ARC 3 - HALLOWED

CHAPTER 6 - THE DESPERATE

Life in the kitchens improved in the coming days, if only marginally so. Erkan hadn’t reacted to Raegn’s triumphant return with the fish and fruit other than to point at where he wanted them set down. It was a disappointment at the time, but one that was quickly forgotten.

Raegn had arrived earlier the next morning and found Lona already hard at work without the cook’s presence. His questions of her went unanswered, but at least the girl had been willing to look up at him. Her nose and cheekbones were sharp angles and gave her a striking beauty that hid behind thin strands of hair and a layer of sweat and grease from her work. The grime was well-earned, for Lona worked harder than Erkan without a single word of complaint. Raegn tried to ask her questions - where she was from, how she met Erkan…why she tolerated him - but all were met with blank stares.

For several mornings after Raegn continued to arrive early and with each day Lona slowed her pace to allow him the chance to follow. From watching alone he learned that each vegetable was to be prepared a different way and there were various techniques to be used to simplify the preparation of the more complicated produce. There were other tasks, too, like ensuring the various pots were stirred constantly when ingredients were added, while ensuring that others were taken off the heat at just the right moment. Lona never spoke, but accentuated her gestures when something was important or to correct his errant movement.

About a third of the way through his season-long sentence Erkan stopped yelling at him for the minor details. The few times Raegn was sent on errands he found himself better prepared than he had hoped thanks to Joyce’s teachings. The fishmongers were surprisingly easy to push over with a strong tone and a quip about the needs of the Order. Even the women hawking their produce were more than happy to lower their prices so long as they got to pinch his cheeks when he complimented them.

On this day, however, Raegn was leaving the kitchens a few hours early. He pulled the apron from around his waist and hung it on a peg in the wall near the door. His normal duties, guarding and patrolling, still took precedent over his punishment. Lona and Erkan would stay, of course, as there were still numerous preparations to be done for supper. Raegn looked back at the quiet girl carefully slicing fruits and the stout cook sipping at the bubbling mixture in a large cauldron. The air wafting through the room carried a sweet scent with just a hint of tartness. The fruit jam for the insides of the small pastries, Raegn hoped—one of his new-found favorite desserts.

There were little more than scraps left of the midday meal in the Great Hall by the time he arrived and several Initiates had already set about cleaning away the various offerings. Raegn snatched a plate and took the pieces of roast boar that remained before eyeing the rice balls. They had set out long enough that the exterior looked dry, but he wondered if the insides might still be moist. They would be filling regardless, he decided, and took several.

“It doesn’t seem right for a lord of your prominence to pick over mere scraps,” a voice mocked from behind.

Raegn closed his eyes and bit his lip while praying to the Heavens for patience. That smug tone had played at sympathy for his punishment several times already in the previous days. “Even a stray dog knows not to challenge the starving unless it can win the fight,” he growled.

“Oh, but of course. My apologies. I meant no insult, Lord Raegn.” Eligor gave a bow of his head that masked the sly grin on his face for a moment. “I simply wanted to express my empathy for one forced to live below his station.”

Raegn knew it was best not to indulge the arrogant Templar, but that silver tongue had a way of drawing the rage out of him. He skirted around the blond noble and found a seat at a table on the far side of the room. He watched Eligor leave from the corner of his eye, but the tension in his shoulders remained. The bastard had never outright admitted to accusing him, but Raegn had heard hushed conversations and seen pointing fingers as he walked by. Someone had started the rumors with enough shrewd wit to have them reach the Highlord. Who else but Eligor would have spared the effort?

Raegn ate quickly, washing each mouthful down with a gulp of ale, and headed straight to the armory after his meal. He didn’t have a lot of time to begin with and he was already running late for the start of his shift. When he reached the long, rectangular building near the edge of the Citadel’s grounds he found Kai standing against the door with one foot pressed against the thick wood and already wearing his armor.

“Have a nice meal?” the islander asked.

“No.”

Kai recoiled at the bluntness, but pushed open the door with his leg. “I thought you liked the food here. Almost three seasons and you haven’t shut up about it.”

“It wasn’t the food,” Raegn said as he wrestled a cuirass over his head.

“Ah, Eligor again, then. He’ll tire of it eventually,” Kai replied.

“I think it irritates me so much because he’s right.” Raegn gave the breastplate a firm tug to seat it against his shoulders, then reached for a pair of bracers.

“I didn’t think you’d ever give him that sort of credit,” the islander said with a frown. “And how is it that the prick is right?”

Raegn grabbed a spear and shield off of the rack near the door and turned to face his friend. “By blood and law, I am still the ruler of Bastion. The city may be gone, but some of its people live on. And here I am, fattening myself on savory foods and lazing about the capital in Templar armor.”

“Well, I am the last person to ask for advice regarding nobility,” Kai admitted. “I’d say Tera might be able to help, but I don’t think she’s warmed up to the idea of talking to you yet. Her sister would probably be even less help.”

Raegn scowled. “She has a sister?”

“Yep,” Kai said and tossed Raegn his helmet. “Older. Nora’s a Justicar and hasn’t been around much lately, though. Seems they’ve grown busy of late.”

The metal slid over Raegn’s head easily as he met his friend and partner for the day at the door. They didn’t work every guard shift together, but they certainly tried to. The Crusader in charge of scheduling guard shifts had resisted at first, but after several days of change requests and other Templar agreeing to swaps the woman had apparently found it easier to schedule them together from the start.

“So you’re no help at all then,” Raegn said.

“Not in that regard,” Kai answered with a chuckle. “But I can tell you this: you’re not getting fat. Quite the opposite, really.” The islander gave a few final tugs on the straps of Raegn’s armor to fasten them down before tucking the excess beneath the metal. “And I doubt we’ll be lazing about today. We’re on assignment for the Church’s northern gate. Plenty of action there.”

If by action you mean stopping the weak, diseased, and desperate from flooding the halls of the Church and overwhelming the acolytes and clerics, Raegn thought, then yes, today might be filled with action. Still, it was better than washing sheets, weeding garden beds, and whatever-the-fuck else the Initiates were tortured with all day.

The two left the armory and headed out across the Citadel grounds. The grass that lingered at the edges of well-worn paths was still green, but the heat of the warmer seasons was noticeably absent from the air. Instead, a mellow breeze carried in by the sea to the west saved Raegn the discomfort of sweat-soaked under-layers beneath his several pieces of armor. The two marched across the bridge and down the white stone street toward the Church without any fanfare. Most people moved aside for them to pass, but there were a few that took their time to step out of the way. Some even glared at the emblem on their chests.

One of Templar at the gate gave an audible sigh of relief when they arrived. “Thank the Light, our shifts up.”

“How bad has it been?” Kai asked.

“Most are following the rules, but poor Emerson’s had to stop one woman from skipping the line four times now.” The Templar pointed with his spear at his partner far down the line of commoners wearing mud-stained rags. “Almost started a brawl in the streets, she did. The others are getting agitated with her as well.”

“Wonderful,” Kai muttered.

Raegn shrugged and started off towards the other Templar, wanting to put eyes on this troublemaker while Kai finished the changeover with other guard. He waited out of earshot for Emerson to finish giving instructions to a woman with a hunch in her back and gray curls that fell below her shoulders.

“That’s the one?” he asked when Emerson separated himself from the line.

“Her name is Demitra, apparently,” the Templar said. “Keeps muttering about tainted blood and missing children.”

“Her children?”

Emerson rolled his shoulders against his armor. “Who fucking knows. Every now and then she just steps out of the line and tries to walk into the Church like she owns the place. Acts all surprised when we stop her.”

Raegn frowned. Most were willing to give it a try once, but only when they thought the guards weren’t looking. “She fight back at all?”

“No. It’s mostly the others that think she’ll be let in that start hollering. Some bitch pulled her by the hair the third time. I swear, the Church offering help to these people does more harm than good. Might as well just let them brawl and the winner can go in.”

Raegn furrowed his brow but kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard a member of the Order criticize the Church’s actions or show hatred towards the people of Elysium. This Templar was probably of decent birth and saw the poor as little more than an annoyance. They were, but it was hardly their fault. Bastion had mandated those without a trade skill or way to provide for themselves serve in the ranks of its army, something Elysia seemingly had no interest in. The kingdom forced the poor to fend for themselves and the Church saw it as their duty to help.

It looked good on the surface, but there was never enough to go around and Raegn had learned it put the Order at odds with the Church. In his initial classes it was explained that the position of Highlord was an appointed one, chosen by the Council of Seven. Normally this meant the two organizations got along, but there were whispers that since Highlord Orgeron had taken the mantle the two had quarreled on nearly every issue. The primary item for debate was monetary, as it so often was with large organizations. The Church wanted the Order to lessen their budget to better provide for the public, but the Highlord argued that it would put the Realm at risk. That argument, at least, had been won when the Church was forced to admit the Void was a significant threat after Bastion’s fall. Highlord Dulius had appeared at ease in the Council of Sevens Chamber during Raegn’s questioning, but the more he thought about it the more it occurred to Raegn that appearances were not always truth—especially at such a prominent level. The memory of Ulrich chastising him for speaking against his father, however quietly, was a strikingly similar example.

Their shift drug on and the evening bell tolled solemnly throughout the city to signify the sun’s final hours in the sky. Almost on queue, a cleric brought bread, cheese, and a skin of water for Kai and Raegn to share. It felt wrong to eat in front of the line of people that were likely starving, so they took turns, one keeping watch while the other hid just inside the gate and out of sight. The cleric waited as well, planning on taking in the next five in line to be seen. Raegn ate quickly so as to not leave Kai alone for too long, but also to escape the cleric’s heavy gaze. The woman wasn’t much of a talker, instead letting her bitter eyes hold the conversation.

He traded places with the islander, handing over the other half of the loaf and slab of cheese and taking up his place in front of the opened gate. Worn faces looked back at him. It was a slow process and by the pace so far Raegn could guess that the clerics wouldn’t have seen more than one hundred today. He craned his head and peered down the line of the weary and helpless. There had to be twice that amount still standing there. They’d probably stand there all night, too, hoping to increase their chances the next day.

A sharp cry rang out and there was a wave of movement about halfway down the line.

“Kai!” Raegn called. “Need you to watch the gate!”

He heard he a shout of acknowledgment, but couldn’t make out the actual words as they were muffled by a full mouth. Still, he doubted the crowd would rush the gate in his absence, and took off towards the commotion. When Raegn arrived at the source he found a girl, no more than ten or twelve, with Demitra clinging to her skirts. A man, the girl’s father if he had to guess, held on to the girl’s arm.

“What’s happening here?” Raegn asked.

“This old hag fell over and won’t let go!” the man yelled. The girl wiggled her leg to shake Demitra free, but the woman refused to loosen her hold.

“Tainted…blood…missing…the Church…help,” Chapped lips repeated the same words in a constant stream of muttering.

Raegn slung his shield over his back and squatted down, letting his spear lean against his shoulder. The woman’s grip was tight, but when he placed his own gloved hands on hers they shifted from the girl’s skirts to grasp him. The girl and her father moved away quickly and left Raegn in the center of a small circle with the woman.

“Demitra?” Raegn asked. The woman’s mouth stopped moving and she raised her head to look at him. Her eyes were a tired hazel and the wrinkles on her face were highlighted by dirt, but she wasn’t as old as he would have initially guessed. This woman clearly needed help, though he wasn’t sure the Church would be able to provide it. “What’s all this? You have tainted blood?” he asked. The woman shook her head. “Who does, then? The children?”

Her eyes widened. “Missing,” she whispered.

“And you want the Church to help? To find them?”

She leaned in and gripped his hands tighter, giving them a small shake. “They have.”

Raegn frowned. He tried to ask why she was here then, but the woman went back to her muttering. Whatever moment of clarity had graced her mind had passed. How this poor woman been able to survive on the streets in a condition like this was beyond him. Perhaps it’s a recent development and something can still be done, he hoped.

The crowd protested as he led her to the front and placed her in the group heading into the Church. The cleric gave him a stern look but turned to lead the six inside without a word. Those in the front of the line and able to see started an uproar that spread through the crowd.

Raegn slammed the bottom of his spear against the cobbled ground. “Enough!” He only used a small amount of Light, just enough to carry his voice and alter it to grab their attention, but it worked. The congregation flinched and quieted. “We can either get her help now, or you all can continue to deal with the interruptions that slow the process. Which would you choose?”

There were murmurs and hands thrown in exasperation, but the volume returned to a normal level of discontent.

“What happened? Did she say something?” Kai leaned over to ask once things had settled.

“She’s afflicted in some way. Thinks the Church is already helping missing children with tainted blood.” Raegn shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Best to let the clerics figure it out. Glad you handled that one, though.” Kai opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. Eventually, he found the words he was looking for. “I don’t like dealing with those who are sick in the head. I feel like I don’t know how to talk to them.”

Raegn eyed his friend, noticing that Kai shifted his weight from heel to toe, rocking slightly as he stared ahead. Was the islander nervous, or did he feel bad that he wasn’t of any help? “I’ve got plenty of practice,” Raegn mentioned.

Kai straightened and shot him a questioning side-eye. “You do?”

“I see you every day, don’t I?”

The islander gave a low whistle. “You must have been holding on to that one for a while.”

Raegn smiled, partially content that he was able to calm his friend but also proud of his jest. Too often Kai was faster in the battle of wit. It made these small victories taste all the better.

His thoughts drifted back to the pastries filled with sweet jams while they finished the rest of their shift. He asked about Demitra when the same cleric returned for another group sometime later, but the stern healer told him little could be done. A shame, but not unexpected. The Light could only heal so much.

They returned to the Citadel, stopping by the armory to leave their equipment. Raegn penned his name on the ‘returned’ portion of the inventory list and then made a mark next to each piece of gear. The quartermasters were quite particular about ensuring everything listed on the long piece of parchment had been brought back, but Raegn knew what he had taken; he saw little reason to remove the gear from his body before signing. Kai thought the same, apparently, and took over the quill.

“Wait, is that how you spell your name?” the islander asked upon seeing the list.

“Yes, why?” Raegn answered with a frown.

“I don’t know, I always figured it had a ‘y’ in it. It looks weird written out like that. Is it a farling spelling?”

“It’s certainly not an islander spelling,” Raegn scoffed. “And who are you to talk? Kaikoa Ochoa? You sound like you’re from a story they tell children.”

“How dare you,” Kai heckled. “I’ll have you know my parents chose my name with great care. ‘Kai’ means ‘warrior’ and ‘Koa’ is part of ‘Kekoa’, which means ‘of the sea’”.

Raegn raised a brow as he slid the bracers from his forearms. “So you’re a warrior of the sea? I’ve never seen you in the water. Or on a boat, even.”

“It’s implied I’d be good at it, given my heritage.”

“Mmm,” Raegn hummed.

“Don’t ‘mmm’ me, you little shit. What’s yours mean, then?” Kai shot back.

“It doesn’t have a meaning. It’s just a name,” Raegn said.

“Ah, so as bland as the rest of you then?”

Raegn chewed his lip but struggled to come up with a reply. Mercifully, the bearded quartermaster interrupted their brotherly bickering upon a review of the inventory list. “Templar Edelgard?”

Raegn stood and approached the desk. “That’s me.”

“I was given a message to relay to you when you returned,” the quartermaster said. “You’re not to report to the kitchens tomorrow morning. Said to head the Dawn Gate at the Church instead.”

“Who gave you the message?” Raegn asked.

“My apologies, I didn’t catch his name.” The quartermaster rolled the piece of parchment and tucked it beneath his desk. “But he was a Crusader, of that I’m certain. Showed me his seal.”

Raegn looked to Kai, but his friend shrugged. “If a Crusader ordered it then you’re on the hook.”

They finished turning in their gear in quick order and left the armory to head deeper into the Citadel toward the Templar Wing. Raegn led them down hallways that had once been an unnavigable maze like they were second nature. The floorplan of each wing was different than the others, but the levels within the same wing were almost identical. Once he’d learned the dozen or so different layouts all he had to do was remember which one of the large off-shoots of the main building he was in and the rest was fairly easy.

“Let’s bathe, shall we?” Kai gestured down the hall towards the stairs that led to the baths below. “I’ve got no ill will against the less fortunate, but their scent…lingers.”

Raegn considered it, but the longer he waited the less likely it would be that there would be any pastries left. His chances were already low as things were. “I want to swing through the kitchens first,” he said. “See if there were any desserts left behind.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

Raegn heard the islander mutter something about gluttonous nobility but didn’t think he stood much of a chance in a contest of jests regarding his eating habits.

A quick trip into the empty kitchens revealed that Erkan and Lona had cleaned up well. The tables were empty save for washed utensils ready for the next morning. Damn. The midnight bell hadn’t yet rung, though, so perhaps there were still some left out in the Crusader’s dining hall. He knew the Initiates weren’t supposed to enter unless transporting prepared food for the next meal, but he was a Templar and it was late enough that the hall might be empty. If not he could simply claim he was sent to check stock. Raegn grabbed a basket and filled it full of fruits to better argue his story before heading up the stairs.

The hall was not empty. A few more than a dozen Crusaders populated the tall room lined with stained glass and filled with long tables. Luckily, none of them seemed to pay him any mind, so Raegn committed towards the serving table at the far side, careful to stay along the wall. He made it halfway across the room before there was a slight tug on his basket from behind. With a quick whirl, he turned to face his accuser.

“Sorry!” The Crusader raised her hands, an apple held in one. “Meant to take that unnoticed. It’s just that the ones they left out have been picked over and I figured yours wouldn’t have all the bad spots.” She scurried away quickly and Raegn let out the breath he’d held the moment he turned on her. A bit of luck, then, that none of them knew he didn’t belong. With confidence renewed, his strides carried him the rest of the way to the table at the far end of the hall.

By some miracle there were still several of the pastries left. Raegn eyed them, unable to choose which of the colored jams nestled in the center of flaky layers would taste best. If he remembered Erkan’s lessons riddled with insults correctly, the red berries would be sweeter this time of year. He reached for one of the desserts, but another hand lay itself atop his before he could reach the desserts.

Raegn froze.

The touch was tender and not a hint of labor graced the immaculate alabaster skin resting atop his fingers. His eyes followed the limb up to the face of a girl that could have been molded by the Heavens themselves. Blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders, its lightly frazzled ends peeking out from beneath the hood of a dark cloak. There were green eyes, deep and imposing like the Northern Woodlands, that sat above high cheekbones and a thin jaw. Was it the black makeup around her eyes that made them so deep? So cold? Raegn struggled to find a flaw in her as she stared at him. Her cheekbones were perhaps a tad too visible, but he wasn’t sure he would call her face gaunt. Despite her allure, however, the girl’s face gave no emotion. She was like a figure carved from marble, beautiful in all the details, yet lifeless.

It took but a moment, but her hand began to warm on his. Raegn grimaced as the heat grew until it became like a hot coal on his skin. The feeling seeped into his soul and the taste of ash filled his mouth. He knew this feeling, Light so pure it burned—the same as when Camael had saved him. Raegn recoiled in a mix of disgust and pain.

A smile broke the statuesque face and her honeyed voice reached deep into his mind.

“Hello, Waker.”