The Knights of Sheba, Episode 5: "Finding Comfort" A

 Episode Five: Finding Comfort

           

            Claude throws in the towel, literally.  His shift is over, and he is tired and ready for a shower.  He says his goodbyes to the chef on duty and heads out of the kitchen, through the dining area, toward the office to clock out.  He runs into Marisa on the way, and she gives him a big smile.

            “Well, hello there, stranger.  Hardly saw you today in all of the commotion.”

            Claude smiles and slips by her.  He does his punch card and then puts it away. “Yeah, was pretty busy today.”

            “I know what you mean.  My feet are killing me.”

            Claude stuffs his hands into his pockets, nods in agreement.  “Yeah.”  He catches Marisa still smiling at him, her eyes sparkling as she stares, and he stares back in return. “What?”

            “You too tired to get a bite to eat?”

            “Uh.”

            “Come on, let’s go get something, hang out after work.  It’ll be my treat.”

            Claude shakes his head.  “Nah, no thanks.  I’ll just turn in early and…”

            “Oh, come on, now.  It’s not healthy for you to hide out in that room all day.  You’ve been here how long now?  A month, more?  And how much of the town have you seen?”

            “Well…”

            “Exactly!  So, I’ll take you out for a nice meal, and we can get to know each other a little better.”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck.  “Listen, I appreciate it, but I just don’t feel right wasting money right now.  I’m living here and everything on Thomas’ buck.  I hope you understand.”

            “I do,” she says, “Which is why I’m paying.”  She grabs him by the arm and tugs him out the door.  “See, you’ve got no excuses now.  So, come on!”

            Claude sighs.  “Marisa.”

            “Claude!”

            He stops and stares at her, at her smiling face, at her sparkling eyes.  “Fine, fine,” he says, shaking his head again.  “But let me take a shower first.  I get pretty nasty in the dish.”

            “Fair enough,” she says.  “Lead the way then.”

            “What?”

            “You don’t expect me to just wait out here, do you?  Besides, I’m not letting you out of my sight.  Don’t trust you not to sneak out the window or something.”

            “Oh, come on.  Don’t be ridiculous.”

            Marisa turns him around and starts pushing him down the hall.  “I said lead, mister.”

            Claude reluctantly leads the way.  They stop at his door, and she waits while he unlocks it.  When stepping inside Claude kicks a few dirty shirts aside and casts an embarrassed glance her way.  “I—I wasn’t expecting company.”

            “It’s fine.  My dad is the same way.  If my mom wasn’t there I swear he’d just wallow in his own filth.”

            “Yeah,” Claude says while digging through his bag.  He has yet to unpack his things, and what little cleaning he does consists of him shoving dirty clothes back into the bag where his clean clothes still are.  From this very bag he pulls out a wrinkled towel and sets out something to wear beside it. “So, I guess I’ll shower and…”

            “And I’ll find something to occupy my time.”  She sits on the bed and bounces on the edge.  “Oh, this is springy!  I’ve always wondered what these rooms were like, you know.”

            Claude holds his clothes and watches her bounce.  He averts his gaze when she looks at him.  “Well, don’t get into too much trouble,” he says, and then he heads into the privacy and safety of the bathroom.  Inside, he makes sure to lock the door before stripping down and starting the shower.

            The bathroom is small, cold, and tiled. If he stretches, he could touch the adjacent walls, and sometimes does by accident.  While letting the shower warm, he makes a mental note to actually clean sometime this week.

            In his room, Marisa keeps busy by snooping.  She moves about, point-to-point, lifting, examining, and replacing with care.  She looks through the books he brought with him and doesn’t recognize a single one.  She finds photos scattered across a table and one catches her eye.  It is Claude standing beside a tall, broad man with dark hair and a trim beard.

            She goes to the bathroom door while holding it.  “Hey, Claude, you got any siblings,” she asks while leaning against the door.

            Claude, who is checking the water, instinctively covers himself despite being alone.  “Yeah, one older brother,” he says, stepping into the steaming water.  “Clark.”

            “Is he the one in this picture with you?”

            “Picture? What picture?”

            “The picture on your desk,” she says.  “I’m snooping.”

            “You’re snoop…,” Claude sighs and regrets leaving her out there.  “Yeah, that’s probably him.  Big guy, dark hair…”

            “Handsome.”

            Claude rolls his eyes.  “Yeah.  That’s him.”

            “I can see the family resemblance,” she says, and she steps away from the door, leaving Claude to consider her words.  She moves a few more things and pauses, staring wide-eyed at her find.  “You keep a bow here?”

            “Crap!”  Claude peaks his head outside of the curtain and yells, “Don’t tell anyone about that.  Don’t tell Thomas.”

            “I won’t, I won’t,” she says.  “You don’t seem the type to go all postal on us. And, anyway, how much damage could you do with a bow.  I mean, really?”

            “Not that I would, but more than you might think.  Bows are quieter than guns and, in the right hands, just as deadly.  They changed warfare as we know it when they were invented.”

            “Maybe, but send me to war, and I’ll take a shotgun over a bow any day of the week.”

            Claude laughs.

            Marisa plucks the string on the bow and listens to its vibration.  “So, you’re into archery.”

            Claude rinses his hair and turns the water off.  He steps out of the shower.  “Yeah, my parents taught me.  My mom, mostly.  I guess you could say it’s kind of a family tradition.  Her mom taught her.”

            “So, your brother…”

            “Clark.”

            “Yeah, he does it, too?”

            “No, he never…”  Claude looks around the tiny bathroom, searches frantically through the things he brought, and then sighs.  Unlocking the door, he peeks his head out into the cool, dark hotel bedroom.  “Hey, Marisa, could you please hand me my towel?”

            Marisa, who is standing beside the table, her hand on the bow, tracing the frame with her fingers, looks up and then at the bed.  She graces him with a smile and a glance. “Oh, I could.  But, I think I might wait for you to get it.”

            Claude goes wide-eyed, blushes.  She laughs.

            “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she says, and she grabs the towel and brings it to him.  Her eyes are sparkling again. “Now, hurry up so we can get to it.  I’m starving.”

            “Uh.  Yeah,” Claude says, retreating once again into the safety of the bathroom.  He makes sure to lock the door again, just for peace of mind.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva sits outside, sweating under the awning after school lets out.  The air is still hot and muggy, but the forecast calls for a quick drop in temperature and the turning of the leaves will soon follow.  Her arm feels slick inside of its sling, but it hurts too much for her to take it out and move around.

            Ms. Olivia had asked for her to wait after classes let out, and Geneva is beginning to regret it.  She always finds a spike of anxiety pooling in her gut when she sees the buses pull away without her.  Years of riding them home after school have conditioned her to believe any bus leaving without her is leaving her there.

            Kit was quick to leave, too, when she found out Geneva was needed.  Things were tense between them after the kiss, and the dislocated shoulder didn’t help.  Kit’s rides home have been largely out of pity, Geneva feels, and she’s sure that is drying up fast.

            The door opens, and Ms. Olivia comes marching out, bag in one hand, keys in the other.  Without even looking Geneva’s way she calls to her, and Geneva blows a raspberry in response before following.  “Now then, Ms. Oaks, I understand you are injured, and I am willing to accommodate that, but your training will not.”

            “Training?”

            “Combat training,” Ms. Olivia says.

            “So, what, you’re going to pummel a girl with a broken arm.”

            “I had thought you said it was dislocated.”

            “Same-difference.”

            “Yes, well, there is more to your training than just a physical component,” Ms. Olivia says.  She unlocks the dark SUV and puts her bag into the back.  She helps Geneva put her backpack in beside it and then opens the passenger door for you.  “To start with, you will begin learning about the knights and about the world they are being reborn into.”

            “Wait,” Geneva says while climbing in, “You mean like studying?”

            “Exactly,” Ms. Olivia says.  She closes the door and gets in around in on the side while Geneva wrestles with her seatbelt.  Geneva struggles to find a way to fit into it without putting pressure on her shoulder.  “It is important that you understand history, true history, our history.  Ignorance will only make this battle more difficult for you.”

            “More homework?” Geneva sighs.  “I’m really beginning to regret this decision.”

            Ms. Olivia reaches into the back seat and grabs an assortment of small, worn books.  Each looks ancient to the point of crumbling but somehow hold together.  She sets them on Geneva’s lap before turning the car on and pulling away from the parking lot.  Balancing the books with her leg, Geneva flips through them and surveys their content.  Every page is written in a strange, flowing script that lacks meaning at glance.  Further inspection allows for gradual translation.

            Geneva closes the top-most book.  “These are my study guides?”

            “Of a sort. We elves are careful with our histories.  Many of those texts predate the council or were written at its earliest foundations.  Information on the knights is limited, and what we have was given only with council approval, which is rare.”

            “Censorship,” Geneva says.  “That’s government for you.  Or, at least, that’s what grandpa Larry says.  But grandpa Larry says a lot of stuff.” She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “He’s a bit crazy.”

            “Yes, well,” Ms. Olivia says carefully, “Most visionaries are.”

            “Ha.  Yeah, wouldn’t call Grandpa Larry a visionary.  He’s a bit of a nutter.  Tells the best stories, though.”

            “More to the point, you will need to read all of those.  There will be quizzes.”

            “Quizzes.”  Geneva sighs and stares at the books stacked on her lap.  “Great.”

            “And then there is the matter of your physical training.”

            “But you said…”

            “I would like for you to train with me every day after classes.”

            “Every day?  But, what about my real classes?  And my real homework?”

            “I have faith that you can keep up.”

            “Faith?  Please, I’m barely keeping up as is, and that’s when the only worlds I have to save are pretend.”

            “Be that as it may, Ms. Oaks, your training is important.  You must understand the gravity of the decision you made.  The world you are defending is no longer an imaginary one, and you cannot turn it off until you feel like playing it again.”  Ms. Olivia glances Geneva’s way after passing a car.  “You made a decision the other day, one which you cannot take back.”

            “Yeah, yeah, ring is a part of my nervous system, die if I take it off, responsibility, great power, and everything.”  Geneva slouches.  “Good bye, free time.  I hardly knew ye.”  She sighs.  “Still, what am I going to tell my parents?”

            “I had thought about that.  I have volunteered to be a private tutor to help you with your studies.”

            “So, we’re using my failing grades as an alibi?  That’s pretty brilliant, actually.  With the workload you’ve given me, I’m sure to need your ‘tutoring’ for years to come.”

            “Are you always so negative?”

            Geneva mimes contemplation.  “Yeah, pretty much.”

            “I see.  Be that as it may, we can work on your schoolwork while taking breaks from your exercises if that suits you.  That way, we can at least lend truth to the lie.”

            “Whatever the reason, the help will be most appreciated.”

            Ms. Olivia pulls off the highway and turns toward Geneva’s house.  “I will give you time to rest, but your training will start next week.  I expect you to study over this break.”

            “Not much of a break if you’re assigning me work, is it?”  Geneva looks at Ms. Olivia, who stares coldly ahead.  She sighs.  “Guess I’ll take what I can get.”  They pull up to Geneva’s yard and stop.  Geneva rests her hand on the door handle.  “Before I go, I’ve got a question for you.”

            “Yes, Ms. Oaks?”

            “How did I,” Geneva pauses, deliberates.  “Why didn’t that thing kill me?  I mean, it beat me all up and down that park.  Didn’t seem like the armor did much.”

            “The armor saved your life,” Ms. Olivia says.

            Geneva glances at her throbbing shoulder.

            “I understand you might be imagining something else.  The armor has a lot of power, perhaps even strengths that we will never know outright, but it is like any other tool—it is only as good as the person using it.  Which is why your training is so vital.”

            “Right,” Geneva says.  She takes a deep breath.  “Can’t save the world on willpower alone.”

            Ms. Olivia smirks.  “No, you cannot, but you’ve already taken the first step, which is something.  As for why the demon didn’t kill you, I imagine it couldn’t.  What little we do know of the armor is that it is very resilient.  The plates could survive an attack from any then-modern weaponry and, while we will not be able to test the theory, it is believed to be able to sustain small arms fire at the very least, perhaps even larger shells at range.  The weave, which is lighter, is slightly vulnerable to piercing weapons—knives and thin blades—but will protect you from most attacks as well.”

            Geneva stares at the signet ring.  “So, it’s like a real armor, then.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “There is more to it, but I am sure that you would rather save the lessons for later.”

            Geneva laughs and opens the door.  “Yeah.  Let me enjoy my freedom while I can.”  She climbs from the passenger seat, and Ms. Olivia opens the back.  She helps Geneva with her bag and then stands with her by the sidewalk.

            “So, guess I’ll see you next week.”

            “Before then.  You have class tomorrow.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Right, right.  Bit scatterbrained at the moment.  Just became a superhero.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.

            “Anyway, uh, thanks for the ride?  I think.”

            “Yes, and Ms. Oaks, do rest.  You will be needed again.  I am sure of it.”

            Geneva laughs to herself, but without humor.  “Of course, I will,” she says, and she gives a halfhearted wave with her good hand while marching, sullenly, to her front door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva goes inside and immediately seeks refuge in her room.  She spends the evening at her desk, studying until her head hurts.  Then, holding her shoulder, she climbs into bed and rests her back against the headboard.  She closes her eyes and tries to clear her thoughts.

            She sees Kit, framed in sunlight, her hair gleaming, her skin glowing.  She recounts the freckles on Kit’s face and the softness of her lips, the taste of them.  In three years of friendship, Geneva never once thought of Kit romantically, but she enjoys the attention, and she sees an opportunity.  She takes it.

            Geneva blushes, opens her eyes.  She stares at her closet, and the ache of her shoulder returns in full.  Closing her eyes again, she wills thoughts of Kit away, pushing them out and letting something else in, something tall and green and strong.  Its fingers are around her throat, squeezing the air out of her, the life.  She has spots in her vision.

            The armor saved her life—changed her life.

            Geneva sighs.  She opens her eyes again, and she stares once more at her closet.  Her window is open, and she can smell the warmth and grass.  She can hear cars and people, and she finds it comforting.  It is life, the life she knows, the life she understands.  It is reality, not the fantasy that she has fallen into.

            She looks at her desk.  Piled neatly in one corner are the books Ms. Olivia gave her.  A stack of six, each old and musty, each worn and weathered, each more ancient, perhaps, than even history.  She takes one, feels the rough surface of it in her fingers.  Lifting her legs, she props it open.

            Faded words across a page, without meaning to her, change as she examines them.  They adopt meaning in her mind.  She sounds them out to help her understanding.  To start, the speech sounds almost like English, only stilted, the words missing syllables, the sentences incomplete.

            She says, “In Regards to Belquis, the First Knight.”

            Geneva flips the page and begins to read.

            The book is a biography of the previous Knighthood written by an elven author by the name of Emra Ateus, who Geneva imagines to be tall, lithe, and gloriously mustached.  It details the foundation of the knights during the war with the demons and their subsequent fall from grace.

            Long ago, after the fall of the deities—humanity’s ancient gods—the demons spread across the realms like a plague.  At that time, the elves were still quite primitive.  They were separated into various tribes spread across their homeland and, though they had been met by the deities and guided by them, they had yet to rise to prominence.

            When the demons came, the elves were fractured.  What growing government they had wasn’t enough to combat the demonic threat and so they were pushed away from the gate tree.  For years, they warred endlessly with these invaders until one day they were united by Dartha Caine, an elf who rose from obscurity and may, according to the author, being entirely fictional.

            Leading this newly united force, Dartha was able to push the demons beyond the gate tree and back into the Yggdrasil between the realms.  There, however, the demons held and remained a continued threat in the decades to come.

            The problem was that the demons were stronger and bred more quickly than the elves.  Their disorganization made it easy to control the battle at the gate tree.  Travel between realms left the demons confused and funneled them when they entered the elven world.  With superior numbers on their side of the tree, as well as the use of clever tactics, the elves could keep their realm safe but suffered from the same problems when they tried to pass through into the Yggdrasil.

            Eventually, Dartha died in combat and morale began to drop.  In an act of desperation, the elves sent runners to ancient deity lands to seek help and found only ruin there.  Those that returned came bearing a few ancient weapons.  The map which was used to get there was lost to the war and the elves were desperate.

            One of those weapons found were the signet rings, and though the elves had heard myths of their power, they knew little of their application.  After trial and error, as well as word-of-mouth and years of study and theory, the elves came to the realization that they could not use the rings and so sought others who might.

            Sending yet more runners, they made contact with the dark elves—who had another name at the time—and sought their aid.  The dark elves were suffering similar attacks but had held their realm more easily, being of hardier stock.  Together, the two worlds were able to push the demons back further through relentless, organized guerilla attacks.  As the demons lost ground, however, they fought more fiercely.

            The war continued and both races were growing weak.  The dark elves, like their light elf counterparts, could not use the rings, and the demons were more a force of nature than an army.  After years of desperate conflict and a series of critical losses, the elves found mankind and made contact yet again, and that is where everything changed.

            Against all odds, or so the elves believed, humanity could wear the rings and use their gifts.  Under elven guidance, the humans united into a powerful military arm and struck firmly at the demonic flank.  Lead by the newly formed knighthood, they cut deep and pushed the demons back to their realm.  However the elves hated it, humanity had turned the tide.

            At the time the knights were celebrated, but this would not last.  The demons, now beaten back into their hole, sued for peace and the elves agreed.  Everyone was tired and the damage done to their individual realms was incalculable.  The elves lost much of their literature on the deities, lost their worlds and had only the myths remaining, and the dark elves had given their all to the war and had little left from the effort.

            Peace came for a few decades, and humanity seemed to be the only ones who enjoyed it.  Elven reports, according to Emra at least, had sighted demon raiding parties wandering the realms and war seemed yet again on the horizon.  Just as the elves were to make a preemptive strike, using an ancient deity weapon of unimaginable power, humanity came to stop them.  Specifically, Belquis, leader of the knights, interfered and closed the way between worlds.

            Geneva is just about to start reading theories as to how this was done when Beatrice opens her door.

“Hey there, Gene-Gene.  What’re you doing?”

            Geneva jerks up quickly and closes the book.  She tries to casually hide it underneath the blankets while looking toward the door.  “Just homework.”

            Beatrice leans in through the open doorway.  She smiles a wide and impish.  “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva knits her brow.  “What do you want?”

            “Nothing, nothing.”  Beatrice enters the room with a long, bouncing gait, her hands hidden innocently behind her back, and she pouts.  “Why’re you being so mean to me?”

            “I’m not.  You’re being weird.”

            Beatrice stops beside the bed and messes Geneva’s hair.  “Just wanted to talk, geeze.  I think I liked it better when you were failing.  Sure, you got in trouble, but at least we could have a chat once in a while.”  She slouches down beside Geneva on the bed.

            Geneva adjusts, hanging her legs off the edge, and falling into Beatrice’s side.  In return, Beatrice continues to mess with her hair.  “Sorry,” she says, swatting at her sister’s hand.  “Just stressed.  School is killing me.  And I have tutoring.  And Kit.”

            “Oh yeah, what is going on with that girl?”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “‘Oh yeah, what’s going on with drr.’  Like you didn’t come in here to talk about that.”

            Beatrice gasps.  “I take offense to that, madam,” she says.  “I sound nothing like that.  Now, spill.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Not much to spill.”

            “Not much to spill or you don’t want to spill?”

            “Both?  Anyway, I still have homework to do, so…”

            Beatrice hums and stands quickly, leaving Geneva to catch herself on the mattress.  “Fine, fine, I can take a hint.”

            “When it’s thrown in your face, maybe.”

            “Seriously, though, you should get some rest, Genie.  You look exhausted.”

            Geneva scoffs.  “Rest is for the weak,” she says, but she lets Beatrice push her back onto the bed.  “Then again, maybe I could.  After all, these pills make me.”  She yawns.  “Sleepy.”

            Beatrice tugs the lamp string and stops at the door on the way out.  “I’ll wake you for supper.”

            “Good.  I like eats,” Geneva says before drifting off.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After dropping Geneva off, Nina goes home to her apartment.  She lives in the middle of the city, well away from the school.  Her apartment is cheap, asks few questions, and allowed her to move in on short notice.  The neighborhood is poor but, from what she could tell, fairly safe, and the people are animated.

            Traditionally, elves working for the border patrol stay at a house well outside of the city, built on land bought before the city was ever there.  They called it the compound.  Nina was asked to stay there but refused, feeling that to properly move among the humans, she must live among them.  This is seen as questionable, as even her predecessors lived as outsiders.

            Nina enjoys her apartment though.  It is small, with one bedroom and few amenities, but it is alive.  She can her neighbors talking and living, hear their children playing outside.  She can hear their cars rolling by on the street.  Humans, Nina believes, are momentum and their energy never dwindles.

            At home she makes herself tea and settles in to grade papers.  In the past, the elven recruits sent to watch the humans and protect the gate tree hardly put effort into their ruse.  Nina is different.  If she is there to pretend to teach, then she will actually teach.  She looks at it as the least she can do.

            After finishing the papers, she settles in with homework of her own.  Literature on the knights is sparse.  The signet rings are not elven technology, but divine technology recovered.  Texts related to the deities are few, and what the elves do have is largely untranslated.  They know the deities existed, that they came before, and that they brought the realms together, but everything beyond that is largely a mystery.

            What is known about the signet rings was compiled during the elven war with the demons three thousand years ago and is composed primarily of second-hand accounts and supposition.  Humans used the rings and relayed their experiences, but their comprehension was questionable, not because of a lack of intellect but a lack of context.  Even now, with all of their technology, the elves cannot truly grasp the signet rings.  Nina finds it difficult to believe that the people of the past could do much better

            The books she has, and the ones she gave to Geneva, are those suggested by Marilith.  She pulls them out and starts reading through them, keeping notes in a nearby journal.  Periodically she takes breaks, to make more tea or to stretch her legs and rest her eyes.  She works diligently into the night, stopping only when she hears a knock at the door.

            “Coming,” she says, and she finds Erak waiting on the other side, nursing a cigarette and a frown.  Despite her surprise, she salutes quickly and hears him grunt as he steps inside.

            “At ease,” he says.

            “Sir,” Nina says, closing the door behind him.  She follows him into the apartment and watches him take stock of her modest living.  He doesn’t seem to approve, but he rarely does.  “Sir, if I may, what are you doing here?”

            “Just wanted to have a chat about your conduct and about your pet.”

            “My pet?”

            Erak looks at her.  “The girl, Lieutenant.  The human girl.”

            “I see.”

            “You see, long ago when this land was first being settled, we couldn’t keep the humans from expanding.  So, when they got close to the gate tree, we had to take steps.  We put elves among them, to watch them, to herd them.”  His expression hardens.  “That was your job.  To keep them ignorant, to keep them blind, and to keep them here, and my job is to keep them safe from whatever might wander in.”

            “Yes, but I thought that we might…”

            “That’s your problem.  You’re thinking, and you’re not doing a very good job of it.  Whatever the Council says, you’re in the wrong here.  You’re not doing your duty by leading little high school girls by the hand and telling them all of our secrets, giving her a signet ring and involving her in the fight.”  Erak pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.  “The entire thing is a farce, and one I don’t find particularly funny.”

            “Sir, the Council seems to disagree.”

            “Only because you’ve got your friend Marilith up there.”  He smirks.  “Or should I say you put her up there.  Either way, if she wasn’t watching out for you, protecting you, you’d have been fired, court marshalled, but she’s smart, and she has a reputation almost as big as yours.”

            “Reputations we’ve earned in front line service,” Nina says quickly.  After a second’s hesitation she adds, “Sir.”

            Erak laughs, humorlessly. “Finally showing your fangs.”  He pulls his cigarette case from his breast pocket, rolls another cigarette on her end table.  “Yes, you earned it, both of you, but you don’t seem too proud of that.  I’ve read your file, Lieutenant.  You regret what you did.”  He tucks the cigarette between his lips and lights it before carefully, meticulously, putting his case away.  He takes a long drag and releases a haze of blue smoke.  “And that’s where you went wrong.  These people—humanity especially—they’re animals.  They’re wild and destructive and uncaring, and they need to be shepherded, maybe even protected.”

            “Respectfully, sir, I know your beliefs, and I disagree.  And, as I’ve already said, the Council seems to disagree, as well.”

            Erak waves the idea off with his hand.  The glowing end of his cigarette bobs, leaves smoke in its wake.  “We could argue this until our faces turn blue and, in time, I’m sure we will.  Regardless of my feelings for Project Advent,” the words seem to taste sour his mouth, “I will comply.  I simply have concerns that will have to be addressed.”

            “And those are?”

            “The girl.”

            “Geneva Oaks,” Nina says.

            “Yes, her.  She can’t be that—a girl—anymore.  Now that you’ve gotten her involved she’s a soldier, just the same as you and me, and she will act like one.  That fiasco at the park is unacceptable, embarrassing even, and I will not tolerate a repeat.”  He takes a drag, and his cigarette brightens and dims, added dark edges to his face.  “She’s supposed to be the solution to our demon problem, or so you’ve convinced the Council, not another bystander that needs to be saved.”

            “She will be trained, sir.”

            “She better be.”  He snuffs his cigarette on his boot and goes to the door.  “Good night, Lieutenant.”

            “Good night, sir,” she says, and she watches him pull the door open.  “And, sir.  I won’t disappoint you.”

            Erak laughs in the doorway.  “Oh, trust me, lieutenant, it’s too late for that.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            On the way to supper, Marisa stops by her apartment to change.  Claude waits outside in her car, much to her amusement, and stares out the window.  Her neighborhood is quiet and dark.  There are trees there, large, green trees like he hasn’t seen anywhere else in the city.  The building she lives in is tall, made of brick, and deep red.

            She returns to the car shortly, wearing a low-cut top and a high skirt.  Claude politely pretends not to stare.

            They go to a small diner upon Claude’s insistence.  “If you’re paying, then I’d rather not waste your money on a lavish meal.”

            “It’s not a waste,” Marisa says even as she concedes. 

            They pull in, and Claude holds the door for her while she smiles and says something about him being a gentleman.  She finds them a booth looking out on the highway, and they watch the cars go by, red taillights blazing in the night.  An older woman waits on them and tells them how cute they are together.  Claude looks away bashfully.  Marisa gives a glowing smile.

            They order.  Claude gets the cheapest salad they make.  Marisa orders a strawberry shake and fries.  After that, the waitress leaves them to stare at each other.  Claude drums his fingers across the glossy tabletop and tries to think of something to say.

            He almost has something when Marisa says, “So, Claude, tell me more about yourself.”

            “More about me?”  Claude pauses, thinks, says, “Well, I don’t know.  What do you want to know?”

            “Got any other family?  Besides that big hunk of a brother.”

            Claude rolls his eyes again.  “No.  I mean, I’ve got a mother and a father, of course.  Had a grandpa, but he passed not too long ago.  But, in terms of the kids, just me and him.”

            “I see,” Marisa says, “And your mom taught you archery?”

            Claude nods.  “She did.”

            “What about your dad?”

            “Did dad do archery?”  Claude laughs.  “No, no, dad was never—Well, he was never good at that sort of thing.”

            “I see.  So, he’s more like your brother.”

            Claude shrugs, shakes his head.  “No, not really.  I mean, he’s quiet, like Clark, but he’s smaller.  Clark gets the tall thing from my mom.”

            “And you look like your dad?”

            “Yeah, a bit, I guess.”

            She nods in return, watches him.  He can see her smiling and doesn’t know how to respond.  Mostly, he just stares out the window.

            “Anything else,” she asks.  “I mean, come on, you’re a handsome twenty-something, moving all the way up from somewhere-south, Texas, and you’re acting like you don’t have a story to tell.”

            Claude shrugs again, fiddles with the silverware, still wrapped in its napkin cocoon.  “I’ve got a story, but it’s…”

            “It’s what,” she asks, and when he doesn’t respond she says, “You killed someone, didn’t you?”

            “No,” he says, flatly.

            “Got a girl pregnant?”

            “No.”

            “Family problems?”

            “Not really.”

            Marisa hums, thoughtfully, purses her lips.  Then, she laughs.  “You’re just the silent type, then?”

            “Kind of, I guess,” Claude says.  “Sorry, just personal stuff.”

            “Fine, fine, then I’ll go ahead and tell you about me.”

            The waitress returns with their food, and they thank her.  Then, unrolling his silverware, Claude says, “Go ahead.”

            “Okay, let’s see.  I started working at the hotel, oh, six years ago, when I was sixteen, and don’t give me that look.  Tom takes good care of his people, gives flexible hours, and I’m comfortable there.  I know the hours I’ll get, and I know the work, and I know he’ll accommodate my school schedule,” she says, and she sips at her shake and chews the straw.  “Also, I’m a Libra, afraid of spiders, and allergic to eggplant, and I’m boring myself.”

            “You’re not boring,” Claude says while picking at his salad.

            “Please, guy like you, with your mysteries and everything, moving all the way up here with no job and nowhere to live.”

            “When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound exciting, just stupid.”

            “No, it’s not stupid.”  She smiles at him again, big and attractive.  “It’s brave.  I would love to do that, to travel.  Just pack up, not tell anyone where I am going.  Just go.”

            “Okay, that’s not what happened.  Everyone knows where I am.  I call my parents as often as I can.”

            “Aw, that’s sweet.  Momma’s boy?”

            “No,” Claude says.  “Anyway, if you want to do it so bad, then why not do it?”

            Marisa shrugs, blows bubbles in her shake.  “Got too much going on here, I guess.  I’ve got classes, getting a degree in psychology,” she says matter-of-factly.  “And, to tell the truth, earlier, when I said it wasn’t stupid, I was being nice.  Thing is, brave usually is pretty stupid.”  She laughs.  “Anyway, don’t take me too seriously.  I like my life.  It’s good.  Just wish I could be a little stupid sometimes, or a little braver.”

            “Thanks,” Claude says, frowning.

            “So, I know I’ve already asked, and you like your secrets, but why are you here?”

            He stares at her, and then into his salad, and he thinks of something to say.  After a lingering silence all he has is, “I just feel like I am supposed to be here.  Like I’ll find my destiny here.”

            “Okay, no offense, but that’s really cheesy.”

            “Maybe it is, but I can’t help it.  It’s just how I feel.”  He looks her in the eyes.  “It’s like, have you ever felt something so intense in your gut, that you just know?  Like, there’s no reason for you to know, for you to believe, but it’s there, and it’s right, and you can’t keep running from it?”

            “Like instincts.”

            “Exactly.  Exactly like that,” he says.  “That’s how I feel.  I just know I need to be here.”

            “Your destiny, huh?  Cheesy, but I like it.”  She smiles at him, over her milk shake, while she plays with the straw.  “So, would you say meeting me was destiny, too?”

            Claude looks away.  “Well.”

            Marisa laughs.

            They eat quietly from there, chatting about this and that to pass the time.  Despite his complaints, Claude enjoys the meal and the change of pace.  Eventually, he admits that she was right, tells her that he needed to get out.  She responds by informing him that she had, in fact, told him so.

            After eating, she pays and returns him to the hotel.  They walk together through the front.  Claude has his hands in his pocket and stares straight ahead.  Marisa follows, holding her purse, and smiling.  They stop at his door, and Claude unlocks it.

He turns to her.  “So,” he says, looking at the ground, at the walls, at her feet, and anywhere else but her.  His stomach is knotting.

            “So,” she says, staring him straight in the forehead.

            “Thanks,” he says, “And good night.”  He turns to the door, fumbles with the knob.

            She touches his shoulder.  “Claude, can—May I see your room again?”

            Claude holds his breath.  “Sure,” he says, and he pushes his way in ahead of her.  She follows on his heels and closes the door behind her.  Claude turns to speak, to explain himself, his hesitation, his embarrassment, and she kisses him.  They move together, away from the door.  Her body is soft and warm against his, and without thinking, he hugs her midsection.

            For a brief moment he returns the kiss, and then he remembers himself.  They part, first at the lips and then altogether.  Both are breathless.

            “Sorry, Claude, am I moving too fast or?”

            “No,” Claude says.  “I mean, yeah, but not because,” a sigh, “Listen, I appreciate the meal, everything, really, and I don’t want to be ungrateful, I just…”  He pauses.  “It’s just complicated.”

            “Complicated?”

            Claude crosses the room, finds his photos.  He sifts through them until he finds the right one, and then he returns to her.  Marisa takes the photo and looks it over.  She sees Claude, and his big brother, and a pretty girl with auburn hair and wide hips.

            “So, you’ve got a girlfriend?”

            “Not exactly,” Claude says.  “It’s complicated.”

            “Right,” Marisa says, shoving the photo back into his hands.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “For what?  At least you were honest.  Situation like this, you could have led me on, taken advantage.”

            “I couldn’t,” he says.  “I’m not that kind of guy.”

            “I know,” she says.  She goes to the door.  “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

            “Yeah and Marisa?  Next time, lunch is on me.”

            She smirks at him before leaving and says, “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 105 A…End