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

The Knights of Sheba 114 B…Start

 

            While the council deliberates, Nina walks the base of the gate tree.  She watches the elves coming and going, sees long awaited reunions and heartfelt farewells.  There are always people here, at the gate tree, appearing and disappearing as if through a hole in reality.  Due to the light interference caused by the tree, it is the only place in the whole world where the stars can’t be seen at night.

            Now, across the street, she looks up and sees the world’s ring and wonders when it became foreign to her.

            She grabs a private lunch and then returns to her hotel room to wait.  Near evening she returns.  The sun is setting, throwing golden light over the treetops.  Long shadows stretch over the city, but the light brands the sky and, still, she can see the ring faintly.

            When she returns to the court, she sits behind the prosecutor.  They don’t acknowledge each other.  No one acknowledges Nina here, save for Nojah, who gives a curt nod.  Nina returns it and stares ahead at the council chairs, waiting.  Not far from her Erak is returned to his podium and attended by guards.

            Light is fading as the council returns.  The electricity is turned on, generators humming in the back rooms.  Lights flicker and buzz to life in the corners.  The room is dim now and the shadows deep.  The councilors each take their seats, with Garland at the center. 

            Once everyone settles, Garland stands.  He clears his throat and looks out at the room.  Despite his age, or perhaps because of, his presence demands attention.  His voice booms, carrying across the curved walls.  “Welcome back, everyone.  As a reminder, we are here today to determine the alleged crime of treason in one our military officers, Major Erak Draco, head of the Border Defense.  Earlier, we heard testimony from both soldiers in the field and from the major himself and, having convened, we have now reached a verdict.”

            Garland clears his throat again, shuffles his paper for effect.  Nina watches his face, watches his body, sees how he sags and frowns, and she draws conclusions.  Then, she quickly pushes them out of her head just to keep herself from being disappointed.

            He looks up again, makes sure to cast a long stare out at the audience.  Then, he settles on Erak, who is still smug, still smiling.  “Considering the testimony and evidence gathered, and after much deliberation, we, the council, have no choice but to find the major guilty of treason and conspiracy against the elven people and sentence him to a lifetime of work in a labor camp in the Realm of Tranquility.”

            Erak’s smile sours with rage.  He goes wide-eyed, writhes and wrestles against his bindings while gripping the podium so tight his knuckles pale.  “What?  Garland! You bastard!  You told me!  You told me I would be fine, that they would understand!  You told me!”  He kicks at the soldiers approaching him.  “Get away from me!  I a damned hero, and you people,” he says, glaring at the crowd, “And you!  You’re all cowards and—and—and cowards!”

            “Please, can someone get him out of here,” Garland says, his frown deepening the creases of his aged face.

            More guards appear, surrounding Erak and pinning him to his podium.  They undo his cuffs and drag him away while he shouts.  “I will not stand for this!  Everything! Everything I’ve done has been for you people.  Mark me!  The humans will rise up!  They will rise up, and that little human bitch will be at the center of it!”

            Then, he is gone.  The room is quiet, save for a murmur from the crowd.  Garland sighs, now looking smaller, and settles into his chair.  Marilith, seated to his left, touches his shoulder.  They whisper between themselves, he nods, and she stands in his place.

            “And it has been decided that, for her exemplary service, both in the foundation and maintenance of the knights and also for her part in apprehending the major, Lieutenant Olivier shall be given command of the Border Defense and shall be granted a promotion to Major herself.  Should she accept.”  Marilith looks at Nina, straight in the eyes, a look that says it is no offer.  “Well, Lieutenant?”

            Nina stands, bows.  “It would be my honor, councilwoman.”  She looks out at the audience, and then at the council again.  “And I thank you, all of you, for the opportunity.”

            “Yes.  Good.”  Marilith rests her hand on Garland shoulder again and then looks out at the crowd.  “Then, court adjourned.  We will convene again tomorrow in the morning.  May you all rest well tonight.”

            As the elves and military personnel stand to leave the room, Nina notices Marilith wink before returning to the council and following them out.  Nina smiles faintly before leaving herself.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            There is a pause on the line after he asks.  Then, Geneva says, “You want us to what now?”

            Claude sighs.  “It’s my girlfriend’s idea.  She thinks—Anyway, do you want to have dinner at our place?  You and your,” Claude pauses, “girlfriend?”

            “I guess I can talk to Kit about it and get back to you.”

            “Thanks, that would be—Well, it would be something.  Well, have a good night.”

            “You, too, I guess.”  They hang up, and Geneva stares at her cell phone.  “Weird,” she says, and she shrugs and tosses it to the side.  The doorbell rings, and she leaps from her bed and hurries down the stairs, meeting Beatrice at the door.

            Beatrice grins.  “Oh?  You expecting company, little Genie-pie?”

            “Actually, I’m expecting that big box of shut up I ordered you.”  She shoves Beatrice into the living room and opens the door, finding Kit on the other side.  As always, Kit gleams like an angel when framed in the twilight.  She tucks her hair back and smiles at Geneva.

            After a brief silence, Kit says, “Hey, sorry to come over on such short notice.”

            “No, you’re fine.  So, uh, you wanted to talk?”

            Kit nods.  “If you have time.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva nods, now, looks over her shoulder to find Beatrice watching.  She grabs her jacket from the coatrack and slips it on.  “Outside.”

            The air is crisp, bracing, despite the sun.  A cold front has moved in, a lingering touch of winter’s chill.  Geneva’s breaths produce curls of steam from her nostrils.  She watches it, smiling in childish glee in remembrance of her and Beatrice smoking imaginary cigarettes as children with the steam as their smoke. 

She stuffs her hands in her pocket and turns to face Kit, who is staring at the ground.  Kit’s jacket is thin, but she doesn’t seem to notice the cold.  In fact, her gaze is so far away that she hardly even seems to be there.

Kit digs her feet into the earth, left soft by melting snow.  She watches the indentation her shoe leaves fill with water.  “So.”

“So,” Geneva says, still watching Kit.  “Talking.”

“Yeah.”  Kit holds her hands behind her back, waves one leg in front of her while balancing on the other.

“And we’re outside.  To talk.”

“We are.”  She lifts her gaze, settles it on Geneva, and then shrugs.  There is a faint flush to her cheeks, and Geneva can’t decide if it is from the cold or not.  “I wanted to talk.  To you.  About what happened the other day, in the morning.”

“Oh!”  Now, Geneva blushes as she recalls the words.  She looks at the ground, shifts her weight.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.  So, I could tell that you were a little weirded out by it.”

“I wasn’t weirded out.”  She looks up, finds Kit staring, looks back down at the ground.  “Okay, I guess I was a little weirded out.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s what I’m here to say, is that there is nothing to be sorry about.”  Kit paces a small circle, takes a deep breath.  “What I mean is, I’m sorry.  We’ve been together for a few months but that’s still pretty fast, isn’t it?”

Geneva shrugs, thinks how she doesn’t have anything else to compare to.

“So, I just wanted to talk.  Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“Well, of course you are, but what I mean is,” Kit closes distance, touches Geneva’s shoulder.  Their eye meet again. They stare.  “What I mean is, I don’t want you to feel any pressure to say it back, or to say anything at all.  It’s something I said to you, and that’s all that it is.”

Geneva watches Kit, digests the words.  “Really?”

“Really.”  Kit smiles.  “I know this is your first relationship, so I don’t want you to rush into anything.  So, take me at my word.  No pressure at all.”

“Oh.  Good.”  Geneva exhales, releasing some of the growing knot in her gut.  Then, she allows a smile.  “Thank Zeus for that,” she says, and Kit grins and lifts her eyebrows.  “I mean, not that you aren’t, like, loveable or anything.”  Now, Geneva blushes.  “What I mean is—What I’m trying to say—It’s my first relationship, like you said.”

“I know,” Kit says, her grin sticking and almost becoming insufferable.

“I just—I’ve never said that to someone before.  Except mom and dad.  And Beatrice, when they make me.”

Kit nods, shrugs.  “I understand that.  I hadn’t either.”

Geneva stops.  “What?  Really?”

Kit laughs.  “Really.”

“But, Kit, you’ve dated.  A lot.”

“Yeah, and what’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had?”

Now, Geneva shrugs.  “Honestly?  I just kind of tuned you out when you started talking about sex.”

“Exactly.  Most of my relationships to this point have been sex.  But, with you,” Kit smiles again, and this time her cheeks are red and it’s definitely not the cold.  “Well, let’s just say it’s different.”

“Oh.”

Kit shoves Geneva, gently.  “It’s a good thing.  It means I really like you.”

Geneva pauses, watches Kit watching her.  She realizes that she has never really seen Kit like this, so flushed, so vulnerable.  Kit has, to Geneva’s knowledge, always been confident, always comfortable with her emotions.  Suddenly, Geneva feels small.

            With that knot forming again, Geneva slows her breathing, swallows.  “I know it’s a good thing.”  She tries to smile.  “And I really like you, too.”

            Kit laughs.  “I would hope so.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva laughs, too, by forcing it.  “I mean, like, a lot.  Really a lot.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.  Like, love.”  The word leaves Geneva’s mouth before she can stop it, leaving a hot ball of iron in her stomach as it goes.  She can’t look away from Kit, not with the joy she sees, but she also can’t keep staring.  So, she blinks.

            “Geneva, I meant it when I said you didn’t have to.”

            “I know.  I—”  Geneva leans forward, kisses Kit and is kissed back.  They stand like this, together in her yard, under the spindly limbs of the only tree there.  As they part, Kit is beaming, and Geneva wears an ill-fitted smile.  She glances at her window, around her neighborhood, and hopes no one saw.

            “Wow.  So, this is what that feels like,” Kit says.  If her smile grows anymore it will swallow her face.  She stretches her arms over her head.  “Well, I am glad I came over to talk to you, then.”

            “Me, too.”

            They stand in silence.  The sun feels suddenly quite hot against Geneva’s back, while the air feels cold against her face.  A storm brews in the center.  She looks to a distraction, for anything else to talk about, and settles on, “Claude invited me—us—over for brunch.  Or something.  It sounded stupid.”

            “He did?”

            “Yeah.  I mean, no?  I think it was mostly his girlfriend.  Anyway, do you want to go?”

            “After everything that’s happened?  Hell yeah.”

            Geneva nearly chokes on her disappointment.  “Oh.  Okay, cool, well, I’ll call him then.”  She goes back to the door.  “Later.  Right now, I have some homework to do.”

            “Figures.  Well, I’ll see you.”  She blows Geneva a kiss, and Geneva catches it half-heartedly before retreating inside.  Alone, she leans against the door, catches her breath while staring ahead at nothing in particularly.

            She sighs.  “Every time,” she whispers to herself, and then she forces her way back up the stairs, replaying the entire conversation in her head and counting every little lie.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina stands by the gate tree at dawn, watching the sun rise over the tree line. Splinters of darkness extend into the forest’s depths.  The treetops are a shining green ocean now, undulating with the warm, morning breeze.  Above it, the world’s ring glitters.

            She checks her pocket watch and surveys the surrounding area.  It is busy, as it always is.  Families wait for the return of their loved ones, of soldiers and politicians and laborers away from home.  A diplomat Nina met years earlier is parting ways with his wife and son, and he has to wipe his eyes to keep from crying.

            “Ready to go?”

            Nina turns and finds Nojah.  As always, Nojah is in military dress.  Nina salutes quickly and Nojah returns it.  Then, she leans against a nearby tree with her arms crossed, and she stares at Nina.

            “I’m sure you could stay.  Marilith would like to have breakfast with you, at the very least.”

            “I can’t.  My papers allow for only a short stay, and I have things to get back to.  Erak left me quite the mess.”

            “I can imagine.”

            Nina nods, turns to watch the tree.  She is set to leave soon.  Though the Gate Tree requires no power on the part of the elves to operate, they do organize travel simply to keep records of those who come and go.  These regulations help them to keep order.

            “Do you think it will all be worth it?”

            Nina turns again.  “How do you mean?”

            “I mean, this isn’t her end game.  It’s just another step.  Do you think that the knights can be everything Marilith needs them to be?”

            “I don’t know,” Nina says, thinking of the coral signet inside of her luggage.  “It is a lot to expect of a person.”

            “Because they’re human?”

            “Because they’re mortals, with lives finite as ours.  I hardly think we have a chance of playing our parts, any of us.  But,” Nina smiles now, “If I have to go off of character, then, yes.  I believe she is everything we need and more.  I believe she can do it.”

            “That girl of yours? That’s a lot of faith you’re putting in her.”

            “It is.”

            Nojah stands straight, away from the tree.  “Then I would like to meet her someday.”

            “I’m sure you will.”

            They wait together now, in silence, as the sun rises, as time gathers.  Marilith arrives, finds them like this, and clears her throat.  She laughs when they salute and then looks at Nojah.  “Wasn’t expecting to find you here, Commander.”

            “We were just catching up.”

            “Oh? Then carry on.”

            “We’re done.” Nojah turns, salutes Nina, and then salutes once more to Marilith before leaving.

            “We’ll talk later, over lunch,” Marilith says, waving at Nojah’s back.  To Nina, she says, “So stiff. Anyway, returning to the Realm of Man.  And you have everything?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good.  We’re counting on you.”

            “I know, and I promise I won’t let you down.”

            Marilith hugs Nina, and Nina returns it hesitantly.  “Of course, you won’t.  I would never allow it.  Now, take care of yourself, when you can.”

            Nina nods, dips to grab her luggage.  She starts toward the Gate Tree and stops to look back.  “I’ll see you soon.”

            “Not nearly soon enough.” Marilith waves, and Nina watches her as she backs away.  Then, there is a flash and a pinch, and Nina closes her eyes and passes between worlds.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley smells it first and follows it down the hallway to her apartment.  Grabbing her keys, she is just about to unlock the door when it opens for her, revealing Claude waiting inside.  He is wearing an apron and a smile, and she returns his smile with a smile in kind before kissing him on the cheek and following him inside.

            “It that delicious smell our apartment?  Tell me it’s our apartment.”

            “It is,” Claude says.  “Or it’s what’s cooking in our apartment.”

            “Same thing.”  She sniffs the air.  “You know, a man who looks as good as you doesn’t have to cook, not that I am complaining.”  She sets her purse on the counter and unbuttons her jacket.  “Is it pasta? It smells a bit like pasta.”

            “Making chicken alfredo.”

            Her eyes go wide. “My favorite!”  Slipping her jacket off, she folds it and sets it over her purse.  “Okay, mister, what’re you buttering me up for?”

            “Nothing,” he says. “Just wanted to do something nice for you, since you’ve been working so hard.”

            “I. Am. Dating. The. Perfect. Man.”  She pulls him into a hug and kisses him again, this time on the lips.  Then, they part, and she goes to the stove, where a pot simmers.  Lifting the lid, she smells the alfredo more closely and stirs it with a nearby spoon.

            Claude watches her, rubbing his neck.  “I’m not that great.”

            Looking over her shoulder, she winks.  “And he’s modest, too.”

            “Hey, stop teasing me.”

            She blows a raspberry through her teeth and then takes his hand.  “I mean it, hon,” she squeezes his hand, “Thank you. This is a wonderful surprise.”

            Now, he smiles.  “Well, it’s not the only surprise.”

            “And there’s more?”  She fans herself.  “Oh, my!”

            “I took the time to get us a movie.  And that ice cream you like.”

            “A movie? And ice cream?”  She puts her hands on her hips, knits her brow.  “Seriously, what did you do?”

            “Nothing.  I promise.”

            “Really?”  Shirley smiles again.  “So, this, all of this, is just you being awesome?”

            “Yup.”  Claude looks at the floor, shifts his weight.  “And, it’s just—Listen, I’m sorry.  For everything that happened that night.”  When he looks up to meet her eyes, he finds that it is too hard to hold her gaze and looks away again.  His hands find refuge in his pockets.  “For putting you in danger.”

            “Claude, don’t be sorry.”  Shirley steps in, wraps her soft arms around his torso.  She holds him close and stares up into his face until he stares back.  Her smile lingers, gentle and sincere.  “You saved me.  You’re a hero.”

            He holds his breath and, slowly, hesitantly, returns the embrace.  “I guess so.”

            “No, no guessing.”  Shirley releases him, slaps him gently in the chest.  “You’re the big hero, remember?  So, no moping.  Unless moping means you cook me dinner more.  Then, you can mope all you want.”

            Claude laughs.  “Now you’re just taking advantage.”

            “Girl’s got to do what she can go get by in the world.”  Shirley steps away from him, goes to the cupboard and grabs two bowls.  “Now, come on, I’ve got alfredo and ice cream.”  Pinching his cheek, she adds, “And a movie!”

            He pulls away, rubs his cheek.  “Make me a bowl.  I’ll get the laptop.”

            “How gentlemanly of you.”

            Shirley takes the spoon and fills their bowls.  She fills Claude’s with extra, knowing that he won’t finish it and knowing that she will.  Normally, she would watch what she eats more closely, but normally she doesn’t have alfredo.

            Claude pauses around the counter and watches her.  “Shirley,” he says, and when she looks at him, he falters again.  Even staring down a demon, he has never felt so small. “I just want you to know, I’ll always be there for you.”

            Her brow knits again, this time in confusion.  She has the spoon in her mouth, licking it clean.  “What?”

            “I mean,” he sighs, rubs his neck again.  “No matter what happens, no matter what sort of danger you’re in, I’ll come for you.  I promise.”

            She stares at him, her smile wilting only slightly in her confusion.  Then, giggling around the spoon, she says, “I know, Claude.  What’s gotten into you?”

            “Nothing, I just wanted to say it.  I just want you to know.”

            “And I do.  Now, get the movie ready.”  She stabs two forks into their meals and lifts the bowls.  “And make sure not to skip the previews.  They’re the best parts.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Yima enters Seere’s chambers and finds him reading, as she often does.  A goblet of water sits beside him, untouched.  She stops in his doorway and leans against the frame.  Her cloak hangs from her body, torn and dirtied from constant travel.

            Seere licks his finger, turns a page and, without looking up, says, “Yes?”

            “I have a report.”

            “And I am listening.”  Seere folds the book over his finger and looks at her.  “Though, I suppose you’ll want my full attention.”

            “It’d be nice.”  Yima enters the room, takes his goblet up and drinks deeply of it.

            “And now you have it.”

            She returns the goblet.  “I’ve seen the human realm, the elves, and the knights,” she says, “And the elves are in charge now.  The gods, it seems, are little more than myths to the humans, and the elves are little more than shadows, though their presence looms larger in other realms.  From what I can tell, the fair folk have developed an empire that rivals that which we felled.”

            Seere sits back, rests his book on his lap.  “Interesting.  They wield so much power, and yet you call them shadows to the humans?”

            Yima scoffs.  “They fear them, for whatever reason.”

            “Maybe for a good reason.”

            She shrugs.  “From what I’ve seen, the elves have the better technology and greater resources.  Their numbers are superior, as are their tactics.  If they wanted, they could destroy the humans.”

            “Conventionally, perhaps, but the humans were quite tenacious, from what the texts say.  And besides, the Deities held all the power in the war with us, and they fell just the same.”

            “Yes, but we had…”

            “Maybe the humans have their own secrets.”

            “But their flesh is soft and their meat is thin, and it tastes sour.”

            Seere laughs.  “Yes, well, what of the knights?  They killed our stalwart Andromalius, didn’t they?”

            “He was an idiot,” Yima says.  “And you never expected him to win.”

            Seere shrugs.

            “You and your games,” Yima says.  She crosses the room, pours herself some more water.  Holding her own goblet, she swirls the water around while watching her reflection in its surface warp and shift.  “They have only one knight, a human girl not yet an adult even by their standards.  She’s softer than the average human, too, more fat than anything else.”

            “And yet she killed a lord.”

            “That was the armor.  It makes them stronger, harder, and the reports say she had help from another human, a male with strange gifts.”

            Seere hums.  “Imagine what they could do if they were properly trained.”

            “That won’t be a problem.  From what I’ve seen and heard, she isn’t a killer.”

            “And yet she killed.  Humans adapt, as do we all.”

            Yima grunts, swallows her water.  “Regardless, the elves have the power, and with it they hold the Yggdrasil and all the realms.”

            “No, not all of them,” Seere says.  He folds the page of his book and sets it to the side.  Going to his shelf, he withdraws rolls of parchment, carefully bound, and sets them gently upon his table, one after another.  “We have old maps, with old roads long forgotten.”

            “We’ll be caught eventually.”

            “Every matter as it comes, dear.  Is there anything else I should know?”

            Yima shakes her head, and Seere returns to his book.  He opens it and smooths the page while she leans against the wall, arms crossed, and watches him.

            “Yes?”

            “What’s next? And what is your plan?”

            “Dantalion is next.”

            “I thought he was an ally.”

            “There are no allies in war, only alliances built on conveniences.”

            “And he’s inconvenient?”

            “Increasingly so,” he meets her eyes, smiles.  “What do you say to another test?”

            Yima smirks, snorts with laughter.  “Same old tricks.”

            “Why change what works?”

            “But Dantalion, while foolish, is cautious.  He won’t go to the human realm on his own.”

            “Then we bring them here.  Take a message to Dantalion, an offer.  Tell him the stories of the knights, remind him of their great and terrible power.  Make the girl fearsome in his mind.  Tell him of Andromalius’ death. Exaggerate if you must, but make her a hero.  Then, give him whatever he needs to bring her here.”

            Yima moves from the wall.  “I’ll do my best.”  She stops in the doorway.  “And what if this fails?  What if the girl isn’t the slayer you mean to use her as?”

            “Then she dies, and we’re one less threat for it,” Seere says, returning to his book.

            “Games.”

            “Now, Yima, dear, if it were all just games to me, then you wouldn’t follow, would you?”

            Yima goes to the table and scoops up the maps.

            “I trust you can take care of this.”

            “Yes, sire, and I know exactly how to do it.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 114...End