Tearing Mist

A massive gust flows through the fog, scattering it in every direction. Mist’s visor wobbles like gelatin as Rosary’s hair whips her cheeks. When the whirlwind dies down, a woman stands with her back turned towards them. Her dark blue kimono fades into the background, making the bold silver snowflakes stand out all the more. On her right shoulder rests an open bangasa umbrella that hides her upper body. The umbrella displays a Yamato-e style Madonna and Child. She extends her right hand, holding a mai-ogi folding fan. She opens the fan with a flick of her wrist, revealing the icon of Christ the Good Shepherd. Mist and Rosary take the signal, getting down on one knee and clasping their hands together in front of their faces, eyes closed. The woman pulls the fan in, closes her umbrella, and turns like a ballerina upon a music box. As she turns, her face is partially revealed, the folding fan hiding all but her left eye. At first, her skin appears as white as the snowflakes on her kimono, with pitch-black eyebrows and lashes. Further observation reveals it to be makeup fit for a geisha. Her eye turns to look at Rosary and Mist in turn before speaking in a voice that flows gently like a breeze through a meadow. “Arise, my Maidens, and rejoice, for the kingdom is at hand.”

“We shall, when Christ, our God and king, comes in glory at the end of days,” Mist and Rosary say in unison.

“Do so now and prepare, lest the master come in the night and find his servants unprepared,” she replies, ending the formal greeting. Rosary jumps to her feet, taking a few steps towards the woman, while Mist is slower and takes time to brush the grass from her knees. “Rosary, good to see you as always,” the woman says, the corner of her cheek rising as a smile gleams behind the fan.

“You as well, Metropolitan,” Rosary said, returning the smile behind her mask. “Did you have trouble finding us?”

“You’re never hard to find when Mist gathers her fog.”

“Then perhaps you’d consider not scattering it to the wind whenever you arrive,” Mist says, her disdain hidden as well as the street in the now-dispersed fog.

“Oh, my beloved Mist, I thought you of all people would understand the importance of a dramatic entry.” The Metropolitan’s eye remains static, but her smile dampens as she speaks to Mist.

“They’re fine so long as they don’t cause problems for others,” Mist snipped, fading her visor just enough to let her eyes shine through. Their eyebrows furrowed and jaws clenched as sparks zipped between them. The sparks grew more intense until Rosary stepped between them.

“Well, Mist, let’s not take up too much of the Metropolitan’s time; she has other places to be and important duties to attend to,” Rosary said, drawing the Metropolitan’s eyes before the powder keg ignited. She held out the vial of black pearls. They looked inert now, but minuscule bubbles still rose to the surface periodically. The Metropolitan released her umbrella, letting it fall to her elbow as she reached for the vial.

“My, my, you’ve been busy tonight,” she said, holding the vial close to her eye. “This looks like a dozen pearls at least. You didn’t fight them all at once, did you?”

“It was more like a series of one-on-one matches, thanks to Mist’s fog,” Rosary says, turning back to Mist. “I’d have been surrounded like Saul without her.”

“You’re too humble,” the Metropolitan said, placing the vial in her sleeve. “Samson slew a thousand with a mere jawbone; surely you could fell seven-times-seven of that with your faith alone.” Her smile glowed ever brighter, but Rosary’s didn’t match, drooping as she broke eye contact.

“What shall I then say to that?” Rosary asks, voice dimmer than at the start. “If God be for me, who can be against me?” Her voice shakes as she recites the scripture, but the Metropolitan’s smile only grows.

“Truly, I know not the answer, which is why I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” Rosary asks, taking a half step back.

“Yes, the time is close at hand,” she said, lowering her fan to show both eyes. “We may soon enjoy the fruit and shade of trees planted by our sisters before us. It is time for the Diocese of Japan to stand equal to those beyond our shores.” The icon on her fan slowly shifts as she speaks, changing from Christ the Good Shepherd to St. Michael the Archangel with eyes stern and sword drawn. “And for us to kneel to those on the mainland no longer.” Rosary’s jaw dropped behind her mask, the astonishment on her face only matched by the confused look on Mist’s.

“You don’t mean—?” Rosary began.

“Indeed,” The Metropolitan nodded, fan hiding a sly grin. “Autocephaly.” The utterance of the word enthralled everyone but Mist, as the most junior Maiden present, she alone failed to grasp the significance of the declaration. She had no grasp that the mere mention of the word from the Metropolitan may be seen as treason, if not schism, to the wrong ears. Yet greater still were the rewards if such a thing was achieved; beyond what any of the three present would dare to imagine. The Metropolitan’s eyes shift between Rosary and Mist, letting both fully absorb her hanging words.

“Details can wait for another time. Deals, both public and private, are being made and changed constantly, but I’m confident it’s on the horizon.”

“That’s glorious news, but why tell us?” Rosary asks.

“And what’s this proposal exactly?” Mist asks, stepping next to Rosary.

“Well, I can’t very well play chess without my queen, can I?” The Metropolitan asked, opening a well of worry in Rosary’s heart.

“If only you knew,” she thought, lips tightening under her mask. The Metropolitan had called her queen before, but it never sat right with her. Queens were regal and vital, while she was ordinary and replaceable. She knew God had a plan in store for her, as with all creation, but she knew just as well that plan would come to fruition with or without her. The Metropolitan’s plan was different; her plan required Rosary. “She can't afford my failure, I can’t let her down.”

Meanwhile, the leather of Mist’s gloves squeaks as her fists clench. Her hand gravitates towards Rosary’s, keeping only a centimeter of separation. She’s wanted to take her hand and scream. “How can you sell my Momo so short?” she’d begin, launching into a tirade against the Metropolitan for her failure to realize Rosary’s true worth. She only saw her as a means to an end, a tool to fulfill her own goals. “I’m the only one who truly values her.”

The Metropolitan eyed the two, judging their lips and eyes for the perfect moment to speak. Her lips in an unbreakable smile, thinking of executing her gambit and getting the checkmate. “The field changes by the hour, but suffice it to say that it’d include some travel around the Diocese and beyond for you.” Mist’s hand moved on its own, snatching Rosary’s hand like a serpent. Her fingers were clutching as if their grip alone could keep even the thought of Rosary leaving as distant as the horizon. Rosary immediately and violently ripped her hand from Mist’s grasp. Her eyes flashed hard, but only for an instant, as she stepped closer to the Metropolitan.

“That’s…” Rosary stammered, words as vacant as a desert well.

“No need to answer now,” The Metropolitan said, again hiding her right eye. “It’d be far too improper to ask a commitment when I can’t tell you where or when you’d be going. I merely beseech thee to pray on it. Seek guidance from above that you may at all times carry your cross along the path he’s set for you, and prepare the world for his return.” Her tone was like sugar added to bitter tea, making it tolerable but not pleasant. She let her words hang in the air for a moment before dropping her right arm and catching her umbrella. It opens instantly in her hand, and she returns it to her shoulder. “With that, I shall take my leave,” the Metropolitan says, fog already shifting in a new breeze. “If ever you need something, beseech me so that I may do unto the least as I’d do unto my savior.”

“U—until we meet again,” Rosary stutters, still processing all that she’d said.

“Upon his footstool or upon his throne,” the Metropolitan replied. A gust of wind blew and took hold of her umbrella, carrying her into the sky and out of view in a single breath.

“Ha,” Rosary sighed, letting her shoulder droop. “Well, didn’t expect her to drop a bombshell like that on us. Though I guess it’s a sign of trust if she’d share the details with us.” She stretched a moment, waiting for Mist’s voice that never came. “Anyway, let's stop and have a toast to another successful mission on the way back, we can get some milk tea and—” Her words stop when she turns back to Mist. She stood there, fists clenched, body trembling, and tears rolling down her face as she barely contained her sniffling. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Rosary asked, coming to Mist’s side. Some may have suspected another trick, but Rosary knew better. Mist could conjure screams of pain and feign injury, but crying on command was beyond her. The tears continued to flow steadily, scattering like morning dew, even as Rosary wiped them away with her handkerchief. The thought of Rosary’s absence struck her more deeply than even her touch could console. Hated memories of her life before their meeting flooded her mind, bringing her back to the previous summer.