Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 57

He arched a brow at that. "How do you know it was a Cherub?"

"Isira told me. As sure as I'm sitting here, Hector, She is real." Leslie spread her hands. "It's hard to look all around you and see nothing you want to be part of, but whatever you think you found-"

"She died in my arms." He said bluntly. "The sphinx. She entrusted me with this so I could pass it on. If you think for a second I like it, you've lost your pretty little head. . . .I know what I saw, I know the truth. You can dance around it all you like but in the end it's all a show- the Cherubs exist to keep us believing, they're propping up the entire system so the world doesn't collectively shit itself when they realize there's nothing after their death." He stabbed an accusing finger at her. "And you're part of the problem."

Leslie leaned back in the chair, watching him uneasily. She knew for sure what Isira had shown her, personally, She had given Her paladin access to information she'd never had nor had reason to be interested in. Hell, She had come to her in 'person' and knocked on her door- even if no one else had seen Her at that moment, or any other that she remembered, there were no Cherubs to take Her place or urge Leslie on. In fact, Isira had shown a disdain for the one in Aee's casino.

But that didn't make him wrong, opposing views could both be correct given the right circumstances. Something Leslie had become painfully aware of. She sighed. "Okay, so- so let's say I believe you-"

"I'm not asking for your pity, kid. Don't patronize me."

"I'm not! I'm saying that if I did believe you, that'd mean there's no reason for clergy or paladins to exist, right? I mean if we all dropped off the face of the land no one'd bat an eye. Everything'd go on as it had. . ."

"Less magic. The only ones who'd have access to it then are the dragons."

"Who're still alive?"

"Yeah. . ." He sighed.

Leslie frowned at that as a thought struck her: "Sounds like these Cherubs exist to keep the dragons from taking over."

"Doesn't it just. So you're starting to see why no one's willing to talk about it, but why're thousands and thousands of people put to death every day to find one cleric? Are we that desperate? Is it that bad?"

"Do the temples even know?"

"Another question no one has an answer for; the high priests refuse to speak of it and they're immortal, they have the patience to outlast the questions." Hector righted himself in the chair. "See, you're getting it. Bright girl like you could go far, you might even be able to go far enough to get the answers."

"No pressure or anything," Leslie muttered, glancing to the side. "H- Hector? How many paladins of a given faith are there? Do you know?"

"Every church raises them to the needs of the region and within the dogma of the deity; The Dreamer I know has something like five hundred at any given time. . . .the Holy Elisandra, maybe half that." She's a teacher where the followers of the Dreamer are expected to go out and make something happen.

"W- What about Isira?"

The old man stared at her for a long moment, just long enough for it to become uncomfortable. "That'd be a question for your temple-"

"I don't have a home temple, Hector. Isira-" she cut herself off. "Let's say I had a private tutor."

"Mmm, right. Well, I met one once. . . .younger man, full of spite and anger, had a real chip on his shoulder, mourning over some lost love and swearing he'd bring his lover's murder to justice."

That hit way too close to home; Leslie flinched.

Hector didn't miss a beat. "Seems Her flock have similar hiring practices, don't they?"

"You could say that. . . .my husband-"

"Stop. Your burdens are yours to bear, girl." He sighed at her glance. "An old wives tale; every time you mention a lost one, that person's spirit diminishes a little along with their memory."

"Didn't take you for the superstitious type, Hector. Look, whatever the case. . . .let's say we agree that the gods are gone- where's that leave you and I? What're we supposed to do then if not be complete wrecks or heretics?"

He considered her a moment. "I'm doing what I set out to do when I first came here; when I die everything I own here turns over to the hamlet. The orchard, the land, everything in the house." He slumped back looking exhausted. "Shouldn't be long now. . ."

Leslie glanced over his chair, "Except the books, right?"

"Except the books," He confirmed. "My friend has something tied to my life essence- when I die, She'll know."

"So this is- this is your legacy, then." She glanced out the window. "Why?"

"Why what? You think just because I don't believe any more I can't still be a good steward? You more than most should know that's what we do. It's our purpose." He stole another drink, eyed her again. "What is it you used to do?"

"I was- am- a seamstress, I'm damn good at it too, let me tell you."

He barked a laugh. "Always good to have a sense of pride. I was a sergeant in Estan's old Rock Crusher infantry- which is a fancy way of saying I wore powered armor and lumbered around the Plains looking for things to kill. . . .Twenty five years, and you know what I learned? Not a gods. Damned. Thing. Changes. People still die, people still fall in love and have kids and whether we're there or not, they're going to keep right on doing it."

"That's pretty defeatist, Hector. . ."

"Not liking the way something is isn't gonna change that thing, you don't like."

Leslie rose and deposited the book in her spot, she paced a lazy circle around the middle of the study trying to imagine what all these books must have been, what stories they held. What truths would never be read by mortal eyes. She frowned thoughtfully, considering their exchange. . . Then it struck her.

It was obvious, necessary even. "Hector, rather than waiting to die, why don't you share what you have?"

He scoffed. "Doubt anyone back there wants to see my face. I count my days just like they do, and once it ends, I don't have to worry about-"

"Hear me out here. There are things here no one's every going to know, and think about the other things- practical stuff, like the money you make from the orchard. You want to give that to them? Why not do it while you're alive?"

"And why the hell would I do-"

"Because," Leslie strode over to him and crouched to his level. "You say you're doing what you were meant to, right? Giving yourself away so they can live contentedly. I get that, I do, but think about what you're doing to yourself here. . . .you're driving the very people you want to help away from you.

"I was blinded by some very nasty people who killed my husband in front of me and left me to die. . . .I drew back, Hector. I hid from the world too because I didn't want to face it. I got lonely and angry and I thought seriously about killing myself. But in the end, I didn't have the heart to even do that. So when I say I understand how far from hope you are, please know I'm not trying to coddle you."

She licked her lips. "Even if the gods are dead, if all we are is irrelevant, we're still here. We still exist and we can still be part of something more. Sure, it wouldn't be easy or quick, but imagine it; imagine the faces of the people who you helped with your own hand. You could see that, and they could see you as. . ." She tried for a smile. "Well, as less of a crotchety old bastard living in a beautiful house.

The old paladin's brow furrowed in thought as he digested the words. Leslie could almost see the wheels turning, his imagination sparking to life like a bear from a winter hibernation. Slowly, achingly slowly, his eyes turned to hers and searched her face with a new kind of interest and thoughtful curiosity. He whispered in a hoarse, weak murmur. "It's past my time. . ."

"Only physically," she gently reached for his hand. "It wouldn't be easy, but you could do it. . . .I'm willing to help. Maybe we could clean the place up and invite some people over." A tiny smile touched her lips. "We practice until we get it right, right? I'm willing if you are. . ."

He drew in a long deep breath, his hand trembled in Leslie's. Quietly he wrapped his fingers around her hand and the two paladins sat in silence until the words finally squeaked into existence; beyond the memories and fears of what had been, what could never be and whatever the future held, Hector's voice cut through it with a solemn, "What use is living if you're not doing it?"

To that, Leslie could only smile.

#

The 'party' was in full swing several days later; young teens ran along the side of the building chasing one another down with practice weapons in search of dragons to slay while the adults- some a little tipsy with cider- chatted about the various reasons they themselves had never joined any militia or military, each of them quietly grateful they hadn't ended up like their host. He took it in reasonably good stride, something that he'd probably grow into in time but for the moment came off as stilted and odd as everyone's general comfort level with this new level of face to face interaction with their old land owner.

None the less, the bridges were being planned and even built while Leslie drank deeply from the afternoon sun's bounty, still massaging the tome Hector had given her for any information she might've been able to find that wasn't strictly doom and gloom.

It was in painfully short supply.

What if? What if the gods, including Isira were actually dead and this was all some big divine conspiracy to keep people from asking too many questions? Would it have been better if Isira was alive rather than dead? She'd seen the hedonist goddess with her own two eyes- she knew Isira was alive, which begged a host of new questions-

Was She facing down dragons alone? It'd been said that the creatures had mastered magic and turned it against their creators, that no one was spared their wrath and the titanic battles they'd been waging had slid into the background as the dead began to outnumber the living considerably.

Leslie took her head in her hands. Was this why she'd been chosen? Was this why Isira had her steal from one of Elisandra's sphinxes? Was She trying to spark some kind of movement among the divine agents of other gods indirectly?

The thought that she was a pawn in a divine game of chess made her stomach lurch, even as it made her heart swell with pride- and fear. A hell of a lot of fear. The last god in the world wanted her, a nobody, to be Her mortal agent?

Yeah. That was a bit much.

"Excuse me, miss?" A young man was approaching the house from the dirt path, clutching a rolled up scroll and a tired smile. He was wearing sandals and dirt caked on his legs from what must have been days on the road. "Sorry to bother you, but I have a letter for you."

"Uh-"

"Yes, I'm sure." He said lightly, answering her silent question. "I was told I'd know you when I found you. No doubt it's you."

Leslie took the scroll. "I- I don't have any money-"

"Already taken care of, miss." With a polite bow he turned and started back down the road. "Keep smiling!"

She watched him go, unsure what to make of him. By the time he cleared the first row of apple trees she felt the thick yellow wax seal give way to her- a magical seal? She looked at the paper and unrolled it.

"There will be no words that I can offer in solace, I will not lie to you or hide the truth, however your questions will have to wait. There is movement that will be building within a city known as Pamor and I need my friend there to see it is kept polite. Along the way, you should look for a blonde half-elven woman with a brownish stripe in her hair, she will be a close ally of ours in our work.

Of course, you are free to do as you see fit.

I hope to see you there!"

Below that was a beautiful lotus in full bloom, its pedals fluttered gently when she moved the parchment. Leslie frowned as she read and re-read the letter, wondering who it was from. Something told her she knew. . .

#

End of Volume 5

Volume 6: The Last Embers soon to follow!