Chapter VII | Her Eye in Resolution

It was a cold, sunny day in Pyraleia when Autumn and I set off to deliver the copies I’d made of my dream journal. I’d felt good the entire week, so far. My body moved as I wanted it to and I hadn’t gotten sick in a while. I could just tell that this day was the perfect time to finally finish what I came here to do.

Four places to deliver to. Places of all sorts where I best thought they’d find it. Lilya Caecilius. Tristan the Train. Lana Rose. Lisica Longrove.

It was the same day in Vergalis, although misty and rainy there, when the capital sent a missionary and her young pupil to investigate the quality of its sister’s faith. They soon found themselves cleaning filth of a kind that would have been long since purged back home. It was almost incomprehensible to them how it could have gotten to be so bad.

The missionary was 17-years-old and went by the name Lisica Longrove, a Hall of House Caecilius. Her pupil was only 8-years-old, but surprisingly lucid and almost endlessly talented. He almost reminded her of a young Claude; impressively, he had been compatible with the latest experimental branch of augments, although Lisica noted that they were still inferior to the augments of both herself and that of the young king’s. His name was Oliver of the tiny Hall Evans, and had been raised to join the JANITORs since birth. Despite this, the kid had never killed another person before. Lisica wanted to change that today.

The rain beat hard on them, and you could scarcely see more than a few feet ahead in the thick fog, but the whimpering of the filth they had cornered was unmistakable.

“Shoot him,” she commanded, and Oliver lifted his gun right away and pulled the trigger. The shot cracked like thunder down the empty streets and through the downpour, but the bullet only winged him in the shoulder, and he cried out in pain. “He couldn’t refuse my order, but he instinctively spared the man’s life.” Lisica glanced at her pupil, who pushed his gun down with his free hand and bit his lip in frustration. For a moment, she considered making her order more specific, but for some reason, she found the boy’s purity to be something beautiful, and shot the man in the head herself.

His whimpering was instantly silenced and overtaken by the white noise of the city’s downpour. Without another word, she knocked Oliver’s grey cap to the pavement and tousled his hair before moving on to their next target.

“Your Midtown is crawling with heathens and criminals alike; a survey has revealed that an entire 40% of your city’s population refuse to believe that the Old Goddess exists at all, and a horrifying 90% believe the stories of the Holy Text are nothing but fiction.”

The Duke of Vergalis, Christopher March, tapped his fingers on his desk impatiently. “And you’ve accomplished this all in one day.”

“I’m afraid it’s gotten to be so bad that the Head Church of Pyraleia must intervene,” Lisica continued. She flipped through several more pages on her clipboard. “A little more research has determined that the fault rests on your Minister of Church. He’s a sinful man concerned only with maintaining his wealth. By the authority of the High Priest, August Caecilius, I command that you replace him with a priest from the capital by week’s end. The rest should follow. A strong minister will result in a stronger janitorial force, which alone will root out your city’s filth.”

“I must apologize fiercely,” the duke said. “I promise to have my head priest replaced, but I believe the people will trust a resident of Vergalis over a stranger to lead the faith.”

“There’s no room for negotiation. I speak with the voice of the Holy Lady, whose command is absolute.”

“And the Holy Lady won’t budge? Not an inch?”

“Afraid not.”

Christopher exhaled deeply while massaging his temples. “Have you already reported this to the High Priest?”

“Not yet,” Lisica said. She turned back to the door to leave only to find the Duke’s lejindir blocking the way. Sir Jimothy Conrad. He wore a large armet with a thin visor, and his hand was already on the hilt of his sword. “I could kill him easily, though,” she thought, but Christopher rose to his feet.

“Were you ever taught how House Morsylis stole Old Luridia from us? How it used to be ours? It was our house that survived the Eternal Winter. It was our house that emerged victorious from the Solstice. And yet in mere decades, it was the church’s faith, controlled by that lesser house, who earned the love and fear of the people. They forced our noble line to flee from our throne in the floods to begin anew, and centuries later we’ve finally gained the edge over them. House Morsylis or House Caecilius. It doesn’t matter. We’re now richer than both combined.

“Hear the words of our house and remember: ‘We are the Reborn & We are the Standing.’ I may play nice at court, but Vergalis is ours. From now until the end of time, and no so-called goddess can take that from us.”

Lisica moved one arm to defend Oliver and took her pistol with the other, but it was too late; the command fell from the Duke’s lips.

“Submit,” he said, and the two missionaries collapsed into a deep bow. “Take them to the cells, and lock them up tight. I’ll see to them in the morning.”

The jail cells of the Central Spire of Vergalis were not actually that awful a place to be stuck in. They were mostly padded and private, with well-cushioned bunk beds and a wooden floor. They were also, however, constantly monitored by security cameras, and the door itself was made of ballistic glass that nothing short of high-yield explosives or rootsteel could bypass. But yes, in theory, it could be comfortable to sleep here. Both Oliver and Lisica, however, were chained to the walls by ankle, wrist, and waist.

“I’m surprised your body reacted to his command like that,” Oliver said, voice raspy from dehydration. “He’s a foreign lord with no attachment to the church.”

Lisica hung her head and sighed. “A duke is a duke. Maybe with another few seconds, I could’ve broken free from the command, but his knight already slapped cuffs on us.”

“You could’ve broken those cuffs, if you wanted.”

“And leave you behind?”

Oliver shrugged. “Learning to run with your hands behind your back is a requirement to earn a field permit as a JANITOR… They’re listening to us right now, aren’t they?”

“Let them. They’re never letting us go, anyway.”

Oliver glanced around the ceiling to find the security camera in the corner. “What if we tell them all the church secrets we know? Will they let us go, then?”

“Hopefully.”

He almost smiled. “You’re not too loyal yourself, are you? Despite the scene you made back there.”

She said nothing in response, and the traces of a smile that had formed on Oliver’s lips went away again. There was a small box in the corner, a new thing the engineers called a television, and it turned on by itself, replacing the room’s silence with a harsh white noise instead. The two waited for something to happen, but nothing did, and the monotonous sound soon became as good as the old silence.

“Those people we killed today,” Oliver said. “Did they deserve to die like that?”

“I don’t know.”

That answer enraged him. For a moment, he wanted to pull on his chains, break free and slug his mentor in the face, hard as he could. He knew his fist would break against it, and he probably couldn’t break free from his chains in the first place, but his rage boiled inside until it died, and he felt tired instead. “I see.”

The fizzing of the television grew louder in the background, unnoticeable with each decibel until a quiet voice emerged from within it, obscured in the noise. “Don’t react. Don’t say anything. Just listen, and I’ll make sure you can leave this place within the hour.”

Oliver and Lisica exchanged glances, then nodded.

The voice in the television continued. “When you were imprisoned, an agent of mine implanted a small metal disc into your wrists. The disc is a small listening device. From now on, every night at midnight, you must hold the disc close to your lips and tell us an important secret of the church. If you miss a day, the disc will explode in your sleep. If you try to remove the disc, it will explode. If it feels like you’re withholding information, it will explode. If you cause bad blood between Vergalis and Pyraleia, it will explode. Exactly one month from now, the explosive device will become inert, and you’ll be able to remove it without any danger. Nod if you understand.” They nodded, so the voice continued. “An interrogator of House March will come to visit you soon. Tell them nothing. You will be released soon after that, but if you stay in the city, they will hunt you down and kill you. The train to Pyraleia leaves in three hours. Make sure you catch it.”

The television shut off, and the noise disappeared. Then the heavy glass door to their cell was heaved open, and a tall man with dead eyes and a leather apron emerged.

“Alright,” he said, his voice like he hadn’t slept in days. “I would typically start with asking you two some questions, but experience has taught me that folks are far too willing to leave out important details unless I hurt them a little first. Therefore…” From the pouch of his apron, he pulled out a pair of rusty pliers and gave it a few good squeezes before approaching them.

“Wait…” Lisica muttered as the reality of the situation sunk its teeth into her. The voice from the television had given her hope that they could leave here in one piece, but that hope vanished all at once. Tell them nothing, the voice had said. “Tell them nothing while they pry the teeth from our mouths and the nails from our fingers, you mean?”

Oliver pulled on his chains hard to grab the man’s attention. “Hey! We’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Pain is more efficient,” the man said, eyes blank like he couldn’t care less.

“Then hurt me. Just me.”

Lisica hung her head and smiled. “You noble numbskull… Hey, torture guy. He’s just a little kid. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Hurt me. He doesn’t know anything anyway.”

“I know as much as she does,” Oliver rebutted, pulling on his chains again. “And she’s a pretty young girl who relies on her looks to get by in the world because she’s dumb as bricks. It would be criminal to take her only lifeline from her, so hurt me instead.”

“Hey,” the interrogator interrupted. “Are you two a couple of masochists or something? I find that masochists give me an easier time.”

Oliver gave Lisica a measured look. “I’m just a little kid, so I don’t know anything about that.”

“Huh?!” she exclaimed. “That’s what makes you cave in?”

The pain puller shrugged and approached Lisica then with his pliers until a familiar-looking short man walked on through the cell door in a ruckus. He wore the long black coat of a council minister and a strange black box on his back. It was Tristan the Train, Minister of Transport.

“Now now, Wallace,” he said. “These two are free to go. Your wife and son are waiting back home with a dinner and bath ready for you.”

The pain puller’s tired expression disappeared all at once, and he seemed to transform into an entirely different person. “Oh, thank the Holy Lady. Eight blessings to you, Mister Tristan.”

When Wallace had left, Tristan pulled a key from his pocket and began to undo their restraints.

“How?” Lisica asked.

“You’re wondering what strings I pulled, is that it? Well you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve pulled none. This is completely illegal, what I’m doing here. The cameras are off and we’ve prepared a scapegoat to take the fall for me. Good Wallace. He’ll live a better life in the capital, I’m sure.”

“Then why?”

“I think everyone here would rather there not be war between our two cities, don’t you think? For as long as possible, at least.”

With their restraints gone, Oliver and Lisica stretched their limbs out, then followed the minister out of the cell and into the hallway, where at its end they found a cloaked figure. The two only caught a glimpse of their face, the barest hint of an emerald glint as they passed.

“My name is Annamarie Kavesta, the last living heir to my house.” I curtsied in my fraying dress and tried a smile. “The Lady Lilya has been a hero of mine for a long time. Do you think you could pass this onto her when she next comes to visit?”

It was the last stop, and with every visit before then, I’d only gotten better at playing the lady. It worked surprisingly well each time, and this time was no different. The maid who’d taken the door smiled and took the journal, and we went on our way.

“Why are they all so ready to believe you?” Autumn asked. I turned to her, and could almost see the gleam of my scarlet eyes reflected on the porcelain finish of her face. I made sure to look right at her as I lied.

“Only because I act so confident.”

She scrunched her face a little but accepted it. “Since we’re here, I have a place I’d like to show you.”

I nodded, suddenly exhausted from all the walking. From all the lying. But my feet kept me onward still, because Autumn was there with me. She kept me walking on and on like we were finally the only ones left in the world until we reached the place she’d wanted to go. It was a quiet little park. She took my hand and pointed at a tall oak tree in the distance, half-barren but beautiful still with its leaves like fire from the dying fall.

Then with the lunches she’d packed for us, some sludge she scrambled together in the morning before we left, we ate as the leaves fell about us until a sparkle of white swirled too, like glitter.

“Snow?!” I exclaimed.

“It’s not snow,” she giggled. She explained how the underside of Layer 1 got so cold that it would freeze the air into ice, and the wind would chip flakes of it off and make them into the cold specks that we saw now. Then her smile faded. It had been so long since we last really talked. “Was this all worth it? Do you regret it? Coming here with me?”

I turned back to her sullen face and felt my heart tighten. I was only eight, and she was only a few years older, yet we traveled up four layers in one day all by ourselves. Normally, I would’ve been scared to step a single foot outside of Lucky Lilies, but with her by my side, I could do all this without batting an eye. I sat back down beside her, closer to feel the warmth of our arms touching.

“I would go anywhere,” I said. I leaned my head against her shoulder, and that seemed to get her to relax, so we continued to eat our meals together while sat against that tree, and by the time we finished, it was already dusk. There were not many people who passed through the park in the time we were there, perhaps a dozen in total, but only two came then. They stood in the distance beneath a tree smaller than ours and held each other by the arms at a short distance, staring at each other like there were nothing else. A man and a woman, beautiful as they were silhouetted by the falling light. In a few more moments, they pressed their lips together and then parted again.

“They’re kissing…” my autumn girl mumbled. It was already long past my bedtime, and I could barely keep my eyes open, but I looked her way then, and her porcelain face was a color I’d never seen it before. A shade similar to that of the falling leaves. I could almost instinctively tell that she wanted to be kissed too, so I sat up onto my knees to sit taller. And I kissed her. Gentle, like her, on the cheek where I could feel her skin burn up against my small lips. She thanked me with a laugh, but after that, I suddenly found that I couldn’t fall asleep anymore. And neither could she.

And even though she was the older one, she laid in my lap and begged for me to sing to her. My voice reminded her of home, she said. I’d always been good at singing. Out of every useful talent to be born with in this world, I lucked out with that one and and nearly nothing else. I sang until we were both sound asleep, held in each other’s arms to fight back against the nightly cold.

The days that followed our night under the big tree in Layer 2 blur together in my head. I can’t recall how long we continued to live our everyday in that corner we carved out for ourselves, but one day eventually, I simply found myself awake again in the morning, back at Lucky Lilies. The place already looked unfamiliar to me. Months at that age was like an entire lifetime, and an entire lifetime with Autumn suddenly vanished. Feeling like I’d just woken up from a wonderful dream, recoiling at the idea that it might’ve only ever been a dream, I wobbled from my bed and over to the door to look for the girl. For Autumn.

But the Woman was waiting for me there. She took me by the arm and dragged me to the white room like every other time, but this time, she sat in there with me. She brought in a stool and shook her leg like she would rather be anywhere but there with me. Minutes passed, then hours, and she still refused to look at me as I did her, but I was growing tired and I had to go to the bathroom. I wanted to see my autumn girl, but whenever I tried to speak again, she would shut me up. “What am I doing?” she would often mutter. Eventually, the boredom got too much to bear, so I crawled up to the Woman and begged her to play a clapping game with me. With a sigh, she relented, and together we sang and clapped, and passed the time until I fell asleep again. I fell asleep thinking about how despite her gruff exterior, she had a pleasant voice.

When I woke up, another day had already passed, and the Woman and room were both gone. I was back in my bed in the room with all the other orphans. Except my autumn girl had gone, gone like she had never been there. Desperately, I asked around, but I received no answers but blank stares like I were crazy. Even though the most important person in my life had gone away, I didn’t cry at all like I used to at that age. Instead, I would stare out of the institution’s twin glass doors to the outside world to wait for her to return. I waited almost every day from fall to fall and again, but she never did.