ARC 3 - HALLOWED

CHAPTER 5 - FORMS OF PUNISHMENT

“Caelan!” a familiar voice called out from behind.

Raegn had heard the footsteps down the other hall as he crossed the intersection, but kept walking to avoid them. The eyes of the people in the street as he had been escorted to the Church had been more than enough attention for one day. Still, a few dozen steps down the hall and the sound of footsteps grew along with another call of his fake name. A glance over the shoulder revealed Kai walking quickly toward him…and Tera storming forward at the islander’s side.

“I thought they might hold you all night. What happ—” Kai began to ask.

He didn’t get the chance to answer. Tera hadn’t stopped a few paces away as Kai had. Raegn could’ve dodged the hand if he truly wanted to, but instead the slap rang down the hallway as his head abruptly faced the wall. He blinked, scrunching his nose repeatedly to flex his cheekbones and shaking his head to clear the ringing in his left ear. Tera’s lips were drawn in a hard line and her face was scarlet.

“Liar,” she growled. Kai stood nearby, his mouth agape. “Who are you?!” Tera demanded.

Raegn sighed and gave his cheekbone a gentle rub. “My name is Raegn Edelgard. I was the heir to Bastion before its fall.”

“Why would you lie about who you are?!” she yelled.

“Tera, come on, it’s late and people are sleeping.” Kai tried to place his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off.

“My own people think I betrayed them, Tera,” Raegn tried to explain. “Some of them nearly killed me!”

She continued to glare at him, the muscles along her jaw twitching as she ground her teeth. “They made you a Templar?” she asked upon noticing the multi-pointed halo emblem pinned on his breast.

“Yes.” Raegn looked to Kai, but the islander only gave him a broad grin. Tera huffed through her nose, pursing her lips and scowling at him briefly before marching off. Raegn took a small step forward to follow, but Kai placed a gentle hand on his chest.

“Might be best to let her alone for a bit.” The islander gave him a pat on the shoulder as they turned away. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat and you can answer my questions,” Kai said with a wry grin.

They grabbed bowls of cold stew and hurried back to Kai’s quarters, avoiding the few Initiates and Templar eating a late meal in the Great Hall. Kai promised to help Raegn move what few belongings he had from the barracks-style room to Raegn’s own, personal quarters in the Templar wing in the morning. In exchange, the islander began to pepper Raegn with questions the moment they closed the door to Kai’s room. They sat on opposite sides of a small wooden desk pulled out from the wall to be used as a table. Kai hadn’t taken more than a single bite since they sat down.

“So you’re the Prince of Bastion?”

“No,” Raegn replied, trying not to sound agitated. They’d arrived at this same point in the line of questioning twice already and if the world had any mercy this would be the last.

“But you said you were the heir,” Kai pointed out.

“Bastion isn’t it’s own Kingdom, Kai. You know as much. My family ruled over the city and its surrounding lands. My father was a lord. I’m just a lord.”

“So I shouldn’t call you, your majesty,” the islander said with a mocking bow made more awkward by sitting in the chair.

Raegn stared back flatly. “No.”

“Oh fine,” Kai dropped his grin and made like he was going to take a bite of stew, then let his spoon fall back into the bowl and folded his hands in front of him. “So were you actually a warrior or was it just a title?”

Raegn sighed. “My entire family was a long line of warriors and nearly everyone in Bastion learned to fight. It was our way of life.”

“So you actually met an Archangel that destroyed everything and stopped the Void, then?”

“Yes.”

Kai gave a low whistle. “But your people think you did it? Destroyed the city, I mean.”

Raegn stopped and held his spoon a short distance from his mouth. “I suppose so.” He carefully finished taking the bite and swallowed before continuing, “I’m not sure if it’s all of them or just a few, though.”

“Well at least some do, right? They tried to kill you and that’s when the caravan found you? I think you’re right to play it safe.”

“I suppose so.”

Kai sat, pondering the tale. “So what’s Tera so angry about? I’ve never seen the two of you talk besides a few words that first night at the tavern.”

Raegn kept his head in his stew. This line of questioning wasn’t going to lead anywhere enjoyable. “She...we spent some time together later that night,” he admitted.

Kai blinked, hard, and raised his brow. “You what?!” Raegn shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth to avoid the islander’s gaze. There was a singular laugh and Kai’s mouth was left agape, his face frozen in amused shock. “Tera?” he asked, “You bedded Tera? I didn’t think she would ever…how did you even get her to…?” Kai trailed off and let his questions linger in the air.

“Technically, she propositioned me,” Raegn clarified.

“What?!” Kai leapt from his seat and threw his arms out in exasperation. After a short time spent pacing he recovered and gave a scolding point. “First, you must be some sort of royal if you’re going to say propositioned like that.” Kai wagged his finger. “And second, she would never.”

“She asked me, then,” Raegn insisted. “Took me to some manor. Her family’s, if I had to guess.”

“What in the seven…” Kai sat down, chuckling and shaking his head.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Raegn confessed. “Or so I thought. Helped me get my mind off of home—off the battle. But she didn’t have me stay the night and she hasn’t spoken more than a few words to me since. She told me to pretend like we didn’t know each other.”

“Couldn’t have been that good, then, eh?” Kai beamed. “Our fearsome warrior-prince, skilled in all things combat, but lacking in the bedroom!”

Raegn briefly considered knocking Kai over with a small shockwave, but didn’t have any desire to clean up the spilled stew that would accompany the blast. He settled on hooking his foot behind the chair leg and assisting it as Kai leaned back in a deep laugh. The islander gave a small yelp and toppled, but continued to howl from the floor.

The move was easy enough. It wasn’t like Raegn had much more than clothes to his name, anyway. His new room was small and of the same plain white brick the previous quarters had been, but this one only had a single bed. At least there would be no more disturbances in the middle of his sleep as other Initiates returned from whatever late night chore had been assigned to them. Then again, it wasn’t like he was sleeping well in the first place. The nightmares were always the same: Bastion’s warriors turning on him, the Void tearing him apart, or burning to ashes from the inside in an overwhelming amount of Light. The hope that this new life would replace the memories of his old one only worked during the day when Raegn could distract himself with his duties or time spent with Kai.

Compared to his time as a Sentinel, the day-to-day life of a Templar could be considered quite ordinary. Guard duty and patrolling the city were hardly note-worthy, but at least it would earn him some coin and afford him more autonomy within the Order. Unfortunately, Raegn wouldn’t have the luxury of standing a simple post or even a quiet start to the day. Not this morning or any morning after for the next thirty days.

The kitchens were a small labyrinth of joined rooms that spanned nearly the entire first floor of one of the Citadel’s numerous wings. Most were filled with shouting and Initiates scurrying about at the direction of one of dozens of cooks. Raegn’s assignment, however, was to a separate area on the far edge of the wing.

When he opened the small wooden door he was almost knocked on his rear by the thickly scented air that poured out. The ceiling, though almost twice his height, was hardly visible behind a layer of steam that struggled to escape through several tiny windows. A dozen long tables were placed at strict angles in the middle of the room and each wall was lined with large pots to be used over the fire or clay ovens that lined two walls of the room. Both apparatus’s added heat to air that already seemed hot enough to cook whatever materials lay about on the tables.

“In or out lad, your standin’ there like an ass.” The man who spoke was short, the top of his head probably reaching no higher than Raegn’s chest. He had a gruff red beard that matched his voice and touched his collarbone, but no visible hair beneath the white cloth atop his head. The short cook would be Erkan, if Raegn had to guess.

Raegn stepped into the room, trying to ascertain the best route through the tables. “I’m Raegn. Highlord Dulius—”

“Aye, I know who you are. The Highlord, in all his wisdom, has seen fit to punish me with you.” The stocky man rolled his eyes and lazily waved around his knife as he spoke before returning to carving away at the large flank of meat in front of him.

Raegn could have guessed by the Highlord’s smile the night before that his assignment to the kitchens was not meant to be one of pleasure. This welcome indicated the same. He took a few cautious steps forward and nearly jumped out of his skin when something moved next to him. A girl, maybe a decade his younger, grabbed a sack of potatoes from nearby and returned to the table she had been standing behind. The large array of assorted dried herbs hanging from the ceiling had blocked Raegn’s view of her and she had stood so still he hadn’t noticed her presence. The girl tucked a strand of long blond hair beneath the white kerchief atop her head and returned to her work without so much as a glance in his direction.

“Well he didn’t send ya here to stand around! Be useful! Help Lona prep!”

The words from Erkan were sharper than the knife he pointed and spurred Raegn into action. He set about finding a small blade of his own. The girl, Lona he guessed, worked quickly. Each piece of produce was peeled and then chopped into neat blocks. Raegn tried to mimic her technique, rolling the spud in his hand and hardly moving the knife, but the skin didn’t slide off like it did for her. Whatever she was doing, he clearly couldn’t. In the time it took him to struggle through a single potato she had done four. Raegn resorted to slicing the skin off in small bits and trying to keep up. It wasn’t that he had never prepared food before, but speed hadn’t been a criteria until now. After a few more iterations of peeling and chopping Erkan came around to grab a bunch of the dried herbs from a rack hanging over a nearby table and peered into the pot.

“Angels save you lad, what in the fuck have you done to those potatoes?” The herbs were cast aside and the stout cook began to throw the pieces of potato back on the table in front of Raegn. Or at him. Raegn couldn’t really tell. Erkan continued to mutter as he pulled each and every portion of spud that Raegn had cut out of the pot. “It’s not my fault the bastard won’t eat,” the short cook muttered. “How was giving me this idiot going to help? And how hard is it to peel a potato?!” The final bit came with an extra hard toss that hit Raegn in the arm as he protected his face.

Raegn’s hand tightened around the knife. He’d been ordered to come to the kitchens. No one had asked if he thought he would be any good at it.

“You’d better loosen that grip lad,” Erkan warned. “You might be a Templar and half decent with a sword, but I’ve spent my life around knives.” The voice was calm and crisp, but the eyes - the last time Raegn had seen eyes that fierce they belonged to the Bear of Bastion.

Raegn curled his lip but placed the knife down on the table. The cook seemed to have a personality as stable as a rope bridge and he wasn’t about to find out if the Highlord would issue harsher punishment for a scuffle in the kitchen.

“Here.” Erkan fished out a small sack of coin from beneath his stained apron and tossed it. “Head out into the market by the river. Buy exactly five Perch. The fishermen ought to have hauled up their catch by now. And get a sack of punica fruit, too.”

The sudden request took Raegn by surprise. “A sack of what?” His mind struggled to catch up, but he was pretty sure he’d never heard of such a fruit. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall what a Perch looked like, either. Was it the yellowish one with the stripes? Or maybe it was the spots?

“Figure it out! If you’re not quick there won’t be any left to buy!” Erkan waved his hand to dismiss him. Raegn heard the temperamental cook mutter something as he turned and when he looked to the girl she only offered him a small shrug.

As if kitchen duty wasn’t demeaning enough, now he was reduced to an errand boy. Raegn stormed out of the room and across the grounds of the Citadel. At least it was markedly cooler outside than in the kitchen. The fresh air calmed him and the more distance he put between himself and the kitchen the faster the anger left his cheeks. The streets were already filling with people starting their day and the crowd grew denser as he approached the market district that paralleled the river.

The fishermen had indeed brought their catch to shore. The smell of it hit him square in the face and it took several suppressed gags before his nose became accustomed to the scent. The owners of each market stall called out their prices at passersby, only quieting themselves when someone approached to haggle or buy. Raegn took quick stock of the coin purse. Ten silver pieces and twenty coppers. Most sellers seemed to want around fifty coppers per fish. Somehow Raegn doubted that Erkan would have asked for a cheap catch, but the cook hadn’t exactly given him a large budget to work with. How much would a sack of that fruit cost? The name still didn’t seem familiar, so it likely wasn’t from Elysia. Something exotic was likely to carry a higher price. Raegn let out a small sigh to fight off the returning frustration.

“Caelan? It is you!” Raegn was torn from his budgeting by a familiar, matronly voice. He spun in time to be greeted with a quick hug from Joyce. The caravan leader stepped back and tousled his hair. “Keeping it short? I like it—suits you better. How have you been?”

Joyce had traded her traveling outfit for a neat blouse and blue skirt, though she kept the large gem on the gold necklace very visible atop her chest.

“Good, I suppose,” he replied. “And it’s Raegn, again.”

Joyce placed her hands on her hips and set her lips in a small pout. “Well that didn’t take long. Though I suppose if you’re out and about it must not be that big of a deal.” Raegn nodded in silent agreement. “Still, I stand by my choice to hide it.”

“And I’m thankful for it,” he assured her. “I’d still prefer not to have the whole city know.”

Joyce smiled and seemed to take stock of Raegn’s outfit, apron and all. “So what brings you to the markets? Have you found a place to live? Or a job?”

“I joined the Order. I’m a Templar, actually, though I’ve temporarily been assigned to work in the kitchens.”

Joyce’s warm smile briefly flicked into a small frown, then returned, this time in more of a smirk. “If I were a gambling woman I’d wager that your identity is somehow involved. But then again I only bet when I know I’ll win,” she said with a wink. “So, what’s on the menu?”

“Perch and punica fruit?” Raegn said. Or asked, really.

“Not too confident in the culinary arts are you?” Joyce teased.

“No,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “The meals the Order serves have flavors I’ve never tasted. Never heard of a punica fruit, either.”

“It’s from the west,” Joyce explained. “The Shaktikans grow them on the other side of the mountains where it stays warmer for more of the year. They’re bound to be pricey though, we’re already in Bleaksun. Another fortnight or so and they’ll be out of season.”

Great, Raegn thought. Erkan’s simple task turns out to be impossible. He peered into the coinpurse, hoping that the small circles had somehow multiplied. The little bastards hadn’t. Which would be more important to come back with? The fish was probably a bigger part of the meal, but with how big the kitchens were someone else might already have some. Maybe he could bargain for some within the Order and just buy the fruit here.

“Lighter than you need?” Joyce stuck a finger into the edge of the coinpurse and took a look of her own. “Oh, you ought to be able to get by with that. You’ll just have to be aggressive about it.”

Raegn raised a brow. “I don’t think you and I have the same definition of aggressive.”

“True,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t need you light stalls on fire or stick people with a sword. I’ll show you how to do it my way, just this once. Think of it as a lesson for the next time.”

Raegn quickly learned that there was no way he would be able to replicate Joyce’s methods. Her aggressive tactics amounted to heavy flirting, which worked on the fishermen, but the old woman selling exotic produce was understandably uninterested. Joyce changed her strategy, instead entering a shouting match and all but taking a sack of the fruit while shoving Raegn forward with the coinpurse.

“That’s quite the grin you’ve got,” Joyce commented as they strode through the market. “I assume your commanding cook or whatever the Order calls it will be pleased?”

The thought of the Erkan bumbling through some sort of praise cemented Raegn’s lips in place. “Something like that,” he said. “I didn’t know him ‘til this morning, but I get the impression Erkan doesn’t expect me to do much right. I’d very much like to prove him wrong.”

“Erkan? That’s an unfortunate name,” Joyce noted.

“It is?”

“Sure. It’s not a well known legend, but there are a few stories of an Erkan the Eviscerator. I’ve heard more than a few mothers threaten their children with consequences from that bloodletter for their bad behavior.”

Raegn hadn’t heard any tales like that. It must be a localized legend in the city. His Erkan was certainly moody, but he doubted that the man was much of an assassin—gut wounds didn’t kill quickly and Erkan probably couldn’t stab much higher. The Order wasn’t exactly known for rehabilitating murderers, either. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Well, I think this is where we part ways,” Joyce said with a small curtsy. “It was good to see you, though! My store is only three streets away from the Church, if you’re ever around. It’s the one across from the tailor.”

The store. Raegn cursed himself for not asking how she had been since their arrival over a season ago. He almost thumped his fist into his forehead but the weight of the bagged fish stopped him. A blessing considering the smell of the things.

“How has business been?” he asked. “Any thought of traveling again?”

“Honestly, better than I expected,” Joyce said cheerfully. “It’s only a general store, but I keep enough oddities in stock that most of the competition hasn’t been able to match me. Plus, my contacts help keep my prices lower. If you come in, I’ll give you a special discount.”

“I think saving me and bringing me here is thanks enough, Joyce.”

“Oh, it’s less of a thanks and more of a way to keep you on the hook.” She gave a coy smile. “Never know when someone might be of use.”

They parted ways and the grin returned to Raegn’s face as he crossed the bridge back onto Citadel grounds. Never in his life did he expect a successful trip to the market would be a point of pride. He couldn’t really attribute his achievement to his own ability, but Erkan probably hadn’t expected him to have capable friends. At the end of the day, being worthy of the cook’s praise wasn’t even the goal—Raegn just wanted to see the baffled look on man’s face.