Chapter IV - Lissium - Delphi

The iron had not been hot for more than a few minutes when Delphi heard the front door unlatch. Jiro greeted her with a smile and a kiss on the forehead, and then laughed as she moved the flatiron from the smoldering brazier and pressed it to her hair. As it steamed along her naturally wavy locks, they became flat and straight.

“Have you been at that all day?” He snorted, unbelted his cloak and tossed it into a corner somewhere.

“Not all day!” She pouted. “You’re home early.”

Jiro wrapped his arms around her waist where she stood in facing the mirror, resting a chin on her shoulder. “The Seventh Duche was kind enough to give me the night off, so you don’t have to go the festival alone.”

She waved him off with the searing butt of the flatiron to avoid burning him. “I wasn’t going to go alone, some mercenaries I’ve crossed quests with said they’d be meeting at the guild.”

“They’ve probably already left by now,” Jiro chuckled knowingly. “It’s nearly sundown.”

“You’re right.” Delphi sighed, returning to her primping. “But I’d much rather go with you anyway, gorgeous.” Wherever you go, I go. That was they pact they had made, back in the Free Realm during their mercenary days. And although they’d been in Lissium for years, she had yet to find her place in it.

 Jiro reached into his satchel and produced a rolled sheet of parchment, spreading it open on the vanity in front of them. “Orville gave me a second gift as well, check it out.”

Delphi had to tear her eyes from her own reflection to catch a glimpse, which was no easy task, but when her gaze fell upon the map, the iron nearly slipped from her fingers. It was so intricate, so precise, so immaculate; it looked as if somebody had simply breathed �" or bled, by the hue of the ink �" the lines onto the paper.  She was convinced it was a chart of some fantasy world from some singer’s tale until she thought she recognized the horn of the Kojan Desert on the eastern edge.

“Look at how far west it goes.” Jiro had that shimmer in his eye he always got when he talked about things of this nature.

“My father was from the west,” Delphi spoke with confidence. “Or so my mother told me,” she spoke with less. “She said he was from an island of glass mountains, across the shore from a walled city of traders next to a desert filled with demons.”

Jiro located a twist of brushstrokes and symbols with a finger, as if he knew the very place. “You mean this one?”

“Who knows. What do the symbols say?”

“I don’t know, I can’t read them, they’re written in the language of the maege. Any chance I would have had of translating them has been lost for over a thousand years.”

“You spend too much time in that damn booktower.” She complained.

“Is that your way of saying we should have sex more often?”

Delphi laughed. “Seems to me like you’re the one who’s saying that.” She placed the iron back in the brazier and kissed him, holding him there for a moment. She liked the way it felt when his heart beat against hers, and even after a long day in the sweltering dry heat, she still enjoyed his scent. As she pulled away, she reached for the small oaken box on the nightstand to find that it was already open. Jiro had beaten her to it, she realized when she turned back to face him. He struck a match and lit the roll of sweetleaf, gave it a quick puff and handed it back to her, grinning.

“Jiro Von’faer,” she smiled as she pulled the thick sweet smoke into her lungs. “You know me too well.”

By the time the pair strode out of the apartments the night’s festivities were well underway. When they swung open the wood-paneled door, a wall of voices rushed at them, threatening to overtake those of stone, too chaotic to distinguish one from another. A bluster of pipes and horns could be faintly heard above the clamor, and they decided to walk down Cobble Street until it got louder. Delphi slipped an arm through her lover’s as they set out.

The chill of the desert night had taken quickly; city natives and tourists alike packed themselves shoulder to shoulder into taverns and cookhouses and anywhere that might be home to an open hearth. Delphi and Jiro had dressed themselves appropriately; for Jiro is was as easy as shrugging his cloak from his waist to over his shoulders, but Delphi had planned out her entire outfit for the night. She donned a black knit cap on her head, and a black scarf and overcoat to match. Beneath that she wore a black sweater and a black skirt, black leggings and black leather half-boots. Her hand-and-a-half sword swung beneath her cloak, and beneath even that dangled a thin hauberk of chained mail. A lady’s got to protect herself. And black was her favorite color.

Soon they caught sight of the Church’s steeple rising above the crowd, but not before they had stopped to watch a man juggle three swords of flame, and to tear apart a skewer of smoked beef and roasted peppers. They were even spotted by a peddler hocking his wares. Jiro tried to steer clear and avoid his gaze but Delphi kept a tight grip on his arm.

“Aha, the happy couple with eyes as red as the crystal of earth’s krima!” The riddling dealer bowed humbly, his floppy hat swaying. “You will like what I have to show you, yes, I know. Tut, tut, say nothing, your eyes speak all the truth I need.” The peddler hefted his bulging pack off of his shoulders and hunched over to rummage through it, balancing on the tall blocks of his wooden sandals. “I have the freshest herbs and most exotic spices you’ve ever stuffed in your pipe from all corners of Phaedyssia. Have you ever basked in the splendor of a sun setting over the pyramids of Phobos, gaped in awe at the crimson sea from atop the monstrous  cliffs of Cyan, or caught a whiff of the mighty oaks of the Virdeen Forest as their leaves turn brown? Just one puff and you will know the grass will take you wherever you want to go.” He winked. “And that’s my guarantee.”

“Thanks man, but, uh…” Jiro fumbled over his own tongue. “I think we’re already there.”

“Another truth your eyes speak. Just so. Might I enquire as to whereabouts your journey has taken you?”

“West,” Delphi replied coolly. “Far west.”

“Quite the journey it must be. I have never been, in body or spirit, but it would be an ill suited journey for one such as myself. The men out there would find little use of me and my services.” The peddler tipped his hat and hoisted up his pack. “A pleasant festival to the both of you, and may your leaves always be sweet.”

“Wait.” Delphi held out a hand. “What else you got in there?”

The peddler’s face split from one ear to the other in a mischievous grin. “An excellent question you ask, and I fear that mere words would not suffice for an answer.” He squatted down again and beckoned her with a wave, and Delphi released her grip on Jiro’s arm to oblige. Inside the burlap sack she saw nothing but a heaping bushel of green, until the peddler shoved it aside. Beneath it she found corked vials and clay pots, all intricately arranged; his inventory was surprisingly organized for being housed within the bag. It was like peering into an Eldyr’s satchel, only ten times better. “I have stalks of psybocil and sheets of lyserg, pouches of white amory dust, blue crystalquick, yellow starpowder. If you have grown bored of north, south, east and west, perhaps you will find up and down to be more satisfying. Or you may even discover a direction you did not know existed! It is less of a journey and more of a trip.”

After some careful contemplation, Delphi decided on a helping of each. Coin and substance were exchanged, and the peddler was off with a wink and a bound. She eyed her purchase with satisfaction and stuffed it into her black handbag.

“That wasn’t so hard,” Delphi teased as she slipped her arm around Jiro’s again. “You just have to speak their language.”

“And what language would that be, gibberish?” Jiro grimaced. “I’ve never been much for tongues. Why can’t they just talk normal like the rest of us?”

“Because they don’t want to get caught. The Church has been cracking down on narcotic trade recently, and it’s only getting worse. I’m sure more than one peddler has been branded a heretic tonight.”

“It’s only natural in a complacent society. When the common folk stop needing they start wanting, and it’s only a matter of time before the want becomes a need again.”

“But you’ll still drop some of this lyserg with me, wont you?” Delphi smiled up at him and squeezed his arm as they walked. “I bought a s**t ton.”

Jiro squeezed her arm back. “How can I say no?”

The closer they got to the square the sea of bodies thickened. Here, Cobble Street wrapped around the arboretum of the Church yard and split off into three new roads; Baker Street to the west, Shell Street to the east, and Copper Street due north, which lead to the base of the Monolith and into the central hub of the city.

When they finally reached the stage the ensemble had already begun to tear down, packing away their numerous instruments. The production of the history of Lissium and the Oasis was soon to begin. Ropes were hoisting wooden facades of painted scenery down, and behind the curtains a troupe of bards practiced their scales and straightened their collars.

Whether the crowd was paying attention or no, the theatre troupe took their marks, and the play was underway in typical show-must-go-on fashion. The narrator cleared his throat and began his monologue. Stringed harps and lutes and lyres plucked along to the movements of the actors like orchestral puppeteers. Wooden mountains and forests and cities were pulled in and out of stage and the players shuffled between them as they made a hasty exit, scrambling to change costume before their next scene.

Jiro wriggled a hand around her waist, pulling her in closer. “This reminds me of the night we met,” he smiled down at her.

Delphi squeezed back, but she did not have to be reminded. It had been under a bloodmoon, only not one as full, in a different city, and watching a different play. She had been a waning crescent over Naeru, watching a cast of Middenese reenact a war their ancestors had fought hundreds of years ago. Men of the Free Realm loved to boast that their people had resisted an invasion from Elowyr, but not a man alive could claim to have been there himself. Men do an awful lost of boasting for things they’ve never done.

Men of Lissium were no exception, she found, as the history of Lissium and the Oasis unfolded before her eyes, more colorful than any account in any book she’d ever read. But more dramatic and probably biased. Two Thulogists in old robes wandered into the Free Realm, immediately met with Middenese spears. A Merchant King banished them, then an Elowyri Noble turned his back on them; the highborn man the actor was playing would have been a distant ancestor of Jiro’s, Delphi could only assume. They struggled across the Kojan Desert, crawling and stumbling. The haggard few wanderers sought shelter in the shade of the Monolith, and a starving man found the first shards of krima at its base. Three Thulogists erected a Church, and a magnificent painted palisade of buildings and towers resembling Lissium rose behind them. But when the audience fell silent, it was not in awe of the scene.

As the clangor faded, the bell at the Church’s steeple tolled hollowly; the three deep bongs that always heralded the red moon’s rising. The waves beyond the tin-roofed shacks of Shell Street shimmered with a ghastly red glow before giving way to a crimson crest. The fuller she swelled the more her hue deepened; by the time the lunar orb was full in the sky it looked as if she had been dipped in blood.

No one said a word as the sky seemed to burst into smoldering flame. A cheer and a cry of awe soon broke the silence. Some laughed and some even wept. And all over something they’ve seen a thousand times before. Delphi had mocked him for his wariness earlier; the deeper she stared into that eye in the sky, the more she began to think that Jiro might have had the right of it. Not a year of her life had gone by without at least one bloodmoon, yet this one unsettled her stomach. She could almost feel it staring back at her, watching her every move. It seemed… bigger.

Delphi was not the only anxious one, she found, as Jiro stiffened at the sight. His eyes were filled with such dread like she had never seen. His nightmare still lives with him, she realized. Or could it have been more than that?

The bell tolled louder now, almost ominously. Bong, bong bong. Was that how it always sounded? Bong, bong bong. Something about it seemed off, but what? Bong, bong bong. Something in the rhythm, the tempo. Bong, bong bong. Someone shrieked, and the cries of the audience soon rose to match.

“Delphi,” she whirled around at Jiro’s call, her hand falling to her swordbelt with instinct. An actor on the stage clutched a crimson crystal of myst in his hands, but the red forming at his throat was a shade deadlier. Behind him, a Thulogist wrenched a dagger free from the base of the man’s skull & kicked his cadaver into the orchestra pit. The crowd erupted into a panic, but Delphi and Jiro stood resolute, fingers twitching at the pommels of their blades.

“Hypocrites, all!” The aging Thulogist shouted above the clamor while his brothers slew the remaining players on stage. Their robes, though white, billowed menacingly, and a sigil depicting a crimson bird adorned their tall hats. “For nigh forty years we have been bent to your will, compromising our convictions and tolerating far too much. On this day, one hundred years ago, my forefathers beat the last bandit out of the Oasis and founded this beautiful city. Now the Kojan Wo walk her very streets and you mingle among them as if they were your brothers. A bloodmoon rises on the eve of our most hallowed of days, and you all celebrate. Truly, the gods have forsaken us,” the holy man seethed. “If my forefathers had known that in her hundredth year Lissium would be reduced to a rotting cesspool of debauchery, they’d have torn down the f*****g Monolith and used its crystals to burn you all alive. Prophets guide us!”

With that, the oaken doors of the Church of Thule crashed open, giving way to a banner of knights clad in glinting steel armor and brandishing longswords. When Delphi spied the sigil on their helms, it took her back to the old stories of the ancient knights of the Afterfall era who hunted warlocks under the crest of that red bird. The Cardinal Blades. The crusaders rode down the crowd on horseback as well as foot, slaughtering all those who did not confess their grievous sins. Few repented and fewer were given the opportunity.

A silvery glint caught Delphi’s eye. She quickly bared her steel to meet the edge that was intended for her neck. Her armored assailant tried to parry either way, but their blades were locked. “Confess your sins and swear your eternal soul to the Church of Thule.” His heavy helm muffled his cry of desperation.

“F**k off,” Delphi spat. She glanced his steel away and brought her own down on him in a whirling arc, severing the knight’s arm and freeing some of his intestines.

At her right, Jiro was taking on three knights at once, but she was flanked by a fourth before she could offer assistance. He jabbed at her with a flimsy spear but she disarmed him with ease. It snapped off inside of him when she thrust it through his spine. Jiro felled the last of his three assailants and fell back beside Delphi.

“Jiro, you can’t stay here!” Delphi fended off another attacker. “Head for the castle, they’ll need you there.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Jiro replied stubbornly repelling one blade after the other. By now the Cardinal Blades were pouring out of the Church like crystal myst through a copper pipe, with no end in sight. “Who else will cover your back?”

“I can watch my own back. They’ll target the Duche first, and this isn’t the only Church in Lissium.”

Jiro’s eyes widened with realization, but they screamed with sorrow. He did not want to leave her side as much as she, but they both knew he must.

“Go,” She put on her best smile. “I’ll find you.”

Without another word, he leaned in to give her one final kiss. Their lips matched like two perfect pairs. Before he removed his hand from her cheek, he said, “this reminds me of the night we met too.”

Delphi wanted to cry. The last she saw of her lover was his frayed beige scarf, snapping in the wind as he disappeared down Shell Street and into the crowd.

They came in droves now, but Delphi had no trouble keeping true to her word. She kept her back well protected, but it was not difficult, as the men at arms she faced were clunky and sluggish in their armor. Just by reading their movements she could tell that most of them had been men of the cloth their entire lives; if any of them had ever held a sword before, it had not been for very long.

Yet they kept coming, on and on in an endless onslaught. She had put an end to every man who came her way, but she was only one against hundreds. When she slew her next, she kicked his body off her blade and into the column rushing toward her. The knight at its head stumbled, tripping up the men behind him, giving Delphi a moment’s respite to flee.

Still gripping her blade in both hands, she dashed through the trees and shrubs of the arboretum until she emerged on the far side of Cobble Street. The carnage had spread quickly; the only people on the streets now were laying in pools of blood. When she’d fled, she’d had no real destination in mind, but now that she was exposed she had a swift decision to make. They will be everywhere now. When she spied a rout of knights heading north up Copper, she decided on left, around the loop and down Cobble. There were no Churches south of Baker and Shell, so the faith militant would be fewer in number; she could better defend herself and all those who needed it. That, and it was closer to home. But is it really home if Jiro isn’t there? It was her home in the Free Realm she yearned for, in truth, for her mother and her brothers and a simpler life, but the tiny apartment in Lissium she and Jiro shared was much closer.

The bloodshed on Cobble Street was less significant but no less saddening. The screeching of children pierced the clangor of steel, and the dead and dying lay helpless on the gravel. She came upon a weeping boy over what she assumed was his late mother, and she scooped him up with an arm to comfort him, keeping her blade on the other. He did not fight her, but it did not stop his wailing. The boy was not the only wayward orphan she found by the winding road, but Delphi kept her stride at a brisk pace, though it pained her to do so. With two arms I can save two children, but without my sword I can protect none.

There was a dull ache in the back of her eyeballs, and for an instant everything became red. She whirled, sword at its point, but there was no one behind her. Only a faint rumbling, which turned into clanging, which gave way to shouting. Suddenly, another banner of knights came crashing around the bend on horseback, thirsty to convert the city to the one true way. Delphi glanced around frantically. If she fled to an alley, she would be cornered. Her apartment complex was only a few blocks away; she could make it if she ran. But what if I cant…? Sword arm resolute, the other cradling the boy, she stood her ground. “You’ve taken your blades to this street already! Isn’t once enough for you people?” She shouted, unheard, disgusted.

She was planning her first strike when her eyeballs throbbed again. Her ears popped, and with another flash of red, the leading man in the column toppled from his mount to be trampled by the mounts of those who followed him. His horse went down with him, crashing into the left flank of the column. Delphi backed away, but her steps were sluggish. Her sword was getting harder and harder to hold up and even the air seemed heavier. Her ears popped again, and down went a second horseman. Her arm ached where she held the boy, but she noticed that he had stopped crying.

In moments the entire column of knights and horses alike lay collapsed in the street, and Delphi’s knees buckled beneath her. Weary, she made to remove the boy from her shoulder, but he was limp in her arms. Dead or sleeping, it did not matter; she lacked the strength to carry his burden any longer. It was getting harder to breathe and everything was a deep shade of crimson, as if someone had tinted her glasses.

She felt something watching her, and looked up to find that red eye in the sky staring at her again, an ominous thunderhead rolling in beneath. It did not rumble and made no lightning, but it still filled her heart with dread. She would have gulped but found that she lacked the strength to even swallow.

The moon bid Delphi to sleep, so she did. Her eyelids closed themselves, and she felt the gravel pavement rising up to meet her. In her dream, the black of night had not one red eye but two, a crooked scar, and a sinister smile.