Mhaieiyu

  Arc 3, Chapter 16

  Save My Saviour

  It was that sweetness exactly that felt like truth, honest truth, for the very first time, Emris so thought. That sweetness made him numb to the feelings otherwise steering him. His supervisors had come to the understanding his studying days had ended. No amount of focus was sufficient anymore, his mind too distracted by what lay ahead. His days were numbered. Emris wasn’t supposed to know that, but all of the staff recognised that he’d developed the wherewithal to recognise the fact.

  Such wisdom was celebrated before with previous iterations of the Guardian as well as the less important children. But not with Emris. It was becoming harder to justify his existence by the day. His lack of attentiveness had bled his living allowance. The staff that had watched the boy develop—could he be called a boy, after forty years or so?—felt bitter on the matter. Wasted work, wasted time, wasted affection. All for a lump of flesh given life through strange means. The fact that Emris lived at all was worthy of scepticism, but no-one felt as much. Why was that? Sometimes they asked themselves about it, but it would waiver until the next occasion of remembering that question, and then waiver again.

  The very question melted away in all the Celestials’ minds. Why was Emris…? Well, nevermind.

  The Fifty-Seventh had begun neglecting his lessons altogether, which reduced the amount of time he spent with Aquila. They made up for lost time by seeing each other more often in his quarters. A scandalous act, one might assume, but it was the last thing keeping Emris sane. Emris cherished the nights they spent together to no end. He could rinse his mind of the dirt, of the filth, of the pressure, by embracing the Celestial like a mother — like a stand-in for something so natural that he was denied.

  “Be honest with me, please,” Emris asked her quietly, his head buried in her wing feathers. “My odds are…”

  “Don’t strain yourself with hypotheticals, my featherling,” Aquila requested. She was denied instantly.

  “No, I have to know. Lady Bladancer——”

  “Please, Aquila.”

  “——Aquila, what hopes do I have? Does the tribunal have me in their wishes at all?”

  The question proved exceedingly difficult to answer. She knew what was correct, but not what was correct to say. Aquila kept a sternness about her. The look of humility on this boy’s green eyes titillated her protective instinct. “They do not, no.”

  Emris closed his eyes, appreciating the honesty but struggling to accept his deduction to be true. “I see.”

  “And as a matter of course, your life is on the line, dear Emris.”

  Emris nodded. “I understand.”

  “Which is exactly why,” Aquila cut through his worrisome mind, “you have the exam to look forward to. It is your ticket to disprove them of their opinions. To stir their minds whole. You have this chance, Emris, and if it fails…”

  A silence overtook her. It was hard to answer to his worries, but even harder to proclaim her following commitment. A truly arrogant, self-destructive wish. One that defied reason. But there should be no answer, no good answer, to that evanescent question.

  And hence, she answered it of her own right. “If it fails, I will endeavour to deliver you from this place. Bear witness, my featherling: I shall be your Guardian. None so young should suffer as you have. Not without good to follow.”

  Emris was shocked at once. His mouth didn’t close for a moment, trying to piece together this mindless suggestion that she could spare him. He first clung to a new hope, one that flushed his face red. His desire to live could be slicked. Only, he knew Aquila would be put at stake for it.

  Could he sacrifice his mentor, the only kindness he knew and valued, for the sake of his own life?

  “Miss Aquila, you have dozens of young apprentices here in need of your tutorage,” Emris refused, lying on his back to stare at the ceiling. “Your life must be spared.”

  “Now, now. Don’t be so quick to assume such a hostile punishment. It is not the first time I’ve led a young feather astray, as our lords would put it.”

  That wryness of hers stole a smile off him. He floundered trying to hide it. “Yes, more than your fair share of Celestial youth have most likely been spared by your kindness. But, how many Guardians have you delivered from here, Aquila?” Emris asked, daring to face her once more. Her eyes failed to follow his, and he understood why. He put his gaze back to the ceiling. “I understand that you want me to live, and I appreciate it endlessly. Truly, I do…” A brief sob escaped him. “But you must also realise that doing so much for me is a fool’s errand. They aren’t entirely wrong. I am a failed candidate, as has been shown by now. It’s best if I am replaced. Surely, a natural Guardian would be better a fit.”

  Aquila’s response took a while to come. By the time she spoke, he’d already stood up to open the door, welcoming her out. “Emris…”

  “Please, Aquila.” A tiny smile looked wrong on his face. The blue light of the moon found space here, through the cracks of the great outside. If anything, it made the boy-or-man look serene. “Please. Save yourself.”

  Aquila rushed to her feet. “Emris, I mustn’t.”

  “I didn’t get the chance to actually ward anyone in my life. Let this be my one saving grace.” Emris assured her, making her feel small for the first time in many years. Drawing his face close, his hands on her shoulders, his incorrect smile grew. “The Goddess will still be proud of me, if only I do this.”

  “I…”

  “Aquila, let me die. If you do, I will have saved one person from themselves. There will have been worse Guardians than me if I do this much.”

  Aquila almost spoke, but she was interrupted.

  “Let me save you, Aquila.”

  She had no words. The commitment she had already contemplated, the one she had to hide from the likes of Thaumiel just for consideration, that idiotic idea that didn’t befit a lady of her sort, the one that had weighed on her mind for just too long, was finally lifted off her. Selfishly, she allowed that weight to disappear, and she buckled. She fell into the Guardian’s arms and wrapped around his neck. Aquila refused to weep, but the burning in her eyes begged her to.

  “Oh, Emris… Forgive us. Please, forgive us one day for having brought you into this world. It’s awful. It’s awful beyond comprehension that you should exist like this. As this. Please, forgive us one day…”

  Emris brushed her hair carefully, not wanting to disrespect her authority but understanding this to be acceptable at this moment. “I will forgive you, for trying to save me. Only you.”

  Aquila fell silent after that. She would be a fool and a coward to plead for her compatriots’ favour. She knew none deserved it. This disgusting fabrication of life, a despicable imitation of the Saintess’ power, was abominable from the start. Perhaps, though cruel, this was the right way forward. Perhaps this cruelty could lead to something good. Something better.

  Aquila herself didn’t believe that. As that door closed on her that night, she knew a hero was being sacrificed for common interest. A noble sacrifice for no honest gain. Soon, Emris would be judged and killed, and the Celestial populace would outlive any concern for the matter, and move on to the next Guardian’s apprenticeship and service. A failed experiment to be discarded, his number to be transferred, his existence to be forgotten. A blight on a heavenly field.

  An experiment. Yes, that was true. Aquila’s head stopped keeling. The Bladancer stood firm before that door. Perhaps she couldn’t spare his life, or perhaps she could. Regardless, she called upon retribution. She called upon a thing that long ago—ages ago—led to ruin. A thing that should not be called for, ever.

  Aquila called for Judgement.

  A most compromising position indeed. The master Hawk stood with the weight of oblivion on her shoulders. The fruit of her having been created, her craft, left to dangle on a thin line. But she would stake her own vitality as the young Guardian she knew did not deserve to know mortality too soon.

  The Guardian, before the King, was meant to serve eternal. His and his ancestors’ titleship, devoid of flesh even, would always serve eternal. So, to this end, who deserved the power to overrule a Saintess-set motion such as this?

  The mentor stood firm in the night, feeling the chill of these high airs blowing against her, but she was truly resilient to their lashes and hypnotic whooshes. Her frame, elegant and beautiful to mature eyes, devilish with a sword and a threat untold if provoked, seemed so fragile next to this other person. This taller person, whose great wings shone too bright, whose halo glowed like the sun, whose robes screamed divine — a brightness anything less than Celestial would suffer to see through. Divinity indeed. If a Celestial were to be Vainglory, this would be the very image of such.

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  “Skyborn Major, I must request of thee,” Aquila made her demand, her hand, wise or not, revealed and gripping her scabbard. “I must request that you postpone Emris’ trial.”

  The great figure that stood before her stood perfectly still, a quiet image of burning whiteness. “Ah, but the landfarers wouldn’t appreciate the wait.”

  “To retrain the Guardian would take years more; those below cannot wait so long. The Crimson horde beholds victory,” Aquila pressed.

  The Skyborn didn’t budge. With a slow shake of his head to say ‘no’, the Major turned his back to her and walked further across the balcony they shared — the view below dazzlingly, perhaps nauseatingly high, the damp, freezing clouds passing through like mist. “We both understand their mission.”

  “To score the Guardian, yes, but——”

  “Are you worried about our sanctity being desecrated in the meantime, perhaps?” A hard footstep closed the Skyborn’s walk. “Yes, the Ghylswrath might collapse the Skyspire if we do not provide aid, and they are to surround us. Alas, it is not the first time our angels alone have sufficed, if you remember the Morrowlynde days; flightbound northward, carefully… Our Admiral has learnt enough of her wisdom to recreate such an event. It would be interesting to watch unfold.”

  The mentoress stayed her ground but kept quiet, watching tensely as the great Archangel toyed with the pages of a history book he had been ogling.

  “Or, maychance, are you concerned the lowers will deem us irregular and unreliable? A power timeless, lost to pride or ignorance? Yes, that would be unfortunate. Even if we swooped in, they may not regard us so optimistically anymore…”

  “My Grace, I——!”

  “But nevertheless, you shouldn’t be so concerned. It has been long since we have shown them diplomacy. It has been long since we’ve punished them. It has been long since we drove our swords against the beastfolk. We can always amend any misunderstandings, don’t you think so? Or, perhaps you contemplate Jules’ incompetence?”

  He turned back around to face her. Aquila struggled to get the words out of her mouth as a tight vice fixed her throat like a rope. It was merely caution.

  “Do you not trust my competence?” the Skyborn asked, a sad little smile of humility on his face. It was hard to see his face indeed, glowing so as it did.

  This unnerve that the Major gave off was the very definition of grace. This feeling of utter insubordination, the very absurdity to defy such a soul. It felt reasonless. This feeling, all it did was encourage Aquila. For indeed, no leader should feel so far. No leader should feel like a God.

  “I do not,” Aquila was clear in voice when she said, keeping her stance steady.

  The Major was clearly taken aback by this. His neck reeled his head back an inch at the sound of what could only be equated to enmity.

  “Indeed I believe your good intentions to be apocryphal. Perhaps my brethren fail to see your play, but I do. I see the curtains too well.” The angel, a mere Hawk, stepped once to be closer. A mere Hawk, standing to face her Skyborn. Of course it was improper and unfit to imply that those as life-experienced as her were to be ‘mere’.

  An austereness settled into place then, and it was obvious. No more did Aquila dwell in shame of her opposition. She had seen and listened and breathed enough to understand what was moral, and no being should overstep such a thing unchecked. The unpleasant and upset countenance on the Skyborn looked strange on his majesty.

  “I see…” he whispered. But his frown, that betrayed sadness about him, she noticed, hauntingly, how it shifted into an expression of the mildest glee. “Please.”

  He gestured toward her, offering her to continue speaking. So she did. “I can only play coy for so long, but the hearth of my soul speaks too loudly. Forgive me, but you are playing the role of the Saintess. This power lies above you.”

  The Skyborn, growing in eagerness, also took a step closer. His height almost stretched as he approached. “I am playing the Saintess’ role? How so?”

  Aquila, ever a faithful legionnaire, remained with an iron composure. “You created life without the assent of the Legion, and I'm sure the Saintess did not allow this either. Though my peers may gawk at the achievement, you — you are forsaking the sanctity of our beloved Goddess. To imitate her is beholden to sinful conduct.”

  “Indeed, to imitate the heavens is worthy of Sin.” The Skyborn’s happiness only grew. “And I should be Judged…”

  “Yes, you should. But…” Aquila lowered her head finally, letting go of her scabbard, willing toward understanding and submission. “I’m willing to continue to be coy, if only you’ll claim responsibility over your doings.”

  The beauty-bound archangel leaned forward to meet her eye level. “ ‘Claim responsibility,' you say.”

  Aquila finally drew her sword, but that proved a mistake. No sooner than she’d stripped blade from buckle, her hand was violently struck by the very clouds about them; bafflingly, she caught her sword with her other hand, but her wounded one shook terribly as she bore through the pain. Her veins had jutted out to the godly stimulus, leaving behind a red pattern of shapes that branded her up to the forearm; her skin dried grey. Not a gasp bounced off her tongue.

  “Careful,” the Skyborn muttered, severeness overcasting his delicacy. “Bad things tend to happen to those seeking to do harm.”

  Though she kept quiet as her singed nerves screamed at her, some already dead, it was still difficult to formulate a response. Like a Sirensong-stuck sailor, an idleness claimed her as the sensation flowed and ebbed over a dreadfully long ten seconds. It took that long to find the strength to upright her posture, and Aquila said, “Then, to avoid such a karma, find it in you to do the right thing.”

  The Skyborn’s everlasting grace, that is, his appearance to speak of, looked all too similar to a forgiving divine when he entertained her plea. “And, the right thing, to you, is to spare the Guardian?”

  The mentoress was firm, withstanding her injury.

  “You have a very pleasant disposition. I admire your values, Aquila,” the Skyborn could only smile when he said as much, a tenderness she didn’t think fit him settling on him.

  “I care deeply for my students.”

  “Indeed. No better a feather to harden our youth, that is without saying. But,” he said, wagging a finger, “some are guaranteed a life of misfortune. Is there such a thing as mercy in death? Perhaps we can spare of hardship those who will suffer assured, and they may find peace beyond Her Gates instead…”

  Aquila narrowed her glare. She stepped closer and dared put her hand on one of his wings. The slightest touch of his flesh exuded energy, tickling her fingertips. “Yes, you are right, of course. Hardship awaits the greater lot, and so we are blessed with a life full of burden. Unpleasant memories will be had, as will pain follow us on our journey. Rocks riddle our roads and they will break our horse's legs, this is true as well. But,” she exclaimed, “we are deserving, by birthright, to experience the great little joys that dot our path as well. The only way to bear witness to such glory is through hardship. And it is with this hardship that we harvest the strength to ensure that same pleasure to our acquaintances in kind. To lift each other — you must allow the Guardian even the chance.”

  The Skyborn’s smile dissipated for a moment, only to settle once more. Again, that strange enthusiasm overtook him. “Your surprises never cease.”

  “Allow our Guardian to fulfil his course.”

  “Of course I will.” The Skyborn nodded. “He has only to awaken his ancestors. I’m sure they will spare him the labour of blindness. Very well, I will allow him reach to the Dreamscape.”

  “You have knowledge of the Dreamscape…?”

  The Lord of the Pillar leaned his forearms on the swirling railing, watching the clouds pass them by. “A place beyond most of our understanding, I’m afraid. Worry not, it will serve him well. He must best his trial, however; even if I wished it, he won’t be allowed to live according to the rest of the tribunal.”

  “Then, might I have a chance to train him? Just a chance?” Aquila asked, her heart on her sleeve.

  “I’m afraid not,” the Major said.

  “But——”

  “His aid is had. His life will be spared. You can be assured. Now, go and be rested.”

  Aquila understood, through a hard breath, that stubbornness beyond this point would be of no good. With nothing more to add, she lowered her head in silence before removing herself from the balcony, flying down below to where her quarters were, on a middle part of the golden obelisk.

  Watching her descent in awe of her performance, the Skyborn’s little amused smile was splashed on his humble complexion all the more, his chin resting on his palm.

  “You’re too lax on her, ______.”

  This new voice didn’t surprise the Skyborn. He kept perfectly still, perfectly serene. “Yes, I try to be.”

  The Principality—each of his four wings a majesty of their own, not far from the Skyborn’s design—approached with a miasma of derision. “For a woman her age, so wise, she’s acting out of sorts.”

  “Indeed. She’s taken quite a liking to the boy.”

  “Quite… If you don’t mind, this further emphasises the bother you’ve given us, my Grace.”

  The Major wasn’t ignorant to the faint hostility in his tone. Nevertheless, he remained calm. “Isn’t it beautiful? A mother will always adore children, even surrogates. Yes, I’m pleased. I’m very pleased, Thaumiel.”

  Thaumiel’s expression was cold, his eyes deadpan. “I don’t think that’s what matters here, Sire.”

  The Skyborn turned to the Principality and quieted him with a look of danger. That smile was not one of amusement, it was one of absolute content. The corners of his lips were too, too wide. Still a beautiful smile, surely. “This is exactly what matters, Thaumiel. What we see today is what makes our tomorrow, and I cannot wait to see what happens next. I’m thrilled, thrilled to the core. You will watch with me, or won’t you?”

  The courtman felt a current run down his spine, softer than that he commanded—colder—but couldn’t place exactly why. Still, that enthusiasm stole something comforting of him. “Yes…?”

  “Watch patiently, Thaumiel, and be thrilled as well. Soon, your every worry will be assuaged, and soon, your every distaste will be overturned.”

  It would be a while before the Bladancer managed some sleep that night, a mix of comfort and restlessness troubling her every thought. A trouble that felt familiar, concerned as she’s ever been for her trainees.

  Had she spared Emris a premature death, or had she only condemned him to a life of hardship? He was a Guardian after all, and a strange one… Aquila prayed only that he might see the world beyond the heavens, and perhaps, down where it’s colder, that he might earn the chance to bear glory. Victus alone would decide whether he would, or if he would survive the trial at all.

  Terrifying visions of a brutal warrior dismembering and humiliating the hero during his trial filled her head. Images of his inability to understand humanity and corrupt, as some had. Perilous were the futures she imagined, if not for him alone, then perhaps the world as well.

  Would Emris be a good Guardian?

  “Let me save you, Aquila.”

  Yes, she was sure of it.

  Aquila spent the rest of the night praying to Victus’ children instead: the Guardians. She hoped they could hear her. They didn’t, but they did do something.