Here we are again.
This story is the direct sequel to "Celestial Wars Ch. 01" and should not be read without reading that first.
This is the second of three parts.
Middles are curious things. Middles are written to bring the reader from an interesting beginning, to an exciting ending. This means middles are often overlooked, even though they make up the bones of a story. Unfortunately, this story is all middle.
In lieu of some emails that I continue to receive, I feel obligated to warn you gentle reader, that this story does not immediately launch into the sex...however, I feel that if you've stuck with me until now, you know that already.
As always, your comments, emails and your votes mean the world to me...so thanks.
Now, come walk the Noble path with me...
-Noble Truth
Chapter 7
Truth Telling
The Fourth Sphere of Heaven is a glorious training ground. Sounds of virtuous battle ring joyfully throughout its verdant hills. High Legionnaire Dardihel is the Lord of this Sphere, by right of skill and loyalty. ~Alexander Morningstar's Celestial Matters
-Alarial-
With a wan smile, Master's beautiful dark countenance faded away. He took his dream with him. The bed of black silk gave way to expansive darkness.
For a time I floated upon this sea of nothing...adrift...like a lost ship on unfamiliar waters.
It was altogether peaceful... and altogether lonesome.
My mind gently tumbled over stray thoughts and flashes of memory.
The warmth of Sister Maria's hands was suddenly on my face. She was smiling in that way that made her eyes crinkle at the sides. Then she was gone and the Mother of the Abbey was showing me to the door. She begged me to take my vows. When I didn't, it was to the streets for me.
Memory sparked again, and my nose was filled with the stink of the Parisian gutter. An old tavern keeper let me wash his dishes for a bent copper every night. Two coppers could buy half a loaf of bread.
A man approached me one night after the dishes were done. His breath reeked of garlic and stale wine, and what little teeth he had were browned and rotting. He offered me five silvers to 'stick me,' as he called it.
The next day I bought a dress with my new money and knocked on all the doors of all the Parisian brothels I could find. Eventually, the Rosy Garter took me in.
The images faded back into the swelling blackness. Thankfully, no more followed.
***
My body returned to me slowly... or perhaps more accurately, I returned to it.
It began with a tingling in my limbs, and then a feeling of being warm...much too warm.
I opened my eyes blearily. A dying campfire greeted my visage. Glowing white embers gave off half-hearted smoke as they cooled in the breeze of the forest. In the sky, the purple hues of twilight were giving way to the pink and orange of a new dawn.
A blanket was wrapped tightly around my body restricting my arms, causing the uncomfortable warmth that had roused me into wakefulness.
I sat up, and after an embarrassing amount of effort, I managed to slip from the blanket's grasp.
The cool morning washed over my body, and I sighed.
I froze.
What had happened?
I thought suddenly.
The woman, what happened to that strange woman?
The last thing I remembered was being handed that teacup. My dream with Master had made it slip my mind for a moment.
Were we still in danger? I glanced about our little camp.
Blackened splotches of grass dotted the clearing around the well. My nose twitched. There was an odor in the air that smelled familiar.
Magic...
Two forms lay about the fire, shrouded in the long shadows of the dawn.
Daniel lay perfectly still... his breath was even... and a small smile played about the edges of his face. His rusted sword rested on his belly. I sniffed the air... the smell of magic was emanating from his blade.
I was about to move in closer and look at the strange sword when movement from the second form distracted me.
A low-pitched groan hissed from under the rough blanket. That was Jon's voice. There was no mistaking the pain in that sound. I rushed to him.
His forehead was beaded with sweat.
With fumbling hands, I put my palm over his forehead. He had a fever like none I had ever felt.
He cracked one eye open and gave me an unfocused stare.
"Jon!" I whispered. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick?"
The butler's teeth were clattering together as he convulsed beneath his coverings. I tore the bedding from his body with strength I didn't know I had. Underneath, Jon lay in a tattered shirt. Burn marks glistened on his shoulder... broken only by red, angry wounds that oozed with green and white puss.
"Wound..." he managed to stutter. "Not healing, forgot about... the ring."
How was he wounded? Did they fight the strange lady? How had a woman living alone in the woods managed to injure a five-hundred-year-old swordsman?
"What do I need to do, Jon?" I whispered.
Jon wheezed for a brief moment. He did so quietly, biting his lip the entire time. We both intuitively knew that we shouldn't wake Daniel.
"You're going to have to cut my finger off, Maria," he said, once the episode had passed. "In my boot there is a knife... should be sharp enough for the job."
With his other foot aiding him, Jon kicked off his right boot and then lay still upon the ground. "Hurry."
Deep breaths, Maria,
I thought to myself.
Do what must be done.
But deep breaths didn't come, no matter how hard my lungs called to them. All I managed were shallow gasps and frantic fingers. The knife slid out of the boot easily into my trembling hand.
I removed it from the sheath.
A wicked edge caught the dawn's light... a blade for killing more than eating.
Jon extended his hand. The silver ring on his finger was smoking. Every other moment it would spark with red magic.
"My immortality is trying to heal me... but it is trapped... hindered by the ring."
His kind eyes met mine as I sat there too frozen to move.
He smiled lightly. "Just imagine I have the rot in my finger, Maria. The affected limb must be cut off, so the rest of the body may be saved. Be brave."
I nodded once.
With steadier hands, I took him by the wrist and set his hand palm up upon the grassy ground.
"Curl all your fingers but the ring finger, Jon," I whispered, trying to be soothing.
