Chapter 15 - Words of Hope

  Ophelia's colleague and the loud mouthed merchant, Ashton, saw the impending chaos faster than she. They were already halfway to the great temple's steps.

  Viper worked quickly —in the midst of riots, no one would question a man dressed in black garb. Ophelia was slow in her retreat, her long white skirt making her stumble awkwardly to keep her balance. Viper sucked in a breath and appeared from the Umbra within the girl's shadow —which to his convenience was behind her. Apologies for this, he thought, lunging forward and rapping his knuckle against her temple. She went tumbling to the ground, but Viper was there before she fell. He flung her over one shoulder and retreated to a nearby alley he'd scouted before.

  Slurs and curses were as equally present as screams and pleas made in the face of pain and hunger. Some cried for the Saintess' aid, fighting the temple's militia fiercely with fists and stones as their only weapons. Those that had broken the defense line ran toward the shadowed alley. Of all the things Viper thought he'd have to watch for, he did not think a mob to be one of them. Over the course of the past year and one half, Ophelia's several trips to Heira and back had ended without incident. The increasing tension brought on by refugees and food scarcity were reports that Aaron had received, but Viper didn't expect it at a boiling point. How odd. He wanted Ophelia to be their saviour, and so she has become it, unintentional though it has been. Played right, this could work greatly in Aaron's favor.

  Viper reached the dead end of the alley where several empty crates and barrels lay. He stacked them haphazardly with his free arm and began climbing them to reach the rooftop of the two storey buildings to the side.

  “It's the Saintess. He's stealing her!” someone cried from the alley mouth.

  Viper ignored the shouts, breathing hard as he forced his way up and struggled to maintain his balance with the weight of another person on one shoulder. The crates beneath him teetered and he steadied himself against the walls for support. Ophelia was small, and light for her part, but a person was a person regardless. The muscles he'd built over the last two years did little to relieve that. “So heavy,” he muttered in idle complaint as he flung the girl over the ledge as gently as possible. He pulled himself up to the roof soon after, kicking down the crates to prevent any quick pursuit from the mob.

  Ophelia rolled over and groaned. “Oh, I'm sorry,” she grumbled. “Maybe I should starve myself for your convenience.”

  Viper froze. She was looking at him. Straight at his masked face.

  Ophelia let out another groan of pain, massaging what appeared to be a scraped elbow. Her sleeve was not rolled up, but dark red stains quickly spread through the white garment of her robe.

  “You're awake,” he said slowly, his voice sounding harsh and rasped compared to the average person. It was a trait all Shieda were born with. She should be asleep. I was sure I struck precisely. Subtly despatching people with precise strikes was one of the few combat related techniques Vi'Din had managed to impart in him.

  “My head feels fuzzy, no thanks to you.”

  Viper's toes began feeling cold. This was wrong. He was exposed, not a shadow present within which to disappear. The skies were clear this unfortunate day, an afternoon sun bathing him and all the rooftops in a brilliance not present on the filth wrought streets below. Here he stood before a person other than Aaron, Jackrin, and Eksa, and she wasn't screaming, running, or calling for help. And Rask. He knows about me too…

  The mob below cursed as they tried stacking the crates again, arguing amongst themselves on how it was to be done. Crass words turned into a scuffle that grew more violent as the seconds progressed. Viper backed away from the ledge. He knelt next to Ophelia, expecting the girl to cringe. She shrank, wary, but did not flee. There remained a glimmer of anger for the pains inflicted though.

  Viper rolled up her sleeve and checked her elbow. The skin had peeled away over her delicate joint, but the wound was not concerning. It would heal easily.

  Ophelia put her hand over the wound, Healing it herself in an instant.

  Right. She can do that. “You're not afraid of me,” Viper mentioned carefully.

  “Should I be? You helped me get away from that mob. You're a brute, but a gentle brute. That makes you less dangerous than the thugs I've dealt with in the past.”

  Viper tilted his head. This was the kind of trust in a stranger he would never have. The kind he knew would get him killed. The kind sprung from an innocence and inexperience with the harshness of the world. “And what if I were trying to kidnap you myself, Saintess?” he asked.

  “Are you?” she countered.

  “No,” Viper said. Ophelia shrugged, standing slowly and dusting off her robes. Viper scratched his head. “What if I just lied to you?”

  “Did you?”

  “No. But that—”

  “Then that's that. So what now? Are you some spy hired by the temple? Are we just going to hide until that mob is dispersed?”

  The shadow of a passing bird flitted by. Viper felt frustrated. Ophelia's reaction was not normal. Here he stood, a masked man near twice her size, with dark grey skin and a harsh voice, and she wasn't showing the slightest of concerns. “I am a Shadow Walker,” he admitted. He'd already made the mistake of revealing himself to her. Better to be straightforward.

  Ophelia laughed. “Like in children's stories. Hah.”

  Yes. Just like the horrors in children's stories. He disappeared in her shadow and reappeared behind her, letting the Umbra claim part of his body heat as recompense. It felt paltry with the sun beating down on his head.

  Ophelia gasped. “It's you. The cold air. I feel your presence from dark corners at times. You've been… following me.”

  She's still not afraid? Viper nodded. “Yes, under Lord—”

  “Trillia's skirts. All those times I thought the Trillian Highers as fools for leaving their treasury unlocked was not at all because they were fools. It was you. You'd unlock their treasure room door from the other side so I could steal back Lord Caranel's tribute. I should have known my luck wasn't so great. Wait, then that means you serve Lord Caranel.”

  “… After a fashion,” was all Viper managed in response to her rant.

  “And you've been helping me all this while for him,” Ophelia said, nodding her head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Ashes. That means all those time I mumbled to myself…” she trailed away, blushing.

  “I'm only present near you during your excursions to Heira, Saintess,” Viper assured. “That aside, Why is it you're… undisturbed by my presence and existence?”

  “Um, well, you helped me. So you're not all bad I think.”

  Not all bad. So she still thought of him as bad. At least she was honest about it, if that counted for anything. This wasn't the start Viper imagined, but it was a start. During his time in the desert, the existence of Shieda were met with screams and assault. They were a parasite in the city that need be gotten rid of. No one would tolerate a Shadow Walker in their city so much as they wouldn't tolerate a poisonous insect inside their homes. And here was a young girl standing and talking to him without needing a figure of authority like Aaron to convince her that Viper was harmless. Well, perhaps she assumes as much now that I've revealed my association with him.

  “Come,” Viper said. “The temple has other doors we can access.”

  Ophelia walked beside him, arms clasped behind her back. “Did you expect me to be afraid?” she suddenly asked.

  Viper hopped from over a meter long gap between two rooves. He stood on his toes to better scout farther out streets for chaos. The riots were confined before the temple's main gates for the time being.

  Ophelia landed beside him, stretching out her arms to steady herself. “I know what it's like being an outcast,” she continued. “Being alone and sold away for what you can do than who you are. Being abnormal.”

  “Being a Healer is distinctly different to being labelled a Darkspawn and hunted all your life,” Viper said harshly, though his normal raspy voice made his every word sound harsh already.

  “I guess so,” she mumbled. She leaned over, staring down at filth shrouded in the dark between two houses. “It's more shadows are associated with the dark, and the dark is something everyone fears. They don't understand it because they cannot. They reduce it to children's stories, to fears associated with their childhood because it is more manageable that way. And when they do encounter their fear, they believe they've adequate reason to shun it.”

  Viper looked down at her and crossed his arms. He'd surmised those same words not too long ago. “You're surprisingly articulate for your age,” he said.

  Ophelia puffed out her chest. Her face veil came down to reveal a smile full of pride. “Of course,” she said. “I've read every tome in Lord Caranel's personal library. I'm going to be a great scholar one day. I'm going to travel the world and learn all manner of things. Lord Caranel has promised this for me.”

  Did he now? Viper wondered how much of that Aaron meant and how much was a twisted truth for his needs. Ophelia squinted against the sunlight in her eyes. Viper smiled. I'm going to be Eldari, he remembered saying. The boy Vi'An once had lofty dreams of being a great poet and scholar. A goal he hadn't the privilege of pursuing in his youth, but mayhap he helped this innocent thing pursue her dreams. “Of course,” he said with a nod. “A Saintess need be wise after all. You've many more books to read if you want to live up to that title.”

  Ophelia frowned. She turned back toward the way they'd come. “I'm not so sure I want to be a Saintess. I liked it, sort of, at Red Vine. I didn't think so many people… what can I do that would help them?”

  “Exactly as you've done in Red Vine. Offer them hope,” Viper said.

  “It would be false. I'd be lying.”

  “You're a vassal to a High Lord, Saintess. Make promises, and have him fulfill them.”

  “I—” Ophelia shook her head. Her mouth quirked to one side in thought. “I should at least ask Lord Caranel first, don't you think?”

  No, because he didn't ask for you permission when making use of you. But then, Aaron didn’t have the privilege of being innocent. “Perhaps you should. Hardly changes the fact that our loud mouthed merchant friend has set things into motion we can't turn back.” Viper found an unoccupied alley to get down on. He jumped to a windowsill and crouched, holding the window's grills with both hands. He then slid down and let go, landing with a dull thud, the impact vibrating up to his knees. He held out his arms and looked up. “Jump. I'll catch you,” he said. He expected her to balk, but she took the leap, robes and skirt fluttering like the white wings of a dove, falling effortlessly into his arms.

  “Thank you,” she said, straightening out her skirts once back on her feet. She pulled up the face veil again. “I doubt the Trillian Highers would let me meet with the refugees and impoverished, though,” she then continued. “Not without a large guard retinue to push them back. That would have the opposite effect of giving hope. I'm too valuable a pawn for them. And isn't Heira High Lord Galadin's demesne? How would Lord Caranel interfere?”

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  “I do not know,” Viper lied. He sank into the Umbra and spoke from within it. “Walk out into the street and take two quick rights. We should be at one of many side gates of the temple by then.

  Ophelia did as told, walking slow as if still in thought. “Maybe I'm just being selfish. I have this opportunity to help others, and I don't want to because I'm afraid to.”

  “It is a big responsibility, Saintess. Reconsidering it does not make you selfish. You are only a child.”

  “I am not a child,” Ophelia insisted. “I'm seventeen in two months, I'll have you know.” She reached the end of the alley and stepped out to the sunlit, and bustling streets. “You're still calling me Saintess despite it all, Shadow Walker. Maybe I could do more to live up to it.”

  ***

  This day marked the eighth in Ophelia's visit to Heira. She had secured back Lord Caranel's tribute using the Shadow Walker's —who named himself Viper— aid, but nothing had yet been done about the ever increasingly agitated mob that gathered before the palace turned temple's steps every morning, preventing Heira's middleclass families from coming to prayer and creating blockades along various streets in protest.

  Ophelia grew worried. The temple had hundreds in hired arms, and the city's garrison was theirs as well, offered to them to use by the Viceroy Bernestur who holed himself in his manse in the richer quadrant of the city. Each day, more of the city's arms were called back and were gathering in inns and rented storehouses in the temple's surrounds. This was leading up to a violent conflict that was meant to take place after Ophelia departed the city on the morrow.

  Ophelia made her way up the stairs to the upper levels of the temple, where the Highers and the Second Seats made their abode. She walked toward what was once Odain's office room —now occupied by Higher Gremald, for the fifth time that cycle. The door was shut.

  “He's in there,” Viper whispered from within the shadows of the corridor. “I just checked.”

  Ophelia nodded. She still didn't quite have a grasp on how Viper's abilities worked. The corridor had windows letting in daylight, and luminite to compensate for where there weren't any, but any shadow, no matter how light, was enough for him to disappear and reappear at will it seemed. She sucked in a breath and smoothed her skirts, steadying her posture before rapping on the wood grain of Gremald's door with her knuckle —also her fifth time doing that this cycle.

  “Come in,” came the deep, muffled voice from the other side.

  Ophelia turned the knob and pushed, hearing that familiar moan of aged hinges as she innocently poked her head around the door.

  “You. No. How many times do I have to say it?” he grumbled. His grey specked brows furrowed. He rose from his cluttered desk and approached the door.

  Opelia slipped inside and shut the door behind her. “Wait, hear me out,” she pleaded. The Higher looked about ready to strike her. His fists were balled and his face a mess of twisted lines and old scars that gave him an inhuman feel.

  “I've heard you out already. You clearly don't learn. Now get—”

  “This is the last time, I swear it by Trillia's holy crest.”

  Gremald pinched the top of his nose. “And what makes this time any different from the last four attempts, oh Saintess?”

  Ophelia sucked a breath, regretting it almost immediately as she took in a sharp whiff of the Higher's alcoholic stench. “I've given it a long thought over the night. And I have proper arguments to offer this time than just pleas.”

  “The answer is still no! Now get out! I've these Flame forsaken papers to sort through. A bloody missive came in this morning. The queen and the Vicegerent are set to visit in about two months' time for a pilgrimage. And for some odd reason, our treasury seems to be missing a whole strongbox full of gold crowns!”

  “I can help with that,” Ophelia quickly offered. “I've worked Lord Caranel's ledgers often. He gives me full control of them, actually.”

  Gremald's anger started bleeding away. “Does he now? Full control?”

  She nodded.

  “That is interesting. He doesn't check them at all, you say?”

  “Well he does check them, but if you're asking for a wrong number here and there to subtly add to the amount he gives us in tribute, I might arrange that…”

  The Higher barked a laugh. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she felt the harsh winter chill of what Viper called the Umbra beneath her feet. “Saintess Ophelia,” Gremald said. “Corruption is not approved of by the Goddess. But of course, stealing from a despot for a holy purpose…”

  Ophelia offered as sly a smile as she might —her first ever attempt at one. It felt slimy using these deceptive maneuvers to get on this man's good side, no matter how vile he might be himself.

  “Very well. I'll at least hear you out. Come, sit,” he said, waving to a spare chair with a cracked back support. “Drink?”

  Ophelia shook her head.

  Gremald nodded. “Don't you have business in the infirmary?”

  “This is relevant,” Ophelia answered. “This protest from the refugees seems to be leading up to a conflict. We have to prevent that.” She began reviewing the various charts of donations and from whom, as well as the tallied coin kept in the temple treasury. Might as well shift some numbers and make it seem as if everything is in order. She took a pen and a clean sheet and began the addition process of tallying donations to match with what was counted in the treasury.

  Gremald kicked back his legs and put his arms behind his head. “It's because of orders from others of the Second Seat,” he spat. “Higher Baelor is the warmonger among us, and he's forming a clique with the others. Trying to take the seat of the Vicegerent I wager. We're a religious order and this Flaming fool thinks fighting the masses is going to get us any goodwill from the people. It'll spread ill rumors, especially if it happens here, in the Trillian Order's birthplace, and drive people away from us. Baelor sees only the immediate crisis and not beyond it.”

  “You should not curse, Higher, least of all using pagan swear words.”

  Gremald rolled his eyes. “Ever the proper actor, aren't you, girl? I don't agree with Baelor, but sending you out there to be clawed at? Not happening. You're our leash on High Lord Caranel. You're too important to risk.”

  “More important than hundreds starving or being killed?” she said.

  “Don't tell me you grew a Flaming conscience with that self-righteous title of Saintess that they call you?”

  Why is the base assumption that I've never had one like the rest of you? “What I'm offering, Higher, is a solution that would vastly increase your own standing among your peers. Send me out there for a speech —I wrote one out last night,” Ophelia said, taking out a sheet of paper from within her robes and handing it over. “I'll calm them and they will return to their hovels and tents, and you can claim credit for this.” She paused for effect, meeting her elder's eyes. “I could also convince Lord Caranel to be loyal to you than the temple as a whole.”

  Gremald unfolded the parchment piece and gave her speech a quick glance. He then leaned forward. “You've really learned well. Grown rather adept at exploiting other's vices, have you? And what benefit do you get out of all of this?”

  “The people's admiration,” Ophelia said with honesty.

  Gremald started laughing. “Well I'll be. You, the little lamb everyone ignores, making a play for power using a single rumor that labels you a Saintess. Hah! This isn't enough, girl. A speech will quell the masses for now, but what they want is your alleged blessing that can bring about good fortune. Mere faith in the Goddess isn't enough for them anymore, and neither will your speech suffice if you do not give them something of value. We cannot give them coin without the approval of every other Second Seat. So what now? You're still needed in Red Vine and will leave tomorrow. We cannot count on you each time that hungry mob is in the mood to riot.”

  “That's the fun part. There's a window in the level above the front gates of the temple. What we need is a large number of white luminite stones shining upon a mirror aimed outside the window. I will offer my blessing, and at that exact moment, the light will shine. We don't need an actual blessing, just the show of one. The masses will fool themselves.”

  Gremald seemed deep in thought as Ophelia quickly worked on her calculations, scribbling down numbers and adding them in her head all the while. She conveniently tweaked some things here and there, and crossed out the numbers from the previous ledger each time she made a calculation so they could not be checked again and her own would be taken for the official version. Her beautiful handwriting only added to the illusion.

  “That's quite the deceptive scheme you've come up with, Ophelia. You're beginning to make me wonder if I should trust you at all.”

  Ophelia felt her mouth dry, but she said nothing, scribbling faster. Don't react. Don’t give him a hint. Her heart began pounding and she felt hot all of a sudden.

  “Very well. Your speech will be allowed under the watch of guards with shields. They'll have orders not to agitate the crowd. Better now than ever anyhow.” Gremald rose from his chair and looked out his office window. “That mob is bigger than it was when it first formed several days ago. It's a fine speech, but delivery matters. Make each word count. I'll arrange for the mirrors.”

  Ophelia nodded, slowing her breath, letting her panic ease out. The pounding in her chest continued for some time but settled eventually. Minutes after, she'd finished her calculations, two whole sheets of parchment filled out front and back in the order she wanted. Gremald nodded with approval, and set to gathering the required items for her speech.

  ***

  Two hours later, Ophelia found herself standing before the arching front gates of the grand Trillian Temple, wearing a clean set of white robes without the head veil. She let her gold hair shine beneath the sun. A pendant with the Trillium flower hung from her neck. The protesting mob quieted as she came out with a company of thugs dressed in 'holy' armor. The crowd stirred at their sight, but the guards took positions on either side of her and stood in silence, their presence a solemn warning should anyone act out of line. The mob's numbers reached the back end of the street, and most from what Ophelia saw were the starved, the poorly clothed, and the filthy.

  This was it. It was time to deliver. Time to give these people the hope they so desired. Success would prevent a bloody conflict, but would place a great burden on Lord Caranel's shoulders. 'He'll be alright' Viper had assured.

  I hope so, Ophelia thought. The last thing she wanted was for him to scold her on her return —the journey by carriage from Red Vine to Heira took the better part of a month. With luck I'll make it back before the Triluna festival. A festival that involved dancing around a great bonfire —oft with the person of one's fancy.

  Ophelia shook her head, putting her full focus on the moment. She cleared her throat and waved her hand. Gasps and mutters rippled throughout the crowd, and the word 'Saintess' must have been said over a hundred times. “Children of Trillia,” Ophelia began. By now, the inside of the temple would be in chaos with others of the Second Seat trying to make sense of things. All of them gave too much importance to Ophelia's mission in Red Vine to risk losing her to some angry mob.

  “You have asked, and I have come,” Ophelia continued, reciting her speech from memory to appear as authentic as possible. “I know you ail, I know you had need of me earlier. I am but one envoy sent by the Goddess. There are those grievously wounded in the infirmary that require my attention. There are orphaned children that are relieved at my presence. I am stretched thin, but I am here now.”

  Saintess ran a second course of whispers throughout the crowd. Some yet seemed unconvinced, frowning with their arms crossed. Sweat bled from Ophelia's palms. She lowered her head and clasped her palms before her breast, taking the same position as the Trillian idol in the prayer hall. “I am Saintess Ophelia. I am the voice of Goddess Trillia, but know that I am as mortal as you. Know that I am from the divine, not of the divine.” Flames, but the speech was pretentious now that she said it out loud. This was crazy. Two years ago, she was little better than the urchins mixed in with that crowd below and now she was proclaiming herself their saviour. They need hope. Anything to rest their minds from endless trials and convince them to struggle on. Convince them that tomorrow will be better than to focus on the wrongs of today.

  “Blessings, Saintess. We need your blessings,” one woman cried.

  “Please Saintess, bless us with good fortune,” said another.

  “Pray for us, Saintess Ophelia.”

  “My daughter is sick, Saintess. Please heal her.”

  “Speak to Trillia on our behalf.”

  “Please, Saintess.”

  “My wife, Saintess, she's…”

  The pleas were unending. Ophelia calmly raised her hand, hoping her sweat damped palm did not show too obviously in the afternoon light. Her arm trembled, and she felt that quiver travel to her voice. What is it that they make of me, exactly?

  The crowd took several moments to quiet down, and she was grateful for the several breaths it gave her to calm herself. “You are all faithful children of the Goddess,” Ophelia said, deviating from her written speech. The flow had changed, and she needed to adapt. “And all her children are beloved to her. She tests your faith with the trials she gives. Know that this comes not of her ire, but love. Those of you who endure will one day receive the highest of honors and rewards. It is not the way of the Goddess to aid those who idle and complain without attempting to aid themselves. I beseech you, beloved children of Trillia, to be ardent in your struggles, to aid your neighbours and families, and show each other the same love the Goddess surely has for you."

  “I have prayed for you every day, and will continue to do so," Ophelia went on. "But today, your fortunes begin to change. You have asked for my blessing, and you shall have it, for Goddess Trillia has ordained it upon you. She has heard your pleas and has bade me to bless you, but you must do your equal part for my blessings to take effect!” This is so insanely stupid. Her written speech had been given thought, but her final few sentences were wrought from thin air in the heat of the moment. At this point, she was just inventing new tenets to add to the faith. If Higher Gremald didn't have the mirrors ready by now, the temple would undoubtedly have a riot on their hands.

  Ophelia raised her right hand high in the air, palm facing the crowd. She closed her eyes and grabbed a fistful of her robes at the chest with her left, praying with sincerity. Heavens above, if you truly can hear and see the world below, grant these people respite from their troubles. Grant them a turn in their ill fortunes. They’ve suffered enough.

  A calming breeze passed by to relinquish Ophelia of her anxiety. Following was a wave of gasps echoed along the clustered street. Even the armored thugs guarding Ophelia let out low mutters and whispers. It was as if her prayers had taken effect, but that couldn't be right. She opened one eye and risked a look upward. Sure enough, a beam of bright blue light shone through the window. Blue? Did Gremald find blue glass to change the tint? Either way, it was worki—

  The nearest of thugs knelt before her. “Saintess,” he said with reverence. His grizzled and brutish face seemed full of remorse.

  Another followed his example, and soon, the entire crowd of impoverished bent their knee to Ophelia. Compelled by the actions of hundreds, the two dozen guards surrounding her set down their shields and spears, kneeling before her as well.

  The plan had worked. Too well in fact. Trillia's skirts! What have I done?