The Meek of the World

Robin Sanarsmark, 20 years ago, still felt old.

All considered, she was at the prime of her life and her skills, even if her hair was going gray too fast, and her face getting grooves chiseled into it too early, thanks to a career that spanned insurrections, wars, and chaotic aftermaths.

But she had come out the other side of it stronger and more respected than ever. She had already left the army to turn her talents towards teaching, and had slotted in rather nicely – University needed regimented discipline in these times, and the nascent student population had found the push to be motivated again.

Nonetheless, with her talents, the royal family still had to call upon her services as a problem solver again and again.

Which was what led to her feeling old, out of breath, sweaty and slightly worried she had pulled a muscle she’d feel for several months.

But she was still a damn sight better than the giant rotting corpse that lay on the muddy ground before her, its flesh split and cleaved every few inches, and what intact surface was being rapidly vandalized by insects incessantly buzzing about to continually chew and sting until Robin would be fully satisfied.

It was hard to imagine a human had been at the core of it – she had been summoned in an emergency when an outlying village reported that one of the Sant-Lumieres’ leftover creatures had gone on a rampage.

High Highness Albrecht, damn fool as he ever was, had sallied forth with a personal contingent to make clear that the Arnis family would not tolerate even a hint of the monster they had deposed.

The king stood nearby, guarded by said retinue who whined and simpered over his muddy armor and sweat-streaked features, his regal features and facial hair thoroughly destroyed by this latest skirmish. Even then, though, his ramrod-straight posture and stiff grip on his sword made it clear he hadn’t bowed in any way to the danger.

Robin made the way to her liege, and greeted him with a polite nod. For the time she had had his ear, she had learned he wasn’t particular towards “proper manners” on the battlefield.

“Have you found the one responsible for this?”

Albrecht shook his head, but frowned with another consideration.

“Don’t you think this monster is a little strange?”

“Strange?”

The suggestion was enough to make her turn back and glance at the fallen creature one more time. Walking over to it, she poked at it with her own engraved bladed, and lifted one of its limbs with a clinical inquisitiveness.

It was, at first glance, a typical Sant-Lumiere monstrosity – flesh fused into a melange of convenient, weaponized traits. Various livestock had been reconstituted into a train of hooves that provided a foundation for a misshapen torso that turned their heads and those of various other forest animals into biting weapons, fixed on elongated limbs rebuilt from necks and torso to serve as long arms. The remains of horses, boars, and wolves lay scattered across the muddy field the creature had been chased down to, some of them sliced from the main body, and others still attached, glassy eyed with their tongues lolling out in death.

“The villagers reported that a monster was rampaging before now?” Robin wondered aloud. “If it was a remnant of the Sant-Lumiere forces, it should be more finely crafted. This looks like it was only created recently, in a panic.”

“I agree,” Albrecht answered. “Which suggests a member of the family lives.”

That was when a third voice called out to them, the crass brusqueness familiar to the pair: “Wanna meet ‘em?”

Robin and Albrecht turned to see a dark-haired woman saunter up to them, wearing a familiar large and floppy hat, and swathed in time-beaten and sadly repaired clothing. Despite her shabby appearance, it did nothing to dilute the ease and confidence Candlethumb had.

Robin sniffed in disdain. She wasn’t sure how the outdated witch had succeeded in fighting off the ravages of time, but some sort of vile potion was likely involved.

“Candlethumb, where were you?” Albrecht asked, tone sharp and not wholly amused.

“Well, the monster was pretty handled, so I went to follow up on a hunch,” Candlethumb answered like it was self-evident.

“You abandoned the fight,” Robin hissed accusingly.

“Ah, I just gave up the tactical objective for the strategic one.”

Neither Robin nor Albrecht appreciated the excuse, but the king decided to move past it. Candlethumb was wiley, and now was not the time to pin her down.

“You found the perpetrator?” He instead asked.

Robin had expected her strange associate to preen and revel in accomplishing something they hadn’t, but this time, Candlethumb had a strange expression, mouth an unexpectedly firm line.

“Not the perpetrator, but perhaps the reason for the perpetration,” the witch insinuated, answering nothing at all as she jerked a thumb backwards at the forest’s edge. “Wanna come and see?”

Robin followed, curiosity egging her own. Albrecht was only delayed by his need to sternly order his entourage to remain behind and secure the battle site.

Candlethumb pulled a wall of branches aside, only delaying to be certain that the two knew where to follow, and dove into the darkness of the trees, with only her voice providing a guide – Both Robin and Albrecht had to wave their tools a little to conjure Spirits that were especially sensitive to noise to chase after the witch.

“Our dead friend was surprisingly territorial,” Candlethumb explained, “Practically carved out a new path through the trees going back and forth between the village and elsewhere. Whatever could it have been, I wonder? Some lair of evil? Some devious workshop of the depraved?”

“This isn’t the time for jokes,” Albrecht warned again.

Candlethumb only mildly adjusted her stance as she brought them to a small clearing. Hidden in the forest was a cabin that stood abandoned amid nature, thick with moss and half collapsed, as its fallen roof and missing wall turned the once-sturdy home into a malformed wooden tent.

Candlethumb walked to the front door, which lacked a door and was half-blocked by the fallen awning, and crouched by it, while gesturing to her companions.

“Is His Highness and milady amenable to crouching in the dirt like commoners?”

“Can you stop being facetious for once in your life, you hag?” Robin spat, but followed along, getting on her knees to peer into the low entrance.

The interior was a sad sight, mostly blocked up by rubble so that it was little more than a crawlspace barely furnished with an empty rucksack, a sheet that might have served as bedding, and a bony girl who pressed herself against the backmost corner while hugging her knees.

“What the…”

What had Robin expected? Was she waiting for what the witch said: some bloodstained abattoir where victims were turned into a futile attempt at revenge against Arnis?

Instead, it was a child: barefoot, dishevelled, and mute. The way she stared at the far wall, Robin wasn’t even sure she was registering the outside world. She merely pressed her mouth against her knees and let her crumpled pink hair spill over her shoulders and half over her eyes, waiting for something, or perhaps nothing.

“She’s a Sant-Lumiere?” Albrecht muttered from behind her.

“Probably,” Candlethumb agreed. “But not the one who made the monster. Whatever created it, it was trying to protect her. Remember, the standing orders: suffer not a Sant-Lumiere to live.”

Because they would take revenge, right? Because they would always give into the power they were granted, and make all victims into their playthings?

Robin had lived by that logic all her life. It made sense. Yet this came to a halt when she saw a girl, huddled without a friend or parent, seemingly just sitting and waiting to die.

It seemed too much.

----------------------------------------------

“You probably don’t remember any of what happened. Your mistress never mentioned anything that sounded like you knew where you came from,” The headmistress said.

“I don’t see why my past changes anything,” Cerise answered. It had been decades since, and she didn’t remember, and she didn’t care. She had been told of her past, discovered that she had the gift that confirmed the theory, and saw the writing on the wall about her existence.

Sanarsmark continued. “An autopsy of the monster revealed a human at the core of it. I think it was your mother. She would have grown up in the aftermath of the Sant-Lumiere purges, and tried to survive with you. After a more thorough investigation of the village, it was concluded that the villagers somehow discovered who you two were, and likely tried to lynch the both of you… so your mother used herself as a weapon to save your life. We don’t even know either of your names. Candlethumb named you.”

“My father knew about Cerise from the beginning?” Ruben muttered. It was hard to tell what sort of surprise he was feeling. Shock at the unveiling of his father’s past, or perhaps disgust that Albrecht had chosen to turn a blind eye.

“The three of us decided perhaps it was a bit much to ask you to pay for the sins of your forefathers,” Robin said. “We took a wait and see approach. Candlethumb kept an eye on you, I did my part, and His Highness was busy enough to write this off as a misadventure of the past and forget about it.”

“You were apparently more than happy to hunt me down when the time was right, meanwhile,” Cerise snorted.

“Even if you kept a low-profile, sooner or later the news of a witch doing pit fights would reach my ears.”

“I had been complaining about my boredom,” Ruben said, with growing horror. “You told me about the arena. Were you expecting me to find Cerise? Then you had an excuse to find her yourself! You used me!”

“I wanted the two of you to be good friends,” Sanarsmark answered cooly. “An Arnis and a Sant-Lumiere. Perhaps something more, in time, but I just wanted to break down old barriers.”

“A match made in heaven Arnis could latch onto while Lucy cooled down in the grave, is that it?” Cerise growled in contempt.

“I thought you deserved a little happiness, Cerise,” Robin argued, half rising to meet the witch’s anger. “The Sant-Lumieres paid their dues, but things got so bad that your family became victims instead. You’re still a victim, Cerise! You’ve spent your life dictated by your past. You not only hide from the world, but are happy to die unnoticed and unmourned, and for what? I didn’t help the Arnises raise a kingdom just to create a new cycle where Lucretia would be the worst of them while you…”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Cerise retorted. “I made my peace with where I was in the world. I had a thing, which you decided to uproot because you’re pitying some version of me in the past, while you’re going to blame some version of Lucy in the future. What is this, your senior-life crisis?”

“Aren’t you even the slightest bit afraid of the Queen Apparent!?” Robin shouted, rising to her feet. “She’s more than happy to dance on your corpse once she has her hands on you, and more than ready to find more! All you needed to do was step over an obvious threat to your life!”

Cerise pushed off from the back doors, walked towards the older woman and put her hands firmly on the opposite side of the headmistress’s large desk so she could stare her down.

“Look, if the day comes that Lucy actually makes the call to get everyone killed in some stupid, avoidable situation, I’ll be the first to step up and pulverize every bone in her body. But it hasn’t happened yet. Let me give it to you straight: I’m a healer. My calling is to keep people safe at my own expense. It’s what I’m paid to do. Whether you like it or not, you’re not my mom, my mistress, or anything else. Right now, you’re a criminal, and if you got any brains left in you, you’ll call it quits and give up now.”

“Then let me go,” Robin pleaded, voice wavering.

“You’re not getting away with all this stuff you tried to pull, on me least of all. I’m not leaving a problem unsolved while it’s in front of me.”

For a moment, Cerise and Robin locked eyes, in full understanding that it was entirely up to the headmistress to either back down or escalate. The rain kept falling, and then thunder roared in the distance.

Cerise unconsciously flicked her eyes to the window to register the source of the noise, and that instant was enough for the older woman to grab something under the desk–

“Watch out!”

Cerise’s world went sideways as she felt someone tackle her from the side, sending the two to the ground just in time for the desk to explode from a wall of force that sent the heavy wooden furniture over their heads.

Robin lowered her cane, its glowing patterns weakening for a moment before she thrust it at the windows of her office, blowing them apart and letting the outside torrent in, and, more importantly, letting her leap out of the Administrative Building.

“Ruben, get Damon and Andrew and get the Guards here as fast as you can,” Cerise immediately demanded, even as she threw the prince off her. “Where would that old hag go if she’s trying to run for it?”

Ruben spoke automatically, while he stared at the shredded windows. “Warehouse at the far end of this campus. All the carriages are there, like the ones we used to come back from Mountain Maw. She has one for private use.”

“Fine,” Cerise groaned as she collected herself to her feet and walked over to the opening. “I should still be able to catch up, then.”

“You’re still going after her?” Ruben practically choked, before reaching out to grab the witch by the wrist to stop her. “You look like you can barely stand!”

It was true. She could feel a coming headache, and the corner of her vision was starting to blur and swim a little. She had no potions left. She had been soaked for ages. It was very possible that her body was struggling to work at this moment. How well would she function in a fight?

“Well, she’s over the hill, and I’m half-dead,” Cerise instead scoffed. “I think we’re about even.”

“Cerise,” Ruben said, and that made her turn around. The prince’s face was stiff, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I should have… I encouraged this, somehow. I allowed this.”

The witch looked at her friend. How true was the statement? Ruben, perhaps was egged on by the headmistress, or perhaps he gave her an excuse she was looking for. Such guilt, however, was not what she needed.

“Well, you’re about to fix it, too, so feel sorry about yourself after this is over,” Cerise answered, pulling her wrist away so she could move to the window. Outside, it was difficult to make anything out in the rain, though perhaps a dark blur could be seen in the distance.

“Come back,” Ruben pleaded.

Cerise instead laughed loudly, and looked back at the prince with the best grin she could manage. “I’m not coming back, you’re going to find me, and then you’re going to get everyone to turn Sanarsmark into a punching bag.”

Without a further word, the witch leapt out into the rainy night, the last of her energy dictated to solving the last conundrum before it became unsolvable.