If we are to ascend once again, we must somehow bridge the gap between our world and the Heavens. An impossible distance, filled by the Aether. The Church and Order grasp at straws to aid us in a task they do not truly comprehend. It would seem, much like the rest of humanity, time has turned their desires inward. Would only the Divine build it from their end, all would be saved. Why won’t they? I must know! I must have known!

ARC 5 - PARACLETE

CHAPTER 13 - BLOODFEATHER

Leland waited until the door closed behind him, then a few seconds more to be sure the Caloman girl was far down the hall before he moved back towards his desk. He grabbed the book from its surface and stuffed it onto a shelf with the others, hiding the spine against the back paneling.

“Remind me to scold Casum for leaving things untidy,” he grumbled.

A figure appeared from the corner, an impossibility given the light in the room, but apparently even the smallest of shadows was enough for him to hide in.

“The Oracle?” Harbinger asked. “Would the loss of a hand be suitable punishment?”

Leland sighed and took his seat. “My own words will suffice,” he said. “Must you thrive on the pain that cloak of yours can instill?”

The Shadow shrugged. “I’ve found that the threat of harm can be very motivating.”

Leland did his best to ignore the implication of methods used and pulled out a piece of parchment while searching for his inkwell. Such violence was necessary, at times, and Harbinger had proven very good at it, but the true value of that cloak was in the information it afforded the user. Were he not constantly aware that Harbinger could be hiding in every shadow he might be less careful with his words; something that the rest of the Church and the Order were yet ignorant of. In his peerless caution, however, he’d yet to send the boy to spy directly on the Highlord or other leadership within the Order. Used correctly, the Light did offer some ability to sense Harbinger’s presence. They’d been warned of that. Orgeron may have been weakening of late, but the Highlord was still the greatest threat to their plans. Such a risk wasn’t worth its weight. Not when there were other means already in place.

“I don’t like her involvement,” Harbinger declared.

Leland stopped his search for ink and eyed the faceless hood. The Shadow rarely spoke against his orders. Usually, it was in frustration at the restraint asked of him. The Caloman girl’s involvement in gathering information had no relation. Something different, then. Something more…mundane. Leland sighed at the realization.

“You’ve some relationship with her,” he guessed. “Or a desire for one, at least.”

Harbinger gave no reply. It was answer enough. He’d been right. Light above and God below, the boy could be unpredictable.

“She’ll not be at much risk from anything I ask of her,” he assured his servant. “What the Order asks of her is not of our concern.”

“She nearly died in some filthy cellar because of them and because of us!” the Shadow barked. “They’ll keep putting her at risk! Why do we have to ask anything of her at all?”

“Because,” Leland growled, “her existence as a mage holds intrinsic value given some of our plans and their potential outcomes.”

“Recruit her like you did me,” Harbinger offered. “I’m sure she’d—”

“No,” Leland snapped. “Her position as a Justicar and her allegiance to the Order are not to be trifled with. We cannot afford the risk.” He wiped the droplet of spit that had escaped his lips from the parchment and scowled at the damp mark it left. “Our calling is of the highest magnitude. Your personal desires are trivial compared against our service to the Maker.”

Harbinger was an endlessly deep silhouette in the center of the room. That was, until the base of the shadow faded some, revealing a boot as it shifted beneath the rest of the perfect black. Like a scolded child, too timid to speak further, but too stubborn to leave things be.

Leland sighed and rubbed his brow with his thumbs, weighing the notion. They’d been given no instruction on such matters. They rarely were. Anyone who learned of their plans only brought the risk of failure with them. The few that were already informed seemed too many. The boy would do as he was ordered, though. He’d given Leland to reason to believe otherwise. Yet losing the trust of such a useful servant would be more than a hindrance. Such a faithful, insatiable servant.

“If the option presents itself,” Leland said, rising from his desk and walking around to the Shadow at its front, “I will make every effort. But you must not force the hand. Let the pieces fall into place naturally.” He reached into the void beneath the hood, wrapping his palm around the back of an unseen neck and pulling it forward until their foreheads touched. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Prophet.”

“Five departed. Two guards are still by the door,” Tera whispered over her shoulder.

Merced leaned lazily against the wall further back in the alleyway, the glint of a knife picking at his nails all that was visible of him.

“Notice anything about them?”

She leaned forward to peek around the corner, ensuring that her head didn’t cross the line drawn by the faint moonlight that cut into their place of concealment. It was hard to tell how long the men had been in there. She and Merced had waited an hour or two, but not seen them arrive. Who knew how long they’d been in there already. Perhaps all day, or perhaps only just before they’d snuck into their little hideout. The latter was unlikely, though. It’d only been a short trip from the Church where Merced had been waiting for her. An easy one, too, considering the target wasn’t in the Slants for once. The cobbled streets and durable buildings in the middle of Elysium were a pleasant change from shit-filled muck and rotting wood. The absence of the associated smells made it easier to concentrate.

Tera studied each of the men as they headed their various ways. It was frustrating work considering the poor visibility the night offered and the efforts of the men to conceal themselves. Still, their builds could be surmised from beneath cloaks, glimpses of footwear and pant legs could be seen, and there was the sharp shine of jewelry on the swing of more than one arm.

“Lords, by the looks of them,” she said, not taking her eyes off them. “No tired backs from fieldwork. One has a limp. Clean boots, well fitted. The cloaks are of good quality, too. All of them have two or more rings.”

“Good,” Merced hummed. “A bit of patience and we’ll go see what’s inside.”

The assessment of the building's occupants complete, Tera turned her attention away from watching the door and its guards and onto her…partner? Guide? Light, she didn’t even know what Merced intended by bringing her along. The more senior Inquisitor deftly flipped the knife back beneath his cloak and made his way to the alley’s edge to peer around the corner.

“You’ve yet to tell me if this is a mission from the Order or the Church,” Tera said.

Merced didn’t take his eyes of the guards.

“Neither.”

Tera stared down the back of his head, praying that the cold glare would tickle his neck. It must have, because his head turned about and revealed a playful pout of his lip.

“What?” he asked from his crouched position. “A man’s not allowed to ask for help with a personal favor?”

The childish expression looked ridiculous on a face as rigid as Merced’s, so much so that she felt the twinge of a grin pull at her mouth’s corner. That whim was one that she killed quickly with a roll of her eyes and by planting her feet more firmly in place.

“These two ought to be easy enough to deal with,” he said. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Tera folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going to kill people just because they’re in the way.”

Merced’s head titled back with an exasperated sigh. “Caloman, not five nights ago that one beat a boy’s head into a pulp because he’d wandered too close. And that one,” he said with a nod in the direction of the guard on the right, “is known to put the pointy end of a knife in every man who accuses him of cheating at cards. And believe me, it’s a lot of people because he does, in fact, cheat. And not well.”

“So?”

“So? They’re shitty people,” he answered. “If you don’t want to be an Inquisitor tonight, then pretend you’re a Justicar. What does their Code say? Would your sister think twice about cutting them down? Or your farling suitor?”

“He’s not my suitor!” Tera hissed and her cheeks reddened at the chuckle Merced gave in response. “And I’m not a Justicar,” she reminded him, trying to get off the topic of Raegn as quickly as possible.

“You’re better for it,” he countered, then turned his attention back on the guards. “Whatever or whoever they’re protecting is of importance to me. So that I can report said significance to the Order,” he added after a sideways glance that didn’t quite reach her.

It wasn’t much reassurance, but it was something. They weren’t here on explicit orders. Both Justicar and Inquisitor’s were free to act of their own volition even when on assignment, though, if such action would benefit the Realm. And Merced didn’t seem the type to desire much in the ways of personal gain. Come to think of it, she didn’t know anything about him other than what she gleaned from his mannerisms. Deft with his knives, smart in the ways of slinking about both in the dark and in plain sight, and generally good at his job. That was about it, really.

“There are only two types of people Caloman,” Merced said as he rose. “Kings and thieves.”

“That seems like a gross oversimplification.”

He placed an arm over her shoulders and guided her towards the edge until the tips of her boots were on the threshold between light and shadow. “Everyone either has or wants,” he whispered. “Those who have, hoard. And those who want, come for it. You get to choose who you are. I say, be the thief. I want what’s inside,” he finished with a nod towards the door. “You have some way of taking them out, I presume?”

“Don’t you?”

“Of course.” Merced smiled. A bit mocking, yet somehow the most genuine grin she’d seen on him. “But where’s the fun in that? I’d rather witness something new.”

Tera doubted that this was all a test. He could’ve asked for a demonstration of her new abilities at any point in the past few days. She might’ve tried to turn him down, but if it was Merced who was asking that wouldn’t have held up long. The same night she’d completed the Trial and been denied her dream was the same night she’d learned just how highly regarded the grim Inquisitor was. There were few as proficient or often called upon as he. Thankfully, that same line of thinking gave her faith that Merced was justified in his suspicion of this particular location.

“Fine.”

Tera pivoted out of the shadows like death sweeping across the night. Her hands went to the dark plumage nestled into her cloak around her shoulders. The Light flowed through the symbols of air on her ribs and cylinder down her arms - symbols buried beneath layers of black. Feathers with tips coated in steel flew from her hands faster than any arrow, each carried by a thin, swirling vortex of wind. They passed through the hearts of the two men like needles through cloth and stuck into the wall on the other side. The men let out a single gasp each as they slumped to the floor, lifeless.

Tera walked towards the door, a hand loosely twirling another feather in case one had managed to survive. A stiff kick to each of their boots proved they weren’t so sturdy. She turned to find Merced already making his way toward her, shaking his head with a silent chuckle.

“Fuck, Caloman,” he whispered. “That was impressive.”

He knelt down and pulled out a bit of rolled leather from his belt, unfolding it on his knee. The common tools of every competent thief were organized neatly within. Merced plucked two or three of the slender picks with the same fervor that Tera pulled her two feathers from the wall. In the same moment she stuffed them back into her shoulders with the others, the lock gave a faint clunk. She made a mental note to add lock picking to the list of things she knew of him.

“Kings and thieves,” he muttered happily as he put away his tools. “Stick with me Caloman, you might learn a thing or two.”

Tera sighed. “Don’t tell me this your way of convincing me to have you as my mentor.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort.” Merced rose and gripped the handle. “I’d rather just be a friend.”

“You don’t seem like the social type,” she teased.

“Oh?”

“Merced, I don’t know a thing about you.”

“Have you ever asked?”

That brought a moment’s pause and an abrupt end to any desire she had for witty banter.

“No…,” she admitted, one arm rubbing the other.

Merced winked, then emphasized entering a crouch. He waited for her to ready herself, then gently pushed the door open.

“My parents are still alive,” he whispered as they entered. “Live up in Silverfell. They’re old as the dirt their cottage is built on, but they get by well enough. I visit now and then, just to let them know I’m still alive, too.”

The building was a large, single room of two stories. And was entirely empty. The fireplace didn’t even have a hint of smoldering coals. The second floor covered half the space, a lone staircase running up the left wall to provide access. It looked as if it might have been an old tavern given the openness of it. There was a distinct line in the floor where a counter might have once been, though there were only a few stark tables. All save for one near the back, under the ceiling provided by the second floor.

She separated from Merced, choosing to investigate what had been left on the lone table at the back of the room. A quick pinch of her fingers on the lone candle’s wick and a flash of Light across the tattoos on her shoulders brought a familiar yellow glow. Her partner took a quick trip upstairs, but returned only a minute later with nothing in hand.

“Did you always want to be an Inquisitor?” Tera asked as she flipped through the pieces of parchment, giving each a cursory glance.

“No,” Merced answered from across the room. “When I was a boy I spent most of my time at the wharf, watching the ships come in. Always thought I’d be a sailor. I liked watching the carvel’s and carrack’s, but there was one tiny fishing boat that was my favorite.”

“And why was that?” she asked absently.

“Big rose painted on the sail,” he answered. “A cute girl, too. Always hung off the mast. She had hair red as the petals and she always smelled like the flower. Never figured out how she kept away the smell of her work.”

Tera stopped rifling through the papers, taken aback by the intimacy of his words. “That’s…surprisingly sweet,” she admitted, softly. “And you joined the Order because…”

She watched him closely now, waiting to see if there was a hiccup in his work, but Merced carried on with his search of empty shelves, unphased by the words leaving his lips. It was as though he was merely recounting the weather over the past week. And yet, Tera had never heard the man speak for so long. He didn’t say these words often if she had to guess.

“They were poor folk, like my family,” he explained. “Couldn’t afford to go without a catch for more than a few days. They ventured out when the seas were rough and never came back. I’ve hated the water ever since. I happened into all this,” he said with a pull of his black tunic. “Turned out stealing from the market stalls as a boy meant I was pretty good at sneaking around as a man. Learning to follow orders came sometime later.”

“Oh…” Tera hung her head, unsure of where to take the conversation from there.

“What’s that?”

Tera looked at Merced, then at the document he’d indicated clutched tightly in her hands. She hadn’t consciously held onto it, it just happened to be in hand when she’d given her attention to his story. Now that she studied it more closely, though, it was different from the rest.

“This parchment is good quality,” she said. Her eyes follow the flowing letters, neatly lined across the surface. “And this writing seems familiar.”

Merced made his way over. “They write in code,” he added from where he peered over her shoulder. “Interesting.”

“Do you know what it says?” Tera asked, watching him pull a chair out with a foot and take a seat.

Merced leaned the chair back on two legs and kicked his own feet up on the table. “I don’t know. Read it, let’s find out.”

“My Faithful, I pray you find yourselves in good health in these times of great change,” Tera began. “Our friend in the west still writes me often. The moon yet rises in his night sky, though he assures me the sun will soon begin to lengthen the day. He believes the silver light will be but a flicker in the coming season. The—”

“The moon and the sun?” Merced interrupted. “If I had to guess, they’re terms for the Shaktikan Empire and the rebellion. Four generations of the Tsurat line have worshiped the sun now and those that stand against them are said to wear masks with a crescent moon on them.”

She doubted he was guessing. “The Empire plans on destroying the rebellion, then?”

Merced shrugged. “If whoever wrote this is to be believed, then yes, it sounds like it. Keep going.”

“A white flower was presented as a gift, just as we suggested,” Tera continued. “It wilts so far from its garden and, once trimmed of its thorns, will be easily plucked.”

“Oh, come now,” Merced said. He swung his feet off the table and let all four legs of the chair meet the ground. “That part’s easy. A white flower? Princess Melrose. And the thorns…” he tilted his head, waiting for her to fill in the rest.

“Raegn and Nora,” Tera whispered.

Merced smiled. “Very good. Come now, let’s pack all these up.” He swung a satchel out from beneath his cloak and plopped it on the table.

“Wait!” Tera slammed the parchment on the table. “Merced, they’re planning to kill them! Do you not care? We have to do something!”

“We are, Caloman,” he answered. “You’re missing the element of time. For all we know, that document is a season old. Even if it was first seen by the eyes of Elysian lords today,” he emphasized, bringing light to the collaboration between two kingdom’s near the verge of war, “the plans referenced may already have come to pass.”

Tera’s hands clenched, crinkling the letter.

“Or,” Merced added, gently reaching out to take it from her, “they’re yet to come. In which case, we report what we’ve found to the Highlord who will, most likely, take action to protect two of his prized Justicar and the heir to the Elysian throne.”

He delicately rolled the coded parchment and stuffed it into a side pocket of the satchel while Tera did her best to lose the pang of fear that had taken her. Merced seemed unconcerned at the revelation, why couldn’t she? The stories from his past laid bare the fact that he had a heart capable of caring. She doubted he would be so cold as to ignore the danger Raegn and Nora were in knowing her relationship with the two of them. With a deep breath to steady her heart, she began to help gather the documents, though she continued to grind her jaw in thought.

“Speaking of names and codes,” Merced said, continuing to roll paper after paper, “you need one.”

Tera frowned. “I do?”

“The identities of all Inquisitors are to become protected.” Merced gave a pat of the satchel. “You’ve just uncovered valuable information. The Chief Inquisitor can’t be spouting off all our given names when he gives his report, even if it’s to the Highlord.”

“Well, what’s yours?” she asked.

“Blackrose.”

Tera started to laugh at such a grim man having a name about a flower, but realized Merced’s face was the opposite of playful.

“Oh,” she murmured. She did her best to shake away the awkwardness of the response and keep her attention on the question at hand. Still, her eyes wouldn’t rise from the floor. Floorboards worn down by countless boots were framed by her feathered shoulders at the edge of her vision.

“How about Blackwing?” she offered. “Or Raven?”

Merced snorted. “Oh yes, very fitting.” He finished stuffing the last of the scrolls into his satchel and slung it across his back. “And laughably simple,” he added. “It should have meaning beyond basic appearance. Try again.”

The smallest of sighs, laden with exasperation, slipped from her lips. What did she care what it was? If it was a name Chief Inquisitor Crowmere used when talking to the Highlord it wasn’t like she was going to hear it much.

“I don’t know. You pick, then.”

“Fine,” Merced agreed, much to her surprise. He spoke with enough enthusiasm that she wondered if it wasn’t a bit of tradition she’d stumbled onto - that a young Inquisitor’s name be chosen by a peer or senior. Or perhaps it was a bit of an honor to be asked?

“You’ve struggled to come this far,” Merced said, heading towards the door. “Had to earn everything, despite your bloodline. And because of it. You’re a mage, though I don’t know that we want to be touting that…” his mind drifted some, but after a moment he resumed his listing of supporting topics with the same fervor. “Harut chose you and she’s of wisdom. Ravens and the like are said to be smart and opportunists, I’ll give you that. Plus, you seem fond of the…avian look.”

He stopped so abruptly that Tera nearly stumbled into him. He pivoted on a heel and plucked one of the feathers from her shoulder. Black gloves held it up between the two of them. Its metal spine was clean - the rest matted from its earlier use.

“Bloodfeather.”