On the subject on Orson Scott Card, I read his Empire Series on a whim. The first book consisted of Card shitting on liberals, while the second consisted of apologies for biological warfare and a transition from democracy to dictatorship. The novels were often intentionally funny. And Card's done far worse things.
But returning to bad writing in a very different vein, I'm surprised no one has posted anything about this yet:
AN: Special fangz (get it, coz Im goffik) 2 my gf (ew not in that way) raven, bloodytearz666 4 helpin me wif da story and spelling. U rok! Justin ur da luv of my deprzzing life u rok 2! MCR ROX!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I’m in the seventh year (I’m seventeen). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.
“Hey Ebony!” shouted a voice. I looked up. It was…. Draco Malfoy!
“What’s up Draco?” I asked.
“Nothing.” he said shyly.
But then, I heard my friends call me and I had to go away.
At the beginning of the anime it was genuinely dark and gritty, both in its atmosphere and its plot. Additionally, the characters avoided most of the stereotypes characteristic of modern anime, and when they did not avoid it (such as with Eren's aggressive "I can do anything as long as try hard enough" attitude) it did not work out well for the characters. Admittedly, it essentially became a mecha anime later, sapping a considerable amount of the appeal, though by that time we were all too invested to turn away. It still had plenty to offer in terms of darkness and grittiness, but much of horror of the titular Titans was done away with.
Lycaon stood at a long, broad brown wooden table that had over it a long and wide piece of paper. This piece of paper was a detailed map of the Sypius Plains, meticulously depicting the various geographical structures of the province, and listing every village, no matter how small, with a dot and a name. Besides these dots indicating the villages were numbers, which had been written on the map by Lycaon with a pen, which indicated how many were needed to be conscripted from that village. Some said twenty, some said thirty, and some said other things. Some thousand troops were to be taken from Nyhem alone, different numbers being written by different districts. On the other side of the table stood Sir Daeleth, as well as Sir Raeya, Sir Oswyn, Sir Glynda, and Sir Sayer.
“So, Lycaon,” Sir Daeleth said. “What’ve you brought to us today?”
“Could you not be a little more proper?” Sir Sayer. “You are speaking to our Lord and leader, after all. Forgive him, milord, his mannerism is wanting.”
“I’ve known Lycaon for longer than you have,” Sir Daeleth said.
“Let no more be said of this matter,” Lycaon said. “Today I brought you here, my esteemed captains, so that our mission now can be known to you. It is now our responsibility to raise a brigade. And each of you has your own responsibility to attend to, as do I.”
Lycaon approached his captains, and handed each of them a piece of paper, each of them having a list of names of villages on them, with a number by them.
“The logistics and statistics have been studied and reviewed well,” Lycaon said. “And now must be carried out. Go to each of these village, and get that many soldiers. These are my orders to you.”
“And I am gladdened, milord, to receive them,” Sir Raeya said. “Yet I still wonder, milord, what shall you do?”
“I shall remain in Nyhem, and gather the people here to serve in my brigade,” Lycaon said. “There are things that still must be attended to, in our capital. Unless there are further questions, you are dismissed.”
“Milord, with the greatest respects my lowly self can offer, I shall at once go to my duties,” Sir Glynda said, saluting.
“Yes, milord, your will shall be done,” Sir Sayer said, saluting.
“I shall see your army gathered swiftly and effectively, milord,” Sir Raeya said, saluting.
“It shall be done, milord,” Sir Oswyn said, saluting.
“This doesn’t sound like much fun,” Sir Daeleth said. “Damn.”
Herona was awoken by the sound of the rooster. It was as loud, obnoxious, and as bothersome as ever, but Herona was not annoyed by it; she had lived with the call of the rooster since the day she had been born, and was used to it. She awoke yawning and stretching her arms, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and then brought the thick wool blanket away from herself. Then she slid off from her creaking, old wooden bed that her father had made for her when she had turned ten, and rose herself up. She put her coarse hands up to her head to feel her golden hair, gently patting it down, running her fingers through it. She wished she had a mirror. Herona had never seen a mirror before, one of those things which supposedly one could see themselves reflected in, but she had heard of them. She wondered for a moment whether it had to do with mages, but put the thought of her mind, at least for now. There were more pressing matters she had to take care of right now.
She slipped out of her night clothes and went into her work clothes made of thick wool, freshly washed from three days ago. First she put on the blouse, then the long skirt, then her cap, then her boots, and then her gloves. When she left her room she saw that her elder sister Eleira was already up as well, and was up at the counter, preparing the stew. Her hand held a long wooden spoon, stirring the soup as she poured the cabbage and vegetables into it one by one. Herona’s younger brothers Aethan and Cedric came running across the house, with Aethan chasing the mischievous Cedric around, though their elder sisters could see nothing more from them other than that they were mucking around.
“Pipe down, the two of you!” Eleira said. “Unless you reckon on replacing all that the two of you break.”
And when they didn’t listen, Herona, with a bright smile on her face, reached down to the both of them, and grabbed them up by their collars and set them down in their chairs.
“Mind your sister, the both of you,’” Herona said. “Alright?”
“Alright,” they said in unison, and now they were under control, at least for the moment.
Then she let go of her brother’s collars, and let them fall into the wooden seats around the dinner table. Aethan and Cedric began to fidget, and when Cedric began to lightly kick Aethan the two of them once again began to muck around with each other. Herona held them back, but the two of them stopped messing around anyway when Eleira put a bowl in front of their face, and then they were pacified completely, for now that they had something to eat. Herona as well got her bowl, as did Eleira, and so Eleira led them in prayer. Then they all ate peacefully. They made small talk, passing the time with joyous smiles as they prepared for yet another day at work.
Then soon they left, and all went storming out the door. Herona stepped out of the door and into the open and free world of the outdoors, where she could breathe in the fresh air and the morning dew. After she went to the barn to grab her hoe she went to the fields, where she began to till the fields so that they could plant the vegetables, carrots, lettuce, cabbage, and potatoes. Eleira was not far from her, tilling at the other edge of the field, but Aethan and Cedric were not. They took care of the pigs, and unlike at the breakfast table there was no mucking around. Herona held up her hoe above her head, and then hit against the ground with all the strength which her body could muster, digging deep into the ground, and then roughly pulling out the hoe, with the dirt coming up in thick chunks. Herona sang softly, but aloud, the words of, “Shadows under the Suns,” that ancient song sung even by their heathen ancestors, which she had heard uttered from the lips of the minstrel Rorty, as she labored under the rays of the sun and wiped away the sweat from her brow. For Herona, waking up with the sun and working until it went down, with only short interruptions in the form of meals, was life, at least during this season. Mother died four years ago, and father had died just two years ago. Her eldest sibling Aelric had died six years ago, just before his fifteenth birthday, and Daria and Daniel had died when they were just infants. This was life for people like her, but Herona would not complain while their life had joy under the sun.
Herona was singing softly the words to “Wish You Were Here,” while she wiped the sweat from her brow after she dug her hoe deep into the earth. That was when a messenger for the baron, dressed in his bright and garish clothing, appeared, and stood before Eleira. Herona could not hear what they said, but supposed that it must have been either urgent or convincing, for Eleira soon came over to Herona and told her that she needed to leave for the time being. Herona nodded and bid her sister farewell, and she did realize how sad a face she was bearing. Rather, she could not help think of how odd a thing were the clothes the messenger were, and how clean they were. Were they washed every day? What a waste of water that would be! What she could have done with such water…
So Herona continued to work, slashing through the earth with her hoe again and again. She had to be done before harvest season. She was focused on working, and sung softly the words to “The Land of Glass,” but nonetheless she heard overheard in the nearby trees and bushes quite a rustling. She wiped the sweat from her brow and ceased working, even if only for a moment, and looked towards the forestry.
“Someone there?” Herona said.
Herona saw someone not hiding very well, his face, rough and covered with scars and scratches, and his coarse black hair seen as well.
“There ain’t no need to hide,” Herona said. “Come on out, sir.”
So he did so, but he did so ever slowly, for this stranger was ever weary of everyone he ever came across. He emerged from the bushes, and his clothes were worn and weary, and torn, and his boots looked ready to fall apart. At the sight of him Herona knew that he must have been on quite a long journey. He held a dagger in his hand, firmly gripping it.
“My,” Herona said. “Well, if I may say so myself, it looks as if you’ve had something of a journey. Tell you what, sir, why don’t you come on inside, and I’ll fix you something nice to eat.”
Herona paid no attention to the fact that he was point his knife at her with aggression in his eyes. Rather, she put her hoe down on to the ground, and went to her house, waving for this man to come inside. She showed not even an ounce of hostility, so he grudgingly followed behind her, though he was still ever wary. She opened her door for him and led him in, and as he took a seat at the table, Herona prepared a meal for him. She took out a clay plate for him, and put a couple of carrots and potatoes on, and filled a clay cup with water, and, with plate in one hand and cup in the other, she put both on the table in front of him.
“Sorry that it ain’t much,” Herona said.
He was still looking at her suspiciously and full of hostility, but when the food and drink came down in the table in front of him it didn’t take long for him to begin abandon his wary attitude. He was very hungry, and so he ate like an animal, rapidly taking up the food up in his hand, and eating and chewing rapidly, without bothering to keep his mouth closed, and drank up the water in one gulp, and gave a satisfied sigh at the end. Then he promptly got up to leave.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Of Course,” Herona said. “Around these parts, we treat our kind well, whether they be friend and stranger.”
Then he was gone. He left so rapidly that Herona didn’t know what to think. He seemed to be an odd man, and rough, but Herona wasn’t the type to judge others, and so she thought nothing more of it. Yet she saw that he had left in such a hurry that he had left his knife lying there on the table. So she took it up in her hands, gripping it in her hands, and had made up her mind to find this man again and deliver it to him. She left her house and went looking for him. Herona went looking all around, nodding and curtseying politely to everyone she came across, and asking if they had seen a rough-looking stranger around, but none had. Then Herona came upon the Church, which she saw had a pair of guards each wearing a fearsome and serious expression on their face, and each holding a tall halberd in their hands, and Herona’s curiosity got the better of her. She just could not resist the urge to see what exactly was happening inside the Church. She snuck around the Church, the guards never taking notice of her presence, and snuck around the western edge of the Church, where there was quite a large hole in the glass, which Herona could look through and overhear anything happening from the inside. Herona was surprised to see the landlord, Baron Theobald, inside, tightly gripping her sister Eleira’s elbow. Eleira tried to escape from his grasp, but with his aggression and his grip she was unable to, and his grip seemed only to tighten when she tried to escape from him.
“So is this what you want from me, m’lord?” Eleira said. “For me to go with you as a wife, and leave my family behind with nothing, and without saying a word, that’s something I cannot accept, so m’lord, I’m afraid I’ll have to turn your request.”
“Hah! You misunderstand, flower, I don’t want you as a wife,” the baron said. “I have already gotten myself one of those, and I would hardly take the likes of you as my wife. No, little flower, you’re going to live with me, but not as a wife. You’ll live in one of the backrooms, with the other women. The wife doesn’t like the fact, but beat a shrew enough and they’ll pipe down. And I don’t remember asking.”
“Hmph. Swell as that hell all sounds, m’lord,” Eleira said. “I’m going have to refuse, like I said. So good day, m’lord.”
Baron Theobald slapped her across the face so hard that she went tumbling down to the ground. She put her hand to her cheek, and eyed the baron with wariness, anger, but only a little bit of fear. He came down to her again, gripping her by the elbow. She resisted him as strongly as her will could muster, and repeatedly punched his face and kicked at his shin. As his grip came off of her, she began to retreat from him with all the speed her feet could take her, but she was not quick enough. Baron Theobald grabbed Eleira by her hair, and pulled her back to him. He grabbed her by the arm so tightly that a strong wave of pain went through her. Then the baron pulled out a large dagger, and held it against Eleira’s throat. This he used to threaten her, so that she would not resist anymore. Eleira became quiet, fear going through her heart now, and sweat appearing on her brow. Herona, watching, could not take it anymore. She felt guilty enough already, seeing how much their landlord had already hurt her sister. Herona crashed against the glass window with her shoulder going first, and the glass was shattered, and Herona herself falling down on to the wooden ground of the Church’s floor. She learned quickly that perhaps this had not been the greatest idea. The left half of her body was bleeding now in many areas, for shards had cut and pierced her all over. Nonetheless, Herona could not let it bother her, for she needed to save her sister from the landlord. She needed to persevere.
“Eleira!” Herona said.
“Herona?” Eleira said.
“Hmm? That’s the little sister, right?” the baron said. “No matter.”
And so he drew forth his dagger, and Herona was afraid. Yet even though she was fearful, she did not allow her fear to overwhelm her. Herona held out the knife that she acquired from that rough man. She had been planning to simply give it back to him, but now she would unfortunately have to give it back to him used.
“Where’d you get that?” the baron said.
“Get away from my sister!” Herona said.
The baron, smiling wickedly, put his dagger around Eleira’s neck. Herona was tortured in her mind, unsure of what to do, but the choice was soon made for her, for in this situation the power was not to be in the hands of Herona, but in the hands of Eleira. Eleira smashed her elbow against the baron’s neck, trying to escape from him, so the baron slit her neck.
“Eleira!” Herona said.
Herona ran towards her sister, and as she did, the Baron, with a bloodthirsty look in his eyes, held out his dagger, bloodied by Eleira. So as Herona ran towards her sister, she and the baron met. Both of them raised their weapons, the little blades of the iron which they held in their hand, and lunged at them, though only one of them would live. The baron’s dagger only scathed Herona’s side, for she slid away from it, but as for the knife Herona held in her hand, it went deep into Baron Theobald’s chest. Herona pulled it out of him as he flew down backwards and blood came streaming out of his chest rapidly, as she still needed to give it to that odd man she had met. Herona’s eyes left the baron, for she didn’t care about him. She was worried about her sister. She carried up her head and tried to cover her neck with her hands, so her blood wouldn’t come running out as fast. Hearing a noise, Herona turned her head. It was the guards. Having heard all the commotion, they began to barge in.
“Eleira,” Herona said.
“Sister…” Eleira said. “Go.”
She didn’t want to. At the same to, however, she knew she had to. She had no choice but to leave her sister behind to die. She knew that if she did it, she would never get over the shame. But she did it nonetheless. As the guards began to run to try and apprehend her, Herona ran with all the speed she had. She leapt over the Church’s altar, and smashed through the thick glass. Herona knew that this was an impious thing to do, to smash through the images of the saints and gods. More pressing to her, the glass hurt like hell. But Herona did not have time to worry about that. The moment she hit the ground she flung herself up, and ignored the fact that there were chunks of glass stuck in her skin, in her arms, in her legs. So Herona ran and ran, doing as much as she could to ignore the pain, focusing only on getting away, and behind her were the baron’s two halberd-wearing guards chasing her. She kept running, hoping with all her heart to eventually get away, until she bumped into a man rough-looking man in shining iron armor, with long black hair.
“Ah, excuse me, sir,” Herona said.
One of the baron’s guard tried to grab Herona by the shoulder, but the black-haired man drew his sword, and put the tip of his sword between Herona and the guard’s hand, stopping him.
“Sir Daeleth!” the guard said. “This woman is a dangerous criminal. She just killed the Baron of these lands, and her very own sister.”
“That’s a lie, liar. That bastard killed her in cold blood,” Herona said. “And I for sure just went and gave him what was coming to him. And I didn’t even want kill him. The man went and came at me, and so I had to defend myself.”
“Sounds good to me,” Daeleth said. “I need a thirty soldiers from this dinky village, and I think I’ve found one of my first.”
“You’re going to take her?” the guard said. “This killer?”
“I am taking killers,” Daeleth said. “Because what I need done is killing. But that’s enough out of you. You, girl. What’s your name?”
“H-herona,” she said. “Maudit.”
“Maudit? I knew a Maudit, once,” Daeleth said. “He came from this very village. His name was Antony.”
“My brother?” Herona said. “That’s my brother’s name.”
“Then I must apologize,” Daeleth said. “I must also deliver the news of your brother’s death. But maybe it’ll comfort you to know he died honorably.”
“I see…” Herona said, in shock. “So I lose two siblings today...”
It was just then that a couple of other guards came forward, carrying forward a rough-looking man. Daeleth, using his political power he had been given temporarily from this process of mobilization, had ordered a certain criminal, recently apprehended, to be brought to him. Herona realized that this rough-looking criminal was the very man that she had treated at her home. She once again remembered her responsibility, and got up and limped over to him.
“Your knife, sir,” Herona said.
“What, you? Hey, that’s my knife,” the man said. “Guess I should say thanks, for what it’s worth. So thanks.”
“This is certainly a surprise,” Daeleth said. “When I had heard about the vicious killer I knew I’d get a good one, but I had no idea it would be you, Hakon.”
“Ah, hey, Daeleth,” Hakon said. “Was hoping I’d never meet you again. Look it you now, with your fancy speech and your fancy clothes, you’ve turned into the very thing you hate.”
“I’m not an illiterate and incompetent. Unlike you, I made something of my life.” Daeleth said. “I started out as a criminal, I turned into a mercenary, and now I’m a knight! But looks like you’re still at stage one. But I think you’ll do nicely. Welcome to the army, Hakon.”
Herona wanted to stay awake, but she simply could not. The pain was simply too much. She fainted.
Sir Daeleth stood tall and proudly upon his horse, and all around him were men and women whom he trusted with his lives, and they in turn trusted both him and each other with their lives. These were the Knights of the Order of Saint Elenor, trained for years in ways of horsemanship, swordsmanship, and the martial arts. Not everyone was accredited with an official knighthood; not everyone got to kneel before their lord or lady and feel a sword’s steel on their shoulder and official get to join the nobility. Some of them had originally come with Sir Daeleth, in the days when he ran his only mercenary company, and when Daeleth joined Lycaon they came with him. However, most of them here were properly knighted. Yet whatever they were, all of them were addressed as “Sir,” and all of them were knights in the eyes of the Order.
The knights walked forward upon their steeds, their formation being a circle, and from behind them were all the men they had brought with them, who, unlike the knights, were not well-versed in the martial arts or fighting in any kind, if you did not count barfighting. Firstly, there were all those who they had conscripted from the villages and towns. These were peasants and laborers mostly, but there were also the aristocrats and burghers. The peasants and laborers Daeleth ultimately had faith in, as in his experience they were of a hardy and enduring character, but in the wealthy Daeleth had not quite so much confidence in. They were an entitled sort, who never knew any sort of hardship, and were even less prepared for the experience of war than the commoners. Nonetheless, it was always these rich men and women, or the aristocrats at least, who were always made the officers. He lived in a culture of privilege. Secondly, there were also those men and women who served as the servants, laborers, nurses, smiths, and physicians. There needed to be someone to carry and cared for the equipment, to care for those who fell ill and those who fell wounded.
Daeleth had herself taken a part in getting these men and women recruited. It was one thing to use the Church’s funds to buy weapons and armor, and quite another to get the people to wield and wear them. It was one of those things that was both simple and complicated at the same time. Daeleth had personally oversaw gone into many villages, and saw that they got enough manpower from each. Daeleth hadn’t been the only one, either. One of those young recruits had especially stood out to him. Her name was Herona, and she was Sir Antony’s sister. She had come to him, wounds all over her body. He didn’t know the situation exactly, but he could tell that she had fought with all her heart. Daeleth had been impressed with her. She had killed, apparently, and he needed killers, as that was what was needed for war. Yet she did not look like a killer, with those types of eyes. Since everyone was on the move, and there was nowhere to lay her while she slept, Daeleth allowed her to be with her. She sat on his horse, behind him. He considered it as a favor for his friend. She was only a girl, hardly even a woman yet. He supposed he should have felt guiltier for thrusting the life of a killer on to her. Yet even now if she went back home now, they would execute her, so there was little choice.
Daeleth could see the shores of Telmarion, where Telmarion and Scassia nearly met. Yet they wouldn’t meet it today. When he looked up at the sky, he saw that the sun was already setting. So Daeleth gave the order, and everyone around him stopped, and began to circulate the message through the army that they were setting up camp for the day. They would have to wait another day before they reached the shore, and the ships at Mearle could take across the other side of the strait.
As Johannia sat on her velvet seat inside the carriage, she could not help but look at the beauty of Nature. There she was, just outside of the reach of Johannia, being the trees and its leaves, the wild grass, and all the species which flourished and propagated within the forests. Yet Johannia had no time to gaze in wonder at Nature. There things to do. Even within the confines of this crowded carriage, with a handsome guard on one side and a bishop she hated on the other, Johannia knew that there were things which she needed to do, and which she could accomplish.
“Bishop, do you have anything to write with?” Johannia said.
“Absolutely,” Bishop Karyn said. “But what on Earth would you need that for?”
“I need it, Bishop,” Johannia said. “Trust me.”
“If you say so,” Bishop Karyn said.
The Bishop put a square-shaped container on Johannia’s lap. Johannia opened it, and saw plenty of pages of parchment, and an ink and quill. Johannia’s mind was quite distracted, and could not focus on the nature outside, beautiful as it was, while she knew that there was a most pressing matter at hand. So Johannia focused herself, and began to write. She knew that there would be many among the common men and women who would follow her willingly and enthusiastically, but Johannia was unsure how useful hammers and scythes alone would be. She needed some support from the nobles. Even if it was lopsided against her, it would be enough, since the gods were on her side, and also the people. She just needed enough nobles to fund an army. Then she could overthrow both the false Church, even if King Duncan himself went rushing to their aid.
Johannia knew that the nobles could not be converted by sermons alone, no matter how polished its words, and that she needed something more than sound exegetical arguments to win them over. So as Johannia had begun to organize her thoughts, she realized that in order to woo the lords and ladies to her cause she needed to show how they would benefit in her way over the way of the High Priest or Grand Cleric. So Johannia began to write, and she knew, roughly, what her arguments needed to be. The esteemed nobles, though seemingly comfortable under the power of the existing Church, were actually constantly being disturbed by it. The Churchmen were greedy and independent. With merely one of these qualities the state of affairs of the nobles was troublingly damaged, but with both of these qualities the state of affairs of the nobles was a disaster. The Church’s greed meant that they took wealth from the people, reducing the general wealth from which the nobles could draw from their subjects. The Church’s independence, on the other hand, is disadvantageous to the nobles because it does not open up the aristocracy to the wealth of the Church, and makes the corrupt Church the only ones who can rightfully claim to be blessed by the providence of the gods. This fact has the disadvantage of making the nobility unable to hold sway over the hearts of the pious masses, and the additional disadvantage of making the people more and more impious, and an atheistic populace is certainly a bad idea, for everyone knows that atheists are universally immoral and hedonistic. Such were the arguments of Johannia. She thought of them, polished them, and then wrote them done. Nonetheless, she was not completely cynical. She laid out her theological ideas and justified them with the proper scriptural passages, but the practical perspective was a new element that had not been in her earlier sermon. Johannia lacked the proper awareness, however, to realize just how counterproductive the comments on atheists were.
“Hey, Mother,” the soldier beside Johannia said. “What’s that you’ve been working on this whole time? You’ve been writing pretty keen-like for a while now. What’s got you so excited.”
He leaned in closely towards her, so close that Johannia blushed. “Come on now, back away. Is that any way you should be talking to a Cleric?”
“Heh. I was just curious, is all,” the soldier said. “No need to get your undies in a bunch. Wait, I didn’t mean anything by that! That was slip of tongue, if you will, your grace.”
It did not matter what he said afterwards, for what he had said had already been said. So she slapped him hard across the face, thinking that perhaps this would make this man learn how to hold his tongue. Whether it worked only time will tell.
“Who even is this man, Bishop?” Johannia said.
“The man who saved you?” Bishop Karyn said.
“Perhaps,” Johannia said. “But he is quite an impudent man.”
“I’m Dietrich Plasait, from Sypius,” the soldier said. “Officer of the royal guard, with a captain’s rank; at least, I was when the day began. I imagine by this hour I’ve already been declared anathema, or something like that.”
“Well, Mr. Plasait,” Johannia said. “Prove yourself, and try to behave yourself, or at least keep your mouth shut.”
“We’re here,” Bishop Karyn said.
“What, where?” Johannia said.
“It will be dark soon,” Bishop Karyn said. “Luckily, there are number of inns on the way, and this is the first. The Grand Old Lion Inn, I believe it’s called.”
“An inn? One of those dens of lasciviousness and inequity,” Johannia said. “Where at the front there is a scantily-clad damsel playing her lute, that most devilish and wicked of all the instruments. Then there are the prostitutes in the backroom, seducing your good friend who is quite bright, but has just made a couple of mistakes in their life because of a couple of minor defects of character. So you try to drag him out, and away from his inequities, but then the prostitute suddenly seduced me, and after the act made off with my purse. Oh, ah, theoretically, of course.”
“I wonder what they have to drink,” Dietrich said.
Yet though Johannia said much of the inequities of the inns, she was not about to stay in the carriage for the night. So she walked into the inn, and alongside her was Bishop Karyn, Dietrich, and the carriage driver. The inn’s walls were of a brown, warm color, as warm as the air inside, with rowdy yet friendly patrons, tired from a long day’s work, some sitting at the bar, others sitting in the chairs around the round tables lighted by a single candle on each. The carriage-driver was himself very quiet, at least with his patrons, and took a seat at a table, and waited for a serving-girl to take his order. This happened quite promptly. The carriage-driver wished nothing from his patrons right now, and wished only to have a meal before he bought his room for the night and went to sleep. Dietrich was eager, after today, to get a drink, and sat at the bar, talking heartily and enthusiastically with the barwoman and the other patrons there. Bishop Karyn went to talk to the owner, while Johannia sat awkwardly and stiffly at the back of the inn.
Soon Bishop Karyn walked away from the owner’s room behind the bar and approached Johannia, telling her, “My associate is already here.”
“Your associate?” Johannia said.
“Yes, your bodyguard,” Bishop Karyn said.
“I thought that was this Dietrich fellow,” Johannia said.
“No, Dietrich is to be our general,” Bishop Karyn said. “The commander of our armies, or one of them, at least. And he will be staying here. Another carriage will be here shortly for him, and he will meet with us later. Perhaps.”
“Then let me see this bodyguard of mine,” Johannia said.
“Very well, Mother,” Bishop Karyn said. “I’ve already paid for the rooms, so feel free to sleep to your hearts content. Come, Mother, and I show you where. Your bodyguard will be sleeping in the room opposite of it.”
Johannia followed the Bishop to the long hallway where there were rooms left and right, in the most literal sense. Johannia was walking alongside Bishop Karyn, who was pointing the left, telling her that this was where room was to be, when Johannia heard something near the end of the hall. She looked up, and saw what in her opinion was a beautiful, fit man, who had long and bright blonde hair, and blushed at him as he staggered down the hall with a bottle in her hand, as the buttons on his shirt had come loose so that his shirt was flying open, baring much of his chest.
“A-ah, why hello there, Bishop,” the man said. “Tell me, ah, whose the fine ol’ lass that you got by your side.”
“You,” Bishop Karyn said. “Don’t tell me that you’re drunk!”
“We’re both drunk, if you’ve got to know,” he said.
“Both?” Bishop Karyn said.
“Woops,” he said.
It was that moment Bishop Karyn went into this man’s room, and saw a woman in there, who screamed and covered herself as soon as she the Bishop come in.
“That…that’s the owner’s daughter!” Bishop Karyn said. “You know better than that.”
“This cannot be the man who you had in mind, Bishop,” Johannia said.
“It is,” Bishop Karyn said. “This Percival del Valles. I promise you that he is trustworthy, and one of the best at what he does.”
“This drunken lout, this man of lust,” Johannia said. “You expect me to believe he has a part to play in the purification of the Church?”
“Sure I am,” Percival said. “It’s what the Bishop paid me to do. So, my fair lady, you can trust me. So long live the Reformation, long live Purity! Say, why don’t you come and join me and my fair lady, and I’ll show you a good time.”
“What? No, get away from me, you boor!” Johannia said. “Ugh. This is going to be a long journey…”
Johannia had felt that Dietrich was something of a fool, but now she missed him, for she felt that his replacement had been quite inferior in character to one who was merely a fool. This Percival, on the other hand, was she not everything that she had preached against? Was she not on a run, preparing for an inevitable war, because she had preached against the Churchmen committing the very same inequities this man had committed? The answer, of course, was yes. Yet because of the Bishop, she was now forced to have for a bodyguard this sensuous and lascivious man. She would separate herself from both of them as soon as possible. Such were the thoughts of Johannia. She now focused on finishing up her practical message on her theological and ecclesiastical vision to the aristocracy. The manuscript was now nearly done, nearing twenty pages, and now all she needed was to give it the finishing touches and write the conclusion. Yet as night began to dawn and the sun began to set, with the amount of light flowing into the carriage lessening, Johannia’s body soon began to remind her that she had not had enough sleep the night before, and before she knew it she was asleep.
So she wandered into the realms of the god of sleep, where daemons and sprites entered her, entertaining and stimulated her mind with the vivid images of the dreams. Johannia stood high, suspended in midair, and held there by thick ropes. She realized she was up on a stake, and below her were the flames, and the evil Bishops and Priests and Clerics who had condemned her to die as a heretic, laughing as they watched. The flames began to reach her, and went over her. Then she awoke, and her shaking body was against that of Percival’s. Upon realizing this fact Johannia quickly brought herself up and backed away from her bodyguard.
“You!” Johannia said. “While I was sleeping, did you violate me?”
“I would never violate a woman without her consent,” Percival said.
“Calm down, Mother Johannia,” Bishop Karyn, who could not help but notice that since the time she had met her, Johannia had been astoundingly rude to everyone. “I told you that you can trust Percival.”
“Yes,” Percival said. “I have never betrayed a client, even when I ought to have.”
Johannia certainly had something to say to this, and would have said it, but it was no longer the time for talking. They heard sounds coming from outside their carriage, the sound of horses. Percival put his head outside the carriage, but quickly had to put his head back inside when an arrow came rushing towards him. He pulled a bottle of wine out from his belt and drank down a gulp of it.
“An ambush,” Percival said. “Looks like someone got here before we did and told someone else we were coming. There’s horseman on both side, with archers backing them up. And I hope to the gods that’s all.”
“I-it can’t be!” Johannia said. “What do we do?”
“Fighting’s out of the question,” Bishop Karyn said. “Driver, try to lose them!”
Yet a second later the driver hit the brakes hard, trying with all her might to try and stop the horses from moving any more by pulling back the reins. It did not matter. Three men with pikes had jumped suddenly into the road, and let down their pikes. They pierced through the body of the horses, killing them, and the carriage went rolling on to its side hard. Johannia hit her head hard against the side of the carriage, the blow so powerful she could hardly keep consciousness, and would have fainted then and there, and waited for these assassins to bring her to death, had it not been for Percival. He kicked opened the door, and as Percival got outside, dazed as he was, he drew his sword when a man clad in armor of iron and leather came running towards him with a battle-axe in his hand. Percival was quicker than his opponent, and drew up his sword against his opponent’s opening in his armor, cutting through his neck. Then he grabbed Johannia, and with all his strength dragged her form out of the remains of the carriage. He would have grabbed out the Bishop too, but he did not have time, and since protecting Johannia was his mission, it was given priority. As Johannia felt Percival’s hand pulling her out, consciousness went flooding back to her, her hands tightly gripping her twenty-page manuscript.
Percival griped Johannia’s hand and led the way, as he had an inkling that in the heat of the battle the Mother would not up from down and left from right. Under the cover of night they escaped under the cover of the nearby hills. Soon these men-at-arms swarmed the carriage, with their swords and axes and pikes in hand. Johannia knew what would be done to the bishop and the driver, but she had to leave them, because there was no way that they could defeat them all. Once they hiding safely behind a hill, Percival let go of Johannia’s hand, and the cleric quickly went sitting to the ground cross-legged, her mind in a daze. Percival sat down as well, taking a gulp from his canteen filled with wine.
“That look in your eyes,” Percival said. “I can tell you’re not used to war or battle. But don’t worry, miss, I’ve got a job to do, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. Consider your life safe.”
Johannia never once again called Percival lascivious, boorish, or a lout. No, such a thought never even occurred to her. She now only saw the man who was sitting alongside her.
If you went to the hottest section of the Uzgob Desert, you would find a hermit by the name of Fenick. He had been there for many years, away from the society and world that he had shunned. There, he felt himself always drawing closer to the gods. Today, however, was not to be a day of fasting or contemplation. Fenick sat mediating outside the cave he called his home, thinking of the great deeds of the prophets and his glorious martyrdom, when Rhodanthe, the only real company Fenick ever had up here came up. She, aged sixteen, was Fenick’s only acolyte and friend, and in return he had raised her up ever since she had come to him when she was but a babe, who had appeared on the doorstep of his cave in a basket. Fenick called it a miracle from the gods. For today, though, there was no talk of miracles.
“Hey, gramps,” she said. “You’ve got to hear this.”
He said nothing, and was not interrupted from his meditation.
“It’s important this time, gramps,” she said. “This woman, this cleric, named as she is Johannia of Telmarion, has preached about an entire new Church, though I don’t know much about it. She was saying things along the lines that that word ‘Church,’ can be used in many senses, the Church we know that’s full of the corrupt, the Church as any body of believers, and the pure, universal Church established by the gods. “The Church is in need of cleansing,” is a quote that keeps floating around. And gramps, this Johannia was saying that the Grand Cleric or High Priest or whoever’s in charge, their authority is no greater than an ordinary bishop, saying that that’s how it was in the beginning. And she gave no authority to the Synods, just to the Holy Books. That’s all I heard, from this this preacher in town.”
“I must eat,” Fenick said.
“Huh?”
Fenick went inside his cave, and soon came out, but he had his sack. He pulled out from it an apple and several hard pieces of cheese and a couple pieces of bread. He made a sandwich and ate it, and then at the apple too.
“I can’t remember you ever eating some much in a single sitting,” Rhodanthe said.
“I have heard the Good News!” Fenick said. “Surely it is so, that the Church has heralded in a new era. Rhodanthe, who was that told of you stories of such a saintly cleric?”
“Some preacher from down south came into Andromeda and started talking about her,” Rhodanthe said.
“Then to Andromeda we go,” Fenick said. “And meet with this preacher. The gods will it, I can hear Jykher telling me so. But Timtos too is telling me to be wary. But go we must, the gods tell me so, from their immaculate wisdom.”
“I’ll ready the horse, gramps,” Rhodanthe said. “Though isn’t this is the first time you’ve gone to the city in…?”
“It’s been over thirty years,” Fenick said.
“I’d be excited, were I you,” Rhodanthe said.
“I hardly am excited! I would go many, many more years than to go the squalor again,” Fenick said. “But go I must, for our task is sacred. Ready Belliante, Rhodanthe!”
And Rhodanthe did so. They descended from the cave, walking down that narrow path, until they got to the bottom, where Rhodanthe kept her horse, Belliante. She pet his mane, and then put on his saddle and rein. Then she leapt on him, and then pulled out her hand to Fenick, so that he could join her.
They entered into the capital of Uzgob, Andromeda, as the gates were open for them. Things in Andromeda looked to Rhodanthe to be about normal. Laborers and workers were walking to-and-fro, browsing the wares, looking at what they needed and what they could afforded, and the two did not always line up. Yet Rhodanthe had seen happier days here, in the days before the war. Rhodanthe quite enjoyed life in Andromeda, for it was always a nice respite from the drudgery and quietness of the desert. She did not enjoy the suffering that she saw, but she knew that if you looked in the right places you could find more than simply pain. Fenick, however, was not glad to be here. No matter how many years passed, he never missed civilization, and perhaps may have even come to despise it more.
“Andromeda…” Fenick said.
“Yes,” Rhodanthe said. “It’s nice to back, isn’t it, gramps.”
“Not at all,” Fenick said.
Rhodanthe said. “You said you wanted to meet that preacher, didn’t you?”
“Indeed,” Fenick said. “Let his light shine upon me, and the heart shall be seen, and gods’ will shall be revealed to me.”
So Rhodanthe led the way, with Fenick following close behind her. Rhodanthe walked into the city square, and then took a left. There, as they walked passed the houses, they came to a wide open area, where many people had gathered. At the center stood a man covered in a large habit, its brown hood over his head and its cloak running down his back. He stood up on a wooden podium, speaking to some two-hundred people, all listening intently to him. He was not an eloquent speaker comparable to the elite orators and rhetoricians, but he spoke clearly and bombastically, and gave a mission of liberation and purity that appealed greatly to the masses. Rhodanthe waited as the man finished his speech, as he was nearly done, before she tried to approach him. Rhodanthe, however much she found his words inspiring, no longer found them surprising. Yet for Fenick this was the first time hearing these words sprung from lips which were not his own, and was joyful and mesmerized. To him they were like a sweet song that sung through the air. Then when he was done speaking Rhodanthe began to move her way through the crowd, pushing and swerving her way through. Many people were not grateful, and pushed back, but Rhodanthe didn’t care, and persevered. Then she at last came to the front, where she might perhaps speak to the preacher.
“Excuse me!” Rhodanthe said. “If you don’t mind, sir, just one question, please. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”
“Of course, my child,” he said. “The sermon is over, and so some time may pass before the Good News comes again, though it will come again.”
“This woman, Johannia of Telmarion-” Rhodanthe said.
“Yes, the most holy of women!” the preacher said.
“Could you tell me a bit more about her?” Rhodanthe said.
“Indeed!” Fenick said, in an uncharacteristic booming voice, so that all in the crowd look at him. “I have heard the Good News, as if spoken by the tongue of the gods themselves, coming from you, yet also coming forth like the clouds of the sun came to me like holy white dove, that venerable Johannia of Telmarion.”
“Tell me, who are you?” the preacher said. “From your words and your appearance, you don’t seem like just an ordinary man.”
“But I am but just an ordinary man,” Fenick said. “I am only a simple man, who follows the gods’ laws as best as I can. I am only Fenick.”
“The man who lives in the wilderness! The men speak of you here speak of you with the highest regard, as one does of a sage,” the preacher said. “It is an honor to meet with one as holy as you, and I am glad that one like you is interested in the Good News. I am only a messenger of what is coming. It is Johannia of Telmarion who deserves praise for the message of hope and renewal I give.”
“And who is this Johannia of Telmarion?” Fenick said. “Where is she now? Down in her home of Telmarion?”
“No,” the preacher said. “She was at Nyhem, where the bishops viciously tried to put her to the stake. But sympathizers to her righteousness saved her, and now she heads towards Ralda safely. Such is the story that has been told many times over in the capital. And as for myself, I came from Nyhem, and I dedicated myself to spreading the new gospel. There are many like myself, not only here in Uzgob, but in Telmarion, in Coruneon, in Scassia, in Windermere, and elsewhere.”
Now Rhodanthe was standing back beside Fenick.
“Ralda, then,” Fenick said, and he looked at Rhodanthe. “Rhodanthe, the gods have just now made all things clear to me as like the water of the stream. You have always loved the cities, I know, and have always wanted to see the world, so go and see. You are now a woman, not a child, so there is no reason that you cannot. Go to Ralda, and find this Johannia.”
“Gramps?” Rhodanthe said. “Are you serious?”
“Do you not wish this?” Fenick said.
“I do…” said Rhodanthe said. “But it’s so sudden. But…I’ll do it. I’ll go to west, and find this Johannia, if I can, if that is what you want of me. But what about you?”
“I wish I could go with you,” Fenick said. “And one day I will join you, but today I cannot. For the moment, I must stay in Uzgob.”
“I see,” Rhodanthe said. “Guess there’s no reason to wait. As soon as I can, I’ll get going.”
“If you return back to the cave,” Fenick said. “Take whatever you need. For now, there’s no need for it.”
“I will, gramps,” Rhodanthe said. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”
“For now, child,” Fenick said. “Until we meet again.”