I know that there's some things I'm goint to need to account for that I didn't. Re reading now. P.S. Heathcliff Louise doesn't seem right. I might sleep on it. But I'm going to try and fix it tonight.
Halkegenia Online v2.0 – Epilogue - Part 12
Head bowed, breath held, eyes fixed on the marble floor, polished to such perfection that Father Julio Chesare could see his own reflection in it, red and blue eyes shining back in faded imitation, bisected by a thin channel carved into the stone.
'That channel was meant for drainage.' Julio thought back to his lessons as a young boy. In older, less civil times, there had been many executions held in this room, in the audience of past Popes and the College of Cardinals.
In those times, this room had been floored in stone, and the executions of heretics had occurred so frequently that the channels had been needed to help rinse away the blood of the preferred method of decapitation. A radiating network of grooves that sloped imperceptibly to troughs on either side of the great hall of the Papal audience chamber.
Radiating away, in point of fact, from where Julio now kneeled.
Those days were long gone. The rough stone had been replaced with finely polished marble, and the network of grooves which incidentally formed a lovely pattern, now leafed in gold, had been preserved for aesthetic sake. Their original purpose forgotten to most, but not to Father Julio.
It did not escape his notice that the blades of the Germanian Guard halberdiers at his back, were kept exceptionally keen.
'Which is not more than I may deserve.' He mused as he met his own reflection. Odd the way that the color of an eye could change the countenance. One half, blue, looked resigned, the other, red, was resentful.
Julio knew which of the two was in his heart. He accepted his judgment now. His actions, for good or ill, would be weighed and his fate decided.
"Rise . . . Father Julio."
The young Priest looked up to the steps leading to the elevated station of the throne of the Ruler of the Church within all mortal dominion. Pope Vittorio III stood, head held high, and eyes boring into him.
His Eminence . . . did not look well this day. It would have been invisible to most. But to Julio, the signs were clear as day. Despite the best efforts of an army of attendants. Soft features seeming haggard and diminished, blue eyes dark, and golden blonde hair appearing brittle
And the cause . . . Lack of sleep, of course, brought on by the greater burden of lacking piece of mind. The youngest man to ever hold the station of Pope. He did not seem fit to carry the weight upon his shoulders, responsibility for the one hundred million lives of Brimir's faithful.
'And now I have added to that burden.' Julio admonished himself.
Most had thought little of Vittorio's youth. Young meant inexperienced, foolish, and easily controlled by older, wiser heads, they thought. And that had of course been the plan upon elevating Vittorio to the station of Pope. A puppet to be placed upon the thrown in stead of the real leaders.
Those real leaders had simply never expected their wiser heads to part ways with their old bodies. Some, at the hands of Julio himself.
'And now, have I come full circle?' He thought.
"Your Eminence." Julio said softly, and then stopped. No effort to defend himself, no attempt to explain. His intentions had been pure, but his means had been . . . They'd been idiotic, the reckless expedience of desperation.
Vittorio descending the steps to stand level. King and Knight, Master and Familiar. "I command you to be silent and listen. Am I understood?"
Julio hesitated, before nodding his head shamefully, the only reply he could offer.
Vittorio made a small gesture, hidden in the sleeve of his robes, but visible to the guards who at once came to attention.
"Your Eminence!" The Knight Captain standing to Julio's left appeared ready to protest. They were His Eminence's closest guards, to at his side, always.
"I assure you that I am in no danger. This is a matter of highest importance. I wish to speak privately with Father Julio. You will see to that wish, Captain."
The Knights and Guards could not hide their distaste, they were the personal guards of the Holy Father, and loyal to their bones. Even the implication of untrustworthiness would raise their hackles. The Captain's eyes glinted resentfully as he glanced to Julio.
But these men were loyal, and most of all obedient to His Eminence's will. The Guards gathered themselves into formation, six knights, and two dozen Halberdiers forming into a single unit at the center of the hall, bowing as one, and marching from the room in the same disciplined fashion as they would enter and leave at the beginning and end of their watch.
No doubt, they would be waiting just outside the doors to the audience room, ready to burst back in at the slightest hint of distress.
Only when they were gone did Vittorio let out the ghost of an exhalation, barely audible. A hand came unbidden to rub at his eyes. Julio held his silence, as instructed. At last, without looking up, Vittorio spoke.
"I have had the opportunity to examine the girl and her familiar." His Eminence supplied stonily.
". . ."
"It is exactly as you believed. The runes are indeed the mark of Gandalfr. A tour of the armory has proven the familiar's Void-granted power. Louise de La Valliere is Tristain's Void Mage."
Without privilege to speak, Julio could only widen his eyes. To know for himself was an entirely different thing than to hear it said by His Eminence. He had not been mistaken!
Then . . .
"Although I am pleased that we at last have proof of the existence of the other Void Mages, I cannot condone the way in which she was brought before us."
The Young Priest cringed under Vittorio's gaze.
His Eminence's features hardened, eyes sharpening as he regarded Julio, almost, but not quite, with disdain.
And why should he not? Julio thought sullenly.
He had, on his own initiative, spirited away a Noblewoman of Tristain, gotten three quarters of his men, elite knights, killed at the hands of a Legendary Beast and an equally Legendary Mage. Worse, battle had brought him into direct conflict with Forces of Tristain and the Fae.
He was a Holy Knight of the Church, diplomacy was not his purpose, but the consequences were clear, even to him. If they had been able to spirit away Miss Valliere without altercation, if everything had gone as it should have, without outside interference, then his actions might have been justifiable, barely. Which was why he should have known that things would most decidedly not go as planned.
"Now, speak for yourself."
"Begging Your Eminence's pardon," Julio began swiftly, almost stumbling over himself to reply.
"Much more than merely my pardon." Vittorio said without a hint of sympathy.
Julio remembered himself enough to bow once more from the waist. "Your Eminence, I allowed myself to act the fool, and endanger everything in my fear and eagerness. I can offer no excuse."
"No, you cannot." Vittorio agreed. "But you will explain yourself. As it is, you've delivered into our arms the Void Mage of Tristain and her familiar, and at the same time, antagonized Tristain and the Fae-folk."
Had Tristain learned that this was the Church's doing? Julio wondered. Would they? They would always have suspected, but would the battle, and the bodies, be enough? Romalia had long since learned to mask the identities of its Special Forces, even in death, as all of the Kingdom's had. They had been stripped of all marks and clues of their allegiance to the Church of Brimir.
"I plead only weakness of spirit." Julio said, head still bowed. "I had suspected Miss Valliere for some time, upon making her acquaintance and observing her practice of magic. My later studies only made me more certain. Bastard blood of the Royal line, and her failings in magic coincided almost perfectly with what is known of the past Void users."
"Not enough to move against an entire Kingdom." His Eminence said. "Not nearly enough."
"No." Julio agreed. "But what we discovered next . . . The Faerie magic that she used . . ."
To see His Eminence given pause was disturbing of itself, without regard for the subject.
Vittorio turned away from Julio and made his way towards the tall windows lining one wall of the audience chamber, coming still to gaze out over the roofs of the Holy City and down into the squares where the faithful would gather for the essential ceremonies. Pilgrim's came from across the continent in hopes of making it to this place.
"The Founder bequeathed unto his descendants, four fragments of the blessed Void. Each like, and yet not like to the next." Vittorio repeated the words as if by wrote, the product of their studies of the deep archives. "Four mages, four familiars, four rings, and four treasures. Four fours for the true Void to reveal itself."
His Eminence clasped his hands together, but could not stop from twitching his ring finger, a motion that was almost invisible.
"Each Void unto itself, whole and complete, but removed from the Founder's brilliance. As each Void Mage, whole and complete, but removed from the vulgar elements . . . Which means that either the Fae are blessed with more than they can possible know, or . . ."
Another impossibility, for His Eminence to leave a thought unfinished.
Or Louise Valliere had done the impossible and shattered the shackles of Void. What that could mean, Julio could not even begin to imagine. Either a rapturous occasion or an apocalyptic one. For if Louise had freed herself from the limits of her shard of Void, then what did that mean of the immutability of the Founder's divine magic?
"The Windstone concentrations under Tristain are growing faster than ever." Julio said softly. A decade had shrunk to mere years at best, months at worst. Ironic, the Church had acquired the means to track the calamity's progress from a researcher in Tristain. The revelation of her work had driven the poor woman to madness. "If we waited, we might have lost her entirely. And I believed we needed to know. I feared for what it might mean."
His eminence regarded him from the corner of one eye.
"A Void Mage she may be, but Louise Valliere is of no use to us without the Ring of Water and the Founder's Prayer Book. We cannot say where they may be, but the likeliest place is in the home of their rightful master, Tristain, the Kingdom that has every reason to now regard any member of the Church with suspicion as a direct result of your actions. You were sent to observe." Vittorio said.
"And nothing more. Now, we cannot even say how our dealings with the Fae and Tristain will unfold. Perhaps ruined. We cannot afford for the Kingdoms to squabble among themselves now. We must prepare to present a united front against the Great Enemy, if any shred of our civilization is to survive what is to come."
Vittorio turned to fully face Julio, expression as cold as ever. "For the damage you may well have caused, I would not be wrong to wonder if you were a traitor."
Julio could not argue with his Master's reasoning. His Eminence would certainly be justified. Yes, justified, to hand his head to Tristain on a platter if need be.
"If not for your ceaseless commitment and devotion, both as a Priest of the Church, and my Familiar, you would already be facing execution. But also, fault lays with myself as well."
"You Eminence!" Julio took a half step forward, reaching out, shocked.
"So does the Master, so does the Familiar, so does the Familiar, so does the Master. It was I who made use of the improper tool in sending you to Tristain without oversight. I was neglectful. And taking into account that your men did not strongly urge you away from this course of action . . ." Another look of displeasure, Julio pondered whether his two surviving subordinates would receive even a fraction of this mercy. ". . . Your past service, and loyalty, misguided as it has been, has granted you a stay of execution."
Strange, Julio felt light headed, it would never have occurred to him that he had not come to terms with his own death. So as not to leave him too much relieved, Vittorio then added. "For the time being, your life is to be considered forfeit, and whether you can possibly redeem yourself will be up to God and Founder." A fact that was in no way new to Julio. He had always been expendable, from the day he had spoken his oaths and given himself over, body and soul, to the Church. "You will be confined to duty here, within the boundary of the Holy City. Specifically, I wish for you to watch over Miss Valliere. I find it fitting that you do so. Be her guide and assist her in her studies."
"Then," Julio began, "The archives are to be opened to her?" The ancient archives held by the Church since time barely imaginable. He had suggested such things to Louise to gain her cooperation, he had even believed it was possible, but never had he thought it would be granted so casually.
Vittorio nodded. "Under supervision. And our most trusted philosophers as well. For or good or ill, Louise Valliere is in our custody for now, I intend to make full use of studying her. To earn her trust, for what little it is worth."
"And what of Tristain and the Fae?" Julio asked.
They could have been powerful allies to be shaped through diplomacy. Now, they would be antagonistic partners at best, enemies at worst. One thing was certain, the Fae were kind, light hearted, and generally gentle-natured people. Those qualities were not extended to those that wronged them.
His reports on the Fae were even now being consumed hungrily by Church philosophers, dissecting everything they could learn of the Fae kin. And what was more, their dealings with Tristain.
A combination that he had only begun to examine, and now suspected, if not for the Windstone build up beneath the small Kingdom, he would come to regret. A small, but prosperous Kingdom, blessed with a vitality of magic greater than any of the other Kingdoms of Halkegenia, and joined in hands with them, a new race of flying, physically robust, and potentially powerful magic users, possessed of strange knowledge and even stranger notions.
"This will not be the first time the Church has given refuge to a wayward soul, nor fought to bring them to sanctuary." Albeit, rarely a soul so politically charged as Louise Valliere. Vittorio could only think of a one in recent memory, a candidate for the seat of Emperor of Germania. Romalia had nearly gone to war over that decision two decades ago. "That shelter can only be extended for a brief time, but we will make use of it while we can. For now, we will continue as we have." Vittorio informed him. "We have no choice but to commit ourselves to Tristain's war against Albion."
"The First Contingency." Julio surmised. If catastrophe came, despite their best efforts, and the Holy Land could not be reclaimed, only Albion might offer safe refuge to a few chosen faithful. Albion which was, of its very nature, unassailable. Until the Fae and Tristain had proven it possible.
His Eminence nodded. "As a show of good faith as well. And when our time expires, if need be, I will present myself before Tristain's new monarch to beg forgiveness." Vittorio let that hang in the air. "When that time comes, it may also be with the gift of your head."
"I understand, fully, Your Eminence." Julio said softly.
"As you should." Vittorio agreed as if there was no other conclusion. "Now, make yourself presentable, and find Miss Valliere. Become acquainted with her and her familiar. Learn all that you can. Report everything to me, but take no action of your own will."
"As you wish, your Excellency . . . Though, if I may humbly ask," It was not that he was not eager to gain some small redemption for his actions, even if it would not change his fate, "Do you truly believe we can trust that man? His name . . ."
"The alias of the man who created the Faerie illusion games." Vittorio confirmed. "A mass murderer of the Fae world. His existence as Miss Valliere's familiar is troubling. Removing him, given his innate prowess and the Gandalfr runes now in his possession may prove quite difficult."
"Your Eminence, can we believe what he has said?" Julio wondered aloud. Julio had been given ample time to question the swordsman on their journey back to Romalia. Even with dragons to hasten the trip, it had taken the better part of a week by circuitous routes to return to Romalia, with Miss Valliere constantly falling in and out of consciousness in a series of fever dreams, only subsiding when she collapsed from exhaustion.
During that time, the swordsman, Heathcliff, had proven suspiciously docile, exhibiting an almost childish fascination with the passing landscape, like one who had never traveled beyond a single village, much less across the span of the continent.
The results of his interrogations had been . . . inconclusive . . . confusing . . . Julio had thought he had done well to learn what he could of the Fae Realm, the one they spoke of ironically as Iarel, apparently some joke that the Faeries had been reluctant to fully explain, a pun on the word's. But probing Heathcliff had proven how little he knew. All that he'd learned was that something was not quite right.
"That," Vittorio said, "Is what I want you to find out."
How he wished for the simpler days. "As you wish, Your Eminence."
___________________________________________________________________________________________
The afternoon light playing in through tall, curtained windows, the sounds of the birds, and the soft splash of the water in the tub all around her. Louise Francoise le Blanc de La Valliere sat, legs curled up to her chest, lost in her own thoughts, most of them unflattering.
The last lucid memory that Louise had, was touching her lips to the World Tree. After that, it was a mix of feverish moments, seen through blurry eyes. Splitting migraines and fever until, at last, she'd found herself waking in the early light of morning in a bed much too big and soft to have been her own.
She had not woken alone. An attending nurse had been at her side, and word had been sent at once. Before the hour was through, she had found herself in the company of His Holiness himself, and all had been explained to her.
At first, she hadn't known what to make of it. Upset. Only as she'd learned of what had transpired, had she felt sick, and then felt nothing at all. Except maybe gratitude that her stomach had been empty when she was told that her familiar had nearly killed her mother. The servants had only to clean up the gagging mix of saliva and stomach juices.
Even to hear that her sins, real, or imagined, were forgiven and that the Church would honor Father Juilo's offer, had not improved her mood.
Since waking the day before, she had not smiled or laughed, or shown more than the smallest expression. The life had drained out of her, and even the interest in imitating life to the outside world was fast fading. Instead, surrounded by the luxury of the apartments assigned to her, she had turned inwards upon her own thoughts, her own mistakes. There were lots to choose from, to examine, to critique.
It was a familiar ritual for Louise, but somehow changed now. The thoughts were hers, but seemingly with a different . . . flavor? Was that how one thought of such things. Confusing, and often disturbing, like someone else had crawled into her skull and started to whisper to her, or make her feel their commentary.
'And what did you think would happen?'
One part of herself would seem to say.
'You knew he was using you.' Another would chime in. 'You just wouldn't let yourself see.'
'That's right I . . .'
'Did you think what would happen if it didn't work?'
'I . . . I didn't it was just . . . It seemed like the ri-'
'Or if it DID? What if it had enslaved the Pixies? They are bound to their mother after all.'
'No! I'd never . . .'
'Or God, the Fae?!'
'You didn't know any better!'
'Yes you did!'
'This is your fault! Take responsibility!'
'Please'. Louise raised her hands out of the water, placing them firmly against her ears. As if that could block out the broken echoes that faded off after every thought. 'Please, one at a time . . . just one at a time . . . That's all I ask.' The fragmented voices that tumbled off, thousands of facets speaking at once, brilliant and clear, but broken, like dropped crystal. Not more than pieces of piecesd. And not at all interested in listening to her.
Louise did the only thing she could think to do. She stopped. Stopped thinking, stopped remembering, almost stopped breathing before faintness reminded her. And when she was done, the voices kept their opinions to themselves. The voices . . . and the source of the voices . . .
Louise stared at the palm of her hand. It was at once, her hand, and not her hand. Because she could remember her hand like . . . the back of her hand . . . and the little digital watch she wore with its little panda decoration, even though she could just get the time off of her phone . . . But . . . what was a Panda? Or a Phone?
"How is it that I know that it's seven hundred steps from my house to the train station", Louise asked, "But I don't know what a train is?"
"Is that some sort of riddle?" The silver haired man standing outside her window, back to her, mused aloud.
She hadn't asked him to stand guard, nor had he told her he intended to do so. And yet, Louise was not upset by this. Even knowing that he was a criminal, a murderer, she was confident he had no interest in spying on her in the bath.
Which was comforting in a way as it meant she could dismiss the ever present servants and be left almost to herself.
"No . . . Its . . . " Louise thought about it. "I don't know what it is really . . ." She sank down in the water until her nose was barely above the surface.
A criminal familiar . . . It was no more than she deserved she thought bitterly. And she knew, better than anyone save the Fae, what his crimes had been like.
She could have asked to have him removed, or even ordered him from her sight, he had proven infuriatingly willing to obey her whims. Instead, she preferred to keep him in her company, as a reminder. That the Mage summoned a Familiar which suited them. What did that say about her?
'Looks like you found a friend Louise!' The hateful little thought came unbidden.
'Shut up!' She thought viciously.
"I made a mistake." Louise said out loud.
"Is that in general, or are you being specific?" Heathcliff asked back unbidden. She could have lived without his commentary. The voices in her own head were bad enough. "I've been told that discovering oneself to be imperfect is quite the traumatizing experience."
"I should never have listened to Father Julio . . ." Louise continued. "I should never have run away. I should never . . . never . . . have kissed that tree! I've brought nothing but suffering." Hers least of all compared to what she had heaped upon the sixty thousand Faeries. "What . . . What do I do?"
What did she do? She'd meant well. She'd meant to do what was right. It had seemed like the proper thing at the time. Or rather, she'd wanted it to be. She'd wanted it so badly. But if her own judgment was so suspect, what hope did she have?
"You could start by learning from your mistake, and not to make the same one twice." Her familiar offered, never turning his head to her, doing nothing more menacing than observing the sky. "It is my experience that people rarely do anything right the first time."
"It was a simple decision!" Louise hissed. So simple. She could have simply said nothing, done nothing. Nothing had been what was expected of her, and she'd failed at even that!
"Not for one who has never chosen."
Louise ignored the comment. She'd made decisions before. Going to the academy, as was expected of her, taking on responsibilities handed down to her by Henrietta, as was her duty. How would this have been any different?!
'You have to ask?' Darkly sarcastic.
"It may seem like no consolation." Heathcliff said. "But have you ever heard of an opportunity cost?" Louise didn't reply. She didn't really want to listen. Which naturally meant Heathcliff would continue speaking. "An opportunity cost is the cost of taking one action in terms of the actions that are not selected. You feel remorse because you give more weight to the unchosen action than to the one you chose. But balance what you action gains against what it has cost."
What it had cost was her her friends, the trust they had placed in her, the help of the Fae, and . . . her family. Louise almost choked, thinking what this would do to Cattleya. She'd been so bound up in her own self made troubles, she'd barely spared it a thought until it was too late.
And what had throwing away everything she cherished gained her but misery and a guilded cage? She was under no illusion to what this was, not anymore.
"The Church says that they'll help." Louise said. "His Holiness himself is giving me permission to use the archives of the Holy City." Along with nearly two dozen Church scholars who would have no task but to examine her and seek to understand how she had summoned . . . what she had summoned." Helped along by one final detail.
'Void . . . His Holiness says that I possess power of Void. Louise didn't believe it for a moment, to share the Founder's Holy Element. But could any other Element do something like this? Make real the imaginary, breath life back into phantoms.
Her eyes tracked to the man at her window, the swordsman Heathcliff, or the Knights of Blood, of the Floating Castle of Aincrad. For whatever reason, instead of binding the World Tree as her familiar, she had brought him forth. Some . . . figment of the illusion games, the last echoes of their creator.
By now, Louise would not have been shocked to discover the Necromancy was among her powers, or worse.
But then, if not Void, what? Just what was she to summon an entire world? No human could do that.
'Am I not human?' Louise wondered. 'Nay'. The thought came unbidden as water closed over her. Then as she lay submerged. 'I am . . . an Incarnate Radius.'
