The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Church
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
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- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
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Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
[Welcome back, Jack! Great to have you writing again! And I'll read yours if you read mine...]
Chapter Twenty: Captives
“You will come with us,” the authoritative voice repeated from behind Cosmo and Shem.
Shem chanced a look behind him to see who was speaking, but there was no way to tell for sure. The two Tsuirakuans were surrounded by a squad of blue-eyed, blond-haired men who looked like they could have been stamped out by a mass-production machine, all the way to their hard, emotionless expressions. Most carried projectile weapons; like most Tsuirakuans, the pair were sufficiently ill-informed about (and contemptuous of) firearms that they could not tell the difference between rifles, shotguns, muskets, or whatever, but they were reasonably convinced that whatever the guns were, they were lethal, if … unsophisticated. Well, defenses were possible against those. “<I shield and you blast?>” he mind-spoke to Cosmo; might as well get the lopsided fight over and done with.
“<No,>” the mind-reply came back. (Telepathic speech didn’t allow for nuances of facial expression that might have allowed Cosmo the satisfaction of showing his partner that his own … superior … mind was in control of the situation.) “<We are supposed to avoid hostile contact with the barbarians if poss- OW!>” That last syllable was spoken, rather than thought, and it came as the mind-speech was interrupted by a sudden, jarring pain in his head. Later, Shem would inform his colleague that he’d detect a magical glow in the eyes of one of the barbarians just as Cosmo’s pain started; a mental Barrier with an offensive component, apparently.
That observation was hardly necessary to figuring out what was going on, however, as the man whose eyes had glowed spoke aloud to the Tsuirakuans, his stony expression not changing in the slightest. “Do not talk with your minds,” he ordered. “We will not permit it, and if you attempt it again, there will be pain. Now you will come with us.” The ring of soldiers (what else could they be?) encircling the Tsuirakuans each took a small, precisely synchronized step closer. The only exception was the speaker, whom Cosmo and Shem now recognized as wearing very slightly different insignia than the other blond men, and not carrying a gun; the commanding officer, presumably.
Well, if magical communication was out, magical offense and defense probably would be as well, at least for the moment. That left an attempt to talk one’s way out of trouble. Both Tsuirakuans had been picked partially for their communications skills, after all, including the ability to speak fluent Veracian without resorting to translation effects. Cosmo smiled, more or less. “Gentlemen, we must apologize, we are merely lost travelers who took a wrong turn. Didn’t mean to trouble you, sorry. Just point us back down the road and we’ll be on our way.” He did his best to look innocent and harmless, which of course had exactly the opposite effect.
The Veracian officer’s expression grew even harder, if that was possible. “We all know who you are, and where you come from,” he said coldly. “You are trespassing and you know it. We wish to know why. You will not be permitted to continue until we know that as well as you do. Now you will come with us.” Another half-step forward by the armed men.
Shem tried again. “I’m sure there must be some mistake,” he said, with his best (feeble) attempt at an ingratiating smile. “We are –“
”You will come with us,” the Veracian officer said, his voice a notch harder and edgier than it had been. (Cosmo noted that if Captain Kitaura had used that tone of voice with him, he’d have had a hard time maintaining bladder control. He would have been amused, if disturbed, to know that some of the blond soldiers were feeling the same way.) ”Now.” It didn’t take a great deal of magical sensitivity to note that magical energy was being rallied to the area, and it wasn’t being done by the Tsuirakuans.
There is a time to admit defeat, and for Cosmo and Shem, that time had come, at least temporarily. “Very well, sirs,” Cosmo said meekly. “We will go where you wish, so that we can converse politely –“ this way of speaking would have set a Tsuirakuan’s teeth on edge, but the barbarians didn’t seem to notice – “and resolve whatever – misunderstanding appear to have arisen between us. But tell us, where must we go?”
There was no verbal answer, but as one, the soldiers raised their guns slightly and gestured back up the road – no, not exactly “up” the road, but into the area where the Tanglefoot field had existed when the Tsuirakuans came by. They were too preoccupied by their situation to notice that the magical field in that place had undergone a subtle change. Puzzled, Shem and Cosmo went where they were directed. Cosmo was just preparing to say something about this oddity to the Veracian leader when –
KRAAK-WHHSSHHH
The characteristic sound of a travel platform functioning filled the air, and in an instant, the men, Veracian and Tsuirakuan alike, were somewhere else.
Chapter Twenty: Captives
“You will come with us,” the authoritative voice repeated from behind Cosmo and Shem.
Shem chanced a look behind him to see who was speaking, but there was no way to tell for sure. The two Tsuirakuans were surrounded by a squad of blue-eyed, blond-haired men who looked like they could have been stamped out by a mass-production machine, all the way to their hard, emotionless expressions. Most carried projectile weapons; like most Tsuirakuans, the pair were sufficiently ill-informed about (and contemptuous of) firearms that they could not tell the difference between rifles, shotguns, muskets, or whatever, but they were reasonably convinced that whatever the guns were, they were lethal, if … unsophisticated. Well, defenses were possible against those. “<I shield and you blast?>” he mind-spoke to Cosmo; might as well get the lopsided fight over and done with.
“<No,>” the mind-reply came back. (Telepathic speech didn’t allow for nuances of facial expression that might have allowed Cosmo the satisfaction of showing his partner that his own … superior … mind was in control of the situation.) “<We are supposed to avoid hostile contact with the barbarians if poss- OW!>” That last syllable was spoken, rather than thought, and it came as the mind-speech was interrupted by a sudden, jarring pain in his head. Later, Shem would inform his colleague that he’d detect a magical glow in the eyes of one of the barbarians just as Cosmo’s pain started; a mental Barrier with an offensive component, apparently.
That observation was hardly necessary to figuring out what was going on, however, as the man whose eyes had glowed spoke aloud to the Tsuirakuans, his stony expression not changing in the slightest. “Do not talk with your minds,” he ordered. “We will not permit it, and if you attempt it again, there will be pain. Now you will come with us.” The ring of soldiers (what else could they be?) encircling the Tsuirakuans each took a small, precisely synchronized step closer. The only exception was the speaker, whom Cosmo and Shem now recognized as wearing very slightly different insignia than the other blond men, and not carrying a gun; the commanding officer, presumably.
Well, if magical communication was out, magical offense and defense probably would be as well, at least for the moment. That left an attempt to talk one’s way out of trouble. Both Tsuirakuans had been picked partially for their communications skills, after all, including the ability to speak fluent Veracian without resorting to translation effects. Cosmo smiled, more or less. “Gentlemen, we must apologize, we are merely lost travelers who took a wrong turn. Didn’t mean to trouble you, sorry. Just point us back down the road and we’ll be on our way.” He did his best to look innocent and harmless, which of course had exactly the opposite effect.
The Veracian officer’s expression grew even harder, if that was possible. “We all know who you are, and where you come from,” he said coldly. “You are trespassing and you know it. We wish to know why. You will not be permitted to continue until we know that as well as you do. Now you will come with us.” Another half-step forward by the armed men.
Shem tried again. “I’m sure there must be some mistake,” he said, with his best (feeble) attempt at an ingratiating smile. “We are –“
”You will come with us,” the Veracian officer said, his voice a notch harder and edgier than it had been. (Cosmo noted that if Captain Kitaura had used that tone of voice with him, he’d have had a hard time maintaining bladder control. He would have been amused, if disturbed, to know that some of the blond soldiers were feeling the same way.) ”Now.” It didn’t take a great deal of magical sensitivity to note that magical energy was being rallied to the area, and it wasn’t being done by the Tsuirakuans.
There is a time to admit defeat, and for Cosmo and Shem, that time had come, at least temporarily. “Very well, sirs,” Cosmo said meekly. “We will go where you wish, so that we can converse politely –“ this way of speaking would have set a Tsuirakuan’s teeth on edge, but the barbarians didn’t seem to notice – “and resolve whatever – misunderstanding appear to have arisen between us. But tell us, where must we go?”
There was no verbal answer, but as one, the soldiers raised their guns slightly and gestured back up the road – no, not exactly “up” the road, but into the area where the Tanglefoot field had existed when the Tsuirakuans came by. They were too preoccupied by their situation to notice that the magical field in that place had undergone a subtle change. Puzzled, Shem and Cosmo went where they were directed. Cosmo was just preparing to say something about this oddity to the Veracian leader when –
KRAAK-WHHSSHHH
The characteristic sound of a travel platform functioning filled the air, and in an instant, the men, Veracian and Tsuirakuan alike, were somewhere else.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
Chapter Twenty-one: Music
It took Sister Rose approximately one hour after the very Spartan dinner prepared by Sister Gail to become seriously bored and in need of something useful to do – anything useful to do. There were only just so many things to dust, polish, tidy up, and Gail and whoever else used this temple were better at managing the contents than Rose was anyway. After she found herself polishing the same chalice for the third time, she grunted with frustration and turned to Cassie. “I’m going to go nuts if we stay here much longer,” she said. “Let’s go take a quick look at the Millenarian temple in town, start getting up to speed on – whatever we’re supposed to be doing.”
The girl was doubtful. “Ho—Rose, is it really safe for three women to be alone in a city like this after dark?”
Rose smiled. “Well, it won’t be dark for almost two hours, and we’ll stay out of the bad parts of town.” Not to mention that I think I have enough combat magic to scare off garden-variety thugs, and Gail – I suspect her combat skills are a lot better than mine. Gail watched this exchange neutrally, but Rose thought she detected a nod; that should be approval enough. The three women set off.
Twenty minutes later, they were approaching the Millenarian temple. Rose had taken a few minutes to make some changes to her appearance – rather substantial changes, in fact, morphing into what appeared to be a plain, brown-to-gray-haired woman in her forties whom one would pass on the street without noticing. (That, of course, was the whole point.) Cassie too had done some magical polymorphing within her limited capabilities, contenting herself with a change in hair color; that wouldn’t fool anyone who knew her well, but it might be enough to help her avoid scrutiny by those on the lookout for a tall, blonde adolescent. As for Gail, young nuns were common in Lorenzel. She nodded noncommittally at a pair of similar nuns as they walked, getting comparable nods in return. That kind of behavior shouldn’t attract the attention of the Millenarian militia. Should it?
As they passed two more clergy, a young priest and a middle-aged nun, both of whom wore a curiously wide-eyed, almost trance-like expression, Rose became aware of something.
Music had long been an important part of the rituals of the Veracian Church. This, to be sure, was not the same statement as saying that good music was part of the Church’s routine, which was a much harder statement to defend. Really, what good could be said about church music that included things like the inexplicably popular (Rose shuddered as she had the thought) ”Luminosita’s Holiness Is Much Greater Than Thine”? Nor, dreadful as the thought might be, was that the most severe offense against music (or so she thought of it) in widespread use in the Church.
What was coming from the Millenarian temple, however, was quite different from the musical pablum she’d had to help dispense at the temple in Kiyoka.
She didn’t even notice it at first, at least not as music; certainly not as human music, although in hindsight, she would believe her viscera had responded before her consciousness had; how else to explain the feeling of peace and serenity that she’d had while approaching a place that she held suspect? Soon enough, the source of that peace was clear. A multitude of voices, certainly dozens and perhaps in the hundreds, were joining in song, swelling and falling in perfect harmony, like the very breath of Luminosita on the wind – no, this wasn’t the voice of Luminosita, it was something beyond that, as though the sun and the stars, the universe itself, sounded the music of the spheres. Many human voices sang; but what came forth was Music itself, a single, perfect form that was infinitely greater than the sum of its parts, the men and women and children who made it subordinated to the mighty yet infinitely benevolent whole. She’d never heard such singing before.
This, said the corner of her mind that wasn’t so awed by the singing as to be silenced, is what real worship is like.
She was dimly aware that her companions were reacting just as she was. Cassie simply stood mute, her mouth hanging open as she took in the holy sounds that surrounded them. Gail was nodding her head and soundlessly shaping the words to the hymns; if Rose had been paying attention, she’d have noticed that the young woman’s eyes were glistening. Nor were Rose’s eyes themselves completely dry, but she didn’t notice that either. Her mind, her soul soared on the wings of song to the vaults of the universe, to that place beyond places where dwelt Luminosita in his perfect love. She gave herself to that song of songs, forming the words in her own mind and mouth just as Gail was, and just as silently; like most Veracian clergy, Rose had learned how to sing well at a young age, but to use her own imperfect voice now would be almost blasphemous.
Gail was the first of the three to emerge from the religious trance, as the singing subsided for just a moment. “Damn,” she muttered incongruously. “How long have we been standing here?” The mood broken for the time being, Rose looked around her for the first time in a while. Long enough for the sky to darken, anyway; Rose had no idea how much actual time had passed, but the sun was gone and twilight was giving way to night. “We’d better get back,” Gail continued. “There’s a rough part of town between us and – where we’re going.” The three turned away just as another ethereal hymn started to swell from the Millenarian temple.
They walked in complete silence for the first ten minutes, and then Cassie gave voice to the exact thought that Rose was having at the moment.
“I don’t understand,” the girl said hesitantly. “They do a thing like that – that incredible beauty, that joining of themselves together, that love for Luminosita – and we’re supposed to check them out like they’re the bad guys?”
Rose could not give an answer, for she had none. She kept her silence all the way back to the temple and her bed, although she would get little sleep that night.
It took Sister Rose approximately one hour after the very Spartan dinner prepared by Sister Gail to become seriously bored and in need of something useful to do – anything useful to do. There were only just so many things to dust, polish, tidy up, and Gail and whoever else used this temple were better at managing the contents than Rose was anyway. After she found herself polishing the same chalice for the third time, she grunted with frustration and turned to Cassie. “I’m going to go nuts if we stay here much longer,” she said. “Let’s go take a quick look at the Millenarian temple in town, start getting up to speed on – whatever we’re supposed to be doing.”
The girl was doubtful. “Ho—Rose, is it really safe for three women to be alone in a city like this after dark?”
Rose smiled. “Well, it won’t be dark for almost two hours, and we’ll stay out of the bad parts of town.” Not to mention that I think I have enough combat magic to scare off garden-variety thugs, and Gail – I suspect her combat skills are a lot better than mine. Gail watched this exchange neutrally, but Rose thought she detected a nod; that should be approval enough. The three women set off.
Twenty minutes later, they were approaching the Millenarian temple. Rose had taken a few minutes to make some changes to her appearance – rather substantial changes, in fact, morphing into what appeared to be a plain, brown-to-gray-haired woman in her forties whom one would pass on the street without noticing. (That, of course, was the whole point.) Cassie too had done some magical polymorphing within her limited capabilities, contenting herself with a change in hair color; that wouldn’t fool anyone who knew her well, but it might be enough to help her avoid scrutiny by those on the lookout for a tall, blonde adolescent. As for Gail, young nuns were common in Lorenzel. She nodded noncommittally at a pair of similar nuns as they walked, getting comparable nods in return. That kind of behavior shouldn’t attract the attention of the Millenarian militia. Should it?
As they passed two more clergy, a young priest and a middle-aged nun, both of whom wore a curiously wide-eyed, almost trance-like expression, Rose became aware of something.
Music had long been an important part of the rituals of the Veracian Church. This, to be sure, was not the same statement as saying that good music was part of the Church’s routine, which was a much harder statement to defend. Really, what good could be said about church music that included things like the inexplicably popular (Rose shuddered as she had the thought) ”Luminosita’s Holiness Is Much Greater Than Thine”? Nor, dreadful as the thought might be, was that the most severe offense against music (or so she thought of it) in widespread use in the Church.
What was coming from the Millenarian temple, however, was quite different from the musical pablum she’d had to help dispense at the temple in Kiyoka.
She didn’t even notice it at first, at least not as music; certainly not as human music, although in hindsight, she would believe her viscera had responded before her consciousness had; how else to explain the feeling of peace and serenity that she’d had while approaching a place that she held suspect? Soon enough, the source of that peace was clear. A multitude of voices, certainly dozens and perhaps in the hundreds, were joining in song, swelling and falling in perfect harmony, like the very breath of Luminosita on the wind – no, this wasn’t the voice of Luminosita, it was something beyond that, as though the sun and the stars, the universe itself, sounded the music of the spheres. Many human voices sang; but what came forth was Music itself, a single, perfect form that was infinitely greater than the sum of its parts, the men and women and children who made it subordinated to the mighty yet infinitely benevolent whole. She’d never heard such singing before.
This, said the corner of her mind that wasn’t so awed by the singing as to be silenced, is what real worship is like.
She was dimly aware that her companions were reacting just as she was. Cassie simply stood mute, her mouth hanging open as she took in the holy sounds that surrounded them. Gail was nodding her head and soundlessly shaping the words to the hymns; if Rose had been paying attention, she’d have noticed that the young woman’s eyes were glistening. Nor were Rose’s eyes themselves completely dry, but she didn’t notice that either. Her mind, her soul soared on the wings of song to the vaults of the universe, to that place beyond places where dwelt Luminosita in his perfect love. She gave herself to that song of songs, forming the words in her own mind and mouth just as Gail was, and just as silently; like most Veracian clergy, Rose had learned how to sing well at a young age, but to use her own imperfect voice now would be almost blasphemous.
Gail was the first of the three to emerge from the religious trance, as the singing subsided for just a moment. “Damn,” she muttered incongruously. “How long have we been standing here?” The mood broken for the time being, Rose looked around her for the first time in a while. Long enough for the sky to darken, anyway; Rose had no idea how much actual time had passed, but the sun was gone and twilight was giving way to night. “We’d better get back,” Gail continued. “There’s a rough part of town between us and – where we’re going.” The three turned away just as another ethereal hymn started to swell from the Millenarian temple.
They walked in complete silence for the first ten minutes, and then Cassie gave voice to the exact thought that Rose was having at the moment.
“I don’t understand,” the girl said hesitantly. “They do a thing like that – that incredible beauty, that joining of themselves together, that love for Luminosita – and we’re supposed to check them out like they’re the bad guys?”
Rose could not give an answer, for she had none. She kept her silence all the way back to the temple and her bed, although she would get little sleep that night.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
[Continuing to build some ties back to Errant Road...]
Chapter Twenty-two: Kugelheim
Meanwhile, in a small town in western Farrel:
“Okay, let’s come to order,” Mr. Gabriel said, and the conversations in the secure conference room at the Kugelheim Shipping and Transport building subsided.
The summons to the headquarters of the Gewehr’s “working” wing had come as something of a surprise to most of the Gewehr leaders gathered there. As far as they knew, Mr. Gabriel was still in Veracia, trying to figure out why Gewehr people there, all the way up to full Wraiths, had started dying inexplicably. But if the Council of Elders told them to go somewhere, they went, and it didn’t take long to figure out why: Mr. Gabriel had learned something in Veracia that they needed to know.
“Before we get to our main topic,” the Gewehr capo continued, “I want summaries of what else is going on. Faye? Any progress on the Peter Problem?”
The one woman in the room, who had been Mr. Gabriel’s lover nearly thirty years earlier (a fact unknown to any of those present except Mr. Gabriel and Faye themselves), nodded. “A little, although not much. We still don’t know where he went, or why, or even whether he’s still alive.” (Sister Rose, now sleeping restlessly in distant Lorenzel, could have shed some light on those questions, but she was unavailable for comment, of course.) “What we do know, however, is that several of the other guilds had senior leaders disappear at exactly the same time.”
That caused a rustle of interest from around the room. “How did you find that out? Layla? I thought she’d gone into deep cover,” Gabriel said of the young mother (and Gewehr Wraith) who was the product of that long-ago relationship. She’d been sent to Rinkaiel, on the north coast of Farrel, to set up a cover operation for a hoped-for Gewehr expansion into the city, and to learn a little magic, for which she’d turned out to have surprising aptitude. Most of those present knew that “Bad Ass Wines,” the vineyard that she and her boyfriend had acquired for that cover, was doing surprisingly well; in fact some of the inns of southern Farrel were starting to serve its product, although Layla herself scoffed at the notion that this year’s rotgut was worth selling. Only Faye, however, knew about the weird things that had happened there, several of them to her – well, Peter also knew, if he was still alive, but Faye was coming to have her doubts about that.
Faye nodded. “She’s doing her usual great job of cultivating sources. Turns out the Seeadler had their top action guy disappear at the same time, and word is that the Eisenfaust also lost somebody.” This provoked smirks around the table; no tears would be shed at the demise of a higher-up in the Gewehr’s arch-enemy guild. “A couple of minor guilds over in Isabel did too.”
“Schwarzhammer?” a short red-haired man at the far end of the table interrupted, naming a guild that only a few people in the room had ever heard of. One of those, of course, was Mr. Gabriel, and he cocked an eye at the interruption. “Why do you ask, Cole?” he said.
“We picked up a weird report about them picking up some kind of super-weapon,” the redhead said. “No details yet, but it sounds like—“
Mr. Gabriel cut him off. “Stay on task,” he said firmly, missing a chance to get a report on Carson Jeromiel’s war golem. “All sorts of crappy rumors get started over there that are more trouble than they’re worth. The subject for right now is Peter.” Chastened, the redhead nodded and subsided. In any case, the Schwarzhammer were not one of the guilds to have taken unexpected losses among their leadership, as Faye explained, naming a pair of comparably obscure outfits that had.
Mr. Gabriel nodded when she had finished. “Interesting development, Faye. Keep us posted on that. While we’re talking about your people, any news about closing things down in Kiyoka?”
“As it happens, yes. There’s a buyer for the vineyard. Details are a little sketchy, but it’s a Tsuirakuan mage who’s getting it for his wife or girlfriend or whatever she is, a nun in the Veracian church – yes, I know, nuns don’t usually marry, but there are a couple of minor sects where they’re allowed to. How this one linked up with a high-powered Tsuirakuan, I don’t know yet.”
“They on the level?” Mr. Gabriel persisted.
“Apparently so. The money is real, and the mage was on the outs with the government over something or other and got chased out of Tsuirakushiti. Don’t know much about the nun yet, except that she’s highly thought of in the mission there, or so the agent says.” Of course, Layla could have told her mother and the others more about Argus and Rose too, but nobody had thought to ask her about them.
Mr. Gabriel thought for a few seconds. “You’re sure the site was sanitized?”
“Positive.”
He nodded. “Very well, then. Proceed with the sale. Anybody else got anything?” The conversation turned to other topics, with the deaths in Veracia looming as a large and difficult subject to bring up the rear.
Chapter Twenty-two: Kugelheim
Meanwhile, in a small town in western Farrel:
“Okay, let’s come to order,” Mr. Gabriel said, and the conversations in the secure conference room at the Kugelheim Shipping and Transport building subsided.
The summons to the headquarters of the Gewehr’s “working” wing had come as something of a surprise to most of the Gewehr leaders gathered there. As far as they knew, Mr. Gabriel was still in Veracia, trying to figure out why Gewehr people there, all the way up to full Wraiths, had started dying inexplicably. But if the Council of Elders told them to go somewhere, they went, and it didn’t take long to figure out why: Mr. Gabriel had learned something in Veracia that they needed to know.
“Before we get to our main topic,” the Gewehr capo continued, “I want summaries of what else is going on. Faye? Any progress on the Peter Problem?”
The one woman in the room, who had been Mr. Gabriel’s lover nearly thirty years earlier (a fact unknown to any of those present except Mr. Gabriel and Faye themselves), nodded. “A little, although not much. We still don’t know where he went, or why, or even whether he’s still alive.” (Sister Rose, now sleeping restlessly in distant Lorenzel, could have shed some light on those questions, but she was unavailable for comment, of course.) “What we do know, however, is that several of the other guilds had senior leaders disappear at exactly the same time.”
That caused a rustle of interest from around the room. “How did you find that out? Layla? I thought she’d gone into deep cover,” Gabriel said of the young mother (and Gewehr Wraith) who was the product of that long-ago relationship. She’d been sent to Rinkaiel, on the north coast of Farrel, to set up a cover operation for a hoped-for Gewehr expansion into the city, and to learn a little magic, for which she’d turned out to have surprising aptitude. Most of those present knew that “Bad Ass Wines,” the vineyard that she and her boyfriend had acquired for that cover, was doing surprisingly well; in fact some of the inns of southern Farrel were starting to serve its product, although Layla herself scoffed at the notion that this year’s rotgut was worth selling. Only Faye, however, knew about the weird things that had happened there, several of them to her – well, Peter also knew, if he was still alive, but Faye was coming to have her doubts about that.
Faye nodded. “She’s doing her usual great job of cultivating sources. Turns out the Seeadler had their top action guy disappear at the same time, and word is that the Eisenfaust also lost somebody.” This provoked smirks around the table; no tears would be shed at the demise of a higher-up in the Gewehr’s arch-enemy guild. “A couple of minor guilds over in Isabel did too.”
“Schwarzhammer?” a short red-haired man at the far end of the table interrupted, naming a guild that only a few people in the room had ever heard of. One of those, of course, was Mr. Gabriel, and he cocked an eye at the interruption. “Why do you ask, Cole?” he said.
“We picked up a weird report about them picking up some kind of super-weapon,” the redhead said. “No details yet, but it sounds like—“
Mr. Gabriel cut him off. “Stay on task,” he said firmly, missing a chance to get a report on Carson Jeromiel’s war golem. “All sorts of crappy rumors get started over there that are more trouble than they’re worth. The subject for right now is Peter.” Chastened, the redhead nodded and subsided. In any case, the Schwarzhammer were not one of the guilds to have taken unexpected losses among their leadership, as Faye explained, naming a pair of comparably obscure outfits that had.
Mr. Gabriel nodded when she had finished. “Interesting development, Faye. Keep us posted on that. While we’re talking about your people, any news about closing things down in Kiyoka?”
“As it happens, yes. There’s a buyer for the vineyard. Details are a little sketchy, but it’s a Tsuirakuan mage who’s getting it for his wife or girlfriend or whatever she is, a nun in the Veracian church – yes, I know, nuns don’t usually marry, but there are a couple of minor sects where they’re allowed to. How this one linked up with a high-powered Tsuirakuan, I don’t know yet.”
“They on the level?” Mr. Gabriel persisted.
“Apparently so. The money is real, and the mage was on the outs with the government over something or other and got chased out of Tsuirakushiti. Don’t know much about the nun yet, except that she’s highly thought of in the mission there, or so the agent says.” Of course, Layla could have told her mother and the others more about Argus and Rose too, but nobody had thought to ask her about them.
Mr. Gabriel thought for a few seconds. “You’re sure the site was sanitized?”
“Positive.”
He nodded. “Very well, then. Proceed with the sale. Anybody else got anything?” The conversation turned to other topics, with the deaths in Veracia looming as a large and difficult subject to bring up the rear.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
Chapter Twenty-three: Watcher
Sister Rose rolled herself out of the hard, Spartan bed at the back of the temple, cursing herself for what she had done, or more accurately, not done the night before. Usually, when she did some shapeshifting during the day, she made it a point to resume her normal appearance before turning in for the night. This time, however, she’d been so lost in thought about that question that Cassie had posed that she simply forgot to do it, and now she was paying the price. Sleeping in an unusual bodily form was like sleeping in an unfamiliar, ill-fitting set of clothes, only worse. When she did it, she always spent too much of the night trying to contort arms and legs and other things into positions that just didn’t fit. Add to that the uncomfortable bed (not to mention the fact that Argus wasn’t occupying it), and she was far from rested when she arose.
From the sound of it, Cassie and Sister Gail had already gone out to the rudimentary garden to do their early morning prayers, and for a moment Rose considered joining them, but she decided against it. First and foremost, it would be out of the character that she’d endured a bad night to maintain. Priests and nuns generally rose with the sun to start their worship of Luminosita, but all but the most pious among the laity did not, and from here on until contact with the Millenarians was made (and preferably completed), she would project a churchly appearance only under duress. For another thing, she’d had that bad night, and the Reformed church was a little more … relaxed than some about missing the daily prayers than some.
Not that her own faith in such things had survived the previous few weeks totally unshaken, for that matter.
Whatever the reason, she was poking around the temple’s small kitchen, starting to make breakfast, when Gail and Cassie returned; if she wasn’t going to do the morning prayers, she could at least make herself useful to others. (Wasn’t that what the essence of service to Luminosita was supposed to be, anyway? In her hazy state, she clung to that thought.) The smell of frying bacon permeated the living quarters as she did her best to smile at the two returning women. “Did you have a nice – prayer?” was the best she could do for small talk. Now why are they looking at me like that? And then, uh, oh, as Gail cast another sound-deadening spell.
“We were being watched,” the younger nun said as soon as the air took on the characteristic greasy feeling of the spell, complemented incongruously by the bacon. “There was a woman out there when we went out, blonde, blue-eyed, wearing Millenarian robes – and Luminosita bless my soul if she wasn’t pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” Rose repeated; her brain still wasn’t fully engaged from the poor night’s sleep, but with this one word, it was getting there. No, it couldn’t be, she thought, remembering one particular mother-to-be who’d joined the Millenarians under – unusual circumstances. There must be dozens, if not hundreds, of Millenarian women fitting that description right now, what with their breeding program – might as well call it what it is. And what would Annie be do”OW!” Distracted, she’d put her hand down on the griddle.
One advantage of being one of three magically-adept women in the kitchen, at least, was that superficial burns were easy to deal with. Healing spells cast (and the bacon rescued), and with only a bit of tightness on her palm to show for her clumsiness, Rose found her head clearing. “Let me check this out,” she said, and she left the cooking to the others, making for the temple’s bell tower. She found herself puffing as she ascended the spiral staircase. The form she’d assumed for concealment didn’t weigh much more than her normal form – magical enhancements didn’t affect body mass that strongly – but it didn’t allow her the lung power of her usual fit physique. It took her a minute or two to get back to a calm state, and in that minute she found the woman that Gail and Cassie had mentioned, her pregnancy clear enough beneath the robes. She wasn’t particularly hard to find; at least she wasn’t trying to conceal herself, simply standing opposite the front of the temple, looking at the door. Was she in range of an Empathy spell? It seemed worth a try …
Oh my god, Rose thought.
She instantly reverted to her own form and bolted down the stairs, taking two or even three at a time, and crashed through the door, sprinting to where the woman was standing … and enveloped her in a wordless hug. But the hug only remained wordless for a few seconds.
“P-p-please h-help me,” Annie whimpered.
Sister Rose rolled herself out of the hard, Spartan bed at the back of the temple, cursing herself for what she had done, or more accurately, not done the night before. Usually, when she did some shapeshifting during the day, she made it a point to resume her normal appearance before turning in for the night. This time, however, she’d been so lost in thought about that question that Cassie had posed that she simply forgot to do it, and now she was paying the price. Sleeping in an unusual bodily form was like sleeping in an unfamiliar, ill-fitting set of clothes, only worse. When she did it, she always spent too much of the night trying to contort arms and legs and other things into positions that just didn’t fit. Add to that the uncomfortable bed (not to mention the fact that Argus wasn’t occupying it), and she was far from rested when she arose.
From the sound of it, Cassie and Sister Gail had already gone out to the rudimentary garden to do their early morning prayers, and for a moment Rose considered joining them, but she decided against it. First and foremost, it would be out of the character that she’d endured a bad night to maintain. Priests and nuns generally rose with the sun to start their worship of Luminosita, but all but the most pious among the laity did not, and from here on until contact with the Millenarians was made (and preferably completed), she would project a churchly appearance only under duress. For another thing, she’d had that bad night, and the Reformed church was a little more … relaxed than some about missing the daily prayers than some.
Not that her own faith in such things had survived the previous few weeks totally unshaken, for that matter.
Whatever the reason, she was poking around the temple’s small kitchen, starting to make breakfast, when Gail and Cassie returned; if she wasn’t going to do the morning prayers, she could at least make herself useful to others. (Wasn’t that what the essence of service to Luminosita was supposed to be, anyway? In her hazy state, she clung to that thought.) The smell of frying bacon permeated the living quarters as she did her best to smile at the two returning women. “Did you have a nice – prayer?” was the best she could do for small talk. Now why are they looking at me like that? And then, uh, oh, as Gail cast another sound-deadening spell.
“We were being watched,” the younger nun said as soon as the air took on the characteristic greasy feeling of the spell, complemented incongruously by the bacon. “There was a woman out there when we went out, blonde, blue-eyed, wearing Millenarian robes – and Luminosita bless my soul if she wasn’t pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” Rose repeated; her brain still wasn’t fully engaged from the poor night’s sleep, but with this one word, it was getting there. No, it couldn’t be, she thought, remembering one particular mother-to-be who’d joined the Millenarians under – unusual circumstances. There must be dozens, if not hundreds, of Millenarian women fitting that description right now, what with their breeding program – might as well call it what it is. And what would Annie be do”OW!” Distracted, she’d put her hand down on the griddle.
One advantage of being one of three magically-adept women in the kitchen, at least, was that superficial burns were easy to deal with. Healing spells cast (and the bacon rescued), and with only a bit of tightness on her palm to show for her clumsiness, Rose found her head clearing. “Let me check this out,” she said, and she left the cooking to the others, making for the temple’s bell tower. She found herself puffing as she ascended the spiral staircase. The form she’d assumed for concealment didn’t weigh much more than her normal form – magical enhancements didn’t affect body mass that strongly – but it didn’t allow her the lung power of her usual fit physique. It took her a minute or two to get back to a calm state, and in that minute she found the woman that Gail and Cassie had mentioned, her pregnancy clear enough beneath the robes. She wasn’t particularly hard to find; at least she wasn’t trying to conceal herself, simply standing opposite the front of the temple, looking at the door. Was she in range of an Empathy spell? It seemed worth a try …
Oh my god, Rose thought.
She instantly reverted to her own form and bolted down the stairs, taking two or even three at a time, and crashed through the door, sprinting to where the woman was standing … and enveloped her in a wordless hug. But the hug only remained wordless for a few seconds.
“P-p-please h-help me,” Annie whimpered.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
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Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
[Very short, but some movement is happening, and maybe if I can break the writer's block, it'll start happening faster...]
Chapter Twenty-four: Anuba
Tsuirakuans’ senses were not entirely used to fog. It was unknown, of course, in the climate-controlled city whence they came, and Tsuirakuans who ventured into barbarian lands usually had the good sense (at least from a Tsuirakuan perspective) to stay indoors when the weather turned bad. Against this background, it was hardly surprising that when Cosmo’s and Shem’s eyes cleared after the magical flash of teleportation, they thought they’d been reconstituted wrong. They had left a land of green hills and blue sky; they appeared in a place that was gray and cold and clammy, as though their eyes no longer saw color and their skin crawled.
Furthermore, there was something about the place that felt wrong. Their magic senses were still dulled by whatever mind magic the barbarian soldiers had used on them, but enough remained, or had returned, to sense a wrongness that went beyond the physical. Like most Homeland Security operatives, both men had had training in magical trap detection. The problem with the surrounding magic, however, had nothing to do with traps. It just felt wrong. Like a corruption of the thaumatic order. Like a pain of the soul.
Like death.
They had emerged atop a low hill, or built-up mound, covered with ferns and mosses. Below them stretched a dense forest, broken by clearings that looked more like bogs than meadows, that extended into the swirling mists and beyond. On occasion the mists would break, to reveal a shoreline somewhere out in the distance, a shoreline on a sea as gray and murky as the land itself. It was when a breeze stirred the fog that, for only a moment, an island appeared far out in the distance on that gray water … and in that moment, the Tsuirakuans knew where they were.
“Anuba,” each said to the other. There was no pleasure in their voices at this realization.
The leader of the military force impaled them both with a glare; one of his key questions had just been answered. “You will give it its proper name,” he said coldly. “These are the Anuban Colonies, and they are under the stewardship of Our Lord Luminosita and His appointed government.” (Several of the other soldiers gave their commander a briefly startled look at this declaration, but their faces rapidly reverted to their usual flat expressions.) “Other lands have no claim on this place.” If he felt any irony about making such a statement about a place that pretty well no land anywhere wanted a claim on, he did not show it.
Chapter Twenty-four: Anuba
Tsuirakuans’ senses were not entirely used to fog. It was unknown, of course, in the climate-controlled city whence they came, and Tsuirakuans who ventured into barbarian lands usually had the good sense (at least from a Tsuirakuan perspective) to stay indoors when the weather turned bad. Against this background, it was hardly surprising that when Cosmo’s and Shem’s eyes cleared after the magical flash of teleportation, they thought they’d been reconstituted wrong. They had left a land of green hills and blue sky; they appeared in a place that was gray and cold and clammy, as though their eyes no longer saw color and their skin crawled.
Furthermore, there was something about the place that felt wrong. Their magic senses were still dulled by whatever mind magic the barbarian soldiers had used on them, but enough remained, or had returned, to sense a wrongness that went beyond the physical. Like most Homeland Security operatives, both men had had training in magical trap detection. The problem with the surrounding magic, however, had nothing to do with traps. It just felt wrong. Like a corruption of the thaumatic order. Like a pain of the soul.
Like death.
They had emerged atop a low hill, or built-up mound, covered with ferns and mosses. Below them stretched a dense forest, broken by clearings that looked more like bogs than meadows, that extended into the swirling mists and beyond. On occasion the mists would break, to reveal a shoreline somewhere out in the distance, a shoreline on a sea as gray and murky as the land itself. It was when a breeze stirred the fog that, for only a moment, an island appeared far out in the distance on that gray water … and in that moment, the Tsuirakuans knew where they were.
“Anuba,” each said to the other. There was no pleasure in their voices at this realization.
The leader of the military force impaled them both with a glare; one of his key questions had just been answered. “You will give it its proper name,” he said coldly. “These are the Anuban Colonies, and they are under the stewardship of Our Lord Luminosita and His appointed government.” (Several of the other soldiers gave their commander a briefly startled look at this declaration, but their faces rapidly reverted to their usual flat expressions.) “Other lands have no claim on this place.” If he felt any irony about making such a statement about a place that pretty well no land anywhere wanted a claim on, he did not show it.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
Chapter Twenty-five: Interrogation
“Why have you brought us to this awful place?” Shem asked, fully expecting that he would get no satisfying answer. At first his expectations looked like they would be met; at least three different soldiers growled “you will not speak” in unison, getting a rumble of agreement from the others. However, the leader of the group raised a hand, and the muttering subsided. “First, you will answer our questions,” he announced. “Why did you come to our homeland? Be truthful, and do not bother with your cover story.”
Well, that was something, Cosmo considered; he hadn’t flatly refused to give the captives information, and there might be some exchange of information after the “first” interrogation. A cover story had indeed been prepared against the possibility that the barbarians’ priest-governors took an interest in what they were doing. It was even largely true. Did these strangely magically adept Veracians have the ability to tell truth from – concealment? He thought they probably did, which would require certain – adaptations to the story. Of course, there was also the question of exactly how they related to the Veracian government. The intelligence briefings he’d received before the mission had said nothing about a Veracian military like this; much the contrary, all indications were that the bulk of the military were magically inept, just the way the oppressive government wanted most of their people to be. So exactly who and what were these people? Should they be treated as a previously unknown wing of the government, possibly mirroring the function of his own country’s shadowy Homeland Security department? Or –
“Well?” the barbarian commander prompted, and the Tsuirakuans noticed a subtle change in the postures of the other soldiers; something was brewing, and Cosmo was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it if it actually happened. He swallowed hard and made a decision. “Very well, I will speak,” he said, and he launched into the story from square one: how a Tsuirakuan exchange student had died violently in southern Veracia along with her lover-mentor; how the death had caught the attention of powerful people in the Tsuirakuan government (he would not name Captain Kitaura even at the point of a sword or a gun); how the pair had been sent to investigate, and had followed magical traces (no point in disguising that any more) to the road junction; how their attempt to evade detection had pushed them farther down the side road than they meant to go. He didn’t bother noting that the thaumatic tracks also led down that road; there were some things that the barbarians still didn’t need to know.
The commander of the militia, or whatever they were, took all this in with a coldly neutral expression. Most of the soldiers did the same, but toward the rear of the group, a pair of men flushed at the mention of the murder of Rebekah Codoin, and the blush deepened as the tale went on. Neither the Tsuirakuans nor the commander seemed to notice, nor did they notice a quick, furtive conversation between the two blushing men.
The commander thought for a long minute, made a decision. “Very well,” he said. “Additional – consultation is necessary.” Actually, that was something of an understatement. His orders had said nothing about Tsuirakuan spies, let along the Codoin murder; they’d just said to intercept and deal with those asking too many questions about the Lorenzel Restricted Zone. It was time to engage someone higher in his organization. “I must go and see the Lieutenant about this.” If the Tsuirakuans noticed that the captain’s bars on the man’s shoulders were – inconsistent with going to take orders from a lower-ranking officer, this wasn’t the time to raise it.
One of the men who’d blushed earlier now raised a hand. “Sir?” he said. “Walker and me, we can guard these two while you and the team go. They ain’t going anywhere, anyway.” He chortled. “Nowhere to go on this island, and they don’t know how they got here.”
The commander thought about it; that was all true enough, and as hard as the Tsuirakuans tried to disguise their mental state, it was clear enough that the repurposed travel platform had come as a complete surprise to them. “Very well,” he decided. “You are authorized to use magical Binding and other restraints to keep them in place. You are not authorized to use lethal force, however. The Lieutenant is probably going to want to talk to these two himself.” Salutes and formalities exchanged, the commander and most of the force vanished through the warp gate with a whsshhh.
The two remaining guards smirked at each other, then at the Tsuirakuans. They were exactly the pair who had shown discomfort, or embarrassment or chagrin or something, as Cosmo told his tale. This fact was in no way a coincidence.
“Y’know, Bonzie,” one of the men said to the other, “strikes me we got orders to keep these birds here. We didn’t get orders to keep ‘em here and alive, did we? Just not to do anything to ‘em ourselves.”
Cosmo didn’t like the way this conversation was going, and he liked the “right you are, brother” response even less. However, the magical Binding was still in effect, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“So,” the first man continued, “if’n something happened like, say, a big ol’ swamp beast came up to investigate and chow down, we’d have t’ protect ourselves, on account of ‘cause we’re loyal servants of the Church … but we wouldn’t have to protect these two.”
The other man nodded, leering. “Sounds right to me, and I like the way you’re thinkin’. Gimme a second.” Magic rose in the area, and a few seconds later, the KRAAK of a Force Bolt or something similar rang out from the hilltop as magical energy hurtled down the hill to the jungle below.
A few seconds after that, a loud “GRONK!” echoed back up the hill from the forest, followed by the sound of vegetation being noisily crushed under foot in the distance.
The second man smirked again. “Well, Luminosita bless if ‘t’ain’t a big ol’ swamp beast comin’ right this way. Great big ‘un, too.”
“Why, so it is,” his companion smirked back, as another feral grunt sounded in the distance.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Meanwhile, back in southern Veracia, the long-forgotten Trevor’s own magical Binding was starting to wear off…
“Why have you brought us to this awful place?” Shem asked, fully expecting that he would get no satisfying answer. At first his expectations looked like they would be met; at least three different soldiers growled “you will not speak” in unison, getting a rumble of agreement from the others. However, the leader of the group raised a hand, and the muttering subsided. “First, you will answer our questions,” he announced. “Why did you come to our homeland? Be truthful, and do not bother with your cover story.”
Well, that was something, Cosmo considered; he hadn’t flatly refused to give the captives information, and there might be some exchange of information after the “first” interrogation. A cover story had indeed been prepared against the possibility that the barbarians’ priest-governors took an interest in what they were doing. It was even largely true. Did these strangely magically adept Veracians have the ability to tell truth from – concealment? He thought they probably did, which would require certain – adaptations to the story. Of course, there was also the question of exactly how they related to the Veracian government. The intelligence briefings he’d received before the mission had said nothing about a Veracian military like this; much the contrary, all indications were that the bulk of the military were magically inept, just the way the oppressive government wanted most of their people to be. So exactly who and what were these people? Should they be treated as a previously unknown wing of the government, possibly mirroring the function of his own country’s shadowy Homeland Security department? Or –
“Well?” the barbarian commander prompted, and the Tsuirakuans noticed a subtle change in the postures of the other soldiers; something was brewing, and Cosmo was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it if it actually happened. He swallowed hard and made a decision. “Very well, I will speak,” he said, and he launched into the story from square one: how a Tsuirakuan exchange student had died violently in southern Veracia along with her lover-mentor; how the death had caught the attention of powerful people in the Tsuirakuan government (he would not name Captain Kitaura even at the point of a sword or a gun); how the pair had been sent to investigate, and had followed magical traces (no point in disguising that any more) to the road junction; how their attempt to evade detection had pushed them farther down the side road than they meant to go. He didn’t bother noting that the thaumatic tracks also led down that road; there were some things that the barbarians still didn’t need to know.
The commander of the militia, or whatever they were, took all this in with a coldly neutral expression. Most of the soldiers did the same, but toward the rear of the group, a pair of men flushed at the mention of the murder of Rebekah Codoin, and the blush deepened as the tale went on. Neither the Tsuirakuans nor the commander seemed to notice, nor did they notice a quick, furtive conversation between the two blushing men.
The commander thought for a long minute, made a decision. “Very well,” he said. “Additional – consultation is necessary.” Actually, that was something of an understatement. His orders had said nothing about Tsuirakuan spies, let along the Codoin murder; they’d just said to intercept and deal with those asking too many questions about the Lorenzel Restricted Zone. It was time to engage someone higher in his organization. “I must go and see the Lieutenant about this.” If the Tsuirakuans noticed that the captain’s bars on the man’s shoulders were – inconsistent with going to take orders from a lower-ranking officer, this wasn’t the time to raise it.
One of the men who’d blushed earlier now raised a hand. “Sir?” he said. “Walker and me, we can guard these two while you and the team go. They ain’t going anywhere, anyway.” He chortled. “Nowhere to go on this island, and they don’t know how they got here.”
The commander thought about it; that was all true enough, and as hard as the Tsuirakuans tried to disguise their mental state, it was clear enough that the repurposed travel platform had come as a complete surprise to them. “Very well,” he decided. “You are authorized to use magical Binding and other restraints to keep them in place. You are not authorized to use lethal force, however. The Lieutenant is probably going to want to talk to these two himself.” Salutes and formalities exchanged, the commander and most of the force vanished through the warp gate with a whsshhh.
The two remaining guards smirked at each other, then at the Tsuirakuans. They were exactly the pair who had shown discomfort, or embarrassment or chagrin or something, as Cosmo told his tale. This fact was in no way a coincidence.
“Y’know, Bonzie,” one of the men said to the other, “strikes me we got orders to keep these birds here. We didn’t get orders to keep ‘em here and alive, did we? Just not to do anything to ‘em ourselves.”
Cosmo didn’t like the way this conversation was going, and he liked the “right you are, brother” response even less. However, the magical Binding was still in effect, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“So,” the first man continued, “if’n something happened like, say, a big ol’ swamp beast came up to investigate and chow down, we’d have t’ protect ourselves, on account of ‘cause we’re loyal servants of the Church … but we wouldn’t have to protect these two.”
The other man nodded, leering. “Sounds right to me, and I like the way you’re thinkin’. Gimme a second.” Magic rose in the area, and a few seconds later, the KRAAK of a Force Bolt or something similar rang out from the hilltop as magical energy hurtled down the hill to the jungle below.
A few seconds after that, a loud “GRONK!” echoed back up the hill from the forest, followed by the sound of vegetation being noisily crushed under foot in the distance.
The second man smirked again. “Well, Luminosita bless if ‘t’ain’t a big ol’ swamp beast comin’ right this way. Great big ‘un, too.”
“Why, so it is,” his companion smirked back, as another feral grunt sounded in the distance.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Meanwhile, back in southern Veracia, the long-forgotten Trevor’s own magical Binding was starting to wear off…
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
Chapter Twenty-six: A marriage gone sour
One soothing cup of tea and several hugs later, Annie was composed enough to tell the Veracian nuns and nun-to-be her story.
It was a common enough one in some ways, thought Sister Rose: the giddy rush of passion in a new marriage gave way to the realization that that marriage was not going to be everything it was cracked up to be, and that one’s new spouse was not exactly as advertised, or at least as imagined, either. Like almost any Veracian clergy, she’d heard the basics of it before; leading one’s flock pretty much guaranteed that, particularly when the flock included military men (and occasionally women) who’d rushed to marriage before going off to serve Luminosita on the front lines. Of course, there were unique features to Annie’s story, like the weird, polygamous family that she’d joined in her first glow of marital rapture.
The fact that she’d been married previously to Rose’s cousin was a bit of a quirk, too. And that little business of an army of thousands (or so Annie guessed it to be) that was not going to take it well that she wanted out of that marriage … well, that certainly qualified as more than just a quirk.
“So – so I came looking for you, Rose,” Annie finished up. “I knew you’d know what to do. You always do.” A wan smile.
I wish that was true, Rose thought. However, something Annie had said caught her attention before she expressed this emotion. “You came looking for me,” she said. “How did you know where to look? Who told you I was here?” But she was not prepared for the other woman’s answer.
“My husband told me.”
“He what?” Rose echoed, her composure momentarily shattered. That means…
“Well, he didn’t actually tell me,” Annie went on. “He didn’t mean to. I just heard him say it while we were all at dinner. He got some kind of call that he wouldn’t let us listen to the other end of – not that we women would ever be allowed to do that, of course – and then he said ‘well, the Patriarch sent that damned shape-shifting nun down to check on us, she’s at the Old Vartaniel Temple now … we’ll avoid her if we can, and if we can’t … yes, I know.’ And then I had to stop listening because the baby cried. But there’s only one shape-shifting nun in the Church, as far as I know, and that’s you.” Another wan smile. “You’re a little famous, I guess. But – what’s wrong?”
Rose’s face had hardened into a far grimmer look than she intended. Our cover is blown. I don’t know how, but it is. That means we’re going to have to do a mission abort. Father Gisbert isn’t going to like it, but screw Father Gisbert.
“But why would your husband be getting a call like that?” Rose asked, more to get her composure back than anything else … but as Annie spun her answer to that question, Rose realized she’d just completed her mission, if not in the way she’d intended.
When the narration finished, she nodded. “Time to get busy, then. Gail? See if you can find some clothes that fit Annie and disguise who she is. When you’re done with that, get ready for some spell casting. Cassie? Change your appearance, it doesn’t have to be much, but enough that you won’t be recognized.” She summoned magic, and her own appearance changed in the blink of an eye, to that of an older woman with features as close to Annie’s own as she could make them.
“But – I don’t understand,” Annie sputtered to Rose as Gail brought a simple tunic out of the back of the temple. “What are you doing?”
“We’re taking you home.”
One soothing cup of tea and several hugs later, Annie was composed enough to tell the Veracian nuns and nun-to-be her story.
It was a common enough one in some ways, thought Sister Rose: the giddy rush of passion in a new marriage gave way to the realization that that marriage was not going to be everything it was cracked up to be, and that one’s new spouse was not exactly as advertised, or at least as imagined, either. Like almost any Veracian clergy, she’d heard the basics of it before; leading one’s flock pretty much guaranteed that, particularly when the flock included military men (and occasionally women) who’d rushed to marriage before going off to serve Luminosita on the front lines. Of course, there were unique features to Annie’s story, like the weird, polygamous family that she’d joined in her first glow of marital rapture.
The fact that she’d been married previously to Rose’s cousin was a bit of a quirk, too. And that little business of an army of thousands (or so Annie guessed it to be) that was not going to take it well that she wanted out of that marriage … well, that certainly qualified as more than just a quirk.
“So – so I came looking for you, Rose,” Annie finished up. “I knew you’d know what to do. You always do.” A wan smile.
I wish that was true, Rose thought. However, something Annie had said caught her attention before she expressed this emotion. “You came looking for me,” she said. “How did you know where to look? Who told you I was here?” But she was not prepared for the other woman’s answer.
“My husband told me.”
“He what?” Rose echoed, her composure momentarily shattered. That means…
“Well, he didn’t actually tell me,” Annie went on. “He didn’t mean to. I just heard him say it while we were all at dinner. He got some kind of call that he wouldn’t let us listen to the other end of – not that we women would ever be allowed to do that, of course – and then he said ‘well, the Patriarch sent that damned shape-shifting nun down to check on us, she’s at the Old Vartaniel Temple now … we’ll avoid her if we can, and if we can’t … yes, I know.’ And then I had to stop listening because the baby cried. But there’s only one shape-shifting nun in the Church, as far as I know, and that’s you.” Another wan smile. “You’re a little famous, I guess. But – what’s wrong?”
Rose’s face had hardened into a far grimmer look than she intended. Our cover is blown. I don’t know how, but it is. That means we’re going to have to do a mission abort. Father Gisbert isn’t going to like it, but screw Father Gisbert.
“But why would your husband be getting a call like that?” Rose asked, more to get her composure back than anything else … but as Annie spun her answer to that question, Rose realized she’d just completed her mission, if not in the way she’d intended.
When the narration finished, she nodded. “Time to get busy, then. Gail? See if you can find some clothes that fit Annie and disguise who she is. When you’re done with that, get ready for some spell casting. Cassie? Change your appearance, it doesn’t have to be much, but enough that you won’t be recognized.” She summoned magic, and her own appearance changed in the blink of an eye, to that of an older woman with features as close to Annie’s own as she could make them.
“But – I don’t understand,” Annie sputtered to Rose as Gail brought a simple tunic out of the back of the temple. “What are you doing?”
“We’re taking you home.”
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
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Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
Chapter Twenty-seven: Trevor
The magical bonds holding Cosmo’s familiar Trevor finally dissipated with a soft pop, leaving the nightingale free at last to look around and see what had happened to him.
He had landed atop the ridge, just to the west of the fence that marked the edge of the prohibited zone of the Lorenzel Excavation, whatever that was; his knowledge of Veracian geography was no more detailed than that of the Tsuirakuan he served. He had still been groggy from the hard landing (one would almost say shoot-down) when the humans disappeared through the travel platform, and he had not seen them go or heard any of the talk before the platform functioned. A quick circle just above the level of the trees beyond the road confirmed that he was alone, or at least that there were no humans in sight … which, however, was not to say that no beings of any kind were in the vicinity. He’d been spotted as he rose above the trees, by a large duck hawk circling higher in the air. Seeing in the nightingale nothing more than prey, the predator dropped toward him like a stone, talons clenched to deliver a killing blow.
Hawks were still common enough in the fields and forests beneath Tsuirakushiti that all but the cheapest, most basic familiars had had automatic defensive systems built into them to ward off threats like this one; a mage who could afford a familiar could usually spend a few extra tsuis for that. Trevor was no exception. The hawk was still fifty feet or so away when the nightingale’s eyes glowed and emitted a small but precisely focused beam of magic. The mini-Force Bolt wouldn’t have sufficed to do lethal injury even to a cat, but hawks weigh less than they appear to, and their feathers are tailor-made to take damage from magical fire. There was a sudden explosion of feathers, and the hawk continued its plummet, not toward Trevor but to the ground below, which it impacted with the proverbial sodden thump.
If Trevor had been equipped for human speech, he would have emitted a soft “damn” at this development. However, his repertoire extended only to bird sounds, so he settled for the equivalent, a low rattle that might have been mistaken for a blackbird’s call. It would take him a while to recharge his magical defense, so he sank carefully back to earth until he could figure out what to do next. A few things, at least, were clear. There were no other predators or obvious enemies in the area. That was good. Cosmo and Shem were clearly nowhere in sight. That was less good.
A distant rumble of thunder off to the southwest interrupted his thoughts; the mountains around Stone Man Pass were growing their usual summer thunderstorms, maybe a little early today. He decided to chance another quick foray above the trees to check the weather situation. Yes, there they were, darkening the western horizon, too far away to pose any threat to this ridge, but definitely building. Another range to the north was showing signs of growing a similar cloud cap … but on looking at that one, he noticed something interesting. There was a city out there, quite a large one from the look of it, along the banks of a wide river that arose in those mountains. It was a long way away, but not too far for flight, and hopefully, he could get there before the storms did.
Captain Kitaura had not condescended to include Trevor in the pre-mission briefing he gave Cosmo; he was just a familiar, after all, and not to be trusted with any sensitive information. (Never mind that in contrast to some familiars, he was temperamentally inclined to handle that information better than Cosmo himself.) Accordingly, all he knew of Veracian geography was what he’d learned on the spot, plus glimpses of the two men’s maps, plus general impressions he’d picked up during the years in Tsuirakushiti. That was enough to equip him with two important bits of information, though. One was that he was somewhere in the southern part of the country. The other was that the Tsuirakuan embassy was in Saus, more or less in the middle of Veracia, well north of where he was. The city he’d seen to the north couldn’t be Saus – not large enough, and the river flowed the wrong way to the sea – but it was up there somewhere. That, plus the knowledge that the people at the embassy would have the resources to debrief him and send help for Cosmo and Shem, made his next steps clear.
As soon as his magical powers were regenerated, he took off, flying low and erratically over the countryside to avoid pursuit, in the direction of that city. Once he got there he could get re-oriented and head for Saus.
On toward Lorenzel he flew, toward the distant but gathering storm.
The magical bonds holding Cosmo’s familiar Trevor finally dissipated with a soft pop, leaving the nightingale free at last to look around and see what had happened to him.
He had landed atop the ridge, just to the west of the fence that marked the edge of the prohibited zone of the Lorenzel Excavation, whatever that was; his knowledge of Veracian geography was no more detailed than that of the Tsuirakuan he served. He had still been groggy from the hard landing (one would almost say shoot-down) when the humans disappeared through the travel platform, and he had not seen them go or heard any of the talk before the platform functioned. A quick circle just above the level of the trees beyond the road confirmed that he was alone, or at least that there were no humans in sight … which, however, was not to say that no beings of any kind were in the vicinity. He’d been spotted as he rose above the trees, by a large duck hawk circling higher in the air. Seeing in the nightingale nothing more than prey, the predator dropped toward him like a stone, talons clenched to deliver a killing blow.
Hawks were still common enough in the fields and forests beneath Tsuirakushiti that all but the cheapest, most basic familiars had had automatic defensive systems built into them to ward off threats like this one; a mage who could afford a familiar could usually spend a few extra tsuis for that. Trevor was no exception. The hawk was still fifty feet or so away when the nightingale’s eyes glowed and emitted a small but precisely focused beam of magic. The mini-Force Bolt wouldn’t have sufficed to do lethal injury even to a cat, but hawks weigh less than they appear to, and their feathers are tailor-made to take damage from magical fire. There was a sudden explosion of feathers, and the hawk continued its plummet, not toward Trevor but to the ground below, which it impacted with the proverbial sodden thump.
If Trevor had been equipped for human speech, he would have emitted a soft “damn” at this development. However, his repertoire extended only to bird sounds, so he settled for the equivalent, a low rattle that might have been mistaken for a blackbird’s call. It would take him a while to recharge his magical defense, so he sank carefully back to earth until he could figure out what to do next. A few things, at least, were clear. There were no other predators or obvious enemies in the area. That was good. Cosmo and Shem were clearly nowhere in sight. That was less good.
A distant rumble of thunder off to the southwest interrupted his thoughts; the mountains around Stone Man Pass were growing their usual summer thunderstorms, maybe a little early today. He decided to chance another quick foray above the trees to check the weather situation. Yes, there they were, darkening the western horizon, too far away to pose any threat to this ridge, but definitely building. Another range to the north was showing signs of growing a similar cloud cap … but on looking at that one, he noticed something interesting. There was a city out there, quite a large one from the look of it, along the banks of a wide river that arose in those mountains. It was a long way away, but not too far for flight, and hopefully, he could get there before the storms did.
Captain Kitaura had not condescended to include Trevor in the pre-mission briefing he gave Cosmo; he was just a familiar, after all, and not to be trusted with any sensitive information. (Never mind that in contrast to some familiars, he was temperamentally inclined to handle that information better than Cosmo himself.) Accordingly, all he knew of Veracian geography was what he’d learned on the spot, plus glimpses of the two men’s maps, plus general impressions he’d picked up during the years in Tsuirakushiti. That was enough to equip him with two important bits of information, though. One was that he was somewhere in the southern part of the country. The other was that the Tsuirakuan embassy was in Saus, more or less in the middle of Veracia, well north of where he was. The city he’d seen to the north couldn’t be Saus – not large enough, and the river flowed the wrong way to the sea – but it was up there somewhere. That, plus the knowledge that the people at the embassy would have the resources to debrief him and send help for Cosmo and Shem, made his next steps clear.
As soon as his magical powers were regenerated, he took off, flying low and erratically over the countryside to avoid pursuit, in the direction of that city. Once he got there he could get re-oriented and head for Saus.
On toward Lorenzel he flew, toward the distant but gathering storm.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
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Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
Chapter Twenty-eight: Luminosita’s Chariot
“Do you know Luminosita’s Chariot?” Sister Rose asked Sister Gail.
The disguise making had gone pretty well, she judged. Annie was now wrapped in a simple robe of the Orthodox Church that served well to conceal both her pregnancy and the few trappings of the Millenarian Church that she’d been wearing when she came to the temple. Rose had managed to transform herself into a form corresponding to her concept of Annie’s mother, or at least the mother of a younger, plumper version of Annie, the version implied now by those Orthodox robes. Cassia had done remarkably well with her own shape-shifting, considering how new she was to the magical form. She had shortened herself by at least an inch or two (harder, Rose knew, than making herself taller), changed her hair color, and put some roundness into the angular contours of her face. If Rose hadn’t known she was talking to the same tall, scraggly girl she’d flown south with, she’d easily have imagined this was a different person. Gail was still in the outfit of an Orthodox nun, but some artfully applied “lines” on her face and powder in her hair made her look at least twenty years older than she was, and the robes would conceal the sinewy young physique that remained unchanged beneath them.
The disguises should reduce their likelihood of being spotted as they headed for the military base in Fort Lorenzel, where safe passage north would be arranged. As for the departure from the temple – still the thing that troubled Rose most, given that Annie thought she was being watched as she hid to wait for someone to come out for morning prayers – the weather looked like it would be an ally. Storm clouds were already building over the mountains to the west, and they would probably roll in during the afternoon and produce a downpour, hopefully enough to discourage observers, at least the ones that were physically present. As for magical observation … well, that was why Rose was asking the question.
Luminosita’s Chariot was a powerful anti-scrying spell developed back at the time of the Mage/Priest Wars. Cast upon a wagon or a ship, it would make that vessel completely immune to any kind of magical detection known to the priests of Luminosita; in other words, to anyone in Veracia with magical aptitude. (The possibility that the Tsuirakuans or elves had some trick up their sleeves to detect a Chariot had occurred to Rose, but everything Annie had told her about her now-estranged husband and the Neo-Millenarians left her confident that they wouldn’t be turning to either of those magical communities for help, quite the contrary.) It took a great deal of magical effort to cast on anything larger than an oxcart. If Rose had attempted the spell on her own, she would have been drained of her magical abilities for a good while; in fact, it would not have been without serious risk for her. But she knew that Gail, formerly Lisebeth, had been in a branch of the Veracian military that would be likely to know about the Chariot, so …
She was right. “Yes, ma’am,” the younger nun said, for the moment back in her military character, and she didn’t have to be told why Rose had asked. Without another word, they set to work on the wagon they would use to help Annie in her flight. It was a good hour later when they finally finished the enchantment, and a film of magic that a technological world might have equated to “shrink wrap” descended on the wagon. Most of the few passersby had been oblivious to a powerful spell being cast in their presence.
Most, but possibly not all, or so Rose would suspect later.
By the time they finished, the storm was looming over Lorenzel, and the first few drops of rain were starting to fall, with the promise of many more where they came from. That was good, Rose thought; the canopy on the wagon would protect them, the disguises, other than possibly Gail’s hair, wouldn’t be affected by a little rain, and any onlookers would be scurrying for cover – well, any except those specifically in place to keep an eye on them. Even if that last group couldn’t be deterred completely, at least they could be identified and avoided. Satisfied, she went back into the temple to collect Annie and Cassie. “Let’s go.”
No more than five minutes later, with thunder rumbling in the distance, the four women set off. It was no more than two minutes after that, with the rain building from a sprinkle to a downpour around them, when Annie, who had been subdued ever since the magical preparations started, asked a question, or at least started to.
“R- Rose? I – I’ve been meaning to ask you … if you don’t mind telling me … How is –“
The question did not emerge, however, as it was interrupted by a brilliant flash of light, then a massive crash of thunder, as lightning struck the bell tower of the temple they had just left.
“Do you know Luminosita’s Chariot?” Sister Rose asked Sister Gail.
The disguise making had gone pretty well, she judged. Annie was now wrapped in a simple robe of the Orthodox Church that served well to conceal both her pregnancy and the few trappings of the Millenarian Church that she’d been wearing when she came to the temple. Rose had managed to transform herself into a form corresponding to her concept of Annie’s mother, or at least the mother of a younger, plumper version of Annie, the version implied now by those Orthodox robes. Cassia had done remarkably well with her own shape-shifting, considering how new she was to the magical form. She had shortened herself by at least an inch or two (harder, Rose knew, than making herself taller), changed her hair color, and put some roundness into the angular contours of her face. If Rose hadn’t known she was talking to the same tall, scraggly girl she’d flown south with, she’d easily have imagined this was a different person. Gail was still in the outfit of an Orthodox nun, but some artfully applied “lines” on her face and powder in her hair made her look at least twenty years older than she was, and the robes would conceal the sinewy young physique that remained unchanged beneath them.
The disguises should reduce their likelihood of being spotted as they headed for the military base in Fort Lorenzel, where safe passage north would be arranged. As for the departure from the temple – still the thing that troubled Rose most, given that Annie thought she was being watched as she hid to wait for someone to come out for morning prayers – the weather looked like it would be an ally. Storm clouds were already building over the mountains to the west, and they would probably roll in during the afternoon and produce a downpour, hopefully enough to discourage observers, at least the ones that were physically present. As for magical observation … well, that was why Rose was asking the question.
Luminosita’s Chariot was a powerful anti-scrying spell developed back at the time of the Mage/Priest Wars. Cast upon a wagon or a ship, it would make that vessel completely immune to any kind of magical detection known to the priests of Luminosita; in other words, to anyone in Veracia with magical aptitude. (The possibility that the Tsuirakuans or elves had some trick up their sleeves to detect a Chariot had occurred to Rose, but everything Annie had told her about her now-estranged husband and the Neo-Millenarians left her confident that they wouldn’t be turning to either of those magical communities for help, quite the contrary.) It took a great deal of magical effort to cast on anything larger than an oxcart. If Rose had attempted the spell on her own, she would have been drained of her magical abilities for a good while; in fact, it would not have been without serious risk for her. But she knew that Gail, formerly Lisebeth, had been in a branch of the Veracian military that would be likely to know about the Chariot, so …
She was right. “Yes, ma’am,” the younger nun said, for the moment back in her military character, and she didn’t have to be told why Rose had asked. Without another word, they set to work on the wagon they would use to help Annie in her flight. It was a good hour later when they finally finished the enchantment, and a film of magic that a technological world might have equated to “shrink wrap” descended on the wagon. Most of the few passersby had been oblivious to a powerful spell being cast in their presence.
Most, but possibly not all, or so Rose would suspect later.
By the time they finished, the storm was looming over Lorenzel, and the first few drops of rain were starting to fall, with the promise of many more where they came from. That was good, Rose thought; the canopy on the wagon would protect them, the disguises, other than possibly Gail’s hair, wouldn’t be affected by a little rain, and any onlookers would be scurrying for cover – well, any except those specifically in place to keep an eye on them. Even if that last group couldn’t be deterred completely, at least they could be identified and avoided. Satisfied, she went back into the temple to collect Annie and Cassie. “Let’s go.”
No more than five minutes later, with thunder rumbling in the distance, the four women set off. It was no more than two minutes after that, with the rain building from a sprinkle to a downpour around them, when Annie, who had been subdued ever since the magical preparations started, asked a question, or at least started to.
“R- Rose? I – I’ve been meaning to ask you … if you don’t mind telling me … How is –“
The question did not emerge, however, as it was interrupted by a brilliant flash of light, then a massive crash of thunder, as lightning struck the bell tower of the temple they had just left.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
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Re: The Further Adventures of Rose, Nun of the Veracian Chur
Chapter Twenty-nine: Gad Gimiel
Panicked by the sudden blast of light and sound, the horses took flight, as Sister Gail, the first of the women to recover from the shock, set to trying to rein them in.
If Sister Rose was aware of any similarities between this blast and the magical one that had killed her first (only? she still wasn’t sure about that) husband almost six years earlier, she didn’t have time to react to them. Without thinking, she had thrown herself to the floor of the carriage, taking Cassie with her, and trying to cover as much of Annie as she could as well. Later, she would feel a sheepish satisfaction that her reflexes from her military days were still there. For now, however, even as one of the other women gasped and the other one produced a stifled scream – she wasn’t sure which – she clambered quickly to her feet, to join Gail in the driver’s seat to work on the horses. As she moved, she saw that the temple’s bell tower was in flames; that explained what had just happened.
Partially, anyway.
------------------------------
Gad Gimiel had heard the thunderclap, too.
It had started as just another day in the life of a very old man. He had risen early, as usual, not so much because there was anything around his small, tidy house or in the marketplace that needed doing, but rather because eighty-plus-year-old bones ached through the night and sleep was hard to come by. After a tiny breakfast, he paused to say a prayer to Luminosita before the portrait of his wife, gone to Luminosita’s Presence these twenty years now, and those of his children and grandchildren, living their lives in comfortable anonymity elsewhere in Lorenzel, and coming to visit him just often enough to be welcome but not so often as to be obtrusive. Then he went out to putter in the garden, to the extent that his bent and aching body would allow; what he could not do there, he knew, his daughter and son-in-law would. All told, it wasn’t a bad way for a man full of years to spend a morning.
A light lunch and another perfunctory prayer later, he came to a momentous decision: he would go to the market today. His daughter Naomi usually tended the family produce stand there, but her own daughter, Gad knew, was nine months pregnant with her first child and Naomi’s first grandchild, so her heart wouldn’t be in it. Gad smiled broadly as he reached the decision. He’d drop in and surprise his daughter and take over the stand for the afternoon, freeing Naomi to be grandmother-to-be for the rest of the day. The market was only half a mile or so from his house; with the use of the knobby cane his children had given him for his seventy-fifth birthday (he still smiled at the memories), he should be able to get there and back without any trouble, wouldn’t even need to hitch a ride home in one of the other vendors’ carts. The thunder in the distance didn’t bother him at all. Quite the contrary; Luminosita’s Tears, he knew, were essential to the corn and beans and tomatoes and other living things, and besides, the thunderclouds over the mountains were beautiful. He thought of them as the kettledrums in Luminosita’s celestial orchestra, beating out their own rhythms to the music of the birds and the brooks and the rest of nature, all the music a man really needed. If he got a little wet walking to the market, well, he’d been wetter, much wetter, many times before, and he’d dry. He set off.
He was almost half way to the marketplace when something dawned on him.
Usually the thunderclouds themselves minded their own business and stayed in the mountains where they belonged, bestowing their gift of Luminosita’s Tears partly as gentle showers from the low nimbus clouds that broke off from the main storms and drifted east, partly as runoff in the streams coursing their way from the mountains down toward the River Lorenzel. The thunderstorms weren’t doing that today, though. No, one had moved east on the wind toward Lorenzel itself, and now was standing over the outskirts of town. The volume of rain was rising rapidly, and the thunder was drawing uncomfortably near.
Gad frowned. Maybe this wasn’t the day to help at the market stall after all. He’d get wetter than he really wanted to from this harder rain, and the kids were always clucking at him to take care of his health and not get pneumonia from a chill. Besides, there wouldn’t be many shoppers; in fact the chances were pretty good that Naomi would just shutter the stall for the afternoon and there would be no business for him to tend, or passersby for him to talk to. He’d just be getting wet and cold for no purpose. He grimaced and decided to retreat to his house … just as the lightning struck the temple’s bell tower barely a quarter of a mile away.
For their age, Gad’s eyes and ears still worked well, and the full impact of the thunder struck him like a blow. He was still dazed by light and sound as he became aware of another sound that he couldn’t immediately place, a shrill screaming and a clattering of metal on curbstones. He looked up …
… Just in time for the last sight he ever saw in his long life, that of a horse-drawn carriage holding four women, bearing down on him at full gallop.
--------------------
The screaming Gad Gimiel had heard was originally the whinny of two terrified horses, rather than anything human itself, but it became human quickly enough as Rose, Annie, Cassie and Gail felt their wagon impact the old, doddering man’s body and send it spinning across the street, to where it struck a light pole and lay still … and their horrified shrieks joined those of the horses.
Panicked by the sudden blast of light and sound, the horses took flight, as Sister Gail, the first of the women to recover from the shock, set to trying to rein them in.
If Sister Rose was aware of any similarities between this blast and the magical one that had killed her first (only? she still wasn’t sure about that) husband almost six years earlier, she didn’t have time to react to them. Without thinking, she had thrown herself to the floor of the carriage, taking Cassie with her, and trying to cover as much of Annie as she could as well. Later, she would feel a sheepish satisfaction that her reflexes from her military days were still there. For now, however, even as one of the other women gasped and the other one produced a stifled scream – she wasn’t sure which – she clambered quickly to her feet, to join Gail in the driver’s seat to work on the horses. As she moved, she saw that the temple’s bell tower was in flames; that explained what had just happened.
Partially, anyway.
------------------------------
Gad Gimiel had heard the thunderclap, too.
It had started as just another day in the life of a very old man. He had risen early, as usual, not so much because there was anything around his small, tidy house or in the marketplace that needed doing, but rather because eighty-plus-year-old bones ached through the night and sleep was hard to come by. After a tiny breakfast, he paused to say a prayer to Luminosita before the portrait of his wife, gone to Luminosita’s Presence these twenty years now, and those of his children and grandchildren, living their lives in comfortable anonymity elsewhere in Lorenzel, and coming to visit him just often enough to be welcome but not so often as to be obtrusive. Then he went out to putter in the garden, to the extent that his bent and aching body would allow; what he could not do there, he knew, his daughter and son-in-law would. All told, it wasn’t a bad way for a man full of years to spend a morning.
A light lunch and another perfunctory prayer later, he came to a momentous decision: he would go to the market today. His daughter Naomi usually tended the family produce stand there, but her own daughter, Gad knew, was nine months pregnant with her first child and Naomi’s first grandchild, so her heart wouldn’t be in it. Gad smiled broadly as he reached the decision. He’d drop in and surprise his daughter and take over the stand for the afternoon, freeing Naomi to be grandmother-to-be for the rest of the day. The market was only half a mile or so from his house; with the use of the knobby cane his children had given him for his seventy-fifth birthday (he still smiled at the memories), he should be able to get there and back without any trouble, wouldn’t even need to hitch a ride home in one of the other vendors’ carts. The thunder in the distance didn’t bother him at all. Quite the contrary; Luminosita’s Tears, he knew, were essential to the corn and beans and tomatoes and other living things, and besides, the thunderclouds over the mountains were beautiful. He thought of them as the kettledrums in Luminosita’s celestial orchestra, beating out their own rhythms to the music of the birds and the brooks and the rest of nature, all the music a man really needed. If he got a little wet walking to the market, well, he’d been wetter, much wetter, many times before, and he’d dry. He set off.
He was almost half way to the marketplace when something dawned on him.
Usually the thunderclouds themselves minded their own business and stayed in the mountains where they belonged, bestowing their gift of Luminosita’s Tears partly as gentle showers from the low nimbus clouds that broke off from the main storms and drifted east, partly as runoff in the streams coursing their way from the mountains down toward the River Lorenzel. The thunderstorms weren’t doing that today, though. No, one had moved east on the wind toward Lorenzel itself, and now was standing over the outskirts of town. The volume of rain was rising rapidly, and the thunder was drawing uncomfortably near.
Gad frowned. Maybe this wasn’t the day to help at the market stall after all. He’d get wetter than he really wanted to from this harder rain, and the kids were always clucking at him to take care of his health and not get pneumonia from a chill. Besides, there wouldn’t be many shoppers; in fact the chances were pretty good that Naomi would just shutter the stall for the afternoon and there would be no business for him to tend, or passersby for him to talk to. He’d just be getting wet and cold for no purpose. He grimaced and decided to retreat to his house … just as the lightning struck the temple’s bell tower barely a quarter of a mile away.
For their age, Gad’s eyes and ears still worked well, and the full impact of the thunder struck him like a blow. He was still dazed by light and sound as he became aware of another sound that he couldn’t immediately place, a shrill screaming and a clattering of metal on curbstones. He looked up …
… Just in time for the last sight he ever saw in his long life, that of a horse-drawn carriage holding four women, bearing down on him at full gallop.
--------------------
The screaming Gad Gimiel had heard was originally the whinny of two terrified horses, rather than anything human itself, but it became human quickly enough as Rose, Annie, Cassie and Gail felt their wagon impact the old, doddering man’s body and send it spinning across the street, to where it struck a light pole and lay still … and their horrified shrieks joined those of the horses.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.