Chapel Orahamm's Blog, page 20

Subject 15: Ch 16

Slime. Sludge. A black inky depth loomed beneath him. Grey tentacles reached out from the infinite oblivion, grasping for him. A hideous odour of rotting fish and fermented fruit permeated his senses. Screeching, like that of thousands of people dying in fire, grated at his ears. An air raid siren pierced through the terror. It rattled around in his brain. Thump. Thump. Thump.

He shot up in bed, the alarm on his phone registering in his brain. Wrapped in cotton sheets, his skin was sticky and cold. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. A throb wormed its way from his temple to his eye. He moaned, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Today was going to be a good day for showing off. The closer he was to the dream, the better he performed.

He unwound himself from his blankets and made his bed. Running himself under a quick shower was enough to tame his hair. Mint toothpaste eased his dry mouth. He chugged down a bottle of water he kept available in the bathroom for rinsing off his toothbrush. He’d have to remember to pick up another pack at the market later that afternoon.

No one had said anything about formal dress for the morning. Fane had been given leeway to have Ajay set up the course how he wanted it. Given the reigns to set up a perfect situation. Even at the base, he had never had that much of a privilege.

He pulled on his black on black. Black cargoes that held more pockets than it looked. The black compression with its custom-made pockets. Then followed his over shirt and belt. Wrapped into his gear were a variety of harnesses that could hold more weapons than one would expect. Ajay had several larger guns awaiting him at the range. For now, he cleaned his Glocks once more and analysed each of his knives to make sure they were up to par. Five minutes later and he had his door locked, and he made his way down the dark stairs.

Rounding the corner at the bottom of the flight, he halted at the sound of footsteps. A second later and an overly groggy Shelly ran straight into him. She looked up at him, startled. Stuttering an apology around a yawn, she waved him a morning greeting. “Why did you have to make it for bloody four in the fucking morning? And why the hell are you cold? Like no, for real, I’m a foot away from you, and it feels like you stepped out of a freezer!” She grouched.

“You curse when you’re tired,” Fane quipped as they turned towards the hall that would lead them to the door nearest the range.

“Duh, no coffee,” she continued grouching. She looked up at Fane around another yawn. He was wide awake and calm. That same weird aura of death was wrapped around him, leaving the stairwell in a shimmering mist. She blinked at the apparition, rubbing her eyes. 

“Dawn here is perfect for running these kinds of shows,” Fane answered back slyly.

“You’re having fun,” Shelly realised.

“I’m about to make them wish they hadn’t asked,” Fane replied.

“I heard that little Miss Tam asked. Are you really going to scare the crap out of a little girl this early in the morning?” Shelly followed him out of the stairwell.

“I’m about to make the king and queen realise that I’m the best and worst decisions their sons ever made.” Fane stretched his shoulders until one popped.

“What?” Shelly asked, confused.

“Abhi is looking for Prince Orlov to lose face in front of their father. I’m about to make that jack-ass piss his pants.” Fane opened the door leading to the barracks.

“Why do you use Prince Ishan’s second name?” Shelly stepped through.

“Orlov isn’t his last name?” Fane followed behind.

“It is his father’s last name. Prince Ishan’s mother gave it to him as his second name. The heirs don’t actually have last names. Like the monarchy of England before the wars.” Shelly ducked under a set of slouching palm fronds the gardeners would have to cut down later.

“I didn’t know that.” Fane studied the soft haze of dawn illuminating the city line over the wall. He thought he was being polite about the whole thing.

“It doesn’t matter too much. The Prince tends to treat his second name as a last name when dealing with the public. I didn’t know why you did it.” Shelly shrugged. Fane opened the gate to the range for her. They proceeded through to the lock between the royal compounds and the field where safety walls had been set up for observers. They waved their badges to the attendent at the other gate to get through the second gate to the range.

They walked toward the back field where Ajay had the men set up the equipment. The bodyguard met them at the front of the area, shaking Fane’s hand. He said hello in English, and Fane tried his best to reply in Punjabi. Ajay nodded, amused. Shelly stepped in to begin translating.

“Everything is set up like you asked. We didn’t have the large safety nets, but we did have the slack rope you said we could use if we ran out of stock. I’ll see to it that we get them ordered for training. I imagine you’ll want them for the men.” Ajay led them towards a table laid out with a variety of munitions.

“That’d be ideal. A complete form of exercise that leads to the entire body working in unison is more advantageous than a free weight system that seems to be employed in the gym. How far do the men usually run in the mornings?” Fane proceeded to inspect the guns laid out on the table. Ajay had the forethought to include a cleaning kit with the weapons. Fane relaxed. This would be a good working relationship if the man could already predict that he’d want the gear.

“On average, we have them do a mile in twelve minutes at the end of each week. It’s up to them otherwise to practice. If they fall behind the twelve-minute mark, they’re put on probation and not able to go out to the markets or leave the base until they can complete it.” Ajay watched Fane’s methodical fingers slip along the surface of an AK.

“We’ll be changing the regiment about a month after I start working here. I don’t want the men resenting me, but a mile once a week is unheard of. We’ll need them to complete at least a five-kilometre run each week, and I want to see them to ten kilometres at least once every three months. It’ll help them with their breathing and the amount of oxygen they get to their muscles. I want to see them take this course. It’ll give me a good idea on what they can and can’t handle yet, and I’ll be able to construct a regiment after that.” He left the cleaned guns and shoved ammo into various pouches. He ended up only choosing two out of the eight rifles Ajay had laid out on the table.

“All right, it’s five to four; let’s head on over to the starting point.” Fane turned from the table.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Ajay called after him.

“We’ll see.” Fane shouldered one of the guns. They walked to the shield wall of the range, where a small crowd lounging in the tree line in the safety lock. The King, Abhi, Param, and Abhi’s sleepy twins waited in padded lawn chairs. Prince Orlov sat on top of a portable fridge behind a long folding table. Fane glanced at the refrigerator, raising an eyebrow at his employer. Prince Orlov smirked conspiratorially. 

The King rose from his spot and shook Fane’s hand through the fence links. Abhi and Param followed suit. Both had a relatively weak greeting by Fane’s analysis. The King and the Princes had already been shown through the course. They were made aware of where each of the targets was and grasped the difficulty there would be in hitting most of them.

Fane handed the King the stopwatch. “What’s the plan?” The King turned to his youngest son. 

“A shot test. Ten minutes, 60 targets. 10 points for perfect bullseyes, 5 for out of ring, 0 for misses. Counting all forms of weapons,” Prince Orlov qualified his last sentence, remembering Fane’s propensity for throwing knives. He held up an air horn for Fane’s approval. His soldier nodded, smiling at the idea. There was no bell; this was not the base; what else was he going to use? 

“Wanna take your mark?” Prince Orlov nodded to a massive structure. Fane bowed to the family before making a climb up a five-story cement tower. The building was design for rope rappelling and firefighter training. It lacked in windows and other burnables. At the top, he waved down to indicate he had reached his mark.

“Ready, father?” The Prince left his seat on the refrigerate to look at the stopwatch in his father’s hand.

“Is he good?” His father fiddled with the buttons for a minute, making sure he knew how it worked. He reset the time to zero.

“Pretty good.” Prince Orlov returned to his fridge and pulled out a box. Laying it out on the table, he opened it to reveal twelve shiny, chocolate glazed doughnuts. He waved up at Fane and pointed. Fane gave him a thumbs up. “We’re ready when you are.”

“Well, let’s start.” His father held up the stopwatch. Prince Orlov raised the horn into the air above everyone’s heads. Abhi covered Tam’s ears. Prince Orlov pressed down on the button, and the shattering blare marked the beginning of time. The King hit the stopwatch start button.

Ping. Ping. Ping. Three targets clanged in the first two seconds of the air horn going off. They watched for his descent. He rappelled down, allowing the rope to feed through his hands quickly, before swinging into the third story window. A rasping of wood and metal indicated another set of targets struck. A dark shadow shot out of the second window to a shorter building used as storage for most of the training gear. More shots. More thunks indicating bullets hitting their marks.

The black ghost tucked in for a front roll off the building’s back side. It dashed off to a ramp wall. That’s about when the royals lost track of Fane as the minutes raced by. More shots, more thunks. Prince Orlov moved over to his father to look at the stopwatch. Five minutes had passed. 

“Think he’ll make it in ten?” Abhi smirked.

“I don’t know; I think I made it in six and a half.” Fane looked over the stopwatch, a doughnut in each hand, one already halfway gone.

“What the hell!” The King jumped, dropping the stopwatch. Abhi spun to look around, trying to figure out where Fane had come from.

“You couldn’t have hit all those marks. And that’s a fifteen-foot fence! You’d have had to hit at least 6 of those each minute. That’s one every ten seconds!” Param shouted, shocked. Fane blinked at him, the expression of contempt barely concealed on his face. “It was a new course that I hadn’t been on before. It would have been faster back at base. I’m sorry I couldn’t go faster.” He bowed slightly to Param. The second Prince trembled, flicking a glance between his father and the course.

“Shall we see for ourselves?” Prince Orlov pulled a doughnut out of the box as he waved his family over. They trekked through the range, knowing Fane had not had time to go through and taint the course. He hadn’t even seen it the night before. It was a virgin course to him.

At first, it was amusing; the first three targets they saw in the concrete tower were bullseyes. Rather than wasting the bullets, Fane had stabbed them instead. They were splintered and deep, showing that he had put quite a bit of power into his thrusts. It was after the tenth or twelfth target that his accuracy was undeniable. By the thirtieth, the damage level to the targets had increased, the accuracy level still high. Abhi had an attendant take the twins off the course. The royals tallied every target. Prince Orlov’s bodyguard hadn’t missed a single one.

Fane observed. Around the thirtieth mark, his Prince was smouldering with pride and the man’s brothers turned ashen. The King kept his emotions buried deep. Fane was having a difficult time getting a read on him. He suspected, though, by the man’s build and mannerisms, that he had not led a pampered life. 

By the time they finished the course, the sun was beating down on them. They returned to the table to encounter a half-eaten box of doughnuts. Ajay, Shelly, the twins and their attendant were sitting at the table, waiting patiently. Prince Orlov and the King reached into the box, extracting a couple for themselves. Param and Abhi couldn’t seem to be persuaded to take one for themselves. They both excused themselves and left quickly, Abhi collecting his daughters on his way.

“What do you think, father?” Prince Orlov asked the King when his brothers left.

“I think you found a worthy individual who will prove useful in training our men and acting as a good bodyguard for you from now on.” His father watched the sunrise of the range. He turned to speak with Ajay. Shelly decided not to translate the conversation. Fane sat back, aware that he wasn’t supposed to be a part of this discussion if no one was translating. Instead, he took the time to pull out all the knives remaining on his person, take off his guns, and unload the ammo. He enjoyed the lightness in his joints after dropping his cargo. 

Orlov reached over and toyed with one of the smaller throwing knives. He was listening to his father’s conversation half-heartedly. Fane wanted to ask Prince Orlov a couple of questions but wasn’t sure if he would be interrupting. 

Once the dawn sun crept to the second-story window of the fire tower, the King turned back to Fane and Prince Orlov. “Mr Anson. As you are aware, you were brought in to both train my men and act as a bodyguard for my son. We have been planning for Ajay to take over the guard position for my grandchildren for several months now. You will make that possible for us. For a couple of weeks, we will still have Ajay accompany Ishan part-time until you are familiar with the runnings of the palace.”

A pit dropped in Fane’s stomach. How long am I expected to stay here? “I thought my work as a bodyguard was temporary at best while training your men,” Fane protested.

“Because you were never formally part of the military, Mr Abbadelli released your contract in full to me, with a provision that you be able to return to the base if the partnership failed,” Prince Orlov informed him.

Fane blinked at him, stunned. “Wait, so…?”

“Ajay will take over his guardianship of my grandchildren this morning. Accompany Ishan through his duties. I have been informed you are being provided with tutoring in New Punjabi. That’s very good, and I don’t want you missing it. Ajay will switch to watching over Ishan while you continue with your studies. We’ll have you do this the next couple of days, seeing as we didn’t intend for you to start training the men for at least the first week of you being here. I’d rather they become familiar with your face around the compound first and for you to glean some of the language and customs, if you will. We have a formal party of state the day after tomorrow. I want for you to work with Ajay in accompanying him while there. This would be a good opportunity for you to familiarise yourself with this type of situation, one that you will frequently encounter in the coming months.” The King excused himself from the table.

Under the table, a shake ran along Fane’s fingers. What am I supposed to do now? Do I have no way back home? Am I stranded? Panic scurried up the back of his neck. He sought out Prince Orlov’s eyes. They locked with his. The melted honey colour was warm and encouraging, brushing the rising anxiety attack to the side. It’s all going to be all right. If the Prince is looking at me with that much trust, then it’s going to be all right.

“Shelly, if you’d like to go back and catch up on some sleep, I don’t think we’ll need you for the day. Thank you for coming out for the morning.” Orlov dismissed the woman. She nodded her head, failing to stifle a wayward yawn.

“Good luck!” she wished them as she left the field.

“Shall we go get an early start on the day?” Prince Orlov motioned them back into the palace.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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Firefly Fish: Ch 15

“You will need to tell him, Saeesar. It will do him no good to learn you are Fomorii, a child of Domnu and not a child of Llyr,” a low voice said over me in the dark. I had been asleep on Saeesar, heading out to sea. Now, I found myself stationary. 

     “He has met very few of any of the Antumnos, Nuada. Are the politics necessary?” Saeesar quipped.

     “Not politics, Saeesar. Not in this regard. He should know the separation between the children of the sea and the children of the river. A Kraken child mated to a Fomorii will suffer,” the low voice continued.

     “I can live in the salt,” Saeesar protested.

     “And it does you no good. It is stressful for your body. The white lines have grown since last I saw you.”

Bubbles, a swirling sound of water echoed in my skull. I was numb to my sensations, floating in a quiet abyss.

     “I am getting older. Age happens,” Saeesar defended.

     “You are still quite young, Bet-tah, for your kind. You have centuries before your colours should change as drastically as they have,” Nuada placated.

     “What would you have me do, Council Leader?” Saeesar yielded. “Leviathan has already threatened Mate Claim in favour of using him to take your position. They are after a rebellion.”

     “You haven’t claimed the Kraken Child as a mate. Everyone would know it,” Nuada bit.

     “He was raised human. Antumnos customs intimidate him. I have given him a dowry, and he agreed to it,” Saeesar tried to explain.

     “Of pearls? Castoffs from meals, Saeesar? That is nothing more than an insult!” Nuada reprimanded. “Are you after a mate, or are you too trying to take my position like Leviathan?”

     “Pearls were meaningful to the humans of my home waters,” Saeesar hissed. “Do not disregard his heritage so easily as you do mine.”

     Peeling my eyes open to the low light blue water, I sucked in a deep gasp. It didn’t hurt. That caught me off guard, along with Saeesar and two other individuals of a bizarre shape to my predispositions of normal. “Pearls,” I coughed, coming to Saeesar’s defence, “are actually quite valuable to humans. What he offered me, I could buy back my dad’s farm, and more land on top of that, livestock, and never suffer a shortage of food,” I coughed again, wheezing this time, “sorry, sir.” Saeesar reached for my hand as I tried to turn off the stone I was laying belly flat on.

     “Careful, Dian Cecht is seeing to your shoulder. She said it will take a few more hours to pull the rest of the shrapnel and mend the bone,” Saeesar cautioned as he helped position me so I could sit upright.

The surroundings of the pit contained metal tubes, scattered like so many upended dominoes. The ends were capped and rounded. Too large to be fence posts by nearly triple the width, I was left puzzled with what I was looking at. One of the long tubes had a fist-sized propeller at one end, trapped within a crushed circular cage of a type.

     “He does have Puca’s lights. You are a son of Puca. The sea king has never held a human farm such that you speak of.” A massive creature, well over eight times Saeesar’s size and a deep blood red, peered down at me from over a ledge. Not as large as Leviathan, he still set all of my spots pulsing. A bulbous glowing bag, almost like a lantern hung from the top of his head, and abominably massive fangs curled up near his eyes. “And I am not sir, I am ma’am. My mates have been well part of me for aeons; they were all sirs.” Nuada motioned irreverently long arms towards the length of her body where lumps rose along her. “Stop flashing. I will not eat you.”

     Rendered mute, I could do no more than turn from Nuada to Saeesar and back. Out of terrified curiosity, I turned to see who was behind me, working on my shoulder. A smaller creature of similar build to a dynllyr but of my size stood on a series of multiple thin tube-like legs, a short, thick, lobed tail jutted from the back. Compound eyes glittered in a myriad of rainbow colours. “I am Dian Cecht, Kraken child; it is an honour to meet the progeny of Puca,” Dian Cecht bowed. Multiple sets of arms, one on the right possessing a massive claw was enough to set my spots going all over again.

In that moment, the metal tubes around me solidified into one word. Torpedo. I was sat in an old blast site, surrounded by undetonated torpedoes. Searching over the sides of the depression, the carcass of a shattered u-boat grew from the reef bed in a sullen grey heap.

     “You may wish to lower your stress, Kraken Child. You will wear through the charm allowing you to breathe comfortably,” Nuada cautioned. That did nothing for my rising level of anxiety.

     “Marin?” Saeesar tried to draw my attention. I turned to him as he slipped his fingers beneath mine. I latched on, desperate that I not be in this seventh layer of hell.

     “I can’t do this.” I gulped. The lights under my skin had not had a sensation up to this point. The brighter I got in the blue depression, the more my skin prickled. “I want to go home. I want my little plot of land on dad’s farm. I want to feed Omah. I want my mandolin. I want my pencils. I can’t do this.”

     “I hear you. I know this is scary. I remember being scared when I first came to the Antumnos Council. Let’s get your shoulder fixed first, okay?” Saeesar bobbed to keep my attention focused on him.

     “How am I talking proper?” I asked.

     “Cainte, another of the Antumnos Council, put a charm between your throat and your iase, where you seem most attached to communicate so that you weren’t left dependent on me,” he explained. I nodded as Dian Cecht prodded into my flesh.

     “And Siren’s Voice?” I whimpered as fire shot through my nerves. Dian Cecht dropped a piece of metal on my rock slab.

     Nuada pulled closer to me, her lantern illuminating the bowl-shaped crevice we were hiding within to keep from being swept by the currents. “Do you have Siren’s Voice, like Saeesar claims?”

     I shifted from the monstrous visage in my face. “I could not tell you. It is what your people have claimed since the moment one of yours bit me, and I started glowing in the dark.”

     “Then it is probably nothing more than the wishful thinking of errant upstarts and calves who have not been exposed to the sound in their years,” Nuada assumed. “You need not fear others coming after you, Kraken child. I highly doubt Leviathan was who you saw. You’ve been in Karis’s nesting grounds too long, Bet-tah.”

     “I am unsure of its tone, unaware in the moments they have claimed me to have used it,” I conceded.

     “He sings. Your heart breaks in listening to it. Craves hearing it again. Do not insinuate I am outside of my depths because I am Fomorii,” Saeesar hissed darkly at the creature.

     “Many of our people sing, Bet-tah. It is not an uncommon phenomenon,” Nuada admonished.

     “You’re telling me this when I have lived as foster child and now guard of Karis’s nesting grounds?” Saeesar’s fins were twitching, laying flat in agitation.

     “Others do too, Bet-tah. It is for being stuck in Karis’s nesting grounds that you may not have experienced others of the Antumnos singing and just been confused by it,” Nuada tried to placate.

     “Tell me of a Kraken that sings, Nuada. Who? Puca communicates through his lights to warn others. He does not sing. Neither he, or others like him. Does Lamhfada, being half-human and Great Kraken child?” Saeesar seethed.

     “He is ancient. Of course, he does not sing,” Nuada rationalized.

     “He still occupies the land near my old nesting grounds?” Saeesar asked.

     “I know not. He has slipped from the waters into the human realms, and no one has heard from him in over a century,” Nuada conceded.

     “Then you are not sure if he can sing or not,” Saeesar judged.

     “He does not have Siren’s Voice. That much I can guarantee.” Nuada leaned her massive head on her hand to regard Saeesar with one of her massive brown and black eyes.

     “And you would leave Marin to his own safety by stating he does not possess Siren’s Voice upon seeing him. You would risk a Siren in the Antumnos by dismissing him? You would not ask of him anything? Leviathan imposed on Mate Claim!” Saeesar’s fins went as flat as I had seen him achieve.

     “Singing. Music? That is Siren’s Voice? My heart singing? And you would make me do it on command?” I muttered at the concept, agitated at the merfolk. Dian Cecht patted me on the shoulder, finished with pulling the buckshot out of my wounds.

“I had always hoped it would be my art that was admired through the world. I wanted to be famous, escape my parents’ farm, go to the city, become something. Now, my world has turned inside out, and you want me to shred my soul for you so I can claim a spot in this food chain?” I growled at Nuada, fingers tightening on Saeesar’s wrists.

     “I meant no ill-will, Kraken child. I do not trust the lack of evidence. You are clearly of Puca’s lineage. I will not dismiss that. However, you are not of Siren’s Voice. I have met several in passing, and I would know it.” Nuada dismissed with a flick of her wrist.

     “Then pearls and rivers will make no nevermind to you.” I pushed myself from the stone slab. My shoulder blazed, but I was not going to sit in a torpedo nest for another second.

     “Where do you think you are off to, Kraken child, to leave a Council Leader who has not dismissed you?” Nuada reprimanded.

     Numb terror had turned to boiling anger. My spots changed, toning down, dimming the space around us. I slipped my fingers from Saeesar’s, using a kink in his tail to launch myself up out of the sheltered bowl. The only light, the red-orange glow of Nuada’s lamp cast eerie shadows around the old sub’s graveyard, torpedos casting up like so many headstones. I had hold of Nuada’s enormous jaw before she realized I had moved. “Call me Kraken child again, mudskipper, and I will become your Kraken. Do you taste like Leviathan?”

     “You wouldn’t.” Nuada shivered under my hold, her massive eyes swivelling to my location.

     “Strip me of my name. Strip me of my humanity. You do not rule me, mudskipper. I have not acknowledged you as any leader of mine. Shall I leave you the way I left Leviathan?” I barred my teeth.

     “You really maimed them? You left your mark on them to be hunted by your siblings? For questioning the legitimacy -”

     “If it is the one power I hold in this place. I will protect myself. I don’t trust you. You’ll be letting me pass now,” I interrupted her. She kept quiet at the threat. “Saeesar, stay here or come with or do whatever you choose to do. Just point me in the direction of land. Rather take pot shots from bb guns than deal with entitled eels.”

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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Subject 15: Ch 15

“Come on! We need to get going!” Shelly popped into the room unannounced. The instructor and Fane flinched, glancing up from a children’s workbook. “What’s wrong?” Fane rose, his hands clearing every vest and pocket in succession as he subconsciously checked for his armaments. Shelly grabbed him, pulling him towards the library door. “You’re supposed to be meeting with His Majesties in fifteen minutes. I got distracted and forgot to come get you half an hour ago. I’m so sorry!” She pushed him from the room.

“Tomorrow at three?” Fane called back to Mr Sachdeva before he lost line of sight of the door.

“Tomorrow! Good luck!” his teacher called back, waving goodbye to Fane.

“Come on, the lift is here.” Shelly pulled Fane towards the doors. Fane’s senses all suddenly screamed red alert. He put on the brakes. “The stairs are over here, I’ll -” he tried to back away from the shoeboxes of death.

“No time!” coerced Shelly, keeping her grip tight on him. She had already changed, hurriedly, into a bright lime green and watermelon pink sharara. Her hair hung about her shoulders, shining a soft walnut. Large gold hoops blinked in and out of the curling tresses.

The door to the lift was already opening. Fane’s heart squeezed tight, and a cold sweat gathered between his shoulder blades. He stumbled into the tight airless chamber with her. He’d have to remember to find out the times he needed to be somewhere and never miss it again, he chided himself as the door shut with a bing. Shelly pressed the top floor, and there was a shift in the lift mechanism. He clutched down tightly on her hand. Shelly glanced at the hand and back up to the soldier’s face. Fane’s eyes were fixated on the changing number of the lift. He was holding his breath.

The door slid open, and Fane immediately pressed out, practically dragging Shelly with him. She jumped a step and was in stride with him as they dashed down the long hallway to his room on the other end. At the door, Fane fumbled for his key before getting the lock to pop. Inside he was confronted with all the bags and boxes they had purchased earlier.

He halted in his tracks, his brain suddenly deciding to stop working. Shelly rushed for the packages. He knelt down next to her, helping her untangle price tags holding the clothing captive. Shelly pulled out a navy blue and white shalwar kameez suit. She tossed them at him and dug out a new pair of leather jutti.

He held the clothes, watching her stand back up quickly. “The hell you doing? Get changed! Come on!” Shelly reaching for Fane’s shirt.

“Woah, woah, woah. I’ll get dressed! Get out!” Fane pushed her to the door.

“I have nine older brothers. I don’t care. You’ll be late, and you’ve probably never tried to get into one of these.” Shelly started after him again.

“Well, slow down, or you’ll cut yourself.” Fane pulled one of his throwing knives to explain more. 

Shelly grimaced and sighed. “Fine, get yourself decluttered and if you need, I can jump in and make sure you look correct. You have to hurry. Got it!” Shelly scuttled out of the room.

Fane dismantled himself, laying out his weapons on the side table. He pulled off his clothes and approached the new costume. The loose silk trousers went on quickly enough and tied with a drawstring. He stuck his arms into the top and realised that it was incredibly see-through. He pulled out his pocketed compression tank and tucked it into his new trousers. Well, this’ll work to my advantage, he mused as he eased his side knives into their slots. 

“Are you done?” Shelly popped back in.

“Not quite.” He finished slipping the last knife in its sheath.

“How do you plan on using those under your kameez?” Shelly asked, holding the long asymmetric shirt to him. A drape of mother-of-pearl buttons ran down the right shoulder to the hip.

He took it from her and tugged it on. “Probably toss the shirt if I have to. If I have to continue wearing stuff like this daily, I may have to make some modifications.” Fane watched the mousy woman in the pink and green sharara expertly slip pearl buttons through loops. This had to be too extravagant and underdressed for meeting the Prince’s parents. “Are you sure this is appropriate? Aren’t I supposed to be representing my -” Fane picked at the sleeve. It was loose enough that he could slip his arm sheath on. He immediately reached for it.

“Hey!” Shelly protested. She wasn’t done with his buttons.

“I -” He grabbed the black band and shoved the arm of his shirt up to begin buckling it on.

“Jeez, I’d ask how many of those things you have on right now, but it’s probably better I don’t know,” she grumbled.

“About ten knives at the moment, and a Glock at my back.” Fane touched the spot at the base of his spine to check it still sat where he could reach it.

“Great, just great, he-man.” She nudged his jutti to him and pushed her hair out of her face. He slipped the leather on, feeling so many levels of underdressed. He couldn’t recall the last time he had worn something other than military-issued boots. She brushed his stray locks back into shape, trying to wrestle down some unruly curls forming with the growth. He reached up to run a hand through it, not helping. Shelly bit her lip and sighed. “It is what it is. Come on. Let’s go.” She urged him out of the room.

Setting in on the other side of the compound walls, the sun turned the beige stone into glittering orange and gold flecks. The servants had opened windows to catch a cool breeze, leaving the palace smelling of jasmine and floor polish. Shelly and Fane’s shoes squeaked on fresh wax.

“We’re heading to the main dining room on the first floor.” She pulled him back down the hall towards the lift. Fane had tried to make a protest, but Shelly wasn’t hearing it. “You’ll get yourself all out of alignment and hot and sweaty. No, now come on!” she shouted at him.

He licked his lips, loading into the lift. This was not where he wanted to be twice in one day. His grip on Shelly’s hand tightened again, getting into the tiny box. 

“It’ll be all right. I was nervous meeting the King and Queen the first time too. They’re nice people, though, so don’t worry too much, okay?” reassured Shelly. That wasn’t what had Fane nervous. He closed his eyes as the floor descended. The ringing in his ears was almost unbearable.

The lift rang on the first floor, and the door eased open. Fane breathed in the gust of fresh air. He absolutely hated lifts. Shelly wasn’t giving him time to contemplate his hatred of tiny spaces, though. She bustled him down the hall, then another, and one more right. At a pair of gold-leafed, carved double doors, she stopped him. 

She straightened his tunic once more, making it sit more comfortably at his shoulders. Then she turned to herself, pulling her skirts into order. She flipped her hair over her shoulders, her massive gold earrings falling forward to frame her face. “All right,” she breathed in slowly, “I’m abandoning you here. They can all speak English excellently. You’ll be able to talk with them fine,” Shelly said.

“But you’re dressed so nicely. You’re not joining me here?” Fane asked. He was one step from begging her not to leave him to his fate.

“I’ve got a date,” she blushed. She knocked at the door, and a butler opened it a crack.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Fane whispered as he was handed off to the butler. 

“Yep, see you for breakfast.” She waved and dashed off.

Fane swallowed, trying to calm down. The butler, a no-nonsense man with a grey moustache and a thin stature, ushered him into the foyer room outside of the dining room. “Mr Anson, I presume?” he asked crisply.

“Yes, sir.” Fane took a page from Prince Orlov’s playbook and put on an aura of entitlement.

The butler regarded Fane’s transformation with an approving nod. “Very good, sir.” He turned to the door and opened it, announcing Fane’s arrival. 

The dining table swam into focus. It had to be able to seat at least twenty, thirty people without difficulty. The room was white marble and rose gold, the table a polished mahogany. An older man in seafoam green sat at the head of the table at the other end. To his left was a well-dressed lanky woman with grey stripes; to his right, a comfortably dressed elderly man. Then spread along the length of the table was a swarm of people.

Fane swallowed back his nerves when he sank into amber. His heart slowed. It was all going to be okay. The tension fell off his shoulder, leaving him light and relaxed.

“Mr Anson.” The salt and pepper man at the head of the table stood up to greet him. Fane could only pray he had any sense of etiquette at this point. How the hell am I supposed to greet royalty at what is obviously a family gathering and a bit casual at that? Though everyone’s clothing was elaborately embellished, he recognised that it wasn’t extravagant enough to be considered formal wear. He bowed at the hip, keeping his arms stiff at his side. “Sir,” he greeted. He wasn’t entirely sure but figured the man addressing him was the current King and not the elderly gentleman at his side.

The man, who Fane suspected was the grandfather, was in his early eighties probably. A burnt umber kurta made his face paled, his short platinum hair melted into his skin tone. Aquamarine eyes studied him, unblinking. Fane restrained himself, keeping from fidgeting. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you. May I introduce my family to you?” The man in seafoam continued with his introduction. Fane wished he wouldn’t. He had a hard enough time pronouncing the local dialect. Having to actually remember Prince Orlov’s siblings and parents’ names were going to be a completely separate thing.

“Her Majesty, the Queen, and my lovely wife, Harita.” The man smiled; a fiery passion flitted across his expression as he motioned lovingly to the woman in grey stripes. She smiled knowingly at Fane, dark amber eyes testing his shoulders and neck. A chill ran down his side at her glance. He nodded to her. The king moved on to the elderly man next to him. “My wife’s father, Gagandeep.” The king bowed gracefully towards his father-in-law. Gagandeep nodded appreciatively to his son-in-law and cast a soft smile towards Fane.

Fane followed the motion of the king’s hand towards the closest of his children. “Abhi, the eldest and heir apparent. His wife Orpita and my three grandchildren, Tamasi and Tamira, and little Fateh.” He indicated three squirming children, a pair of six-year-old twin girls and a tiny boy who could be no more than two years old. Abhi was tall and thin, taking after his mother. His hair, shorn short, was pitch black; his eyes were a deep cherry wood. He looked older, more in his late thirties, maybe early forties. His wife was small and well rounded. She regarded Fane with something akin to distaste. Fane knew immediately to be wary of the pair.

“We have Param and his lovely wife Rabia; may the heavens bless them,” The King motioned to his next son. Rabia was round in late pregnancy and looked uncomfortable. Param was shorter than Orlov and Abhi but sturdy, taking after his grandfather. He wore a pair of gold wire frame glasses. His hair was gelled back. The second Prince reminded Fane of an accountant. Param’s wife was stunning. Her face was made for the modelling business. Fane suspected that was probably something she had done in the past. She looked familiar enough to him that he suspected that was the case. She smiled pleasantly enough but was more distracted with pressing on her stomach. The baby was probably kicking.

“And my dearest daughter, Kavia and her new husband, Vaikunth, who just returned from their honeymoon. I hope to welcome you here during our time of celebration as an esteemed guest that my son says will aid us in bettering our defences.” The King smiled warmly. Kavia was absolutely beaming. She seemed young, reminding Fane of a schoolgirl who had experienced her first kiss. She was lithe and petite. Vaikunth shared that same inexperienced look. He was heavily pressed into his suite. His features were cobbly at best. A bit of soft weight road around his cheeks and neck, showing he led an inactive life. The doe-eyes that Kavia had for the man, though, told Fane that she was in love and had no regard for his aesthetics. Vaikunth beamed a pleasant smile at Fane, what appeared to be a true, genuine smile.

“Welcome,” they all said in unison. A shiver ran down Fane’s spine. That was odd, but probably a practised greeting the family had. 

“Please, have a seat,” the King motioned toward Orlov. Fane nodded, keeping his reactions buried deep. Now was not the time to falter. He was in unknown territory, and it would not do to shame the Prince or cast doubt on his command by making some kind of mistake. 

He bowed once more before proceeding to his seat. The butler moved it back for him and slid him in. Fane kept his fear buried deep, a mask of indifference plastered to his face as the butler laid a napkin along one of his legs and left. He only faltered in his nonchalant facade by glancing uneasily to the youngest Prince, his employer. The man returned his look with a gentle breath in and a soft breath out, encouraging him to breathe.

Fane glanced through his periphery at Ishan’s hands while Tamasi and Tamira tried to introduce themselves to him. The Prince’s hands were gently folded in his lap. Fane returned the girls’ introduction politely. At best, with the various sets of cutlery and utensils spread before him, he figured he’d need to watch what Ishan did to keep from looking like he was raised by pigs.

“You needn’t be formal with us. We wanted to meet you and learn a bit about you. It would do for you to familiarise yourself with those who come in and go out of the palace regularly, would it not?” the Prince extended to Fane but directed the statement more towards his father.

“By all means, please. We are here to celebrate Kavia. I hope that we will get along.” The queen leaned over to see Fane along the line of people seated at the table.

“I appreciate you extending your invitation to me during such a personal time,” Fane replied, hoping that would be a fitting reply.

“I’m thrilled Ishan was able to find you as readily as he did. It’s fortuitous for us that you accepted his invitation to relocate here,” Abhi stated.

Fane stilled under the conversation, aware something was about to happen. Footsteps outside the door had alerted him. He watched out of his periphery, keeping his eyes trained on Prince Abhi. He didn’t want to appear rude if he could help it. The door opened, and staff walked in with plates of food. He remained on alert, not recognising any of the personnel. Domed plates were laid out before everyone. At a silent signal, the domes were removed to reveal a variety of dishes. No one had the same thing another did. The twins and Kavia squealed excitedly before they could smother their excitement. The King’s eyebrow arched, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Ishan, were we having fun with the kitchen staff?” the queen mused as she raised a fork to what appeared to be a cheese souffle.

Prince Orlov returned the amused smile his father was trying to suppress. “This is what happens when you leave me to run the kitchen staff this week.” The Prince gently tapped the shell of a pie. It cracked beautifully, revealing minced meat. An Irish pasty. Instantly, Fane was salivating. He turned to his own plate, realising everyone was given a favoured food. Fane relaxed when he took a moment to study what was on his plate. Tofu Pad Thai. Oh, there is a god, Fane thought to himself. Everything looked familiar. It smelled correct. It looked safe. “Hopefully, this’ll work,” Prince Orlov whispered to Fane. 

“Thank you.” Fane graciously took a bite. That first mouthful was like tasting heaven. Something he could safely eat. The vegetables were crisp. The seasoning was absolutely perfectly balanced. It was as fresh as one could get. He figured he could die there and be complete.

“It is our understanding you will be working with our man Ajay and Shelly as your translator beginning next week,” Param engaged in conversation after biting into something a fire engine red. Fane wasn’t even going to take a flying guess as to what it was, other than it was drawing beads of sweat on Param’s forehead. It had to be a spicy death wish.

“They have been of immense help already in preparing me for work next week,” Fane replied, raising his fork to his noodles.

“Is it true you can split a bullet along a blade?” one of the twins interrupted, excited. Fane flinched under the question, his tine hitting the edge of the fine china. “That’s right.” He plastered an approachable expression on his face quickly.

“That’s so cool! Daidi, let’s watch him do it!” The girl tugged on Abhi’s arm. 

The man smiled down at her, amused. “Is it really true you can split a bullet?” Abhi turned to him, his voice sliding like snakes across the table. He was cunning, this one. Fane knew it by looking at the man’s eyes. He had a diplomatic glint to his face, but his eyes held a form of judgmental dismissiveness Fane recognised. He had seen that look before. It had always come from upstarts that ended up in the hospital whenever they physically provoked him. Fane kept his composure, knowing he was about to be turned into a sideshow freak for small children’s enjoyment.

“It would be my pleasure to show you at a time of your choosing.” He let his warped smile come out for a second. Ishan’s fork scratched at the plate. Fane held Abhi’s eyes, not wanting to back down from the man. The heir-apparent’s eyes were like Ishan’s, an amber that could look almost feral in their contempt. A glinting smirk crossed Abhi’s lips as he said, “tomorrow before breakfast?”

“I’ll have doughnuts prepared,” Ishan mumbled.

“I like chocolate,” Fane muttered back.

“Hundreds-and-thousands?” Ishan let his volume come up.

“Sure, why not?” Fane returned Prince Abhi’s grin with his own twisted promise of death. The man paled. That was what Fane wanted. He had waited for that look, that look of utter contempt to drop as he realised what was in the room with them.

The man dropped his egotistical gaze and turned to his daughter. “Are you ready to get up really early, Tam?”

“Yes, I can do it, Daidi!” she was visibly vibrating.

“Let Ajay know your set up after dinner, and we’ll have it ready for you in the morning.” The king was bemused with the antics of his grandchild. He was not concerned about the battle of wills that was being fought over the dinner table.

“When would work for you? I’m not familiar with your schedules yet,” Fane directed the question once more at Abhi.

“Four would do fine,” Abhi tried to bring back his contemptuous gaze but dropped his eyelashes to study his plate when Fane gave off that grim reaper impression he pulled with people he didn’t like. 

Is he trying to make me back down with early hours? Four is when I regularly get up and go for an hour run. That is gonna be cake walk. “I look forward to it.” Fane finally allowed himself to eat. This would get this challenge out of the way early. It was almost always inevitable to have someone try to start up some kind of shooting test just to eat dust.

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Subject 15: Ch 14

The guns were laid out on the side table, along with about half his stash of knives. Ajay had insisted that he respect his employer enough not to come to the lunch table completely clothed in metal. He had half met the request, reiterating that he was a trainer and temporary bodyguard, not a companion. If he was to protect the Prince, then it would have to be that way. Shelly was relieved when the guns were down on the table near the door. The cold aura flowing off Fane dissipated when they were no longer a part of his outfit.

Fane glared at his food. What is this? He chewed the inside of his lip nervously. Should I? The plate was portioned into several spots of small samplers. He couldn’t recognise any of it. He looked up to see what everyone else was doing with their meal. The Prince, Ajay, Shelly, and himself were seated around a small conference table that was part of the Prince’s office chamber. It was shoved off in a corner that backed up against a meeting point of windows overlooking the gardens and a set of bookshelves.

They hadn’t even given him the decent option of a potted plant to make the food disappear into. He sure as hell wasn’t going to admit to being terrified of the food or having a repeat of yesterday. He didn’t want any more special treatment than he had already received.

“How has your first couple of days gone?” the Prince asked cordially. Shelly was interpreting for Ajay at that point.

“Um…good?” Fane answered, finally spearing what he hoped was a piece of potato off the fine china plate.

“Will the armoury be to your liking? Are we missing any essentials you would like for us to stock for training?” the Prince bit into what looked like a piece of orange curry. Fane’s mouth ran dry, confident that if he ate that, he’d be laid out for a week.

He was hungry as hell, but this was some kind of torture that he wasn’t sure how to escape from. He reached into a basket in the centre of the table and took a piece of what he knew related to bread. That much looked safe.

“The Zastavas and M24s were in poor condition and are at least two hundred years out of date at this point. Nice antiques, though. Even antiques are usable. The last set to use them didn’t dismantle and clean them properly. They’ve pitted. I’d say with the amount of decay I saw, it’d be safer to decommission the ones in the armoury and replace them. I can’t believe you have operable Mosin-Nagants. Those things are ancient. Should probably be put into a museum. They are fully serviceable, so there’s nothing against them, just old tech.

“I want to see what your men can handle before letting those RPGs out of the cabinet. Grant it, I really want to play with one, but I don’t want to see a wall going down here if I can help it. Your colt 9mm and m16s should seriously be put out of use. They aren’t gonna do jack against someone in a vest nowadays. That reminds me, your vests are all last-century old-school. Get a new set for everyone that you plan on equipping. Good brands are capable of holding up against some of last-gen armour piercings. There were enough Glocks in there for a modest patrol, though I want to make sure every person under my command can actually clean them. Poor things, they are tools and should be cared for, especially out here with the aggressive dust.

“You’ll need a new stock in ammo if you’re gonna replace some of those pieces. I’d like to know what the range is that I’ll be working on. That’ll help me plan for shipments, which I can get numbers put together for you on,” Fane offered. He looked up from peeling his bread apart. Orlov stared at him, not exactly mortified. Fane studied his face, registering the emotion as confusion.

“Will that be out of budget? I can cut down the number of replacements in the armoury and make what’s in there work. If that’s what you need?” Fane offered, shifting uncomfortably in the awkward silence. Had he overstepped his boundaries already?

“I don’t know half of what you said, so it goes without saying that I didn’t even know we had any of those things down there.” The Prince recovered his composure, pushing his platinum hair over his shoulder.

Fane fixated for a second, the shine distracting him. “That’s why you hired me,” he offered with a lopsided grin, smothering his sudden interest.

“I hired you to guard me and train my men. I didn’t realise I had failed at equipping you with what you would need before getting here. Forgive me.” The Prince ducked his head in a short bow. Ajay stifled a cough at the courtesy Orlov extended Fane.

“Nothing to worry about, Mr Orlov. Really, it’s all right. You asked for me to report to you my findings. When it comes to an armoury, that is the life and death of a compound like this. An ill stocked armoury will not benefit a castle in an uprising. A properly cared for one will. I want to make sure you are safe. If I am not honest with you, then I fail at my job and at my pride as an ammo tech,” Fane placated.

“Make a list, and I will have Ajay put you in contact with suppliers.” The Prince bit into another morsel of food Fane could only wish was edible to him at that moment. He nodded to the Prince. He’d need to compile quite a list. Many pieces needed to be replaced, though most required basic maintenance. There were a couple antiques that would catch a reasonable price in a museum auction if properly curated.

Fane sucked in his breath, a bit nervous at the request he was about to make. The Prince eyed him, waiting patiently while Ajay and Shelly continued eating without notice.

Fane swallowed. “Is there a room near the armoury that I can use?” he finally asked.

The Prince looked at him, confused. “Well, the armoury is the armoury; I don’t see a need to expand into another room.”

“No, I mean, it’s in a second-level basement, and I currently am stationed on the third floor. The lift doesn’t enter the second level. That’s a five-floor dash in an emergency if they go out. I figured, if there was an unused room on the armoury floor, I could sleep there,” Fane elaborated.

“Ah, I see. Well, it is quite a trip, isn’t it? My problem with that is your proximity from me. You are my guard here after all, after Ajay,” the Prince mentioned. “How about this? There’s a room open in the centre of my wing. Ajay, you know the one,” the Prince asked, switching so that Shelly had to translate for Fane.

“The room we used to use for conferences?” Ajay asked.

“That one,” the Prince nodded.

“It hasn’t been in use since you were a kid. I’ll talk to His Majesties and see if they have a plan for it soon.” Ajay excused himself from the table.

“Much appreciated.” Orlov waved him out of the room.

“Conference room?” Fane asked.

“Well, it’s large enough we can convert it to a micro armoury, and you could still have a room on the third floor,” the Prince mused, finishing the last of his food. He glanced at Fane’s plate, noticing that barely any of it had been touched. “Not to your liking?”

“Oh, um…well, it smells good?” Fane shifted, his voice rising in a question of hope that he hadn’t offended the Prince.

“Oh, I forgot about yesterday. You should have said something; I could have had something else prepared for you,” the Prince lightly reprimanded him.

Fane ducked his head. “You don’t need to do that for me, honest. It’ll take a bit for my gut to get used to the food. The bread is good, though,” Fane smiled weakly.

The Prince sighed, eyeing him. “Well, anyways, the old conference room was about twenty meters by eighteen if I remember the dimensions. It’s three doors down from my apartments. It doesn’t have a restroom attached to it. We might be able to have its retrofit for that. For now, you can still use the restroom in the room you’re occupying; it’ll be a bit of a walk,” the Prince continued, almost forgetting the room. He continued on, drawing out his ideas on preparing the chamber to accommodate a living quarter and armoury.

Fane couldn’t believe the possibility that a person would actually go to such lengths for him. Then, while thinking through a set of storage shelve, the Prince paused. He glanced at Fane, becoming aware of the man again. “You still have to see to the troops after lunch and meet Mr Sachdeva for scheduling language lessons, and then you have to meet my family. I shouldn’t hold you up here any longer,” the Prince clapped his hands, and a set of maids appeared almost out of thin air. Shelly flinched, though she noticed that Fane didn’t even blink at the women’s sudden appearance. He knew they were standing, ready to take the plates away. Ajay slipped back into the room at the same time as the maids.

“Thank you for the time to discuss the armoury, sir.” Fane bowed at the hip. He had picked up the motion from the staff, figuring it was appropriate differential treatment when thanking someone.

“I’ll see you this evening. I’ll talk to the chef so that there will be something you can eat without letting my parents in on the problem, ‘k?” the Prince smiled. Relief washed over Fane at the kindness the man was showing him. It was weird, though, the Prince being so accommodating to him. A wary twinge sat at the base of his neck. Even Zephyr, in taking care of him, had never been in a position to be this nice to him.

Shelly led Fane out of the room. Ajay hung back to speak with the Prince about his findings on the conference room. “I’ve never seen the Prince that nice to anyone. What did you do to him, save him from getting crushed by a bus or something?” Shelly asked as they walked down the stairs. Fane fought the urge to show any reaction. Placing the fear of god in the man in a locker room with his own knife was probably not the reply Ms Shelly was expecting.

“Something like that,” Fane mumbled.

“Cool.” Shelly threw her hand across her face as they emerged into the burning sunlight. Fane shielded his eyes, waiting for them to adjust. The gardens leading to the compound were immaculate, as were the ones to the drive, the garage, and those outside the office windows. He’d have to meet the gardeners sometime. They were on point with their meticulous care. People who exhibited that kind of workmanship could easily be taught how to carry and protect and usually could be trusted to properly care for their tools.

“Mr Anson? Mr Anson?” Shelly drew Fane’s attention. He looked away from his musings of the garden to discover they had crossed into the barracks. The grounds sparkled in midafternoon sunlight. The only discernable difference between the royal compound and the housing for military personnel was the lack of decorative architecture on the buildings.

“Think we should have waited for Ajay?” Fane asked Shelly.

“Maybe?” she answered, not sure of herself.

Several men in various states of military dress sat outside one of the buildings in plastic lawn chairs. They all stared openly at Fane and Shelly. A dog trotted by and down an alley. Fane glanced around at the other doorways and windows, noting that they were under observation on all sides.

Ajay reappeared shortly to lead them through the barracks. The armoury at the barracks was not as extensive as the palace, but the weapons showed a better maintenance job. They could do with some work still. 

He toured the mess hall, the practice gym, the range. Ajay led him out to acreage that had been prepped as a survival course. Fane mapped out every inch in his head, familiarising himself with Ajay’s names to describe each place. 

He tried his best to use the words the man used, though he stuttered and stumbled on some of the syllables, looking to Shelly for help in correcting his pronunciation. Initially, Ajay was impatient with him for the frequent, lousy pronunciation, but he eased up after the better part of an hour listening to their conversation. Fane was trying to adapt to the language quickly. Ajay slowed down, utilising simple to translate speech. Fane followed the cadence of the language quickly after that little accommodation.

At the end of going through the entire compound, Ajay summoned the men and ran through quick introductions. Fane listened carefully to each name, but he had trouble wrapping his mouth around some of the sounds. For the sake of it, he decided he would remain quiet and watch the roll call rather than try to greet each man with his name.

In the end, Ajay dismissed them to run the men through drills while Shelly deposited Fane with his instructor in the palace’s formal receiving library.

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The Fire in My Blood: Ch 12

“Better?” I asked as Sam and I left Forceps.  He nodded, running his hands through his hair happily.  “Wanna go get your sister and have lunch?” We walked down the hall and back out to the shop floor.

“Yes, sir.” He tucked his hands into his pockets as he smiled up at me.

“You know you can call me Lunam, right?” I waved to Conscribo and Praesepe.

“Yes, sir.”

Conscribo and Praesepe walked over.  “Who’s the Accendium?” Conscribo asked.

“Conscribo, Praesepe, this is Sam.  He’s one of the kids I pulled from Aurantiaco yesterday.  He speaks Angelus.  Conscribo, your wife came from the Purge,” I started in.

“We’ve got quite a few mouths already with the three little ones,” he answered me honestly.

“Nuts.  Know anyone willing to foster who does speak Angelus?” I asked the two men.  

They both frowned in thought.  Praesepe shrugged.  “I got nothing boss.”

“Argenti does homeschool the little ones.  We don’t have room to bunk him, but she could teach him during the day?” Conscribo suggested.

“I can run with that.  He has a little sister, Abby.  Would two be okay?” I asked.

“Send their lunches with them, and I don’t see why not.  I’ll have to talk to her about it tonight, though.  Do they have any education background?” he asked.

I turned the question over to Sam.  He shook his head, then shrugged.  “Mom taught me some.  I can spell my name, and I know the alphabet, but reading is a different matter.  Dad taught me military planning, but I didn’t really get it.”  

I conveyed that information to Conscribo who mimicked Sam’s shrug.  “Argenti’ll figure out what to do.  She’s good that way.”

“Get back with me tomorrow then?” I waved as Sam and I continued back to Scriba’s.

“What do you think?” I asked as we turned into the stairwell.

“About what, sir?”

“Homeschooling with Argenti?” I opened the door.

“I don’t know her.  Will she try to make me wear a dress?” He waited for me to close the door before proceeding through the stacks.

“Argenti and Conscribo are good people.  I’m sorry about Pinna and Luto.  They didn’t understand, and that was my fault for letting you foster with someone who didn’t speak Angelus.  I can talk to them further about it if you want?” I offered.  He shook his head and followed me into  Scriba’s living room area in the library.  “If you have more problems, let me know, all right?” We came to a stop in front of Scriba, Abby, and Sanctus.

“Yes, sir,” he replied as Abby tackled him.  “Hi, Abby,” he greeted her.

“You look different!” she chirped.

“Is it bad?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

“No.  You look like Sam.  Like real Sam.” She tugged him over to the couch.  He collapsed between Scriba and Sanctus, Abby sitting on his lap.  Sanctus glanced between the two, a slight look of confusion crossing his face.

“Can I get a couple journals, notebooks, and pencils, Scriba?  I’m gonna take the kids off your hand and head out for lunch,” I asked her.  She slid off the couch and pulled together a pair of matched journals and a pair of smaller notebooks along with a handful of pencils for me.  I followed her over to her checkout counter while Sanctus pointed to pictures and talked to Abby and Sam.  “Doc sent you for journals.  Sanctus told me that he’d need them.  You know he can’t read, right?” she asked quietly, so as not to draw the children’s attention.

“No.  He hadn’t told me that, but he learned Imperian the hard way.” I glanced to him.

“Apparently he never learned Angelus either,” she explained as she set the books in a bag for me.  I handed her a handful of chips and picked up the bag.  “I – I don’t mind,” she blushed.  I raised an eyebrow at her stammer.  “I don’t mind him coming down with the kids.  He’s good with Abby, and it’s a way for him to learn?” she offered.

“He does seem to be doing good down here.  I have Conscribo asking Argenti if she would homeschool the Accendium.  If she takes them, maybe they can drop by on their off days?” I suggested.

“I think that would be great.  I don’t…I don’t get a lot of people down here to visit very often,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” I apologized.

“No.  Not you.  It just gets lonely in general down here, but someone needs to be here for when the materials are needed.” She picked up a book from the shelf behind her, and a bottle of paste, and a label to apply to the spine.

“Join us for lunch?” I offered.

“I have projects I put off for the morning that need to get done today, but I appreciate the invite.  Maria Mater said she’d come down this afternoon.” She bowed her head over her work to hide a small smile.

“If you’re sure?” I asked as I walked back over to the couch.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine.”

Sanctus motioned for the children to leave the couch as he stood up.  Abby clung to the picture book in her arms and gave me her best pouting face.  “You’re gonna have to leave it here, Abby.  It belongs to the library,” I explained gently as I knelt down to her level.

“But it’s pretty,” she mumbled.

“Scriba said that she’d like for you all to come back and visit her.  She liked having you here.  Do you want to come back and play?” I asked.  She thought for a minute, flicking a glance at Sam and Sanctus.  She nodded mutely, holding the book tighter to her chest.  “Well, when you come back to visit, you can read it with her again?” I persuaded the little girl.

“Abby, it’s not ours.  We still need to find where we’re sleeping,” Sam tried.

“But, Sam!” she persisted.

“I’d like to hear the story again too, Abby, but we need Scriba to read it to us, remember?” Sanctus stepped in.  She looked up at him, dejected, and reluctantly handed the book to Sam.  She held her hands up to Sanctus.  He blinked at her, confused by her action before picking her up, holding her close as she clung to his neck.  Sam set the book on the couch.  Scriba motioned that she’d handle the book.

“Thank you, Scriba,” I told her as we left out.  Sanctus also thanked her timidly in Imperian.  Abby and Sam glanced back and forth between the two of us.  I explained the new words to them.  They made a valid attempt at also using the phrase of gratitude.  It would take time, but they would eventually learn the new pidgin.

“Did the people that raised you start teaching you a trade skill?” I asked Sam as we navigated the shop floor to Archimagirus’s area.

“We scrounged metal scrap.  We’d bring it to fath- the guy, and he’d take it somewhere.  He’d come back with food.”  Overwhelmed, Sam couldn’t make a decision on what to grab for lunch.  Abby and Sanctus clung to each other at the prospect of the massive crowd that was sitting around eating and talking.  I pulled together a pack of sandwiches and fruit rather than wait for them to get over their shock.  It was easy enough to lead the three out the door to sit next to the sunny side of Medicus’s clinic wall.  An audible sigh of relief issued from my companions.

“Did you like finding metal scrap?” I handed everyone their food.  All three wolfed their sandwiches down in less than four bites.  I watched in worry that one of them would choke.  At least they didn’t inhale the apples whole.  Sam shrugged.  Abby shook her head vigorously.

“Do you have an idea of a skill you’d want to learn?  You’re around the age that Accendium starts apprenticing in Caeruleum, Sam,” I informed him.

“Anything I want?  I can learn anything?” He watched me with suspicion and interest.

“You’d have to see if the craftsman’s got room for an apprentice, but most people around here would take the help.” I finished my sandwich.

“I want to work on guzzler engines.” His voice squeaked as he tried to hide his hope.

“Well, that’s Clavis and Tempestatis’s territory.  You’ll have to talk to them about it.” I bit into my apple.  It was particularly tart today.  It was fresh then.  It hadn’t had time to sweeten in storage.

“But,” Sam went to protest before muting himself.  I raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue.  “I don’t speak Imperian,” he muttered, frustrated tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

“Hopefully with some lessons from Argenti and working with Clavis or Tempestatis you can pick it up.  Maybe Sanctus, but you’d have to ask him.” I tossed the applecore out to the field off the back of the clinic.

“I’m not very good with Imperian sometimes,” Sanctus hedged quietly.

“What do you do Sanctus?” Abby asked. 

He looked down at her soft curls as she crawled into his lap and rested her head on his chest.  He leaned his chin down on top of her head and held her.  He calmed under her touch.  “Nothing right now.  My mother was a part-time seamstress for a shop that catered to Electi.  I have a brother and a sister.  Aurelia was taught lacemaking with bobbins.  She started when she was your age Abby.  You’d like Aurelia.  She’s really nice.  She’d teach you,” he told her.

“What’s lace?” Abby asked.  Sanctus explained the general concept of it, picking up a thin wire from the ground and drawing a simplified design in the dirt.  

“That sounds really pretty!” the little girl proclaimed.

“It is.  She had a good hand at it.  Paul, my brother, learned how to make tools for the shop.  He’d make needles, bodkins, scissors, awls, tapestry frames, all kinds of little bits.  He was still learning before we ended up here.  His apprenticeship was supposed to take longer.  He didn’t get paid a lot for it, but if he found scrap metal and turned it into needles or what have you, he could score a coin here and there.  Mom’s boyfriends always seemed to relieve Paul of his pocket money, though,” Sanctus sighed.

“They’re not very nice if they did that,” Abby stated.

“No.  They weren’t very nice at all,” Sanctus agreed with her.

“Then, what do you do if your sister does that lace thing and your brother makes tools?” Sam asked, rocking back and forth with interest.

“I did embroidery for the women’s dresses, handbags, and fine decorations.  Crewel, ribbon, purling.  I had good eyesight and fine skill with stupidly tiny needles.” He smiled brightly at the memory.  “I was the one that tended to score the most with my work in the family, but because my mom was still head of the house, she’d hand over my earnings to her boyfriends.” His face soured quickly.

“You enjoyed it, though, while you did it?” I was surprised at how much he was willing to talk with the Accendium.

“Immensely.  We’d have the radio on or someone would read to the lot of us while we worked.  It was a large shop.  I could get into an elaborate piece and listen to the stories and not realize how much time would pass until the end of shift was called.  I wish I could get my needles and threads back.” A sad smile pulled at the corner of his lips, producing a dimple I had caught once before.

“Vestitor might have some, if that’s of interest?” I mentioned.

“What good would that do here?  No one here probably even wants fancy stuff like that.  I’m a Providentia.  That’s my value,” he muttered.

“You provide to those you want to.  If it’s not something you want to give, then don’t.  Bodily autonomy and ownership of self is a thing here in Caeruleum, Sanctus.  If you want to do your sewing, do it.  If you want people to pay you for buffing, then do that.  If you want to buff for free, that’s your prerogative.  Your body.  Your mind.  Your thing.”

He looked at me in stunned silence.  He opened and closed his mouth until I suspected he had been possessed by a fish.  He shut his eyes tight, burying his face into the crown of Abby’s hair.  His shoulders shook as he tried to hide tears.

“Sanctus?” Sam gently laid a hand on his arm.

“Yeah?” he sniffled, looking up to meet Sam’s questioning eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Sanctus thought for a minute as he fought another fresh wave of tears that turned his cheeks blotchy.  He nodded hesitantly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m okay.  Thanks, Sam.  And yeah, Lunam.  I want to see what I can barter with Vestitor for some material.  Do you think he’d be okay if I didn’t have chips?” he asked.

“He’s pretty chill.  I’d say there’d be no harm in asking.  I can help translate if you want, or would you like to do this on your own?” I asked.

“Would you come with me?  I don’t know.  I don’t think I’d forget.  But, Vestitor doesn’t speak Angelus does he?” Sanctus asked.  We stood up and headed back into the building.

“Somewhat.  Do you want to go now or wait for a bit?  We have a bunch of bags that I’d like to get set in my room before we go trudging around more.” I pointed out the notebooks and Sam and Abby’s new clothes.  “I still don’t have anywhere to lodge you two,” I told Abby and Sam.  “Well.  Maybe.  Just maybe an idea.” I motioned us up the stairwell.  We banged up the flight, the metal pinging hollowly on the shop floor.

“Idea, sir?” Sam asked.

“Only if Sanctus is okay with it.  If he says no, which is perfectly fine, we’ll find another idea,” I explained to Sam.

“What am I okay with?” Sanctus asked.

“I know I just put you in the guest room, and it’s the first time you’ve had your own space.  Would you be okay with Sam and Abby using it and maybe moving yourself into my room for the time?  I can set up a spare bed easily enough in there.  Might be a shade tight, but it’ll do?” I offered.

We paused in front of Sanctus’s room.  He rested his hand on the door and thought quietly.  Sam fidgeted before Sanctus nodded once.  “Yeah.  Sleeping in the room alone was…really uncomfortable.  It was too big for me.  To open.  It made me nervous,” he admitted as he opened into his room.  It was pristine, his few clothes organized into tidy little folded piles in even, aesthetic rows by size and color.  He made quick order of rebagging his things and helping Sam and Abby with their new treasures.  Abby was ecstatic about her outfits, and Sam had to show her his.  Sanctus and I stood back to watch the pair be children.

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The Fire in My Blood: Ch 11

The library was buried deep at the opposite end of the facility from my rooms.  The place used to be a documents library where blueprints and print media had been kept when the warehouse had functioned.  The stairs were dark, and a lamp was the best help we had down it.  We needed to get around to laying new wires and lights, but other things kept winning priority in the warehouse.

Sanctus followed me down to the metal doors that opened into a massive concrete floor.  “Does it run the whole length?” he asked, surprised to not be able to see the back walls for all the shelves.

“No, it runs to the end of the walls where the commons starts.  There’s another storage basement on the other side, but the commons is a solid concrete base.  Was used for making and operating heavy machinery.  Couldn’t have the vibration damage the foundation.” I steered us around a set of stacks to the back corner opposite the stairs.  There a couch and rug warmed the grey space.  Book mold and pencil shavings.  “Scriba?” I called, walking toward the back end of the stacks at the far end that hugged the wall.

A mousy woman sat on the floor, a little girl in her lap, reading a picture book.  She looked up and smiled.  “Lunam!” she greeted.  Abby looked up and took a second to recognize me.  She scrambled out of Scriba’s lap and jumped at me.  I caught her sudden outburst and brought her up to hug her.  She threatened to strangle me, how hard she clung to my throat.

“Vampire!” she greeted.  Black currant and soap.

“Hey, Abby.  Mind calling me Lunam?  Everyone will know who you are talking about if you use my name.  Sorry to have left you.  Did you not like Maria Mater and her friends?” I asked as I leaned down for her to get off me.  She clung to me for another second before letting go.

“No one talks like Sam and me,” she sniffled.

“Some people here do, just not a lot.”

“Who?”

“Sanctus does.” I looked up at him.  He was watching us curiously.  I waved him down to my level.

“Sanctus?”  she asked, returning Sanctus’s curious look.

“Abby, meet Sanctus.  Sanctus, this is Abby.  Her sister Sam is around here somewhere,” I explained.

“Sam’s not my sister,” Abby said, giving me a confused look.

“I thought you shared a mommy or a daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Half-siblings are still siblings, Abby,” I explained, perplexed.

“But Sam isn’t my sister.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Sam’s my brother.”

“Sam’s your brother?”

“Yes.  Sam’s my big brother.  The lady who came with the man made him wear a dress.  Why did she make him wear a dress?  My dress is pretty.  I like it.  This lady here let me make a flower, see?”  Abby pointed to a paper flower pinned to her dress.  I blinked at the slew of the one sided conversation.  I looked up at Scriba who was watching us expectantly.

“Where is Sam now?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s down there looking at maps.” She pointed down the stacks.

“I’m going to leave you with Scriba for a minute and go talk with Sam, is that okay, Abby?” I asked her.  She took a minute to think before turning and grabbing Sanctus by the hand.  “You feel funny, mister.  Can you stay?  She doesn’t speak like mommy and daddy,” she asked.

The smile that tugged at his lips was something I wanted to see again and again.  My brain filled in way too many images with ‘cute father material’.  I blinked, trying to clear my head.  “Abby was your name?” he asked, hunching down to her level.  I threw the images out and just watched him come out of his shell.

“My name’s actually Abigail, but Sam calls me Abby,” she explained obstinately.

“It’s – it’s nice to meet you Abigail.” He crossed his legs and settled down across from Scriba.  

“Scriba,” I directed.  She stood up to join me.  I pointed her to the opposite side of the shelves where we could be a little quieter.  She waited for me to speak.  She was always like this, not really speaking unless it was necessary.  “Have you been informed of what happened yesterday?  Maria Mater or someone explain the situation?” I asked.

“Maria Mater said you brought in a Providentia and Accendium yesterday.  Said you offloaded the girls on her when Tempestatis and Cortex called you to get the new guy.  The girls were pretty restless, so she didn’t stick around to say much more.”

 A set of footsteps had her pricking up to walk to the end of the aisle.  Pine and yeast bread.  Cortex.  “Lunam!” A call told me I had placed him right.

“Cortex,” I greeted.

“Figured you’d ignore it,” he sighed.

“Was trying to be efficient.”

He approached as Sanctus peaked around the stacks.  Abby looked around him curiously to see what was going on.  I motioned for Cortex to follow me further into the stacks.  “No getting blood on all my books!” Scriba warned me off.

“I’m not scaring the Accendium,” I whispered back.

“Fine, but keep it away from the paper,” she cautioned.

“Am I that messy of an eater?” I turned to Cortex.

“You ain’t seen you take someone’s throat out.” Cortex took up Scriba’s side.  I pursed my lips and raised an appraising eyebrow.  “Hey, don’t go looking at me.  You’re the one who needs a bib.”

“I promise I won’t go draining him out on one of your atlases,  Scriba.” I raised my hand in a mock pledge.

“You’d better not, or else you get to dust the library.”  She turned to go back to Sanctus and Abby.

When her footsteps had faded, I turned back to Cortex.  He was watching me with a wary look.  “Why are you always so scared of the newbies seeing you?  You’ve been here for six years.  I’d think you’d be used to it now.”

“Says the guy who mops floors when he burns,” I grumbled.

“It’s a Repercussion.  We all have one down here.  I really don’t see what the deal is.”  He shrugged his shoulders, genuinely baffled.

“Six years, and you never looked up what the word Vampire means, have you?  Do you even know where ‘Dracula’s thrall’ comes from that Maria Mater likes to quote?” I asked.  I leaned up against a shelf and waited to hear Sanctus talking to Abby, his voice soft in the space.

“It’s Angelus.  We don’t have Angelus dictionaries in here.  Not like they’d dump someone and a batch of books with them.  It’d be nice.” Cortex shrugged.

“Vampire comes from before the great disaster.  From many centuries before.  It’s an old word to describe a blood drinker,” I gave him the abbreviated version.

“So, other Ustor once did this?” He furrowed his brows.

“Ustor didn’t happen ‘til after the Pandemic in the Pergatorium.  No.  Vampires were thought to be evil, workers of an evil god named Lucifer, or the god himself.  They would convert those they ate from into ghouls, mindless followers, or just bleed them dry.  People feared their indiscriminate feeding patterns. The people would rise up against people they thought were Vampires.  Shove garlic bulbs in their mouth, pull out their teeth, shove a stake through their hearts, decapitate them, bury them in a lead coffin on islands surrounded by running water.  People were truly terrified of others like this.  Firmly believed they existed and massacred hundreds for it,” I filled him in.  “This is what I grew up knowing.  Imperium doesn’t have legends like Vampire.  So forgive me if I get nervous about the prospect of having someone go after me with a silver cross.” I kept my tone low so as not to draw attention from the other side of the stack.

“Jeez.  That’s rather gruesome.  Anyway.  I have to be getting back to the transport. We’re heading out in thirty to run shipment.”  He rolled his sweater up over his elbow and held his arm out to me.  I hadn’t realized I had a raging headache until I finally relieved my Repercussion.

“Better?” Cortex asked when I had finished.

I nodded.  “Who’s driving?”

“Tempestatis’s got that covered, like he usually does, boss.  Don’t worry; I’m riding shotgun.  I’ll take a nap on the way and be good by the time I start helping unload cargo.  You didn’t take much anyway.  I guess you really didn’t go overboard this morning.” He rolled his sleeve down and walked back down the stacks, waving on his way.

“Thanks, Cortex,” I said to the footsteps leaving me.  The squeak behind me had me spinning.  Elderflower and soap.  They almost shared the same smell.  Sam was watching me.  “Morning, Sam.  Nice to see you’re awake.” I smiled.

“Been looking over maps, Vampire.  The lady pointed them to me, but I don’t know what I’m looking for.  You’re not going to eat me, are you?” Sam asked.

“No, I’m not going to eat you, but I would like to see these maps Scriba has you looking through.” I motioned toward where Sam had popped up from.  A couple shelves over and halfway down sat a long table spread out with several carefully hand-drawn maps of Urbs Aquarum and Flumen Griseo.  Along the south and east borders was the edge of the Imperium walls.

“She pointed out this section, but I couldn’t understand what she wanted.” Sam circled a particular section of the map over Aurantiaco’s district.

“She wanted to see if you could remember where you came from, why you suddenly appeared in Aurantiaco territory.  Abby said something.  Mind clarifying for me?” I asked.

“Sure, what?”

“She called you her big brother?” I kept my tone as gentle and neutral as possible.  Sam looked away from me, cheeks burning.  Fingers gripped the hips of the brown dress in frustration.

“The first lady you left us with.  She was nice, but all she had were the long shirts.  They were too big.  A man and a woman came and took us.  They put Abby in a dress and insisted I wear one too.  I didn’t want to.  I wanted pants,” Sam muttered.

“That wasn’t my question, Sam,” I clarified.

“You didn’t ask a question,” Sam retorted.

“When we first met, I was told your name was Sam?”

“Short for Samantha.  Abby calls me Sam.”

“Do you want to be called Sam?  We’ll try to get you home.  If not,” I shrugged, “If you’re accepted into Caeruleum formally, we will have your Alias registered then.  You have time to think of one.”

“No one else calls me Sam.”

“Cortex calls you Sam.  Do you want to be called Sam?”

He nodded as his cheeks flushed and tears built up around his eyes.  I reached and pulled him into me, engulfing him in a bear hug.  “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“You’re okay with me being a boy?” He gulped, trying to keep from getting snot all over me.

“Just needed to be told.” I gave him an easy smile.

“But I told dad and he didn’t want to call me Sam.” The venom in his voice put me on edge.

  “You told him you were a boy, and he didn’t like it?” I redefined.

“Abby gets me.  But she doesn’t understand about dad.  She shouldn’t know.” Lips trembling, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his arm.

“What happened to your parents, Sam?”

“I told dad that I was a boy.  He screamed at me.  He screamed at mom.  He hit me.  Abby started crying fire.  He got angrier.  He took us out of Inferis.  I don’t remember.  There were many tunnels.  Many turns.  Mom argued with dad all the way out.  He took us to the surface.  I – I don’t remember how it happened, but he found some guys on the surface.  Mom was angry at him.  He didn’t care.  He hit her.  She fell down.  When she was on the ground she told Abby to find you.  The men gave dad money, and he picked mom up and dragged her away.  Abby doesn’t understand what was happening.  He sold us.” He crumpled.  

My heart was breaking.  I squatted down next to him and picked him up, hugging him fiercely. “You know where you came up in Aurantiaco,” I stated.  He nodded mutely.  “All right.  We’ll avoid it. Okay?”  He looked up, surprised.  “I didn’t know that they did that, Sam.  I was going to try to get you home, but it looks like Caerulium is home now.  That sound good?” I asked.  

He bit down on his lower lip and rubbed at his eyes.  He sniffed once more and nodded. I set him down when he had reigned in his emotions.  He stood up straight.  He looked like a proper cadet.  “It sounds very good, sir.”

“What do you say to going with me to see Vestitor about some proper clothes?” I offered.

“Can I cut my hair?” he asked, hope filling his eyes.

“I think I know someone who can do something for you if that’ll help you feel better.”  I led us back through the stacks to the rug and couch where Scriba, Sanctus, and Abby were sitting.  Scriba was reading the story, and Sanctus was translating for Abby.  They looked, by anyone passing by, to be the most normal definition of a family I had seen.  A cold wash ran down my shoulders.  Sanctus needed this.  He needed to be shown what normal could look like.  What freedom could look like.

I cleared my throat and interrupted that magical moment.  Sanctus glanced up at me, his eyes shining.  “I’m going to take Sam upstairs and see that he gets a proper change of clothes and a haircut.  Are you good down here, or do you want to come with?” I asked.

Sanctus looked between me and Scriba before turning it over to Abby.  “Luman says he’s going to get Sam some clothes, do you want to see where that’s at?”

“No, I’m liking the stories.  I want to stay and hear more,” Abby cuddled further into Scriba’s side.

“Looks like I’m staying for a while longer,” Sanctus told me.

“You okay on your own?”

He glanced around the space before nodding his head.  “I think…  Yeah.  I think I’m okay.”

“All right, Scriba, you’ve got Sanctus and Abby for the morning.  I’ll come back with Sam in a little while.  If you need me, I’ll be over at Vestitor’s or Forceps.” I waved as I left the library with Sam in tow.

Standing at Vestitor’s door for the second day in a row, I was realizing how much I depended on my community.  How much had changed since my military days.  Sam held onto my hand nervously as I knocked.  Vestitor opened up on the third tap.

“Luman!” he was startled to see me back so soon.  “And who might this be?” he asked, kneeling down to say hi.  

“This is Sam.  Sam this is Vestitor,” I held the introductions.  “Vestitor, would you mind helping him find some more respectable clothing?” I requested as we entered the shop.

“He?” Vestitor cast a confused glance between me and Sam.

“He asked for pants.” I reiterated.

“He.” Vestitor nodded as he grabbed up a measuring tape and started pulling out clothing.  He had the good grace to put up his folding screen for Sam and let the boy pick out his own clothing from the selected pile.  Vestitor returned back to me as we waited.  “Have Sam talk to Hyacinthus.  Her son binds and makes his own.  I’ve never had a request for it, so I don’t know how to make them, but Sam may want them in the coming years, and someone to talk to.”

I tilted my head at Vestitor.  He returned the confused look.  “I was about to ask you how you know all of this, but you do clothe most anyone living in here, don’t you?” I asked.

Vestitor shrugged and glanced back to the screen.  “A lot of people come in and out of my door.  How’s Sanctus doing on his second day?” he asked.

“Reading books with Scriba and Sam’s little sister Abby.  He seemed more relaxed today.  Thanks for your help yesterday.”

He shrugged, a grin easing on his lips.  “It all comes with expanding Caeruleum.”

Sam peeked out from behind the screen nervously.  “What do you think?” I asked him.  He slipped out to show us his outfit, a plain pair of boys’ pants and a long sleeve shirt a size too big.  “Does it make you feel good about yourself?” I asked.  

He ran his hands along the material before looking up at us and smiling.  “It does, sir.  It really does.”

“Good.  Let’s get you over to Forceps and then back to see if your sister wants lunch.  I still need to figure out what I’m doing with you two.” I told him, handing chips over to Vestitor, who provided me with yet another bag of clothing, along with a spare change of clothing for Abby I had pointed out to him while Sam was getting dressed.  I left the dress Sam had been subjected to with Vestitor as trade for some of the clothes.

“Sir?” Sam asked as we walked down the hall out to the commons.

“What’s up?” I directed him around the junk pile that Clavis was slowly melting down.

“You and dad?  You grew up together, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

“Same division.  Bunked together, ate together, deployed together,” I said.  “If his number really was 722, his first name was Sherlton.  He came from the East end of New Taos.  Wasn’t a great friend, wasn’t a worst enemy, just sort of flew under the radar for the most part.  Sort of a low-key conspiracy theorist.”  We continued through the commons floor to the other side of the building and into the halls.

“Why does dad hate me?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, Sam.  Military taught us everyone can shoot and fit in a bodybag, regardless of who or what they were.”  I pointed us down a side hall.

“That’s dark,” he told me as I opened the door to Forceps’s shop.

“They weren’t exactly wrong.  Everyone fits in a bodybag.” I nudged him into the empty store and closed the door.  I looked around at the bright tiled room.  A mirror and chair sat in one corner.  A couch and drawings on a table at the other end.  A black drape blocked off another section. “Force?” I called out in the space.

“Hello!” A friendly high pitch answered from the other side of the black curtain.

“Got a customer for you,” I enticed.

“Give me a minute.  Sit down!”

Sam looked up at me, confused.  I motioned him to the seat in front of the mirror.  He hesitated at the sight.  I walked over to join him at the chair and gave him a cursory inspection.  I shrugged and turned the chair around.  He looked up at me, startled at the audacity.  

Forceps finally emerged.  Floral and grass.  She pursed her lips at my change of location for her chair.  “What is the honor, Nigrae Lunam?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Sam would like to have his hair cut.  You have any appointments coming in?” I asked.

She glanced at her nails, frowning.  Sam looked up at me nervously.  “Such pretty hair,” she eyed me.

“Sam’s the client,” I directed.

“Why won’t you let me get my fingers in that mane of yours one of these days, Lunam?” she teased as she pulled out her tools from the desk next to the mirror.

“As I’ve told you before, it’s to honor-”

“Your heritage and the family that looked out for you,” she sighed.  “Yes, I know.  You at least trim the edges out, right?” she pointed her scissors at me as she ran her fingers through Sam’s hair.

“All right, honey.  What are we doing?” she asked.  I translated.  She furrowed her brows at me.

“She can’t speak Imperian?” Forceps asked.

“He cannot speak it yet, but we’ll remedy that soon.”

“Ah.” She turned back to Sam and pulled his long shock of hair up off his neck.  “To the skin, short, shag, what sound’s good, kid?” She asked.  Sam reached up to feel where Snip’s hands were as I gave him the list.  He ran his hands along his ears, indicating a somewhat longer cut.  None of us had the words we needed amongst the three of us to communicate what Sam wanted to get out of this visit.

“Let me work my magic and make him into the most handsome boy to walk Caeruleum streets,” she told me, taking twelve inches off in one good whack.  Sam sat nervously in Forceps’ chair as hair accumulated around his feet.  I collapsed couch and relaxed, flipping through tons of hand-drawn pictures of different haircuts and styles.  They were beautifully rendered.  “You draw all of these, Forceps?” I asked, waving a handful of papers.

“No, that’s Carmen’s work.  Requies’s niece.  I traded her free haircuts for a year for her to make me those samples.  You like them?” she asked.  She moved around and around Sam like a moth to a flame.  He slowly relaxed under her hand.

“They’re good.  She’s got a way with faces.  Hey, isn’t this Maria Mater?” I pointed to a particular portrait.

“Carmen always liked how her hair lays like it just came out of curlers.  I get some women in here who want that same look.”

“Does she know it’s in here?”

“Who do you think helps her keep that shape?” Forceps smiled over Sam’s head proudly.

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The Fire in My Blood: Ch 10

“You knew him?” Medicus asked as he held pen to paper.  He didn’t sound surprised.  I had no idea what he was thinking, but man if I could have peeled Medicus’s brain open and got a dig at what was turning in it, I would have paid my right ball for the opportunity.

“Before Gemma.” Sanctus’s voice travelled down my arms like spiders.  I sat there, wondering if I could somehow walk out of the building without either of the two noticing me.  Hard to do when both their chairs were facing me, and I had to walk past them to get to the door.  I unhooked my fang and rubbed at the itch in my cheek.  I cleared my throat.  Sanctus looked up at me, his expression having gone flat.

“Do you want me to leave?  Might make this easier?” I offered, thumbing toward the door.

“No, sit, Lunam.  You’re getting through the vials anyway.  This is just an introductory day for Sanctus,” Medicus reassured with charismatic ease.  I swear, I was intimately aware of just how far Sanctus’s Adam’s apple rose and fell every time he swallowed.  Medicus returned to Sanctus when I shoved my other fang onto a vial and waited uncomfortably.  I had never told Medicus where I’d come from.  Good guy, but I never felt like I needed to sit in his chair.

“We both are from Angelus,” Sanctus explained.

“You respond better to Angelus than Imperian,” Medicus jotted a note.  How about a leg?  Could I saw off a leg to pay him to let me see what was on those lines?

“I was born in Lubbock Five, raised in New Albuquerque,” Sanctus explained.  Medicus let the silence hang.  “I don’t speak Imperian well when I get nervous.”

“Do you understand it when it’s spoken to you when you’re nervous?” Medicus asked.  Sanctus shook his head and fingered his shoulder under his vest.  Medicus watched the movement.  “Gemma makes you nervous?”

“She doesn’t like that I’m slow at understanding,” he whispered.

“Who taught you Imperian?”

“I listened.  I watched for what people did when they said things.  Some words are Angelus, which helps sometimes,” he explained.

“Have you had much opportunity to talk to anyone in Angelus?”

“My half-siblings, when we first arrived.  That wasn’t more than half an hour while Gemma and Mercurius figured out how to split us up.  We lived together in Angelus.  They got dumped in here with me.”  He fidgeted, rubbing at his thumb.  “I don’t know if I was scared, or relieved when Nigrae Lunam first talked to me.  Well, no.  I was terrified,” he laughed a derisive note of self-mockery.  I switched vials.

“Do you want to talk about that?” Medicus asked.

“He told his captain no.  He told him in more vulgar words than that, but he told his captain no, in front of all of us.” Sanctus’s smile couldn’t be missed.  I gagged on the dry cotton under my tongue.  Medicus sent me a quelling glance before I was able to put up a fuss.  I spat out the cotton I had and packed in another set as I turned to my tongue.  Keep that thing tied down before I put my foot in my mouth.

“We had gone out to the square.  There were lots of people gathered.  Mom had taken up sick, and work wasn’t letting us in in case we were contagious, and we hadn’t eaten in a couple days.  Figured if there were people out, that maybe there was a festival of some kind going on.”  He pulled his knees up to his chest and rocked slowly.  He laid his head on his knee, his hair tumbling down in a cascade.

“Didn’t know it was a roundup.  Mom had kept us away from people when we weren’t working.  Said they would use us if we were found out.  I didn’t understand it.  I was seventeen.  You’d think I’d get it at that point.  I was supposed to protect them, be the man of the house, right?” he sniffled.

“Round up?” Medicus asked.

“The Hades Purge.” The name dropped like a broken gong on the clinic floor.  Bless Medicus, or damn him.  He kept his mouth shut and let Sanctus relive that level of infernus.

“Aurelia, she found a stand that was taking advantage of the crowd.  She nabbed a handful of roasted chiles.  Got caught by this big buster.  Ustor.  He ignited just by touching her,” he whispered.  Memories flashed behind my eyes.

I had been standing with my troops.  We were to create a ring in the market and herd everyone into a bottleneck.  Trucks at the other end were there to take Ustor off to the chambers.  We had pushed the mob halfway down the street when an Ustor went up.  A scream echoed in my head.  Where had this memory been?

“Told the guy to let go of her.  He called his buddies in and got a hold of Paul and me when we went to protect Aurelia.  That’s when it finally clicked.  Something was different about us.  Mom was right.  On top of this, I saw guys in flackjackets descending from the opposite direction.  The crowd started sweeping us to the other end, away from the ally back to our home.”  He rubbed at his arms and unfolded himself to sit cross-legged in his chair, and leaned over his knees.  He picked at the soles of his shoes for a minute as the only sound in the clinic was Medicus’s pencil and the squee of my suction bulb.  I couldn’t take my eyes off Sanctus to save my life.

“We ended up in this big plaza at the other end.  I don’t think I’d ever been down on that side of the street.  Massive cargo trucks circled one side of it, blocking us in.  The other side kept compressing us closer and closer.  There were Angelus task force grabbing people.  Someone would touch them and then motion for someone to either be shoved in the truck or sent out to the other side of a barricade they’d erected.  I think, looking back, that they were also Providentia, or something like it.  We can tell Ustor.  They leach our power.  We can feel it running out of us wherever they touch, like when you bleed really bad,” he explained.

“Does that hurt?” I coughed around all the gunk in my mouth.  He looked up at me, startled.  He had forgotten where he was.  The annoyed glance I got from Medicus told me that I should have kept my yap shut.

“Not really?  It just feels weird.  Like water running on your skin, but out?” He frowned.

“Aurelia and Paul?” Medicus redirected the memory back on topic.  I’m glad he switched back.  I remembered the inspectors.  I never asked questions, and no one ever told me.  There were those, though, that were better equipped to handle Ustor than the rest of us.

“They got dragged away from me by the other men.  I tried to follow, but was pulled in the other direction.  At a certain point, I know I got back to them.  The other guys had lost hold of them, and Aurelia had gotten herself caught up with a flock of kids.  Paul was trying to help them.  Then these troops descended, splitting the circle into halves, one side pushing the group to the other side of the plaza and our group to the opposite.  Getting us into smaller and smaller spaces.  Fires started breaking out on both sides, and the whole place glowed this unholy orange color.  The walls lit up, and smoke started coming out of some of the buildings.

“There’s this big uproar as the crowd got louder.  Someone threw teargas.  I remember this massive blinding light and a bang that left me rattled.  Aurelia and Paul are clinging to me.” Sanctus picked at the paint on the arm of the chair he was in.  He shifted his legs once again, letting them rest against one of the supports under the arm.  A tick of Medicus’s clock slipped by.  Four.  Five.  “Then in the midst of this terror I look up.  This huge guy with pitch-black hair and vibrant green eyes in an all black uniform is standing in front of me.  He had a gun pointed to my head and this weasley guy in a grey uniform behind him.  There was a line of the black suits, but this one I saw.  I couldn’t miss him.  He was looking at us in the most puzzled way.  

“I don’t know what made me do it.  Maybe I thought I could get the gun away from him.  No one can get a gun away from an Angelus soldier.  I should have known that.  I reached up and grabbed his hand anyway.  Maybe I wanted him to kill me so he wouldn’t shoot Paul or Aurelia.  I get his hand and pull it down, and this other guy is screaming in his ear for him to shoot.  And,” he chuckled, “he goes ‘fuck off you presumptive twat!’  The look on this guy’s face when his soldier said that.  I figured I could die amused at the very least.

“The rest of these guys in uniform are just staring at him like he’s lost it.  He turned and grabbed this guy who was telling him to shoot, letting go of the gun.  The next thing I know, I wake up in an Angelus truck.  I had a burn, a pretty bad one, going up my leg.  Aurelia and Paul are with me at least, and as far as I knew, outside of Paul ending up with a busted eardrum, they were fine.  He’s deaf in one ear now because of it.  

“We were taken to a detention center.  Everyone with Ustor powers were at this point.  Staff there patched up the burn on my leg, not exactly pleasantly.  I think they would have rather watched me die.  I spent a couple nights there before the whole camp was dismantled.  We were dosed with something.  The next thing, I woke up lying on the ground with a pile of other people.  We had been thrown into Urbs Aquarum.  This lady’s looking over the bodies with a short bald guy.  That was when I met Gemma and Mercurius.  Let’s go with life sucked after that.

“Then, out of nowhere, I end up at that hotel.  Several years later, now, but still.  I end up being sent out by Gemma with her general, and in walk’s this guy who told his captain to shove it and contributed to ending the Hades Purge.  He had gone supernova from what I learned from Gemma.” Sanctus looked up at me, admiration in his eyes.  Gears clicked and churned in my head.  I didn’t have any memory of him touching me.  I remember cognac eyes, though.

“Medicus?” I asked, finally taking the suction off my tongue.

“Lunam?” he asked as he continued with his notes.

“Is it possible?” I started as I set the vials away in their box.

“What, Lunam?”

“Is it possible for a Providentia to activate an Ustor if they aren’t ready to bloom?” I put the question out to the universe.  He furrowed his brow as his pencil stopped midway to his next letter.  He looked up at me, confused for a minute.  I studied Sanctus, who had paled at the question.

“There hasn’t been much research performed on Providentia, Lunam.  We only know of the three in all the Imperium,” Medicus set his pencil down.

“There were people in the Angelus military,” I started.

“Go on,” he urged.

“There were men in it that we called the Sweepers.  When we cleared camps of Ustor, the Sweepers would separate them from the rest.  They were brought in as a separate branch, part of the Medical division.  Sweepers would decide who left and who stayed.  Sometimes people would go up and protest that they had no idea they were Ustor, they would deny they had powers when their very skin was sizzling.  We’d systematically go through camps.  We’d take over house by house.  They’d touch them.  Sometimes it wasn’t the parents, just the kids.  Maybe just one sibling.  So many moms blamed for sleeping around, getting called sluts.  Babies.  The docile Ustor were taken away somewhere.  Rebels were shot on sight.

“We’d go back to base.  We’d eat.  We’d act like everything was fine.  Like we weren’t breaking up families, communities.  They weren’t real.  Weren’t human.  Less than dogs, less than pigs.  Dogs and pigs could be leashed and caged, could be trained and defanged.  

Ustors.  Burners.” I spat the last word, racist slang that people often tried to avoid saying in polite conversation, especially in Imperium. Medicus flinched at the venom. I had worked hard to avoid saying it for years, but memories were bubbling out, and I slipped. 

“Burners are a threat to the oil rigs.  Can’t have a hole burn.  If one catches and there’s a line close by, or a tunnel too deep, it can end bad.  Smoke out the biodome, overrun the ventilation.  It’d gas us all.” I stared at Sanctus’s fidgeting fingers as the propaganda swamped my brain.  “Old documentaries they’d run in the halls on Fridays to show what could happen if Ustor got close to tanks and wells.  Genetic anarchists. Violent creatures driven by instinct and greed.  Explosions would cost Joiner Petroleum, which would break down the government.  Lead to rebellion.  Lead to instability and revolt.  That could end with lots of people dying like when the Pandemic hit.  We have to protect the Electi and Plebe.  The ones that don’t threaten the existence of Angelus.”

I didn’t realize how much of that bullshit tumbled out of my mouth, but I sure unpacked a lot of it.  Eventually, Medicus stopped me.  “Back up a bit there, Lunam.  I missed half of what you said.  You switched in Angelus.” He halted my progression.  I blinked, bringing Sanctus’s eyes into focus.  Horror.  That was the best description of his expression.

“Could it be that these Sweepers, possibly what we call Providentia, were activating Ustor, finding them in the midst of everyone else?” I asked.

“There’s a probability of it, but I couldn’t answer that,” Medicus told me.

“I know now that Ustor aren’t like that.  They aren’t malicious. They don’t go around starting fires for the infernus of it.  That there’s always a disadvantage to using it.  It took it happening to me for me to realize it, though,” I apologized to Sanctus.

“Sometimes, one has to walk in another man’s shoes to understand their life,” Medicus gave me some wise wisdom crap.

“I’ve been walking in them for a while now.” I shuffled off the gurney and returned the vials to the shelf next to the ones I had filled yesterday.  “I’m…I’m going to go talk to Scriba.  She’s got a pair of Accendium she’s watching and probably would like to be relieved of duty.  I sort of dumped them on Maria Mater, and…yeah,” I swallowed against the knot in my throat that was threatening to suffocate me.

“Why don’t you go talk to Scriba.  I’d like for Sanctus to have a journal to document his emotions and his days.  It’ll give us something to work on.” Medicus rose to slip his notebook onto his shelf with the long line of matching notebooks.  Sanctus got up from the chair to stand next to me.  I looked down at him and blinked.  I couldn’t believe he would stand next to me after all of that.  His hand went to the back of my arm as was his nervous twitch.  Medicus turned back to us after messing with his shelf and looking over his vials.  “And you know?” he asked.  I pricked at his tone.  “Grab one for yourself, too, Nigrae Lunam.  I won’t charge sessions, but I think you need to also work through some of your past.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied hollowly as I turned us out of the clinic.

Outside, with the door closed, I studied the cloudy sky above me.  “I’m sorry,” I apologized to Sanctus and willed myself to keep the tears behind my eyes buried.

“It’s okay, Lunam,” Sanctus mumbled.

“I didn’t mean to put you here.”  Oh man, my emotions really wanted to make for the waterworks.

“I know you didn’t,” he reassured.

“I’m sorry Gemma got hold of you.” Tears slipped.  Damn it.

“I’m sorry I made you an Ustor,” he whispered.

“We don’t know if you did.  Probably not.  It was just a random thought.” I finally stifled those stupid tears.

“It’s possible.”

“Probable and actually may be a fine line or a massive canyon. Come on.  Let’s get down to Scriba’s.  She’d probably like the relief.  Abby and Sam only speak Angelus, and she’s not exactly fluent.” I turned from the sky to the building.

“Okay.”  Sanctus’s hand drifted down to touch my fingers before they went to the button on my cuff.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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The Fire in My Blood: Ch 9

Morning graced my window, illuminating the room in soft orange cream.  I went to stretch and bumped into something.  I drew in a startled breath, only to remember that Sanctus had climbed into bed with me last night.  His breathing was soft, but told me he was on the verge of waking.  I eased up to look down on him.  He had somehow obtained more than half the small bed, and I had ended up wedged close to the wall.  He had also somehow ended up with the pillow.  I chuckled and breathed a sigh of relief at his comfort.

I slipped a hand down the blanket over his ear, drawing him out of his waking dreams.  He blinked, bleary-eyed.  His fingers flexed, burrowing deeper into the warmth of the blanket.  He released one hand to reach out, tracing the outer seam of my jeans.  It tickled and did nothing for my morning predicament.  I pulled my blanket over me, hiding what I could.  He closed his eyes and his breathing went back to a soft snore.

You’ve got to be kidding!  I brushed his head again, rousing him once more.  “Sanctus?” I asked softly in the dawn light.  He hummed under his breath as he fought to open his eyes.  He brought them into focus, turning in his cocoon to look up at me.  He blinked, confused.  “Where’s Aurelia?” he asked.

“Who’s Aurelia, Sanctus?” I asked.  He blinked once more before he fully realized where he was.  He scrambled back as adrenaline, sage, and rosemary filled the space.  I reached for him, but not fast enough.  He crashed to the floor, a sprawl of bedding and limbs.

“I’m, wait…where am I?  What? I’m sorry,” he stammered.

“Careful.  Sanctus.  Do you remember coming into my room last night?” I asked him.  He bit down on his lip as he searched the space, shaking his head.  His eyes swiveled to mine before he looked down at himself and his blanket.  He tugged at his shirt collar experimentally.

“You crawled in some time past midnight and turned me into a space heater.  Took over most of the bed and the pillow to boot,” I chuckled as I extracted myself from the twisted sheets and straightened them out.  Sanctus scuttled back, bumping into the wooden tub behind him.  He glanced back at it, popping his head up over the edge to see what was inside.

“I don’t.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to,” he turned back to me.  

I waved him off.  “Sleepwalking, or just not comfortable on your own.  I won’t fault you for it.”  I went over to my basin and filled it with clean water to wash my face and brush my teeth.  “So, think any further about talking to Medicus this morning?” I asked, making this situation feel as neutral as possible.  I know he needed to know boundaries and have boundaries of his own, but I also didn’t want to have him feel ashamed for needing contact.

“I – I don’t know,” he admitted.  I shrugged.

“At the very least, I’m going to take you down to Clavis and have him take that chain and manacle off for you.” I shoved my toothbrush in my mouth.  Sanctus looked down at his wrist where the manacle still dug into his skin.

“I think I’d like that.” He nodded, touching the tender bruised flesh around it.  I spat out the toothpaste into the bucket I was taking downstairs.  A thought occurred to me when I turned back to him.

“I know Medicus said no baths, but do you want the knots taken out?” I asked, indicating his hair.  He reached up to his locks and ran his fingers along the edges nervously.  He picked at a knot, dropping his eyelids.  His cheeks ran a deep pink.  “You okay?”

He shrugged.  “Been a long time since I had a brush,” he muttered.

“Since you had it washed?” I asked.  He nodded mutely.  “Did she ever let you get clean?” I pressed.  He shrugged, a slight shake of his head punched a dagger through my heart.

“The water’s cold, but if you want…?” I offered, waving to the tub.  I waited.  He flicked a suspicious glance my way.  He needed quite a few minutes of pondering the water before giving me a slight nod.

“Why don’t you go get clothes you want to wear for the day?  Pants from yesterday are still drying.” I pointed to the rack that had his pants and the rest of my clothes.  He rose to inspect them.  

“You’re a wizard,” Sanctus told me.

I chuckled.  “If only.  It would take less work if that were so.  Go grab you clothes.  Bring the bandages with you.  Medicus said to change them.”

He left with his blanket and returned with what I had asked him to bring.  He set them down on the bed.  “You okay with taking your shirt off?” I kept my distance, left him with space.  He swallowed.  I turned from him to light one of my oil lamps, providing the space with more light, and driving the intimacy out.  I heard fabric rub against wool.  I brought the oil lamp over to the counter over the fridge and set it down.

I shifted over the used water tub next to the bed so that I’d have somewhere to sit.  “Here, kneel down, and we’ll get your hair done over this.” I pointed to the bucket I needed to take downstairs.  He did as he was told, though his fingers trembled in his lap.  I brought over the remainder of the oil that Maria Mater had given me and my bone comb.  I folded myself down onto the bed and draped a spare towel over my lap.  I shoved the tail of the comb in my mouth as I doused my fingers in oil.  Working them into the ends of his hair, I slowly but surely started detangling his locks.  His scalp needed a good disturbance.  He sat patiently, and at a certain point he laid his head on my knee and fell asleep.

The sun shifted from dawn to early morning, lighting the space as I worked.  I found myself talking to him, if only to fill the silence.  It was nice to speak Angelus once more.  Not as many Ustor had made it out of Angelus as the Nympha had.

“I grew up in New Taos. The Windstorm had set down near there back when Throni et Inferni was settled.  My folks put me up with the Angelus military in exchange for doing a dangerous job.  If they died, the government had to give me a step up into a better position.  Lakota and Muraco.  I don’t remember them.  But I took my Alias from my father, if only to honor his memory.  He was the main digger, the one who hit the fracture when it blew.  Muraco.  It means White Moon.  Mom was only half Native.

My great-grandmother raised me.  Olivia.  She was originally from some place called Blechepsin.  Part of the Cherkess.  She married my great-grandfather Viktor before they came over to the US.  This was long before the disaster.  Born on Earth.  They came over on the Windstorm, when things were still normal.  Great-grandpa died way before my time.  I think my grandmother was maybe three when he passed.  He was from Dagestan.  Part of the Nogais.  

Olivia kept journals.  When she passed on, I was allowed to go back to her apartment and clear out her things.  I learned a lot through those little notebooks.  She was meticulous, though it took me ten years to decipher most of them.  She only wrote in the old language.  Now, six years since I’ve touched her words, I doubt I could read more than the simplest of phrases, if anyone even remembers.

They moved to Post-Pueblo, before the disaster and had my grandmother Yvette and Jonas.  Jonas died when he was one from pneumonia.  Great-grandmother was deeply broken up over his death.  She lost a piece of her soul.  Then Great-grandfather died.  She was broken but decided that she needed to live for my grandmother, for Yvette.  She took up meter reading and waitressing to put food on the table, even if she struggled with the language every day.  When she would get home and put my grandmother to bed, she’d play audiobooks to listen to and she would quote her favourite lines as she did housework.

The disaster hit.  She wasn’t one of the well-off, to become Electi.  She was herded in with the other towns near the border walls.  Indentured servitude.  Maria Mater explained the term to me.  I always thought it was normal, but she told me that what the Joiner Petroleum Company did was collect slaves to run their oil.  

Grandmother died in the Cardinal Wars.  She succumbed to the pandemic after a bad mining accident.  That was several years after my mother and father had married, but before I was born.  So, I never got to meet her.  My grandfather, Adooeette, walked away when she died and never contacted my family again.  I don’t know what happened to him.  I searched the records when I got the chance but couldn’t find him in Angelus.  I can only assume that he checked out.

So yeah, I grew up in the military because my parents wanted me to be more than an oil rigger.”  I rinsed out his hair, working oil and dandruff out of his scalp until it was pink and thoroughly clean.  At least it gave me a moment to check for lice.

“Your great-grandmother sounds nice,” Sanctus sighed.  I was surprised.  I thought he had fallen asleep.

“The few memories of my early years are warm.  I miss our apartment and a little lion doll.  The strange things we remember.  After I was sent to the military, she moved, downsized her possessions, and put the money away that I would send her when I had any.  There was enough for me to have her buried proper in a churchyard like she had asked in her last journal.  I never understood religion.  The military didn’t really teach it, so it never occurred to me.  But it was important to her.  I wanted to honour her.  I took her journals and that silly little lion doll home with me when I emptied out her apartment.  Some things I still miss from my years in Angelus.” I got his hair finished and combed out.  I pulled the towel on my lap around it and wrapped it.  He put a hand to it as he leaned back.

“Want me to step out, and you can get yourself a sponge bath?  I can help you with your back when you’re done?  I can grab breakfast and bring it up?” I asked, trying to give him a bit of privacy.

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Awesome.  Let me get dressed in something other than what I was wearing yesterday real quick.” I rose from the bed and rummaged through my rack.  My fault for tossing the wet trousers on top of all the dry clothes.  Khakis and an olive collarless button-up would suffice.  I stripped out of my jeans and pulled on the new, only to make the stupid mistake of turning to be captured by a pair of wide cognac eyes.  Swear I could bottle that colour and make a fortune, or at least drown out all my fears.  I swallowed, trying to still the sensation of a hunted rabbit.  “I-” I turned back to my corner and finished with what I was doing.  I cleared my throat.  “Sorry about that.  Sort of…used to some military things still.  Getting dressed in front of others is sort of normal to me.  Didn’t mean to,” I apologized.

“I’m okay,” Sanctus’s voice crept down my spine, and I was about to make that corner home for the next century.  I reached for my trench coat and pulled it on.  Baggy clothing hides a lot of feelings.  The infernus was this?  I had gotten dressed in front of enough men and women to not be doing this like a cadet.  I drew in a shaky breath and willed myself to imagine everything I could possibly muster to return my body back to a semblance of normalcy.

“Right.  I’m off.  Take your time.  Breakfast is always a rush.  Any requests?” I asked as I took the long way around the tub, well out of reach of Sanctus.

“Food?” He offered a soft smile.  If I wasn’t wrong, I saw a laugh hidden in there somewhere.  Progress was being had.  That was all I could ask for.  

I just about ended up headfirst into Cortex’s fist, though, as he went to knock on my door when I opened it. “Cortex! Sorry, good morning,” I greeted, steadying him.  He cast a curious glance toward Sanctus before turning his attention to me.

“Maria Mater said Luto had to bring the girls back last night.  The Accendium were complaining too much.  Night terrors.”  He gave me the rundown of other things that had transpired overnight as we went down the stairs.  Gemma had set up a  barrage on the edge of Caeruleum territory.  It was easy enough to keep her out at the bottleneck, though.  She didn’t have as wide a line as Mercurius had running along Caeruleum.  The worst to transpire from her bombardment were some bruised egos and new insults.  Without her Providentia, she wasn’t as tough.

“Where are they at the moment?” I asked as we slipped into the line at the commons, and I grabbed up a pair of plates of pastries and fruit.

“Waiting with Scriba.  She’s trying to see if the older one can read.  Figured maybe she could work them through a map of Aurantiaco’s territory to find where they came up from the Inferis.” he grabbed a plate for himself and motioned toward where Praesepe and Tempestatis were already setting up camp.

“Told Sanctus I’d bring him up breakfast, but I’ll bring him down.  I need to have Clavis take that manacle off.” I walked over to the table with him for a quick moment.

“Know what it’s made of?” Tempestatis asked.  

I shook my head.  “The chain’s steel; I’d assume the manacles the same.”

“I’ll let him know to expect you.”

“Thanks, Tempestatis.  Sanctus’s pretty shy about people,” I hedged.

“Sounds like he’ll get along fine with Clavis.” Tempestatis waved me away.  I nodded my agreement as I turned and left back to the stairs, plates in hand.

Arriving at my room, I pushed the door open with my shoulder.  “Got food,” I greeted as I let myself in.  Now he was the hunted rabbit.  At least he had stripped down to get everything clean.  I walked past him, keeping my eyes to my own business as I shoved the door closed with my heel.  I set the plates down on my counter and rested my hands on the aluminium sheet.  I studied the stained space above it that had once had a piece of paper that now left a border of distinctly different colours.  

I cleared my throat, refusing to turn back.  “Tempestatis’s talking to Clavis about getting your manacle off.  Before I was sent to Requies’s yesterday, I pulled a pair of Accendium out of Aurantiaco’s territory.  Maria Mater left them with Scriba to babysit.  I know Medicus wanted to talk to you too,” I explained, fiddling with the edge of one of the forks.  He hummed, acknowledgement that I had at least spoken.  “My plan is to get you to Clavis first thing when we get downstairs.  Then over to Medicus.  Scriba’s a good lady.  She’ll entertain the Accendium for a while yet.”

“Why are you nice to me?” His voice was small in the room.  I kept my eyes to the wall.  The soft splash of water and the hiccup of breath was not helping my willpower this morning.  I ducked my head to study my hands.  Him washing was all that was running through my brain, and it was screaming at me to watch him.

“I take in those from the Rubrum and the Aurantiaco.  I see to the care of my people.  You are Caeruleum.  I take care of you,” I explained in the most inelegant way possible.  I usually wasn’t asked too many questions about why I rescued people.  It was just what I did.  “Maybe…” I trailed as I watched the clouds roll by my transom window.  “Maybe it’s how I ask forgiveness,” I admitted.

“Because of what happened in Angelus?” he continued with his ablutions.  The room had dimmed with the rolling clouds, bringing the space into a tight intimacy.  What is with small spaces, and how comfortable it is to talk about certain things in them when it’s dark?

“You know what I did in Angelus?” I shifted uncomfortably as I poked at a blueberry.

“I saw it first hand,” he whispered.  That had my attention.  I turned to see the expression on his face.  Was it condemnation?  Was it pity?  Instead, his back was to me.  All I saw were the stitches and scars of years of torture and a burn that ran up from his mid-thigh to his hip.

“You’re the boy.” Cognac eyes.  My memories came crashing down as I sank down to lean against the fridge.

“Aurelia and Paul.  Do you remember them, too?” he asked, rubbing a washcloth along his shoulder.  He winced as it caught in one of the stitches.  I wanted so badly to help, but I sat there, mortified.

“Vestitor said something about them yesterday?” I couldn’t dislodge the lump in my throat.

“They are younger than me by three years.  Twins. They have a different father than mine.  Mine died in a rigging accident, like your folks.  Mom had lived through the pandemic.  We ended up with this stupid power.” He curled into himself.

“And I put you here.” I tasted the words with revulsion.

“Can you help me with my back?” he asked.

“You sure you even want to be in the same room with me?” I asked as I scootched across the floor.

“You haven’t hit me,” he said.

“That I will not do,” I swore as I took the rag out of his hand.  He braced for the cold.  I dipped it into the tub and did something stupid for an infernus of an apology.  I heated it in my hands until it warmed.  Carefully, I worked over his back.

“It’s warm.” He relaxed against my hands.  I savoured the note in his voice.  He glanced back at me as a smile wobbled unfamiliarly on his lips.  “Your eyes are going black,” he hedged, concern flicking across his face.

“We’re just gonna deal with it.  Medicus’s right, anyway.  I can produce more when I’m hungry,” I explained.

“You really want me to talk to Medicus?” he asked.  At least he was more conversational then he was yesterday.

“I’m going to leave that up to you.  Some of my people find it cathartic to talk to him about their problems.  He’s a good guy.  He got tossed in here a couple years before me.  He’s served Caeruleum since Maria Mater formed as the ground sibling of Thalassius.  I don’t think most of Caeruleum would run as smoothly as it does now if he wasn’t seeing to our health.”

“And you make your money by providing your…secretions?” he asked.

“Most everyone here does some kind of work.  Chips show you did the work and someone valued it.  I protect Caeruleum with Maria Mater, but it doesn’t make me any chips.  It’s just something I do.  Manage people, go retrieve others.  The anaesthetic and coagulant are valuable commodities, and Medicus pays for them.  Otherwise, I don’t have much time to find other ways to make chips.  Bureaucracy is a voluntary thing, not something chips should have any room in.  We’ve seen how well that went for the Ustor from Nympha and Angelus, huh?” I asked, handing the rag back to Sanctus.  I slid back from him to regain my spot at the fridge.

“Why are you and Maria Mater co-leaders if she formed Caeruleum off Thalassius?”

“Was just a bodyguard for her and Cortex and Tempestatis.  Circumstances happened, and I had to step in a couple times with some old codgers.  Maria Mater figured it was easier to have a co-leader to deal with pigs who didn’t want to listen to her.”

“So, not really something you tried to get yourself into?”

“Nope.  It was just a position of need that I filled. Cortex and Tempestatis could have done the same thing, but it’s not in their personality.  Grew up in the military.  We don’t put up with bullshit for very long.”

“I don’t know what I can do here,” he whispered.

“That’ll take time.  You have time.  For now, let’s eat, shall we?” I asked, handing him his towel.  He nodded mutely as he studied his wet footprints on the concrete floor.

Breakfast was a quiet affair.  I left Sanctus to his own devices while I emptied the rest of my wash tub into their containers. He was content to sit quietly on the bed and watch me move about my space.  I helped him into a fresh set of bandages and barely remembered to have him take one of the pills Medicus had provided us with the day before.  Dressed and fed, we emerged from my room.  I lugged the wastewater down to the dumping bin on the commons floor.

“Hey, Lunam!  Good morning, Sanctus!” Tempestatis greeted us when we headed toward Clavis’s station.  Sanctus pulled close to my side, hiding behind my shoulder.  Cortex approached on the other side to give me a once-over.  “Should I ask what you lit on fire, boss?” he whispered surreptitiously.

“Medicus asked me to help fill out his inventory,” I evaded.

“Ah.  I’ll leave you to ruminate in misery then.”

“Morning, Tempestatis.  Did you get a chance to talk to Clavis?” I cast a glance towards our mechanic.

“Yeah, he said he’d get the things off.”  Tempestatis waived us over into Clavis’s sacred grounds.  Clavis glanced in our direction and sniffed.  I waved once to him.  He nodded his head and tilted his chin to a metal stool near his primary workstation.

“Sanctus, why don’t you go sit over there?” I pointed it out to him.  He hesitated, and studied the scene.  His fingers tightened on the back of my sleeve.  I walked over to the seat with him in tow.  He stared at it first and then turned to study Clavis.  Clavis regarded him with veiled indifference.  “Don’t wanna, do ya kid?  Not comfortable.”  Clavis came around from his bench, wiping his hands on an oily rag.

“Sit,” Clavis said in neutral Angelus.  Sanctus immediately sat down, his hands holding to the edge of the stool in a death grip.  It caught me by surprise.  Clavis was born in Imperium.  I raised an eyebrow at Tempestatis.  The blond nodded back towards Cortex who was loading up one of our supply transports for the siege at the line.

So, word had gotten out.  Sanctus responded to commands in Angelus if he was hesitant.  I had to hope that knowledge would not be abused.

Clavis came over, and it was all Sanctus could do to remain where he sat.  “Gonna melt the cuff off.  Mind if I have your hand?” he asked.  At least he had also gotten the memo of no touching without permission.  Sanctus extended his arm and everyone was privy to how badly this frightened him.  Clavis took a look at the manacle and clicked his tongue in frustration.

“Gonna be difficult?” Tempestatis asked, peering over Clavis’s shoulder.

“Back up,” Clavis growled.  He liked his bubble to be quite wide when it came to personal space.  Tempestatis did as he was told, if a little disappointed.

The mechanic ran his thumb along the keyhole of the manacle and held it for a moment.  The metal glowed red under his fingers.  With a sharp crack, he halved the brittle metal in two, releasing Sanctus from the trap.  His skin was pale and bruised from where the manacle had sat.  He looked at it in surprise and touched the emptiness.  “A’right.  Let’s get a look at this chain,” Clavis sat down on the floor, took Sanctus’s foot, and did the same with it. The metal dropped with a clank.

“Should about do it.” Clavis tossed the metal into the melting pile.  Usually he would have kept the chain.  Having usable links was better than forging new.  He caught my questioning glance and shrugged as he returned to his bench.  He pulled out a massive canning jar full of screws from below his bench and dug out a couple handfuls of screws, and dumped them on his table.  Sanctus watched him with open curiosity for a moment as Clavis started categorizing the screws by size and tossing them into respective bins.  He turned away from his task after about twenty-five.  “That power is definitely something different, boss,” he confided.  Tempestatis and Cortex walked over to look at the pile on the table.

“How so?” I asked.  I had never seen Clavis walk away from his Repercussion.

“I don’t have to finish it right now.  I’m done.  What did you do?” He knelt down in front of Sanctus to try and get a good look at his face.

“Long as you touch my skin when using a Catalyst, the Repercussion isn’t as overpowering,” Sanctus whispered in broken Imperian and Angelus. 

“Use my power, so you don’t have to use yours.”  I quietly translated for him.  Cortex, Tempestatis, and Clavis all turned to look at me.  They were as obvious as the covers on Scriba’s books.  I ignored the unasked question they all were commiserating to have me answer.

“Thanks, Clavis.  How much I owe you?” I asked, reaching for my wallet.

“On the house, boss.  No one should have to pay to be free.” He turned back to his regular work.

“If you’re fine with it.” I motioned for Sanctus to join me.  Clavis didn’t appreciate people trying to pay him for things if he didn’t want to be paid.  He’d get grouchy and then would walk off to go scavenge for a week in the outer edges of Urbs Aquarum.

“Cortex, Tempestatis,” I commanded.  They jumped to, following behind Sanctus as we walked through the shop floor and out back to the clinic.

“Boss?” Cortex asked.

“Have we heard word from Aurantiaco after yesterday?” I asked.

“There was mutterings along the line that Mercurius wasn’t pleased to find one of his men dead.  I thought you killed both of them.  Nothing’s been said about the Accendium.  Not yet, anyway.”

“Be ready for him to send a diplomat.  Keep the Accendium out of the receiving hall when he does.  No one sees their movements until we can tell if he knew about who his guys had.  Emissary is taken to the Court of Caeruleum only.  Don’t need them snooping.

“He won’t attack our line right now.  At least not yet.  He doesn’t want to thin his troops when Rubrum has more to spare if he’s distracted with us.  And Mercator at Requies’s?”  Hopefully Gemma will let up soon. I could expect another four weeks out of her before she gave up on getting her Providentia back.  At least, that was my bet.  Last time I took a general off her, she put up a fuss for a good month before calming down.  Helped that Mercurius had gone and meddled with some of her northernmost troops to distract her about the same time.

“Mercator said Requies’s has been quiet.  We dumped the bodies on Gemma’s line just to spite her, though.  Tacked a note on the one with the flag on his jacket telling her to pay up for damages.  I doubt she’ll get it, but it felt good,” Tempestatis told me.

“Give her a couple days.  She’ll send in her emissary to talk.  Has Maria Mater been kept apprised of the movements?” I opened the door to the clinic.  Sanctus stepped in while I finished talking with Cortex and Tempestatis.

“She took the morning to sleep in.  The Accendium were apparently up all night with her.  She told me if she was woken up before she was ready to be, and I quote, ‘All infernus shall rain from Coelum.  Lunam.  If he wakes me up, I will personally see to his funeral as Prosperina.’ end quote.” Cortex smiled, chuckling.

“Sounds like Maria Mater.  I didn’t realize that they’d be as much trouble.  Has to be tough, getting separated like that and then ran around by Aurantiaco.”

“Do we need to be doing anything specific about Rubrum?” Cortex pressed.  We were far enough from the line that we would not hear or see anything, but he glanced back toward the horizon nevertheless.

“Currently, keep those holding the line stocked.  Try to keep our side from antagonizing.  Don’t need to get hot blood everywhere.  I saw you packing up our transporter earlier.  You have access to all the necessities?” I asked.  Cortex nodded.

“All right.  I’m going to get Sanctus settled in with Medicus.  I’ll head over to Scriba’s when I can to collect the Accendium and figure out where to lodge them.  Might let her know I’ll be on my way to help her with the Accendium.”

“Boss?” Cortex reached for my cheek.  That response.  Pine.  I could have stepped into the high hills on a Mensis Quintilis day.  I quelled that shiver as my stomach turned into a raging fireball of pain.

“I know.  I did it on purpose.  Medicus needs his inventory replenished,” I tried to ease his worry.

“I’ll stick around Scriba’s, ‘k?” he kept his voice low.

“I’ll be out of anaesthetic and coagulant for a few hours,” I cautioned.

“How much did you burn out?” he asked.

“Remember Sanctus’s wounds?  Medicus put him back together.  I helped him get it clean this morning, and cold water seemed like a misery,” I explained.

“Small job then?” he pressed.

“A hot wash rag isn’t going to make me jump someone.  At least not for the next several hours.  I can put it off.”

“You can’t put it off all day, boss.  It’ll backfire if you don’t fix it.”

“I know.”

“Save back some, and I’ll wait.”

I sighed in displeased agreement.  Tempestatis and Cortex left back for the facility.  I regarded the skyline where Cortex had looked to.  I hated knowing I had people on that edge for a decision I made.

I turned back to the clinic and walked into the familiar smell.  “Good morning, Medicus,” I greeted as I pulled my vials off the shelf.  “Want me in here for this?” I turned to Sanctus, who had already sat down on one of the two chairs.  He nodded his head.  “All right, but you’re talking.  I have to get Medicus’s scripts filled.” I held the box of vials up.  Sanctus swallowed and nodded again.

“Sanctus?” Medicus came around the wall with his notebook and pencil and sat down in the opposing chair.  I slid one of the gurneys on the other side of the wall over until I could sit on the edge and observe them.

“Yes, sir?” he responded timidly.

“How is your back doing this morning?  I see you got your hair combed and some new clothes.  It looks nice on you,” Medicus complimented. 

A smile touched the corner of Sanctus’s lips.  “Nigrae Lunam helped,” he confided.

“He’s the helpful sort,” Medicus cast me an appreciative glance.  I would have smiled if not for the fact I had a fang stuck in a glass vial.

“I knew him,” Sanctus studied his hands in his lap.

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The Fire in My Blood: Ch 8

My room was on the third floor of the north end of the old factory.  We kept guest rooms up on that floor for when we had Caeruleum visitors come in.  Rescues didn’t often get lodged in the factory until they had been vetted.  Maria Mater had made an exception for me with Sanctus.  Seeing as Requies’s had been compromised, I couldn’t safely lodge him where we usually placed take-ins.

I opened the door to the room and let Sanctus in.  It was small and sparsely furnished.  Clean sheets and a patched blanket were folded on top of the hay stuffed mattress.  A shoddy desk, candle lamp, a pair of stools, and a chamberpot made the place feel down right monastic.  A transom window along the top of the wall and ceiling provided a dim light to the space.

“What do you think?” I turned to the desk and lit the lamp, shedding a soft yellow across the grey stucco walls.  I set his bag of clothes down next to the desk and the bag with the bandages and his medication on top.

He looked in awe at the room.  “Really?” he asked, the first words I had heard him utter since enduring the last couple hours.

“Home for now.  We will figure out your housing situation in a couple days.  I sleep next door,” I explained as I unpacked the bags.  He wandered to the bed, dragging his finger along the sheets.  Tears tracked down his cheeks. “Is this okay?” he hedged.

“Yeah, perfectly,” I shrugged.

“It’s been…it’s been a long time since I had my own space like this,” he whispered, pulling the blanket from the pile.

“I hope you find it comfortable.” I couldn’t help but smile as he sat down gingerly on the bed and pulled the blanket over himself into a ball.  “Warm?” I asked, kneeling down to look at him.  He nodded.

“Do you want dinner?” I offered.  

He blinked.  “I’ve already eaten,” he swallowed.

“Several hours ago.  That was lunch,” I explained.

“I can eat again?” he asked, his voice filled with a hope that threatened to break my heart and set my rage off. 

“Of course.” I would not let him see the anger smoldering beneath my skin.  He hadn’t been fed in days.  His gauntness told me Gemma didn’t think to provide for him often.  No one should suffer like this.

“Where?” he asked, flicking a glance at the door nervously.

“I have a kitchen in my room.  I can bring something over if that would do, or we can go down to the commons?” I offered.  I wanted him to decide how comfortable he was with dealing with people.

“Is it okay if I eat here?” His voice was almost too quiet to hear.  He was a lacework of hope and fear, desire and terror.

“Perfectly.  Leftovers work?” I offered.  He nodded, his eyes wide.  Cognac overfloweth my cup.  Somebody take away all sensation, please.

“How about you get your bed made up while I step over and grab a couple plates and food,” I offered, standing up.  He rose with me.  It would give him something to do in the cramped space.

I left back to my apartment, finally free of sage and rosemary.  I unlocked my door and let myself in.  I leaned against my door and worked at getting the throbbing heat running the course of my body to lay off for a freaking minute.  My tub was still on the floor, the water cold at this point.  Cold bath was awful tempting for once in a very long time.  Cinnamon and orange clung to the furnishings.  The sharp note was calming in its intensity.

I walked over to my little fridge I kept under a makeshift counter and pulled out a crock of fried cabbage and noodles.  I reheated the meal on the single burner and wrapped it in a towel to keep from burning myself. I took it, two plates,a pair of forks, and a jug of water back to Sanctus’s room with me.

I knocked on the door but heard no answer.  I nudged it aside with my toe to find Sanctus sprawled out on the floor, his whole length taking up the space.  One hand was below the bed, the other was stretched out, just shy of the wall.  “You alright?” I asked as I set the food on the table.

“I can’t touch the walls.” He looked up at me, confused and pleased at the same time.

“I brought food,” I offered, indicating the crock and the plates stacked on top.  He scuttled up to sit on his newly made bed.  I passed him a plate with food piled on.  There wasn’t as much left for me, but I was still full from lunch.  He waited, watching.  I motioned him to it as I plated up my meal for myself.  He furrowed his brow, confused.  He waited until I had taken my first bite before wolfing his down.  He ate fast enough to give himself the hiccups.

“You all right?” I asked, fighting off laughter. It might amuse me to watch him, but deep down, it hurt.  I knew where this reflex he was exhibiting came from.  Starvation led to this kind of reaction.  It would take months, if not years before his relationship with food would settle down. I held out the ceramic jug to him, hoping it would ease his hiccups.  He set aside his plate and reached for it.

It slipped, crashing to the floor.  It burst open, sending shrapnel and water everywhere.  He stared at it in horror, his face going pale.  He rose to reach for the pieces quickly.  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It was an accident!” he backed up from the mess, slipping on one of the pieces of the jug and tumbled down.  Copper.  He had sliced open his palm on one of the sharp pieces.  He blinked at the oozing gash, confused, as he continued begging, pleading, apologizing.

“Easy, easy, Sanctus. It’s alright,” I reassured as I approached him over the puddle on the concrete floor.  He stared up at me.  He was more grey then alive.  He cowered under my touch, shying away.  His breathing and his heart beat too fast.  “Let’s get you out of the water, okay?” I eased him onto the chair and wrapped his hand with the towel while I picked ceramic off the floor.

“Why aren’t you angry?” He trembled, seemingly more terrified by my calmness.  I set the pieces next to the door to be thrown in the rubbish pit next I went down to it.  I put a mental note in my head to have a bin left in the guest room.

“It’s a jug.  Jugs break all the time.  It happens.  I just have to go pick up a new one from Ollam.” I shrugged as I gently pulled Sanctus’s hand away from his chest.  The towel snagged on loose skin, but eventually gave to reveal an inch-long gash.  Spots of blood dripped across his trousers and the tabletop.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again.  It sounded more like a mantra now.

“Let’s get your hand fixed up,” I told him as I encouraged him to flatten out his palm.  “Can you hold still for a minute?  You’ve got shards buried in it,” I kept my voice low.  Shaking ran the length of his arms and legs, and power flowed like a river.  Adrenaline spiked his sage and rosemary.  Carefully I extracted the few sharp chips that glittered in the gash.  

“Does it hurt?” I asked.  He had gone quiet under the pain.  He refused to answer.  “I need to know, Sanctus.  I don’t think it was deep, but I need to know if it cut your tendon.  Bend your fingers, tell me what it feels like.” I squeezed the tips of his fingers and wiggled them experimentally.  I worked over my tongue as he described what he was able to feel.  I could usually push a bit more coagulant out of it if I inflamed it, but it would leave it sore for the rest of the evening.  Whatever.  

The cut hadn’t gone too deep.  Assured that the wound was completely free of any remaining pieces, I pressed a clean section of the towel back over the wound.  “I can use the bandages Medicus sent us with to wrap it, or if it doesn’t creep you out too bad, I can use my coagulant?” I offered.

He furrowed his brows, confused at the offer.  “Why would you bandage it?” he asked, thoroughly perplexed.

“To keep the skin together, to help it heal, like we did for your back?” I asked.

“It’ll stop eventually,” he reassured in a small voice.

“Gemma never saw to someone caring to your wounds?” I asked, tossing the towel to absorb the water on the floor.

“Why would she waste resources?  My back would have healed…eventually,” He firmly believed he wasn’t worth it.  

Bile rolled beneath my sternum.  “You are not a waste,” I hissed coldly as I stuck my thumb in my mouth and pressed down on one of the glands on my tongue.  I extracted a good pea-sized orb of my coagulant and smeared it across the gash on his hand, knitting the skin together instantly.  He winced at the momentary pressure.  He opened and closed his hand experimentally, amazed the gash was gone.  I finished cleaning the floor, using the wet towel to wipe my hands off.

His line went edgy as the gears turned over his head.  He flicked his glance around the room as I watched his nervous energy ooze out of him.  He sucked in a breath and reached to the shoulder of his vest and pulled it off.  I followed his movement, confused.  It didn’t appear to have gotten wet.  Then he went for the buttons of his shirt as his cheeks turned blotchy.

“What are you doing, Sanctus?” I asked as he loosened buttons to reveal cream skin.  I swallowed at the sight, but unease slipped acid down my spine.

“I -” he gulped.  “You-” he tried again.  “It’s expected. Isn’t it…?” he could not get past a lump in his throat. 

“Your shirt or pants get wet?” I asked.  My skin had gone cold watching him.  He blinked at me, mute and terrified.  “Your pants have blood on them anyway.  I’m going to step out.  Why don’t you get changed for bed?  Get comfy.  Finish eating, okay?  I’ll come back in a little.  I just remembered something I meant to do real quick before I head off to bed, too,” I offered before he could continue stripping.  “Key’s on the table if you decide to step out.”

“But?” he questioned.

“Out of everyone here, I know how to get blood out of just about anything,” I smiled, reassuring, closing the door behind me, my heart beating hard in my chest.

Shit.  I made a mad dash for the stairs and scrambled down them at a clip.  I passed Cortex on the way down as he was on the way up.  “Boss!” he chirped in surprise.

“Know if Medicus is still in the clinic?” I asked as I continued down the flight.  He leaned over the railing to shout down to me.  “Just saw him leaving the commissary heading back.  Everything alright?  Need help?”

“Nope, got it covered, just forgot something,” I lied.

“Okay.  I’m heading for bed.  Knock if you need anything,” he waived as I continued with my sprint.

I cleared the stairs and played ‘dodge the people’ as I made my way out of the warehouse and over to the concrete block building.  I pushed the door open with a clang and drew in a ragged breath as alcohol and iodine stung my sinuses.  Medicus popped his head around the corner to see what all the din was about.

“Lunam?” he asked, concerned.  “Everything okay?  Forget something?”

I looked up at him, begging him to read my mind.  I was not exactly sure where to begin.  “I – he – I,” I stuttered.

“Sanctus okay?” he came around the wall.

“Yes. No. I don’t know?”

“He hurt?”

“Dropped a jug by accident, and he cut his hand.  I got it cleaned up, but then he just started stripping out of his clothes and looked like he was in pain doing it, and I just got this sense-” I poured out in a single breath.

“Slow down, Lunam,” Medicus pointed me to a chair.  

I was too restless to sit.  “Vestitor told me to get him a journal and some pencils from Scriba.  What should I do?” I paced.

“What is your concern right now, Lunam?  Has his stitches come loose?” Medicus asked as he went to start packing his transportable medical bag.

“No, nothing like that.  Physically he’s okay.  He just…I don’t know exactly what Gemma did to him, but I’m not qualified for this,” I explained.

“I can start sessions with him tomorrow.  Has he said anything about what happened to him with Gemma?” He took down a blank notebook from his shelves and put down Sanctus’s name on the first page.

“He was excited that he couldn’t touch both walls in the guest bedroom.  I mentioned the cages before.  I can only assume he’s been in confinement for a long time.  He apologized so much when he dropped the jug and shied away when I went to help him up.  I know for a fact he’s been physically abused.  He’s like touching a live wire on a small battery, doable but zappy.  If he’s in real pain it’s like setting your hand on an open lightbulb.  I can only imagine what they’ve done to him to get that kind of power boost out of him. He’s been mentally abused.” I swallowed back vomit.  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here, Medicus,” I confided. “You told me to give him a safe place.  He doesn’t even have a concept of where a safe space is.  What being safe looks like.  Seeing Vestitor even scared him, and Vestitor’s a pacifist!”

“Bring him down to me tomorrow morning when you drop by.  I’ll check on him, see what common ground I can meet him at.  For now, show him what’s expected of him, but be gentle.  He doesn’t understand.  Did you run out on him without an explanation?” he asked.

“No. Yes. Uhm?  He had slipped in the water and had blood on his pants, so I told him to get changed for bed and finish his dinner, and I’d be back, so I’m kind of in a hurry.” I glanced back at the door, my heart pounding in my chest.

“You’ll need to help him understand that there are boundaries that he can have for himself.  He doesn’t understand how things work here in Caeruleum.  I know it rattles you, but you’re going to need to talk to him for him to understand.  I’ll help you with more tomorrow.  For now, I’ve made notes.  There isn’t a lot I can tell you right now until I’ve assessed him.  Why don’t you head back?  He’ll be getting anxious that he did something wrong if you aren’t back soon.” Medicus clapped me on the shoulder and steered me to the door.  I drew in a steadying breath.  He might not have given me as much help as I needed, but he had heard me and listened.

I returned back to the warehouse and made a quick detour to the commons.  Archimagirus had not yet cleared the kitchen.  “Do you have any rock candy?” I asked.  Archimagirus raised a curious eyebrow at me.  I’m not much of a sweets person.  He was hard-pressed to convince me to try his cakes or puddings when he would make them.  “Rosewater and lemon flavours.” He pointed to the jars of little glistening squares.  

“What’ll a chip get me?” I asked, pulling one from my wallet.

I left the commons with a small bag of twelve rosewater and twelve lemon rock candy drops and headed upstairs.  Arriving at Sanctus’s door, I knocked gently.  A shifting of feet told me he was still awake.  “Sanctus?  It’s me, Lunam,” I called.  The door cracked open for me.  He had changed like I had asked, and finished eating his food.  “You doing okay?  I sort of left rather suddenly,” I apologized.  He searched my eyes, still timid, as he opened the door farther to let me in.

“Told you I forgot something.” I smiled, revealing the bag of candies.  He raised an eyebrow, curious. “Shouldn’t eat too many of them all at once.  Bad on the teeth, but I figured you’d find it interesting.  Archimagirus makes them.” I pulled one of the lemon squares from the bag and handed it to him.  I set the bag down on the table next to the bandages.  He cradled his little square carefully in his hand, studying the refracting pattern in it.

“What do I do with it?”

“Suck on it,” I encouraged.  His brows knit together at the statement.  He did as I instructed and slipped it into his mouth.  To watch him transcend euphoria almost brought tears to my eyes.  A smile spread across his lips, and his eyes lit with a hidden fire.  I could not help but smile with him.  He grabbed my hand suddenly.  The electric bolt of the power, stronger than what I had felt before, raised the hair on the back of my neck and arms.  His eyes glistened, and I was lost to them.  He pulled my hand to his chest and bowed over it.  “Thank you.” Hot tears splashed on my thumb.

“You’re safe here, Sanctus.  You’re going to be okay,” I reassured as I encouraged him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“It’s getting late.  I’m going to take the jug and clothes and deal with them before bed.  Why don’t you get some sleep too?  I can meet you in the morning for breakfast?” I offered as I picked up the empty crock and plates.

“You’re really not mad? And…you don’t want…?” he asked once more.

“No, Sanctus.  I’m not mad.  It was an accident.  Why don’t I introduce you to Ollam tomorrow, and you can learn how to make a jug?  He’s always looking for helpers?” I offered.  He shook his head.  Well, at least he was finally saying no to something.  “That’s okay.  Medicus said he did want to see you tomorrow while I was down getting the candies.  You remember Vestitor?  He came from Rubrum.”  He looked up at me, horrified.  I quelled his terror.  “He was in one of her circulating rings.  I helped get him out.  Now he talks to Medicus when he has nightmares or questions about his memories.  Medicus wanted to help you feel better too, but didn’t want to scare you.”

He chewed on his lip. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer right now.  Why don’t you think on it this evening?”  I collected the trousers and towel and the remainder of the jug.  The concrete floor had absorbed the water, leaving a dark, cold spot in the room.  “My room is right next door if you have any questions.” I let myself out of the room and into my own.

I drew in a deep breath and tried to release the tension in my shoulders.  Bed was beckoning, but I needed to set up a basin to start the towel and trousers soaking.  I tossed the jug fragments in a metal bin I kept on the other side of the fridge first.  I turned to the tub.  That thing had taken most of the morning to set up, and I had not been able to use it as much as I had wanted.  I’d be able to reheat it, but that was energy.  A large five-gallon bucket held the wash water I had used for cleaning before I had slipped into the bath.  That at least could be taken down in the morning.

I pulled out a bucket worth of the cleaner water and sloshed it into the wash basin on my counter, and set up.  The water was cold enough.  I rubbed a bar of soap into the fabric until the water tinted and the stain lifted.  I dumped the water into the bucket I was taking down the next morning and continued until the water ran clear.

Finished with that chore, I hung the towel and pants on a makeshift rack that held most of my other laundry before kicking off my boots and pulling my shirt off.  I flopped into bed and pulled the blanket over me.  Three minutes of letting my brain come up with a list of too many things to do in the morning had me out like a light.

It was black in my room, my transom allowing the thinnest hint of blue and stardust to illuminate the edges of the furnishings.  Heat at my back had me swallowing back my nerves.  Breath tickled my neck.  I shifted, startled.

Sanctus burrowed closer to me, pulling his blanket tighter around him until he was a cocoon; the only parts visible were his face and his fingers.  I turned back, waiting on my heart to return to its normal rhythm.  Hot tears dripped down my back as I listened to him drift through dreams and nightmares.

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The Fire in My Blood: Ch 7

Dressed back into my trench, I directed him to the door.  “Thanks, Medicus.  I’ll drop by in the morning,” I said over my shoulder as I let us out of the clinic.

“Take care, Lunam.  Go easy on him.  He’s going to take some time.” Medicus nodded toward Sanctus as I waived my understanding and let the door swing shut.  

Sanctus waited for me on the other side.  “We’re going to Vestitor’s.  He’ll get you some proper clothes.” I pointed us back in the direction of the warehouse.  He swallowed and followed me as we went deep into the labyrinth of the massive converted facility.  At one point it had been an aerospace floor.  Monstrous parts to planes had been assembled there.  It was a full half a mile long building.  Offices at two ends of the factory had been converted into apartments, small businesses, meeting chambers, and the Court of Caeruleum.  The main floor was now communal space, save for the fleet, salvaging pile, and Wrench’s station.

At a door marked with a graphic for a shirt, I knocked.  Sanctus had lost all his energy, what little he had.  He clung to me and followed me like a beaten dog.  My heart hurt and I wasn’t sure what to do to make it better.  The door cracked open.  Hot cotton and leather. A man taller and skinnier than me with bottle cap thick glasses threatening to fall off the end of his nose greeted us.  “Ah, good, Nigrae Lunam.  Maria Mater told me you would be dropping by.” He opened the door wider to invite us in.  “I take it he is the new guy from the Rubrum raid?” he tilted his head toward Sanctus.

“Sanctus.  This is Vestitor.  Vestitor, Sanctus.  I need to get him a couple sets of clothes.  Three shirts, three pairs of pants, respective socks, undergarments, shoes, bedclothes, the like.  A hundred chips work?” I asked as we walked into the stocked shelves that was Vestitor’s business.  Bolts of cloth and used clothing was shoved, meticulously, into every available space that could be found in the room.

“I still owe you for securing the line and keeping Columba and Dumi safe when the Aurantiaco tried to take over Guillotine street.” Vestitor waived off my bid.

“That’s duty, Vestitor.  If I don’t keep Caeruleum territory, then what good am I?  I’ll pay for the clothing.  It keeps you in business, and lets others know I don’t take advantage.” I smile amiably.

“If you insist, boss.” Vestitor pointed Sanctus to a small raised circular platform in the center of the room.  Sanctus waited at my side.  “He gets…nervous about taking the coat off in front of people.  Angelus seems to work over Imperian,” I whispered quietly in Vestitor’s ear when Sanctus didn’t make a move.

“I’ll keep that in mind.  Gemma’s a heartless bitch,” Vestitor seethed.  He’d know.  He had been in the Rubrum.  He had been one of the kids I had saved from one of her rings.  He still had sessions with Medicus for nightmares.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

Vestitor went to a corner and pulled a tri-fold screen from in between the wall and the shelves.  I raised an eyebrow.  Nifty trick.  He unfolded it and set it up, walling off a tiny nook of the room.  “That should give him some sense of privacy,” Vestitor’s teeth flashed a proud smile.

“Go behind the screen, Sanctus.  Take the coat off.  Vestitor will bring you clothes.  Put them on.  If they don’t fit, tell him.  He will find you clothes that do fit.” I gave him directions.  No please.  No coercion.  I hated it.  I hated the fact that I had to know that I probably sounded like Gemma.  I glanced at Vestitor and swallowed.  He gave me a gentle nod.  He knew what was going on.  Sanctus went, not exactly willingly, but eventually put himself behind the screen and my coat ended up on top of it.

“What is with Gemma and not providing her people with clothes?” I hissed at Vestitor, irritated.

“Oh, her people get clothes.  Her toys don’t.  I mean, what’s the point of toys owning clothes?  She doesn’t even give them the pleasure of a pronoun, only referring to them as ‘it’.  She dresses them up when it pleases her, otherwise,” Vestitor shrugged.  “He was one of them I take it?” he popped behind the screen momentarily with a measuring tape, returned, and rummaged through a pile of undergarments.

“One of the three Providentia,” I explained as he handed Sanctus a small stack of fabric.  He glanced back at me.  “He’s the Sanctus of Canals?  You took Sanctus Jude from Gemma?  Oh, damn.  She’s gonna be throwing fireballs at you by tonight.”

“As I’ve been informed.  Sanctus Jude?” I asked as he fished through more clothes, holding up a couple shirts for me to look at.  I point to a soft beige button up.  It would be easier to get on his back then a pull over shirt.

“Sanctus, like all the Providentia, is his Alias. Jude is his given name.  The Providentia weren’t given the same…” Vestitor wrinkled his nose as he stared at the shirt.  “Mercurius has the other two.  They weren’t given the same dignity as the rest of us.  Sanctus Jude of Canals, Sanctus Aurelia of Lakes, and Sanctus Paul of Rivers.  From what I understand, they all got dumped in here after the Hade’s Purge about the same time you did as a package and got split up between Gemma and Mercurius as a truce when they formalized their territory lines.  Mercurius took less land for the extra Providentia.” He took the shirt and another two button-ups to Sanctus and returned to rummage through pants.

“You’ve never met Sanctus before?” I asked.

“No.  I had heard of him in passing from the guards.  I wasn’t exactly high up on the food chain.  Crap Catalyst meant I wasn’t good for her army or anything else by her thought.” Vestitor shrugged and held out the pants for me to look over.  I pointed out a couple that resembled breeches, short to the knee, but somewhat fitted rather than the jeans that had been patched to within an inch of their life.  He handed them over to Sanctus.

“Do they suffer Repercussions like the rest of us?” I asked.  I had heard of the Providentia, but had never paid them much mind.  To me, they had always been myth, a bizarre outlier for those of us afflicted to be Ustor.

“You’ll have to find out from him.  He was kept separate from the rest of us.  He was how she was so powerful when she took the Purpura territory.  From what I understood, she’d keep him chained to her throne, just within arm’s reach for whenever she needed a hit.  When she wasn’t using him, he had a birdcage of sorts she’d leave him in overlooking her throne room.  If she was feeling particularly generous, she’d send him out with some of her generals if she wanted them to take a line quickly.  That’s about what I know of his treatment.  Again, I was kept elsewhere, so I don’t know how accurate most of that is, just rumors I heard.”  He took socks and shoes back for Sanctus to try on.

“Generals?” I raised an eyebrow.  His description matched one of the men.  The one I had thrown over the railing.  Oops.  Looks like I had taken one of her major lackies and her shiny toy.  Put another check next to level of pissed off Gemma was going to be with me.

“He’s dressed.  I think everything fits,” Vestitor told me.

“Come on out, Sanctus,” I encouraged.  His footsteps were clunky.  He hadn’t worn shoes in a long time.  He stared up at me, pleading in his eyes.  He seemed confused and out of his elements.  “Does it fit?” I asked him.  He nodded mutely.  “Do you like how it fits?” I tried a different method.  He placed his hands across his chest and pulled a bit at the shoulders of his shirt.  I glanced at Vestitor, hoping he might have an idea.

“Your coat was the first bit of clothing he’s had on since he came from Gemma?  That ripstop and aramid’s pretty heavy with the plates.”

“I think so,” I nodded.  Vestitor had made the coat for me when he first joined Caeruleum as thanks for pulling him out of one of Gemma’s traveling rings.  He had asked me for the one item of clothing I dearly wished to have.  He laughed when I told him a bomb proof trench coat.  He had thought I would ask for an ermine cape, whatever that was.  Let’s just say my Catalyst keeps Vestitor in business.  I thought the trench was a brilliant idea.  Thing had a hood, reinforced shoulder straps, good sized pockets, and sleeves that could be rolled past the finger tips for protection. The thing was double lined with the inside quilted.  The panels held small metal plates around the torso, chest, and back.  It was ridiculously heavy, but having served with the Angelus for as long as I had, it felt nice having the weight.  It was also convenient to toss on victims in the midst of a firefight.  

“Probably looking for that weight, that comfort, then,” he explained as he went to yet another pile of clothes.  He pulled from it a buttonless vest.  I raised an eyebrow.  “I used it for quite a few years as I got used to being around people.  It’s weighted.  Not as much as your coat, and it’s not aramid, so it won’t survive a fire, but it’ll work,” he showed me the inside lining where small quilted squares held buckshot.  “Medicus was the one to suggest it for me.  I don’t use it anymore.  He can have it.  Free of charge,” he cut me off as I went to offer to pay for it.  Sanctus put the garment on willingly.  He relaxed into it a little, holding onto the edges of it.

I shrugged into my trench.  I was right.  Sage, rosemary, and copper.  The smell would linger for weeks.  

Vestitor got me a bag of clothes that would fit Sanctus put together and I paid him what I owed.  “Suggestion.  Take him down to Scriba’s,” he mentioned as we exited his door.

“The librarian?” I asked.  It had been a while since I had been down to see her.

“She can get him set up with some pencils and a journal.  Medicus had me write in one.  I still write in them.  It helps me put my feelings somewhere when I have to work through stuff.  He’s going to be counseling him, right?” Vestitor asked.

“He said he would after his back is healed and to just go easy on him for now.” I shake his hand.

“He’ll send him to get a journal then.  Might as well grab it while you’re on this end of the building.” Vestitor closed the door behind him.  I turned to Sanctus, who was looking washed out.

“Do you want to go see someone else, or do you want to see your room?” I turned the decision over to him, hoping he would answer.  He blinked up at me, his eyes hollow. “I think you’re probably done.  This has been a lot to deal with.  Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep.” I led him back across the main floor to the other side of the building.

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