The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 13: "Soldiers" B

The Knights of Sheba 113 B…Start

 

            Geneva stretches.  Her limbs feel heavy and her body somewhat sticky, as if after a hard workout.  She is naked and, beside her, Kit sleeps soundly, equally nude.  A thin pool of drool has collected on Geneva’s pillow.

            Geneva sits up, rubs her eyes and smacks her lips.  Then, her mind focuses.  She stares at her far wall, at the morning light, and she falls from the bed as she scrambles.  “Oh, crap!”

            Kit stirs.  Rubbing her eyes, she sits up on one arm and the sheet falls from her body.  Geneva stares.  Kit always looks good, but in the morning after, she seems to glow.  Somehow, the thick waves of her hair appear to be styled.  “What’s wrong?”

            “You’re—We—I,” Geneva looks down, covers herself with her hands.  “Oh God!”

            Kit furrows her brow, yawns.  “You okay?”

            “I just—We!”  Geneva moves her hands, tries to cover as much as of herself as she can.  Nothing seems to work.  “I don’t think my door is locked.”

            “It is.  You locked it yesterday.”

            “I did?”  Geneva thinks back, sighs.  “I did.  Still!  Not the point.  You spent the night.  What if my parents KNOW?”

            “People spend the night at each other’s houses all the time.  Anyway, weren’t they all distracted by that boy?  What was his name?”

            “He was,” Geneva pauses, “It doesn’t matter.  There’s no way they were that distracted.”

            “Genny.  Chill.  What’s done is done.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath, lets it flow through her.  She shuffles, carefully, to her closet to finds clothes.  “You’re right.  We should get ready.  We’ll be late.”

            “Late?”

            Geneva looks back at her, panties on and bra halfway there.  “School, remember?”

            “Oh.”  Kit nods, stands.  “Right.  School.  You have anything clean I can borrow?”

            Geneva looks at Kit’s chest, blushes.  “Nothing that will fit.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They reach the parking lot just before the doors lock.  The teacher on duty, checking the doors, gives them a disapproving stare as they pass.  Kit laughs and pulls a stammering Geneva along behind her.  The halls are empty, and their laughter and footsteps echo as they move.

            They come to a stop in the central hall, fingers twined, and they linger.  Geneva blushes; Kit smiles.  They pull apart but keep their hands linked, as if reluctant to part.

            “So,” Geneva hazards.

            “So,” Kit says, her smile spreading.  They can hear footsteps in the distance

            “After school, can I have a ride to the compound?”

            “Oh, can I drive you there, please? What a treat!”  Kit squeezes Geneva’s hand.  “I’ll look forward to it.”

            “Have fun in ISS.”

            “Have fun with Lana.”

            Geneva sticks her tongue out.  “See you later.”

            “You, too.”  They kiss.  “Love you,” Kit says, and she rushes off, leaving Geneva stunned and staring at her back.

           

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After school, Geneva waits by the back doors for Kit to meet her.  Then, she walks with Kit, holding hands, to Kit’s car.

            The ride to the compound is quiet.  Geneva spends her time staring out the window and avoiding eye contact.  Her entire day has been spent trying to figure out what to say and if she should say anything at all.  Kit, meanwhile, is nothing but a smile with limbs.

            They stop outside of the compound, parking among the SUVs, and Kit looks over at Geneva.  They kiss again, and Kit’s smile not only lingers, but seems all the brighter.  “Want me to stay?”

            “Stay?”  Geneva shakes her head.  “No.  No, no, you don’t need to do anything like that.  It’ll just be me getting wailed on with a stick.  Nothing interesting.”

            “Oh, come on.  I bet it’s a little interesting watching you work up a sweat.”

            Geneva grimaces.  “Don’t be gross.  Sweat is squicky.”

            Kit shrugs.  “I don’t know about that.  Remember, I like my girls a little on the greasy side.”

            “There’s is nothing sexy about me and grease, I promise you.”  Geneva shudders for effect.  “You know, I’m starting to think our fetishes aren’t compatible.”

            “Really? And what, pray-tell, are your fetishes?”

            Geneva pushes the door open.  “On that note, it’s time for me to get.  I’ve got sweat to build up, as you’ve already noted.”

            “Yum.”  Kit laughs when she hears her girlfriend groan.  “When should I come by to pick you up?”

            Geneva pauses with one foot out the door, and she imagines the car ride home.  It is nice to see Kit, but she still doesn’t know what to say.  She looks back.  “Eh, know what?  I’ll grab a ride from Viness?”

            “Viness?”

            “He’s, like, Ms. O’s assistant.  Or man-slave.  Or something.  I’m kind of murky on the details of elven social custom.  Any-who, he’ll give me a ride home, so no point in you coming back for me.”

            “Well, there is.  I want to see you.  Crazy as it might sound, I kind of enjoy spending time together.”

            “Weird.”

            “Genny.”

            “Sorry, I’m just going to go home and study today.”  Geneva blushes.  “For real.”  Then, she sighs.  “Oh, the life of a teenage girl.  Fighting math tests, passing monsters,” pause, “Wait, I think I got something mixed up there.”

            Kit laughs.  “Genny, really, it’s no problem.”

            “I know, I know, but you don’t have to help me so much.  Not that I don’t appreciate it.  I do.  Really.  Just, there’s no need.”

            “I know, and I know you can take care of yourself.  But, and follow along, I want to help.”  Kit winks.  “You’re kind of worth the hassle.”

            Geneva’s blush intensifies to the point where her whole head feels warm.  She can vaguely imagine the heat distorting the air around her.  She chews her inner cheek.  “Fine.  If you insist.”

            And here it returns, that smile, Kit’s smile.  It is unstoppable.  “I do.”

            “Then, I’ll, uh, call you when I’m done.”

            “Okay.  See you then.”  She blows Geneva a kiss.  “Later.”

            “Yeah.  Bye.”  Geneva steps away from the car and closes the door, and she watches Kit pull away, waving as she goes.  She watches Kit roll down the drive and disappear into the woods, and then she sighs.  The walk to the compound seems longer and steeper than she remembers, though it is under a hundred feet away.

            On the way, she steels herself, pushing Kit from her mind and turning her attention to the task at hand. The distraction is a relief to her, but that only makes her feel worse.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva enters the compound through the front door and goes straight to the basement.  She sets her things in one corner and joins Viness at the far side of the room.  He is fiddling with a gun at one of the work benches.  His long, dark hair is up in a high ponytail, and he wears a loose tank top and a pair of shorts.  She can see his pointed ears.  Like most elves, his figure is long, sleek, and he moves with an almost unnatural grace.  Sometimes, he looks almost like a woman to her.

            She comes to a stop behind him and clears her throat.  He looks back at her, and she says, “You know, Viness, you’re too damn pretty to be a boy.”

            Viness shrugs.  “Jealous?”

            “Very,” she says.  “I bet you’d look killer in a dress.”

            He grins.  “I do, indeed.”  He puts the gun back together quickly, with practiced movements.  Once the final piece is in place, he looks down the sight and pulls the trigger.  It clicks efficiently.

            “Wait, you actually wear dresses?”

            “Sometimes,” he says.  “We elves lack the social paradigms you humans have spent so many years cultivating, especially in regards to gender roles.  We wear what we like, when we like, and no one cares one way or the other.  I like dresses, and I make them look good.”  He sets the gun down.  “Elves don’t care what you wear.  They just care if they can use you or not.”

            “I see.”

            “Does that make you feel uncomfortable?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Apparently, I’m bi, and that’s considered pretty weird here, too.  So, who am I to judge?”

            Viness knits his brow.  “I don’t understand entirely, but I think I get the point.  Anyway, we’re not here to talk.  At least not about that kind of stuff.  We have work to do.”

            “Nice getting to know you, too.”  Geneva goes to the wall where they keep the swords and grabs two.  “We doing this first or do you want me to take the armor for a spin?”

            “Neither, actually.”

            “Neither,” she says, returning the swords to their rack.  “Then what are we doing?”

            Viness folds his hands behind his back, walks into the center of the room, onto the training mats.  “After reviewing your mission files, I’ve decided that while the first lieutenant has given you extensive training in melee combat, she has done very little in the way of showing you how to fight capably in hand-to-hand.  And from what I’ve seen of your training, you need it, considering you inability to hold onto your sword.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “What can I say, I’m clumsy.”

            Viness nods.

            “So, what, you’re going to teach me kung-fu or something?”

            “I will be teaching you what I know, which is an amalgam of council military training and various elven martial arts.”  He grins.  “And, just as a warning, I’m not like Lt. Olivier.”

            “Eh, and why do you say that?”

            “Because, I won’t hold back.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Viness is lying and does hold back when they spar, though there is truth enough in that he does show more ferocity than Ms. Olivia ever has.  His movements are fluid and graceful, and his body twists and forms to each situation.  No matter how she tries, Geneva can’t keep up.  Each punch is too slow, too direct.  She never meets force.  Instead, she is redirected, moved wherever Viness wants her.

            Training stops with a heavy toss that leaves her lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling.  The air in her lungs is gone, and she is left wheezing in the effort to gather it back.

            Viness stands over there, hands on his hips, and while women don’t glisten, he certainly seems to.  “You look where you’re punching,” he says.  His breathing is even, and it’s almost enough to make Geneva hate him.

            She coughs.  “Aren’t you suppose to look where you’re going?”

            “You need to trust your instincts more.”

            “Really? Cause my instincts tell me to run.”  She blinks, wipes sweat from her eyes.  “You saying I should trust that?”

            “Probably.”  He helps her to standing, pats her back and grimaces.  Wiping his hangs against his pants, he says, “When you fight, you’re tense, and you’re thinking too much.  You try to remember what you’ve been taught, what you’ve gotten wrong but you can do right.  Thing is, your body will find the right movement when it needs it, but only if you give it the chance to.”

            Geneva, bent at the waist and still struggling for air, looks at him.  “How does that even make sense?”

            Viness pauses, rubs his chin.  “Think of it like your flight.  It took you time to conjure your wings, right?”

            Geneva nods.  “Some.”

            “But after doing it a few times, it’s like second-nature to you.”

            “Eh.  Not quite.”

            “But your body knows.  You don’t have to relearn it again each time.  Without thinking, you know to stop falling and fly instead.”

            “So, what, muscle memory?  Like with bikes?”

            Viness pauses.  “Yes?”

            “What? You don’t have bikes where you’re from?”

            “I’m not sure.”  He shrugs.  “Cultural differences, I guess.  I find it strange that you don’t know any forms of martial arts.”

            “We’re not all soldiers.”

            “But you are one now.”  She groans, and he says, “Anyway, would you like to take a break?”

            “Yes and please,” she whines, shuffling after him.  They get drinks and towels and settle near the shooting range.  It is empty now and, according to Geneva, it is cooler in that corner than anywhere else in the basement.  Viness makes effort to argue the point as Ms. Olivia never did, and it makes Geneva miss her teacher some.

            Geneva sits with her back to the wall and her shirt up.  She sighs as the cold stone makes contact with her flesh.  “So, tell the truth.  Am I that bad?”

            “Yes, but that’s why we’ll continue your training after you catch your breath.”  Viness is standing beside her, sipping at his own water. She watches him.  He meets her gaze after a few seconds.  “What?”

            “I was just wondering, who are you?”

            “Viness,” he says.  “You should know that by now.”

            She rolls her eyes.  “Yeah, but, like, what does that mean?  As in, who are you? What’s your history? I mean, I don’t know much about elves in the first place, and what I do know isn’t too flattering.  But you don’t seem too bad.”

            Viness hums noncommittally and bobs his head from side-to-side, weighing his answer.  “I guess I know quite a bit about you, so it’s fair for you to know about me.”

            “Yeah, exactly—Wait, what? What do you know about me?”

            “Things,” he says, “As for me, I was put here as Lt. Olivier’s support.  As corrupt as we are, there are some who would like to see her, and you, succeed.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva looks at her feet, flexes her toes to keep the blood flowing to them.  “But she never mentioned you before.  I didn’t meet you until Major Jerk-Ass had his little fit.”

            “That’s because she didn’t know I was here until then,” Viness says.  “Olivier is important, but don’t think for a minute she is in charge.  But I won’t go into that.”

            “Won’t or can’t?”

            “Both,” he says.  “You’re better not knowing the details.  Just do your job and do it well, and you’ll be fine.”

            “And what is my job exactly?”

            Viness smiles.  “To be a hero.”

            Geneva frowns.

            “And my job is to help you, and the lieutenant, along to that goal.”

            “This is sounding more and more suspicious,” she says, and he shrugs.  “So, you’re what? A spy?”

            “No.  I’m a soldier,” he says.  “And a good one, too.  Top marks in all field combat scenarios.  Expert hand-to-hand, capable field medic and squad leader.  Specialized in sharpshooting, though.”  He closes eye and makes a gun with his fingers.  Pointing it at her, he fires.  “I’m a sniper.”

            “Is there anything you’re not an expert on?”

            He thinks for a moment.  “Not much. No.”

            “You’re humble.  I like that.”

            He shrugs.

            “What about Ms. O?  I mean, I’ve never seen her fight, but from what I heard, she took down, like, a hundred guys by herself on the night of the attack.”

            Viness laughs.  “It wasn’t quite that impressive,” he says.  “The Border Defense isn’t the best of the best, usually.  Instead, they’re middle tier soldiers and middle tier nobles, not good enough to lead but not disposable enough to see the front lines.  Few of them have seen any real combat, and those that have didn’t last.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says, sounding a bit disappointed.

            “But don’t misunderstand.  Let me be clear when I say, that was beneath the lieutenant,” he says.”

            “Really?  So, she’s pretty good?”

            “More than.  In fact, she makes me look like a run-of-the-mill soldier.”

            Geneva stares in disbelief, and Viness holds up his hands, smiles.

            “I’m being serious.  She learned your language in a handful of weeks and could speak it fluently in a few months.”

            “Okay. Wow. That does sound pretty impressive.  How long did it take you?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Right.  So, how did she end up here if she’s so super? Another part of the corrupt elven government?”

            “Kind of.”  Viness takes a deep, contemplative breath, sips at hus water to extend the pause.  Finally, he says, “She did something big, and if she hasn’t told you, then it’s not my place.”

            “What did she do?”

            Viness shakes his head.

            “Oh, come on, you can’t do me like that! Build it up and then keep quiet.  That’s cruel, V-man.”

            “V-man?”

            “I’m trying it out.”  She sips her water.  “You like it?”

            He shrugs.

            “I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, “Now, come on.  Tell me!”

            “I’ll say only this, she did something that made her a legend, but not all legends are good.” He finishes his water and then stretches.  “Now, we’ve been resting long enough.  Time to get back to it.”

            “No.  No, no, please,” Geneva says, shuffling after him as he walks away.  “We can change the subject, talk about something else? How do you keep your hair so clean and soft?  And why are you so pretty?  Is it a spy technique?”

            He looks at her.  “Geneva.”

            She sighs, hangs her head and sets her glass aside.  “Right, right,” she says, pushing herself up to standing and following closely.  “And just when I was getting comfortable, too.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley stands at the edge of the woods wearing a cloak with the hood up.  Her long, auburn hair is in a braid that hangs out the left side of her head, falling down in front of her chest.  She is smiling as he watches.

            The forest is large and dark but fringed with ice. Hoarfrost clings to the grass, makes it crack beneath her feet. Behind her, shadows gather, shadows with beastly form. Green eyes watch, blinking, staring. They fill the empty spaces between the wood, rattle the branches as they coalesce.

            Moving like oil, the shadows spread. They surge forward, sloshing formlessly between the enormous roots of the trees, climbing the bark and filling the grooves of it.  They pool at Shirley’s feet and spread slickly across her ankles and up her legs. Fluidly, they swallow her, climbing up her body and dragging her under.

            She screams, writhes, as the shadows pull her flat.  Then, they recede, pulling her with them. Shirley’s screams echo in the emptiness of the forest and fade into the distance, and soon, she is gone. Claude gives chase but cannot find her, cannot hear her.  Her voice echoes, faintly, but is caught by the wind and carried away.

            He falls to his knees, and he screams.

            He wakes up screaming, but now he is in his apartment, sleeping on their couch.  After work he had sat down to wait for Shirley and then fell asleep, and now he is awake and panting, a cold sweat pulling his uniform tight to him.

            He sits up and tugs it loose. “A dream,” he whispers to the empty apartment, and he slumps back against the couch. Staring at the ceiling, he tries to remember his dream but can only recall hazy details. There were shadows, and there was Shirley, and then there was nothing else.

            The front door opens, and Shirley enters. He sits up in time to catch her smiling.  “Well, hello, handsome. Looks like you just woke up,” she says. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

            He shakes his head.

            “Good.”  She sets her purse and keys down on the counter. “Any plans for supper tonight?”

            “We can,” he swallows the lump in his throat. Seeing her makes him anxious but he isn’t sure why.  “We can have anything you like.”

            She laughs. “You can never make it easy on me, can you?”

            He smirks half-heartedly. “I guess not.”

            Humming, she moves around the kitchenette and looks through their cupboards. Claude stands, follows her into the kitchenette. He watches her move and gets brief glimpses of liquid shadows surrounding her.

            “Shirley.”

            She turns to face him. “Yes?”

            “I love you.”

            She smiles at him and tucks her hair back. “I love you, too,” she says, and they kiss.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “So, what’s your name again?”

            “Rhys,” he says, “Rhys Puck.”

            “Cool name.  Right?”  Beatrice smiles at Geneva from her place beside Rhys on the couch.  Outside the sun is setting, casting its last rays of light just before the dusk melts slowly into night.  Geneva sits across from them while their mother prepares supper in the other room.  Their father is out but should be home soon.

            “Sure is.”  Geneva doesn’t quite understand how names can be cool, but she plays along for her sister’s sake.

            “And you’re Geneva, right,” Rhys asks.  He sits stiffly and tries to play the part of the good boyfriend.  All in all, it doesn’t fit him well.

            “Yeah.  Sorry, I guess last time I met you I was in a bit of a hurry.”

            Beatrice sticks her tongue out through her smile.  “You were spending time with your little girlfriend.

            Geneva goes wide-eyed, gives a look around the room.  “Bea!”

            “I’m just kidding.  Where is Kit, anyway? I figured you two would be spending the entire weekend together.”

            Settling back into her seat and trying hard to hide her blush, Geneva says, “She’s with her folks.  They’re doing one of their dinner parties or something, so she has to dress up and play the princess.”

            “She looks the part.”

            Geneva considers it and nods her agreement.

            “Maybe she can stop by later?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            “Anyway, I’m glad you two are getting along again.  She’s a good kid.”

            “Thanks, mom.”

            “Hey, don’t get snippy with me, miss.”

            “Or what?  You’re going to send me to my room?”

            “I might just have half a mind to take you over my knee.”

            “Like you could.”

            “Oh, look at you.  Lose a few pounds and suddenly you’re Wonder Woman.”

            “That’s a bit of a dated reference, isn’t it? Lynda Carter hasn’t been a thing in how long?”

            “Lynda Carter may not be a thing, but Wonder Woman is eternal!”

            “Oh.  Right.  That’s why she has all those super popular movies.”

            “She has books.  But I suppose you wouldn’t know about those, what with being illiterate and everything.”

            “Because comics are high art,” Geneva says, “Wait, no. I got that backward.  They’re art if you’re high.”

            “Snob.”

            “Hippy.”

            Rhys looks between them.  “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

            Beatrice looks at him, pats his head.  “Oh, darling, aren’t you lucky that you’re so pretty to look at.”

            Their mother enters the room.  “Come on, girls.  Supper is ready.”

            Everyone stands to follow Mrs. Oaks into the kitchen.  As they gather around the table Geneva stops by her chair.  “Um, shouldn’t we wait for dad?”

            “He’ll be late again,” her mother says while settling in her seat and unfolding her napkin.

            “How late? I don’t mind waiting.”

            “Genie,” Beatrice says, and she points to one of the seats.  Geneva hesitates for a moment and then sits.  Beatrice takes a seat across from Rhys and smiles at him, and then at her mother.  “Supper looks great, mom.”

            “It’s not much,” Mrs. Oaks says bashfully, but she smiles.  “I just threw some stuff together.  I hope you don’t mind chicken, Rhys.”

            “No, ma’am, it’s fine by me.  Meat is meat, and that’s all that matters.”

            Their mother laughs.  “You sound like the girls’ father,” she says.  “Sometimes we eat kosher here, because we’re Jewish, and he always complains.”  She picks at her food.  “Do you know what kosher is, Rhys?”

            He shakes his head.

            “Oh, here we go,” Geneva says.

            “Oh, Geneva, don’t be rude.  Our cultural traditions are very important parts of our lives, you know.”

            “Around the holidays at least,” Beatrice says, and she looks across the table at Rhys.  “There are lots of rules, but mostly we just don’t eat meat and dairy together.  It’s a big religious no-no.  Something about not mixing the blood of the child with the milk of its mother.  It’s a Jew thing.”

            Mrs. Oaks sighs.  “Beatrice.”

            “Sorry, mom.  We steal your thunder?”

            Their mother shakes her head and looks warily at Rhys.  “Can you imagine living with these two?”

            “He thinks we’re funny,” Geneva says, looking at Rhys, “Probably.”

            “Yeah, hard to imagine, but sometimes, I like to think people like us,” Beatrice says.

            Their mother rolls her eyes.  “Anyway, Rhys, what type of religion does your family follow?”

            Rhys pauses, a thick bite of chicken halfway in his mouth.  Everyone around the table watches him.  He sets his fork down, wipes his mouth.  “Well.”

            “Mom, maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Beatrice says.

            “And why not, honey? We’re open-minded here.”  Their mother smiles at Rhys.  “Whatever you are, we’re fine with it.  Even if you’re one of those science-tologists.”

            “It’s scientologist, mom, and if he’s one of those, I’m not okay with it at all.”

            “Honey, don’t be mean to your boyfriend.”

            “It’s not being mean.  I’m just saying, that’s kind of high-grade crazy, isn’t it?  Anyway, you’re an atheist, I think.  Right, Rhys?”

            “Yes,” Rhys says quickly.  “I’m an atheist.”

            “Oh.  So, you don’t believe in anything,” their mother asks tentatively before taking a bite.  She watches him while she chews.  For his part, Rhys looks around and hopes to find help.  Instead, he finds three sets of eyes in total on him.

            He fiddles with his napkin.  “Well.”

            “It’s fine that you are,” Beatrice says.  “I mean, we’re only kind of Jewish.”

            Their mother frowns.  “Now, Beatrice, that’s just not true.”

            “Full Jewish on the holidays,” Geneva adds.

            “Geneva!”

            “Chill, mom. A lot of people are more relaxed about their religions now a days,” Beatrice says.  “Genie, Kit’s, what, Catholic?”

            “Christian,” Geneva says.  “Baptist?  Methodist?  Something.  She doesn’t talk about it much.”

            Mrs. Oak sighs.  “Oh, you girls will be the death of me.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After supper, the family parts ways.  Geneva stays downstairs, putting leftovers away and cleaning the kitchen after the meal.  It is growing late, and their father still isn’t home.  Periodically, Mrs. Oaks stops to check the clock before resuming her work.

            Beatrice retires to her room with Rhys.  She drags him along by the hand while he follows uncertainly after, with the clumsy gait of someone in way over their head. 

            Geneva hides out in her own room, doing homework until she can’t think and then reading the journal to pass the time.  She finishes one entry just as her cellphone goes off.  She answers it to hear Kit’s voice.  “Hey, sweetie, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

            “No, not really.”  Geneva flips her the journal closed and tosses it from the bed.  She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling.  “How’re you?”

            “Good.  Just got back from the dinner.”

            “And how was that?”

            Kit sighs.  “A dinner,” Kit says, “My parents kept trying to hook me up with Blakely what’s-his-face from down the street, and I kept telling them no.  It was almost a big thing, but then Mrs. Cavernaugh fell into the pool.  Everyone laughed.”

            “Sounds, um, fun?”

            “No, not really, but that crazy old lady saved me.  Remind me I owe her one.”

            “I’ll make a memo.”

            “Good,” Kit says, “And how about you? How was your evening?  I didn’t get to ask earlier. Are things easier without Ms. Olivia around?”

            Geneva groans. “Easy as a fist to the face.  Vinnie, the guy who is taking over for her, decided we should work on hand-to-hand combat today.”

            “Oh.  How was that?”

            “I already told you.  I got punched.  A lot.  In the face.”

            “Ouch.  He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

            “No.  He’s smarter than that.  Wears gloves, so there’s no bruises, and this conversation must sound weird without context.”

            “It’s pretty weird even with context.”

            “I can imagine.  Anyway, after that, I came home and hung out with Bea and her new boyfriend.  We had supper.  It was nice.  I think my mom is regretting keeping us, though.  But, that’s what daughters are for, to be embarrassing, right?”

            “Actually, I think it’s supposed to be the other way around.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva crosses one of her legs, wags her foot.  “So, we’ve had that backward all of these years.  Huh.  Crazy.”

            Kit laughs.  “Man, it is good to hear your voice.”

            Geneva blushes.  “Uh, thanks?”

            “I’m serious.  I’ve had a long, rough evening, and it’s nice to hear someone who likes me and doesn’t want anything from me.  It’s nice to just talk to you.”

            “Ah, well, I’m glad.  And, I, uh, like talking to you, too.”

            “Good to know.”  Geneva can hear the smile in Kit’s voice.

            The conversation grows quiet while they sit on the line.  Geneva searches desperately for something to say, for something to steer the conversation back toward comfortable waters.  She remembers Kit saying “I love you” in the halls earlier and feels her heart ramming hard against her chest.

            She wonders if she should say it back.

            Then, through the thin walls of her house, Geneva hears a rhythmic thumping sound and a few theatrical yelps.  She sits up, stares at her wall, and shakes her head.  “Oh. My. God, Bea.”

            “What?”

            “Nothing, nothing,” Geneva says, settling back down and glaring at her wall.  More loudly, she says, “Beatrice just likes to exaggerate!”  She throws her pillow at her wall for emphasis.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina unpacks her things.  It is something she decided when she first moved to the Realm of Man.  Wherever she goes, however long she stays, she will unpack, and she will make it home.  It started as a means of acceptance during a time where the world she knew—the world she grew into—seemed to reject her.

            Plans are that she will be in the Realm of Light for nearly a week.  During this time, she will watch the trial and speak on behalf of the prosecution.  As before, the Council of Races will preside, and they will decide Erak’s future.  This time, he is being tried for treason against the realms and against the council itself.

            Nina is being given the use of a small hotel room just outside of the gate tree.  Furnished for dignitaries and travelers to other worlds, it is richly decorated, well-lit, and very clean.  She stares out the window and into the warm elven night and feels, not for the first time since her return, that she doesn’t belong.  Winter is ending in the Realm of Man, crawling slowly toward spring.  Here, in the Realm of Light, the seasons are limited, especially around the gate tree.

            High above she can see the rings, small bands of milky white, in the night sky, made pale by the starlight surrounding them.  When she was young, they were a comfort to her.  Now, they feel like a noose.  It takes a deep breath and a stretch to calm her, and she turns her back on the window and pops her fingers, one-by-one, out of nervous habit.

            There is a knock at the door, and Nina goes to answer it.  Like all elven buildings, the hotel is built organically into a tree.  Everything is made of wood and nothing has consistent form.  Nature surrounds the elves everywhere, a luxury that few races enjoy.  Nina pauses at the door, holds her breath, and opens it.  “Marilith?”
            Councilor Marilith enters wearing a red jacket and a pair matching red pants.  She has a dark undershirt and a red tie for accent.  Her lips and eyes are painted red, while her dark hair is pulled back.  She smiles at Nina.  “It’s been some time,” Marilith says, embracing her.  “You don’t come to visit as often as I thought you would.”

            “It’s a long trip.”

            Marilith nods, crosses the room and sits on the end of the bed.  “Close the door and take a seat.  We need to talk.”

            Nina nods, too, closes the door and finds a seat by the table in the room.

            Marilith crosses her legs.  “Are you alright?  You seem tired.”

            “I am fine, I am merely uncertain as to the protocols.  Are you coming here as a member of the Council or…”

            “Consider it a social call or don’t consider it at all.  It’s poor form for council members to show favor, but my leanings are clear.”

            Nina nods again.

            “The others are not so clear, however,” Marilith says.  “Tia is quiet, as she often is.  She wants to show support for the others races, I believe, but she’s unwilling to take an unpopular stance.”  Marilith laughs to herself.  “Her family doesn’t have the same clout they once did, unfortunately.”

            “I see.”  Nina glances out the window again.  She can see the gate tree shimmering from she sits.  “And the others?”

            “Garland is quiet, too, though for different reasons.  He favors Erak, and while he may not outright support Erak’s actions, he does support of the fool’s logic.  Lei Bann is stubborn, as always, and is keeping to himself.  He’s a surprising old cat, though.  His vote will be the swing, as usual.”

            “And Kray?”

            “Kray doesn’t like you. We’ve known that from the start.  But he also doesn’t like Erak or his family.  He never has.  So, it’s a choice between two sides he’d rather see fail either way.  It’ll be win-win, lose-lose, but I think he’s more likely to act against Erak for the sake of control.  We can’t have soldiers acting on their own to start wars.”

            “I see.”  Nina sighs, stares at the floor.

            “There’s more,” Marilith says, and she waits for Nina to meet her gaze.  She has her hands clasped on her lap now.  “I mean, I came to give you more.”

            “Yes?”

            Marilith leans forward, takes Nina’s hands into her own.  When she pulls back, Nina has a ring resting between her palms.  It is coral pink and highly reflective.  Nina holds her hands up, turns the ring around with her fingers until she finds a signet on the front. “Is this?”

            “Another signet? Yes.  While it hasn’t been made official yet, I have gotten this much from Tia and Lei Bann.  It’s surprising, but Erak’s little stunt actually served as a test of your girl’s mettle, and the results impressed them.  Even Kray was surprised.”

            “I see.”  Nina moves the ring around her palm.  It is smooth and faintly warm to the touch.  Pinching it between her fingers, she holds it against her lap, stares at the signet again.  “And so the knights will expand.”

            “For now, yes,” Marilith says, sitting back.  “The book says there were ten in total.  We have five in our possession.  Four were lost when the worlds burned.  And the last, well, you know the myths.”

            “I do.”

            “This could be a big step, a step toward a better world.” Marilith smiles.  “Anyhow, I wanted to give you that now, tell you in person so you can look unsurprised when we make the announcement tomorrow.”

            “And Erak?”

            “Whatever happens, the knights will continue.  That’s what’s important.”

            “Yes, but Marilith, what Erak did—He tried to break her, to make her into a weapon.”

            “Yes, he did,” Marilith says.   “But that is not what he is on trial for.  He is on trial for making decisions far above his station, for trying to pull the realms into another war with the demons without proper authorization, and for attacking our allies in doing so.  Remember that, for the trial.”

            “But, Mari.”

            “It may be hard for you to hear, but she is a soldier now.  A weapon.  In a way, Erak may have done you a favor.  May have forced her to make a difficult choice that you wouldn’t have forced.  Unfortunately, he simply found a fool way of doing it.”  Marilith sighs luxuriously.  “But that’s what you get from pampered types like him.”

            Marilith goes to the door and stands at it, her hand resting on the handle as she looks back.  “Just keep focused.  Choose your words carefully.  We can’t have a repeat of what happened before.”

            Nina’s expression hardens.  She balls her fist like a child.  “I know how to speak to the Council.”

            Marilith smirks.  “Yes.  I suppose you did well enough last time.  Still.”

            “I will mind my tongue.”

            “That is for the best.  Now, take care.  Rest.  And make sure not to speak of my visit.  They’ll know of it, but there’s no reason to make it a part of the discussion.”

            “Yes.”  Nina stands, salutes, and waits for Marilith to close the door.  Then, opening her hand, she stares at the ring.  “Another knight.”  The thought weighs heavily on her as she imagines another young woman tormented like Geneva.

            She sets the ring down on the desk and falls onto her bed.  It feels different to her than a human bed, but she isn’t sure how.  Outside, she can hear people, see the stars shimmering, the moon glowing warmly.  The air is so clean here and, to her, none of this feels like home any longer.

            She stares up at the ceiling, thinks how everything is changing so quickly, and she wonders how long she can keep up.

 

The Knights of Sheba 113…End