The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 14: "A Weapon" A

Episode Fourteen: A Weapon

 

            Nina wakes early in the morning, or rather, she doesn’t sleep well.  She stands and stretches, and she stops to stare out the window again.  Outside it is already busy.  Traffic around the gate tree has swelled again, people passing through, to and from, in rapid succession.  A thin fog has settled over the night, and the air smells wet, fresh, and humid.

            She showers and starts changing for the day.  She has her green military pants and a white undershirt on when a knock on her door interrupts her.  She opens it to find a female dark elf waiting.  The dark elf is lean and serious looking, though not unattractive.  Her dark skin is marked by deep scars across her face and body.  She wears the green military uniform of a council soldier but removes the hat as she enters.  Her dark hair is kept in a tight bun atop her head.

            “Nojah,” Nina says, mostly to herself, and then she salutes.  “I mean to say, Major Atschka.  To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

            “At ease,” Nojah says, passing into the room.  She leans against a nearby dresser, stares a hole through Nina.  “I came to speak with you before the trial.  To ask you, are the rumors true?”

            Nina relaxes, pushes the door closed.  She sees the coral signet resting on her end table, catching the light, and scoops it up casually.  “The rumors?”

            “The resurrection of the knights, the accusations against Erak as traitor.  Did he really try to kill a human girl?”

            “Yes, to all of it.”  Nina crosses the room, slips the ring into her luggage.  She locks the luggage before turning back to Nojah. “As you can imagine, Major Draco is very unhappy with the return of the knights.”

            “Most elves are,” Nojah says.  “And your knight.  She’s just a small, human girl?”

            “She is a human girl,” Nina says, looking back.  “She is quite capable, I think, and not as small as you might have heard.”

            “I should hope not.”

            “Humans are the only ones who can wear the rings.”

            “I know that, Lieutenant.  We all know that.” Nojah gives a crooked, hateful grin.  “The greatest failing of the people of light.”

            Nina nods.

            “And so that’s why Erak tried to kill her? Envy?”

            “No.  And not her, but someone close to her, to turn her angry.  To make her want to fight.”

            “Bold of him.”

            “Foolish of him.”

            Nojah shrugged noncommittally.  “The man wanted results, took steps to get them.”  She looks Nina in the eyes.  “I knew a woman who would have done the same thing.”

            Nina holds her gaze, and they stare across the room at each other. “Yes,” she says, “And I know one who would say he would come to regret the measures he took.”

            “I wonder, though, if people who are willing to go so far are able to truly regret their misdeeds.”

            “Don’t,” Nina says.  “They can, you can be sure of that.”

            Another humorless grin, “And yet you’re still taking orders, aren’t you?”

            “Aren’t we all?”

            “Only the right ones.”  Nojah stands from the dresser.  “I will be at the trial.”

            “I hope I don’t embarrass you on the stand.”

            “Good luck with that.”  Nojah turns and goes to the door.

            “Thank you,” Nina says, saluting.  “And thank you for the visit, Major.”

            Nojah nods and leaves, and Nina stares at the door when she is gone.  Then, sighing, she slouches back against her table, and she stares at the floor while taking measured breaths.  Seeing Nojah always brings back bad memories of mistakes made.

            Then, she takes a deep, steadying breath, and stands.  “If you can face her, then you can face him,” Nina says, and after dressing, she checks herself one last time in the mirror before leaving.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva smears cream cheese across the surface of her bagel, holds it poised for her lips, and then hears Ms. Olivia’s voice echo in the back of her head.  Sighing, she scraps the cream cheese off onto her plate and then gives a sad look at the lonely bagel before nibbling it sullenly.  She is alone in the morning, awake before the rest of the house.

            Kit was there with her, late into the night.  It has become custom for her to stay to study, and often study gets forgotten in a tangle of arms and tongues.  Normally, Geneva would sleep in on the weekends, but she had to wake up to see Kit out before her parents caught them.  She vaguely remembers worrying that they wouldn’t wake up in time, but a sharp knee to the back had pulled her from a sound sleep.  Kit may be slender, but she is tall, and her body seems to be made up of needle-like joints.

            Geneva’s mother joins her in the kitchen and goes straight to the fridge.  She grabs orange juice and pours herself a glass, and she gives Geneva a lingering stare.

            Geneva stares back and swallows a particularly large bite of bagel meant to keep her out of conversation.  “Uh, morning.”

            “Morning, dear.”  Mrs. Oaks puts the juice away.  “I saw Kit’s car this morning.”

            Chew, chew, pause, choke.  “Uh.  Yeah?”

            “Yup.”  Mrs. Oaks sips her orange juice and lowers her eyebrows as she stares.  Her eyes are blue, like Geneva’s, but older, wiser.  Crow’s feet form around the edges as her face tightens.  Her lips purse.  It is the look of a concerned mother, so strong that even time slows for her.  “Don’t her parents worry about her spending so much time here?”

            “Uh.”  Geneva jams the rest of her bagel in her mouth, hoping it will give her some time to think.  It does, but not enough, and after swallowing she offers an uncertain, “What?”

            “Oh!  Don’t misunderstand.”  Her mother smiles; Geneva knows it’s a trick.  “Your father and I don’t mind.  She’s always welcome, but,” another pause, accompanied by more pursed lips and raised eyebrows.  “Geneva, is she having problems at home?”

            The tension leaves Geneva with a sigh of laughter.  Now, her mother looks uncertain.

            “Is something funny, dear?”

            “No.  No, no, just—No.  Mom, Kit’s fine. Her parents are loaded and barely there enough to beat her or anything.  She just wants to hang out.  I think she gets lonely, is all.  Her house is like five of ours, and that’s a lot of space to fill when you’re all by yourself.”

            Her mother nods.  “Children need their parents.”

            “Eh, sure.  Yeah.  That’s what I’m saying.”

            Mrs. Oaks smiles again.  “Well, you make sure to tell her that she is always welcome.”

            “I’m sure she’s sure, but I’ll make sure,” Geneva says, and she scoops some cream cheese from her plate and jams it into her mouth before dropping the plate into the sink.  To her, it feels like a little rebellion against the absent Ms. Olivia.

            On the way up the stairs she meets Beatrice, whose hair is in its usual morning mess.  She moves jerkily, holding tight to the rail to keep from falling forward, and she yawns on approach.

            They stop at the center of the stairs, Geneva leaned against the wall to grant Beatrice passage.  Beatrice stops to look her over with half-lidded eyes still fogged by sleep.  “Well, look at you,” she yawns again, “All awake in the morning and stuff.”

            “Early to rise, something about a worm.”

            Beatrice chuckles.  “Yeah, I think that’s how it goes.”  She looks Geneva over and plucks at her shirt.  “Wow, Genie, how much weight have you lost exactly?”

            “I don’t know.  Some?”  Geneva tugs at her pants.  “I think.  Why?”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Looking good, is all.  And happier, too.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”  Beatrice grins and pokes Geneva’s side.  “It’s Kit, isn’t it?”

            Geneva retreats into the wall and shoves Beatrice’s hand away.  “Quiet, you.  Mom’s in the kitchen.”

            “She can’t hear us.”

            “She can.  Woman can meld into walls.”

            “I don’t think you have the science to back that up.”

            “I’ve got a lifetime of experience.”

            “Seventeen years isn’t much of a lifetime.”

            “Just keep it down, alright?”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Fine.  Whatever.  I’m happy for you either way.”  She rubs the sleep from her eyes and gives Geneva a level stare.  “There was a while there where you sulking all the time and hiding out in your room.”  She falls forward, or maybe it was meant to be a lean, and pulls Geneva into a hug.  “I’m glad to have my sister back.”

            Geneva blushes and pats Beatrice’s back.  She stares at the wall, at the family photos that are staring back, and then stares at the ceiling.  “Uh.  Thanks?”

            Beatrice mumbles.

            “You’re asleep again, aren’t you?”

            “Not anymore, not with all this talking.”  Beatrice stretches and gives another yawn.

            “I think you could use some coffee.”

            “Could.  Or an adrenaline shot.”  Beatrice turns away, messing Geneva’s hair, and starts down the stairs.  “Seriously, though, Nevie-weavie-butter-pecan.  Glad you’re back.”

            Geneva allows a smile as she watches Beatrice’s descent.  “Well, guess I’m glad to be back.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “It’s good to have you back.”  Marisa says this over lunch.  She is sitting across the table from Claude, her apron worn with the straps off and knotted about her waist like a skirt.  The top buttons of her blouse are open, and she is fanning herself with one hand while clutching a glass of iced lemonade in the other.  Beads of water gather on her fingers.

            Claude picks at his salad across from her, soaked through to the bone.  Weeks of wandering the kitchen doing odd jobs have given him an appreciation of the clearly defined tasks associated with washing dishes.  It is dirty and filthy, still, but it is his job.  He rolls a piece of broccoli back and forth with his fork and gives an absent, “Thanks.”

            She adopts a sly grin.  “Though, I’ll miss the chats we had while you were everyone’s little helper.  Was nice to have someone to shoot with while I was working.”

            Claude snorts.  “Nice for you, maybe.  I was just in everyone’s way.”

            “Yeah, you were.”  She laughs when he frowns.  “Oh, come on.  I’m just playing.  Lighten up will you.”  She sips her lemonade, and he stabs at the broccoli in the silence.  “By the way, you never told me.  What happened to your hand?”

            “It was,” he pauses and pushes his plate away, “stupid, and I was in over my head.  That’s all I want to say on it.”

            “In over your head?  What, you running drugs or something?  Claude, if you need money, I can loan you some.”

            “No, I’m not.”  He pinches the bridge of his nose.  The cast is gone, but his fingers still feel stiff.  He grimaces.  “It was just an accident, okay?”

            “Okay, okay, chill.”  They go quiet, and she drinks deeply of her lemonade, draining the glass.  When she returns it to the table, the ice rattles around the bottom.  She checks the clock.  “Still got five.  Anything you want to get off your chest?  Anything with your girly?  How’re things going with her, by the way?”

            “They’re,” Claude pauses, “Things.”  He folds his hands on the table and watches as he weaves and unweaves his fingers.  The night at the school comes to his mind.  Shirley took it all in stride, like she takes everything in stride.  Sometimes, he feels like the weaker of the two.  “Actually, I do have something I want to talk about.  Not Shirley, but, I guess, I’m thinking of a story.”

            “You guess?”

            “I, uh, I’ve never written or anything like it, and I was just—I need some input.”

            “Okay.  I guess I can help, but I’m no writer.”

            “You read, though, I assume.”

            “More into movies.”

            “But, you’re a girl.  So...”

            “I’m a girl?  What does that,” Marisa shakes her head.  “Whatever.  Just ask.”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck.  Now that he has permission, his mouth feels dry.  He tries to think of a way to describe it without letting her know it is him, and then he says, “Well, thing is, in the story, there’s this guy. And he’s got a duty.  A destiny.  He’s the hero, and he’s in love with a—a princess, and she gets into trouble.”

            “Breaking new ground here.”  Claude stammers, and she shakes her head.  “Go on.”

            “Well, anyway, she gets in trouble and the hero, he has these other duties.  He has to save the world, and so he can’t save her.  So,” he pauses and fiddles with his fork again, spinning it in his fingers and watching the light catch against the metal.  “So, I was wondering, as a woman, is that bad?”

            “Is what bad? That the hero doesn’t save the princess?”

            Claude nods without looking up.

            “Well, of course.”  Marisa checks the clock again and scoops up her dishes as she stands.  “He’s the hero, and the hero should always save the princess.  That’s what makes him the hero, right?  Anyway, we should get back to it.”

            He nods again but keeps his eyes fixed on his fork.  “Yeah, you’re right, I’ll be there in a bit.”

            “Okay.  Hero.”  She laughs when he looks up at her and leaves him with his thoughts, which aren’t so kind to him.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The court is the same as Nina remembers, being large, domed, and filled with early morning light.  The circumstances, however, make the shadows seem darker.  Staying to the side for the prosecution to do their job is the worst part.  Nina wants to be there, before the court, speaking for herself.  She wants to look Erak in the eyes when he hears the verdict.

            She sits with her hands folded on her lap, wearing her military uniform to make sure they know who she is and where she stands.  Erak, too, is in uniform, his medals polished to a shine.  They are few but gleaming.  He looks assured, wearing a smile that make Nina feel angry and violent.

            Soldiers stand beside him, weapons ready.  He is cuffed to the podium for his defense, but Nina knows that has no bearing.  It is all formalities.  Elven everything is formalities.  Erak knows it, too, and that is why he smiles.  When he sees her, his smile broadens.

            “I hope you’re ready,” he says to her, not loudly, but to where she can hear.  People are entering now, but to her it feels like they’re alone.  “When this is finished everyone here will know.  They’ll see you for the treasonous bitch you are.”

            Nina looks away, stares ahead.  She watches the empty council seats and sorts her thoughts.  She knows the truth, but that will hardly be enough to convince anyone.  So, she rehearses her speech in her head, remembering the etiquette, the importance of language.

            “I’ll show them the weakness your kind has infected us with.  The disease that your bleeding heart really is!  The reality that the appeasement you offer to the lesser races is just the foundations laid for our own destruction.”

            “Please, Erak,” Nina says, looking at him again, no longer angry, but sad.  “Please stop now.  The Council will arrive soon.”

            He scoffs.  “Yes, and I suppose we should save the spectacle for the spectators.”

            The room is quiet again and very cold.  People gather rows of seats set above the court, looking down on them.  This is a case that has reached many ears, Nina imagines.  Affluent families will attend simply to say they were there when the verdict was cast.  Nina knows the importance of this moment, knows that all eyes are on them.

            The Council arrives and a hush settles over the room.  Marilith makes eye contact with Nina as she sits, gives a ghost of a smile.  It isn’t there long, but it is enough to give Nina the strength to meet the gaze of the other councilors.  She finds they look as anxious as she is, save for Garland, who simply looks frustrated.

            The soldiers at Erak’s side turn to take their seats.  Before they go, they salute Erak, who nods in return.  Then, Garland stands at his station and rests his hands on the polished wood of his desk.  His robe hangs from him, and it leaves Nina to realize how old he truly is.  He is an elf from a bygone era, an elf much like Erak himself.

            Garland clears his throat and addresses the congregation.  He speaks loudly and eloquently, and all of it is lost on Nina, who simply breaths quietly to herself.  The lights are blurry now.  She folds her hands, thinks how this is different from the last time, how important this is.

            This decides the future of the Realm of Light, and, truly, all of the worlds under its rule.

            Looking into the crowd, Nina finds Nojah there.  Nojah nods and crosses her legs.  She watches Garland, showing more courage than Nina has in the moment.  Nina stares back at the podium in front of her, where the prosecutor shuffles her paperwork.

            The trial starts and passes in a haze.  Nina hears parts of it.  She hears the prosecutions half-hearted attacks at Erak and realizes even they agree with his sentiment even if they know his actions were treason.  She watches Erak as the entire thing plays out, sees his cool confidence as he answers questions, as he speaks.

            Then, “Lieutenant.”

            Nina looks up, finds everyone watching her, finds the council watching her.  She stands, feeling light-headed.  “Yes, sir?”

            Garland is frowning.  It is hard to see him from where she is, with her anxiety fogging her vision.  “I said, we would like to ask you questions, considering you were there on the scene.”

            Nina nods, shakily.  “Yes, sir.”  She takes the podium, hears the prosecutor snicker as she passes.  Resting her hands on the wood, she finds it feels rough against her palms now.  She grips it tightly to keep the world from sliding from under her feet and reminds herself, again, of how important this is.

            “Finally,” Garland says, lifting some papers and looking them over.  “Now, it says you were there on the night of Major Draco’s alleged coup, that you were the one who captured him and stopped all operations with the help of a second lieutenant, Viness Crowenn.  Is that correct?”

            Nina’s mind moves slowly.  There is a pause in response as she tries to remember herself, tries to pick the words carefully.  When she realizes everyone is waiting, she clears her throat, nods.  “Um. Yes, sir.  Councilor.  That is true.  Correct, I mean.”

            “Will you tell us, in your own words, what happened?”

            Nina nods again.  “Yes, I would—Yes, I will.”  She looks at Erak, finds him grinning, looks back at the podium.  She takes a deep breath and, closing her eyes, pretends she is someone else.    She remembers Geneva, when Kit was in trouble at school, and tries to become her.

            Again and again, she tells herself how important this is.

            Opening her eyes, she meets Garland’s gaze readily.  “On that night Major Draco contacted me with the information that a demon had infiltrated the human realm and was somewhere within the city.  He fed me false reports of demon sightings and gave me orders to take Geneva Oaks, our knight, to hunt it down.

            “Later, I learned that during this time he had sent his own private forces to assault one Katherine Wright, a human girl romantically involved with our knight.  Records show, records that you have been given, that his plan was to eliminate the human girl, using her death as a catalyst to turn Geneva into a more effective weapon.”

            “Yes, we’ve read those reports,” Garland says.  “But at the time you knew only of the false reports that the Major had given you.”

            “No.  Ms. Oaks received a phone call from Claude Sylvain, a human ally who had been protecting Ms. Wright from elven attack.  After which, she informed me of the situation, and I took it upon myself to intervene.”

            Garland rubs his trimmed beard, nods.  “Yes.  And the major made mention of so many humans who were now aware of the border defense—an act that could be considered treason in itself.”

            “I do not think so,” Nina says.

            Garland frowns at her.  “We know,” he says.  “With that in consideration, however, do you think that the major’s actions were in defiance of the council? Or was he simply taking steps, perhaps extreme steps, to fulfill his duties?”

            Nina takes a deep breath. “I think.”  She glances at Erak again, and then at Nojah, and finally settles her view back on Garland, who watches her impatiently.  “I think that Major Draco is an elf, through and through, and perhaps a patriot at that.  I think he truly believes in the crimes that he has committed, because I believe that he is too naïve to understand the consequences of them.”

            Erak’s face sours quickly.  Nina can see it in her periphery, but she forges ahead, her eyes steady on Garland.

            “Here are the facts: the major took unsanctioned action, violent action, against humans who had shown both that they were capable of keeping secrets and also of helping us against the demon threat that has returned.  He did this not out of a desire to help the elves, but out of a desire to help himself.

            “Humanity knows.  That was a decision you made yourselves when you decided to reconstitute the knights, against his wishes, I might add.  His desires can forever be argued.  In the end, they are subject to whatever he must say to defend himself, and so I will not address them.  Instead, I will address the results of such actions.

            “Ms. Oaks is an ally, and she is a soldier.  In the last attack by demons, she defeated a demonic lord, who according to what lore we have and damage reports on the field, was a creature of incredible power.  One which even I would hesitate to battle, and she did so with no elven support.”

            Nina looks at Marilith now.  “Some of you would make her a weapon, and I understand that is the life of a soldier—fighting battles because you were ordered to, not because you want to.  But, if she is to be a weapon, then she is a tool, and that means she must be maintained, and she is of greater use to us willing than broken, of that I can assure you.

            “So, to answer your question, Councilor,” she meets Garland’s eyes again, “Do I think he intended to defy the council?  No.  Do I think that his short-sightedness and vanity could have cost us a valuable and powerful asset, one which would be sacrificed in the name of his career? Yes.”

            Nina pauses, lets the words settle.  The crowd is quiet, vacant.  She stares straight ahead at the council and sees Marilith grinning from ear-to-ear.

            “A demon noble,” Councilman Kray says, drawing the attention of the other councilors.  He is smiling a crooked, aged smile.  “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed with that.”

            “But it is irrelevant,” Erak says, leaning into his podium, his face red, his brow furrowed.  “Didn’t you listen to her?  Demons invaded.  They’ve grown bold, and that pet she parades around isn’t a soldier.  She’s a defiant little girl, petulant, a child, untested by the fires of war.  What we need is a warrior, a weapon.  We—We need a soldier!”

            “Major,” Marilith says, quieting him.  As he settles back into his podium, she continues, “You say the girl is untested, but if I remember your career well, I do believe she has seen more combat than you have, hasn’t she?”

            Erak pauses, stammers.  “Under my supervision.”

            Marilith hums.  “Mm.  I suppose that is true.”

            “The elves, we deserve this.  We can’t have the other races encroaching upon our lands, and it is only right that the girl serves.”  Erak looks to Nina now.  “You want the humans to work alongside us? Fine!  But let them earn it, as the other races have to.  As the dark elves had to.  That is what I meant by untested.  I simply meant that she—she is still just a girl, you know.  Nearly a baby.”

            “Yes, Major, you’ve made your case.”  Garland glares now at Erak, who goes quiet and sinks into himself.  Turning his attention back to Nina, Garland says, “And you’ve said your piece, I imagine.  You may return to your seat, Lieutenant.”

            “Thank you, sir.”  Nina salutes and replaces the prosecutor, who is no longer snickering.

            Settling, Nina releases a great sigh.  Her body feels loose, now, empty, devoid of anxiety or even air.  She sits rigid, though, maintaining her presence, and she hopes that her words were enough to sway a council already against her.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley opens the door and flips the light on.  She carries a few bags in and then steps aside so Claude can make it to the counter after her.  Groceries come tumbling from his arms as he staggers forward, barely able to contain everything he had.

            Leaning back against the sink, he surveys the groceries with Shirley at his side.  “I think that will hold us for a while.”

            “Yeah,” Shirley says, regarding their haul.  “Feels weird having money.”  Claude nods and, together, they start putting things away.  “So, have you talked to Geneva yet?”

            “Shirley.”

            “Hey,” she says, stopping and tapping him on the nose, “You agreed to it, buster.”

            “I said I would think about it.”

            “You said you would do it.”

            Claude closes the cabinet and turns, finding her staring at him expectantly, tapping a finger on the countertop, watching him with eyebrows arched.  “I…”

            “Oh, come on, Claude.  Don’t back out now.”

            “It’s just weird,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “Her being so young and all.”

            “She’s not that much younger than us.”  Shirley takes out a box of pasta, stows it in the cabinet next to him.  “She’s, what? Eighteen?”

            “Sixteen, I think.”

            “Sixteen? Really? She’s that young?”

            “See!”

            “I mean, for her to be off,” Shirley waves both hands vaguely, “Doing whatever.  Still, not that much younger.”

            “Five years.”

            “You’re being ridiculous.”

            “I have adult friends we can have over.”

            “Yes, but do you have adult friends who do,” Shirley looks at him, waves her hands again, “Whatever?”

            “Shirley.”

            “I’m just saying, Claude.  You two might have to work together again.”

            “Doing whatever?”

            Shirley nods, picks up two more boxes. “Besides, you really did agree to it already.”

            He crosses his arms, frowns.  “I said I’d think about it.”

            After putting the boxes away, she turns to him, pouts professionally.  “Oh, please!  Claude, if you did it, you’d be my hero.”

            He goes quiet, looks at the floor.  Then, looking into her big, shining blue eyes, he sighs.  “Fine, fine, I’ll call her.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes.”

            Shirley goes to her purse, pulls out her cellphone.  She hands it off to Claude and then stares at him.

            He stares back.  “What?”

            “Then do it.”  She crosses her arms now.  “This time, I’m not giving you the chance to change your mind.”

            Claude’s face pinches, his eyes narrowed, his frown more pronounced.  “You can really be a chore sometimes.”

            She kisses him, rests her hand on his chest.  “Shut up and call.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 114 A…End