years,” Marisa says.  “Felt the same way as you when I started, but I stuck it out, and I’m glad I did.  The crew is great.  This place is great.”

            “Yeah,” Claude says.  “They seem like good sorts of people.”

            “How about you?  Where are you from?”

            “South.”

            “South, huh?”  Marisa laughs again.  “Okay, where south?”

            “Texas.”

            “Texas.”  Marisa says it like she’s tasting the word.  “And what exactly brought you all the way up here?”

            Claude looks at her, stares into her dark, playful eyes.  A thousand thoughts bounce around his head, each one a different form of truth.  After a moment of consideration, he says, “Just needed a change of pace, I guess.”

            Marisa purses her lips contemplatively.  Then, she nods.  “Makes sense,” she says.  She stretches and stands.  “Well, I should be heading out.  Have classes tomorrow, but we’ll hang out sometime, outside of work.”

            Claude sits up, slowly.  “Uh, sure.”

            She smiles, big and warm, and gives a wave.  “It was nice meeting you.”

            Claude nods and watches her go.  He smiles and pushes up off the table.  Carrying the plate back, he rinses and washes it and then sets it out to dry.  Then, he staggers back to his room, and falls into the bed and a hard-earned sleep.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Monday afternoon, gym class, Geneva changes quickly and hides out on the gym floor.  The weeks without Kit have been a mixed bag.  Classes move by more slowly without her, but in turn, Geneva now draws less attention.  Lana’s pack doesn’t even seem to remember her existence, and it has brought Geneva to the realization that Kit was the source of the very trouble Geneva often sought protection from.

            She sits with her back to the wall, hugging her knees and staring out at the other students.  To them, she is invisible.  They are lost in each other, chatting, joking, while she hugs the wall like ivy.  It isn’t until Ms. Olivia pulls her aside for a talk that Geneva wishes she really were invisible.

            They go to Ms. Olivia’s office and leave the door cracked.  Geneva glances back and considers what happened last time they left the class unattended.

            “Have you made a decision,” Ms. Olivia asks.  She is standing straight and tall, as always.  Seeing that, Geneva remembers Ms. Olivia with a gun and cold, calm eyes.  She also remembers the blood and the bruises.

            “No,” Geneva says.  “Actually, I think I left it at home.”

            “At home?”

            “It’s hidden away,” Geneva says.  “My parents don’t pry or anything like that.  I mean, I don’t give them a reason to.  Anyway, are you going to keep pestering me about it?”

            Ms. Olivia stares thoughtfully.  She holds her hands together, weaves her fingers.  “No, but I offer you a warning.  Once the ring goes on, it cannot be taken off.”

            Geneva pauses, wrings her hands.  She lifts her right eyebrows.  “Like, I’ll be killed if I do?”

            “No,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Well, perhaps.  The text is unclear.”

            “Unclear about my potential death?”

            “Unclear as to what happens exactly.  To my knowledge, the ring synchs with your nervous system.  It becomes a part of you, or so the books say.”

            “It becomes a part of me.” Geneva shakes her head.  “You do realize I’m sixteen, right?”

            “Honestly, no,” Ms. Olivia says.  “You are very unlike the other students at your age.”

            “This is the first time I’ve ever been accused of being mature, and honestly, I don’t care for it much.”

            “I said nothing of maturity.”

            “That isn’t the part that I didn’t care for.”

            “Ms. Oaks, as difficult as this may be for you to understand, whatever your age, you’ve shown a great degree of selflessness, even in the face of great personal danger.  That is an admirable trait, and one which should be applauded.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “With weapon’s grade jewelry,” she says.  “Anyway, big, mysterious warning out of the way, can I please go back to hugging the shadows and feeling like an outcast, cause I think hanging out with you will actually, somehow be worse for my reputation.”

            Ms. Olivia shrugs.  “You may go.  I simply wanted to inform you of some new information I have come across.”

            “Yeah, thanks for the update,” Geneva says, slouching her way out of the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The night is cold and wet.  The moon is high, bright, but obscured by the dark, surging clouds.  It is quiet, save for the raindrops that sweep infrequently across the tower.  Seere sits by the window, a lit candle at his side, and enjoys the sound of the rain while he reads.

            Outside he hears them talking.  “One cannot simply enter the Viscount’s chambers.”

            “I can,” Yima says, and she does.  She is wearing a damp riding cloak.  Ruka follows close at her heels.

            “Lord, please allow me to remove this,” Ruka glares at Yima, “nuisance.”

            Seere turns a page.  “She is fine,” he says.  “You may see your way out, though.”

            Ruka growls at Yima, and then bows.  “Yes, lord,” he says, and he closes the chamber door upon his exit.

            “He takes you quite seriously,” Yima says.  She unfastens her cloak and lays it over a nearby chair.  Water drips from the fabric and pools between the stones on the floor.

            Seere lays the book on a nearby table, open, for later use.  He folds his hands and smiles at Yima.  “You incite him.”

            Yima gives a coy smile.  “Perhaps,” she says, and she leans against the wall nearby his bookshelves.  “If only he wasn’t so easy to incite.”

            “If that were the case then I would most likely have been killed long ago.  Now, Yima dear, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

            “A report,” Yima says.  “There is activity within Andromalius’ borders.  Your visit caused a stir.  Demon lords do not often visit each other’s lands.”

            Seere’s smile returns.  “Good.  And what is his reaction?”

            “A mad beast trampling over everything,” she says.  “He’s mobilizing troops, around the border, around the tree, around everything.  He’s afraid of what might come for him.”

            “A child abusing power.”

            “It may be more prudent than you think,” Yima says.  “Our scouts have yet to return.”

            Seere leans back in his chair and huffs.  “Please, Yima.  They knew what they were doing.  Simply knowing the tree works, that there is a gate between realms, if a victory in itself.  We’ve been isolated too long.  Our culture is incestuous, barbaric.  Once, we stood among gods!”

            “Until they threw us back down from their prim little hill.  And, for what? The very acts of barbarism you now renounce.”

            “What we are, what we have become, is different,” Seere says, and he has fire in his eyes.  He sits up and stares across the room at her.  “We’ve let ourselves become caricatures of what we once were.  War is no longer a choice, but an instinct.  To us, it is as natural as walking or breathing.”  He stands and paces the length of the room, stopping at the window to stare out at the rain drenched lands of his viscounty.  “Our people will not disappear, an obscure footnote of the histories.”

            “Not if you have any say in it.”

            “And I will have a say,” Seere says.  He folds his arms behind his back and looks at her.  “Has he noticed you?”

            Yima gives him a flat stare.  “Is that a serious question?”

            Seere smirks.  “No, I suppose not.  You’re doing fine work.”

            “And I’ve got plenty more ahead,” she says.  She stands from the wall and crosses the room.  On the way, she pulls her cloak from the chair and slips it on.  She stops at the door and looks at him, hood down.  “I’ll try not to aggravate Ruka on my way out.”

            “I’m sure you won’t try too hard.”

            Yima smiles and flips her hood up.  Then, she leaves. Seere looks back out the window, watches the rain steadily increase.  It is now a curtain, falling in uniform, precise droplets, spreading across his domain.  He steps away from the window and pours himself a glass of water.

            He sips it. “Forgotten,” he says to the air.  “No, never forgotten.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 103…End