Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 57

She offered a smile.

"What's it matter?"

"It'd be polite not to call you 'that old man' don't you think? Or, I mean, I could but only if you're going to call me old woman-"

"Hector."

"Hector," Leslie repeated. "Good to meet you, my name's Leslie."

He turned away from her and snatched up the candles, thrusting one forward against the gloom and leading his guest through the old home. They traveled through a study that looked fairly clean and laden with more books than she'd ever seen in her entire life and then trundled up a tight little winding staircase that took them all the way to the rooftop balcony.

From their vantage they had a view of the entire orchard and in particular a view of a hamlet off a ways beyond the fringes of the property, cutting a neat little swath of land off the main road and acting as a buffer between it and a few gardens trying to pass themselves off as farms. It was a quaint visage, beautiful under the right circumstances. Strangely absent were the flames she'd seen earlier, now merely wisps of smoke curling into the dark purple sky. There were glowing embers strewn about but the majority of the fire had burnt itself out in the meantime.

Hector reached for something small and metallic on the table at the corner of the balcony, hefting it up in one go, tucking the fat end under his arm and extending it to several times its length. Once done he peered into it, aiming the other end in the direction of the burned trees.

"I'm going to embarrass one of us, maybe both of us, but uh. . . .what is that thing?"

He ignored her for a moment, scanned the orchard with the business end of the device and then drew back. He offered it to her without comment. When she peeked through she saw the land out distant as though it was close enough to throw a rock at. "Wow," She murmured. After a moment of taking in the sights- such as she could given how dark it was becoming- she handed it back to the man who then pushed it into itself and set it back on the table. "That's quite the invention."

Hector sighed faintly then turned to face her, leaning against the railing and in a low, wary voice he asked, "Did you see who did it?"

"No." She lied, already feeling guilty about doing so. "I came across the light and once I figured out what was going on, I came over here to let you know. . ."

The old man eyed her critically for several seconds, considering her. The wider the silence grew between them the more she really began to pick up on the touch of something about him, something distinct and old; he had the brush of magic about his person, glowing like a candle at extreme distances and hidden by a blurry piece of glass.

It wasn't like Keiter's powers had been, a direct and 'living' presence so much as an attachment to the man himself. Curious, she expanded her focus to include the area around him, looking for the usual marks of divinity- indeed she found them there, hiding under years of hardship and anger, both palpable at his core.

"Well?" Hector interrupted her mental digging around. "You wanted to add something to that?"

"Ah, I guess that depends on how much you want to hear. I ah, well. . ." It'd been too long since she'd been around people, the words felt sloppy on her tongue and hard to bring together. "I get the feeling you're talking a pretty lonely road and I'm standing here wondering if I should break out the party favors and diatribe pretending to be wisdom or tell you about all the wonderful reasons life is worth living."

That seemed to catch him off guard a little, he watched her like she'd lost her marbles and just gave a derisive snort. "Well aren't you a preacher?" He said this with false amusement. "All right, kid, impress me."

"Kid," Leslie hugged her arms over her chest. "I haven't been a kid in a long time-"

"Go on, tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"How your god is going to make everything all right."

It was Leslie's turn to be caught off guard. Her brow knitted together and suddenly self-conscious, she reached for the bronze lotus necklace she was wearing, massaging the warm metal for some semblance of what would keep the conversation going.

The only thing she could think of was what she did best; being herself. "No, that'd be pretty delusional. I fell for that trap once, and before I knew it I was neck deep in something so far beyond me I still haven't really figured out what happened, and now I've got so many complications in my life I'd probably be able to write a book on it." She scoffed. "But I did learn a lot about myself. . ."

Hector gave her an inquisitive look that reminded her of the sphinx she'd matched wits with. A pang of longing and shame roiled inside her. "Well?"

"Well what? I had the chance to try something new," she licked her lips. "I reached out for help and it came to me in a way I never expected. Maybe I can pass it on and help someone else."

"So that's why you go starting fires-"

"Woah, woah, woah. I never did that, nor would I."

He sized her up for a moment, made a vague 'hmph' sound and hobbled past her. "All right then, paladin, let's go have a talk. . ."

Leslie gaped after the man, "H- How'd you know? How is it every-damned-one knows it without me opening my mouth." When he didn't reply at first she prodded him lightly. "It's the hair, right? Everyone loves the hair-"

He snorted. "Don't get too big for your britches, kid." He lead her back downstairs to the study, casually plonking himself down in a large wingback chair that'd been angled facing away from the window. He leaned forward to a small table and used his candle to light an oil lamp, motioning to the chair opposite his. "Aint much of a teetotaler, but the mead is light if that's your thing."

With the oil lamp at full wick the study took on an expansive feel befitting its contents and the musty smell of paper, something Leslie had long ago associated with knowledge. Forgotten knowledge. A brief glance towards some of the tomes cast her suspicions in a new light- the books looked older than either of them with ornate engraving and branding that looked completely unfamiliar to her. As she eased herself into the chair she found herself murmuring without meaning to. "I know a sphinx who'd love to meet you. . ."

To her surprise he didn't bat an eye. "Had one offer me a fortune for my collection. Told her she'd have to wait until I died to collect."

"You mean you took it?"

"It was a lot of money." He said simply, reaching to a pitcher by his chair and pouring himself a drink, carefully tucking the glass between his legs and filling it. He took a deep pull and offered what was left to a reluctant Leslie. "So what, let me guess someone from the village sent you here with dreams of slaying some big nasty in the name of your god-"

"Goddess."

"Goddes. . . .because they think I'm being unfair?" Hector refilled the glass and took a healthy swig. "Well am I close? They promise you a shrine or something, or a bunch of converts?"

Leslie watched the man uneasily, not entirely sure what to make of him. She must've showed her uncertainty because he barked a laugh and offered her another drink.

"Yeah, they all use us in the end, don't they?"

"Us?" She blinked. "You mean you're, uh. . . .you serve the divine?"

"Let's talk about you." He said flatly. "Why're you here and what is it going to take to make you go away?"

Leslie pouted her lips, considered, and gave up trying to hide anything. "I stumbled across your orchard because I saw some folks on the road that didn't look too friendly, so I went down a side path through a valley- old miller's road- and kind of ended up here."

"Lucky you. Why?"

"I just told you."

"I mean why're you wandering? Pretty thing like you would be the jewel of a temple, why're you out pounding the dirt if not that you're running from something?"

She frowned. "Funny story."

"And so it begins. . ." He took another swig and handed it to Leslie. She cupped the glass for a few seconds, trying to compose herself. As she tried to figure it out, Hector was polite enough to fill the space. "I used to work with the temple in Giwic before the Free States took it over." He scoffed lightly. "Swore I'd die there if I could. Didn't end up that way, though."

Leslie stayed quiet and encouraged him to go on.

"So what's your excuse? Where are you based out of?"

"Uh, funny story-"

He groaned. "Come on, kid. Out with it."

"I'm trying!"

"Use your words. What'd you get caught seducing the priests?"

Leslie openly scoffed. "Okay, now that's a funny story on its own. . . .let me tell you about the first cleric I ever met." She leaned forward. "He and a friend of his were sitting in my usual spot at our village's tavern and we- I was blind, you see-"

"The point, girl. Come on. Some of us don't have years-"

"Tch. Fine. I was seduced by this priest and his friend, yeah, I know fish in a barrel and all that but he said something that struck a chord with me and I took him up on his offer. He never said I had to be something more than I was, but he showed me I. . . .well, there was something to live for. There was more to life."

"That right?"

"That's right."

He combed his beard a few strokes. "Let me guess, Elisandra?"

"Ehm- N- No. I ah, I serve-" gods those words sounded so foreign to her, even now. "I am Isira's paladin."

"Now that makes a lot of sense. But you don't look the debauched hedonist type, you look about ready to head out to start a soup kitchen. Just need yourself a bonnet and a ladle."

Leslie took her chin in her hand, leaning against the arm of the chair. "You know, if it wasn't the first time someone wrote off what she stood for, I'd probably be kind of upset about that kind of talk. If you want to know the truth, though, I've not the slightest idea what the hell I'm doing. . ."

"It shows. You haven't tried to smite me yet."

"I wouldn't know how if I wanted to."

"You're pretty terrible at this is what you're saying."

"Yeah. Cats tumbling down hill in barrels full of sand have more on the ball than I do. But what I do have is old fashioned charm, good manners-"

"And a shapely rear."

"And a shapely- hey." She tried to go along with his attempt at humor, if it even was that, but somehow it felt flat and strained in his presence, like she was cracking jokes with someone who could've been her grandfather. She drank her fill of the sweet mead and handed him the glass.

Hector traced the rim of his glass with a finger, eying his guest. "How long have you been in service?"

"Uh, maybe a month. . .? I- I guess anyway."

"What's that mean, you 'guess'?"

"I told you I took a chance and reached out, didn't I? She took me into Her care the following day, and uh- if you want to call it 'training' I was trained shortly thereafter. But I've been kind of drifting ever since. . ."

The old man scoffed, shaking his head. "The temple not going to do anything for you?"

"I don't think there even was a temple near Sorash, my priest friend was-"

"Sorash? You're from Sorash?"

"Uh, Laleath, it's a village nearby-"

"You're a long way from home, kid." Hector sipped his mead. "So no help is coming and you're not trained- typical. . ."

"It's not so bad. I mean, aside from certain things. . . .hey, I have a question. As a paladin, do you ever miss food?"

"Miss. . . .food?" He stared at her blankly.

"I haven't been hungry since I parted ways with Her. Thirsty, either. It's- I mean, it has its benefits but gods, man, I miss eating. I conjure up these images of food and they just don't do anything for me at all. Pie, for example. Pie, of all things, doesn't interest me any more. I can't help but feel I'm being heretical or something. Pie is a pleasure, isn't it?"

Hector let the silence grow for a few seconds, nursing his drink and taking the time to refill it before speaking again. "You don't come off as one of those rabid zealots. . ."

"The same could be said of you, I don't even know who you serve."

"Mmm. . ."

Leslie slid forward in her chair, elbows on her knees and hands clasped together softly. She could see something in his expression shift into uneasiness once more; she was losing him. "You know, you're right. I have heard some grumbling about how unfair you are, but I don't see it. I've known ah- 'Bad Eggs' let's say but you don't really seem the type. . ."

The older paladin set his glass on the arm of the chair, his gaze lingering on her with the sort of distant unease that usually meant someone had crawled into their favorite defensive hides from the world. But deeper than that was something else, something begging for a voice.

"Maybe a little scrambled, huh? Poached on a really bad day?"

He sighed deeply. "Do you ever stop to question yourself?"

"Every single day, Hector. . . .I question a lot of things, a hell of lot more now-"

"Now." He chuffed a derisive laugh. "The priest teach you how to touch divinity, slap you on your ass and send you on your way did he?"

"Uh, not. . . .exactly." In truth it was more of a hair pull, with his thighs doing the slapping but that seemed like a joke in pretty colossally poor taste. Even if it itched at her, she'd be good. "No, Keiter. Well, he opened me to Her, but he didn't train me." As an afterthought she added, "I guess I never really was trained like you were. I wouldn't know the first thing about fighting, for example. . . .that's what paladins do, right?"

He ran his hand over his face and let out a groan. His chin found his hand as he leaned against the arm of the chair, studying her now with a wary, tired expression. "Clichés get to be what they are because they're true and common enough to be repeatable."

"Yet here we are- You have to be odd to be number one." She smiled lightly. "I get the feeling, though, that you're something of a divine soldier, aren't you? This- this place. There's more to it than what people see. . . .more to you than they see."

"This your idea of buttering me up?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"Is it working?"

Hector eyed her a moment longer, glanced briefly to the side. "Elisandra. . ."

Oh. Shit.

Leslie's heart dropped into her gut and her entire body wound tight around it. She clutched the arms of the chair feeling every thread of her stolen magical dress against her skin- it hardened in anticipation of a threat, responding to her fear, however irrational it might have been. She stayed like that for several seconds as Hector stared at her, apparently awaiting a reaction that never came.

Eventually he leaned forward. "I served the Holy Elisandra, the Guide."

"I ah- O- oh! Uh. . ."

"What? Use your words."

"Sorry, I just thought. . . .I don't know, I thought maybe you were more martial than that."

The old man flexed his hand into a fist. "In a different life, maybe. . ." He set the glass down on the floor, looking to Leslie with a certain intensity he'd kept hidden. "So I guess that makes us both a little odd, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, very odd."

With some effort he grabbed his cane and managed to rise, ambling over to one of his book cases. "Suppose it'd be right someone at least took the time to set you straight." He gingerly plucked a tome from the collection. "Can you read?"

"Ah, y- yeah. Not all that well, but I get there in the end." Leslie watched this man, this addled and broken servant of his goddess shuffle his way toward her, watching years upon years of experience and worldliness turn into a sour mask before unceremoniously dumping the tome in her lap.

"Here. Read that when you get some time and don't say no one ever did anything for you."

Leslie turned the book over a few times before looking up at the old man. "Should I hope this is your journals or something? That'd be damn interesting read, I imagine."

"It's something I learned. Something I wish I never had. . . .but we gotta know it. All of us."

"Well now, that's a thing. . ." She considered the book once more, then gazed up through her bangs. She took a chance. "Why do I get the feeling this is what made you such a bitter and wary sort?"

He snorted. "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that. Everyone wants to know until they have to pay the price of the unknowable. . ."

Leslie pouted her lips. "So I'm going to go out on a limb here, and stop me if you don't like what I have to say, but don't you think you're better than that? Surely it can't be that bad."

"Yeah, maybe it isn't. Maybe the last twenty years have just been a misunderstanding. . . .or a bad dream"

"So. . . .humor me?"

He looked her right in the eye and without a trace of irony, uncertainty or amusement said, "What would you say if you were told the gods were dead?"

Leslie stared at him.

Then she laughed sharply.

"Great, add delusions on top of the long list of things that already make me question my sanity. That's just what I need to hear!" Her reaction must have been one he'd expected. He leaned back and waited. "No, no, come on. You open a can of worms like that and you need to follow through with it; that's like saying you walk on three legs."

Hector snorted. "Always sex with you people. Get your mind outta the gutter-"

"You're the one that took it there. I was completely innocent in that." She wanted to tell him that he wasn't going to shake her confidence, that she knew what she'd seen and what she'd gone through, but the very idea of the gods being dead was so counter to everything she knew of the world that it struck her as doubly absurd. "So come on, let's hear the proof. . ."

"Proof? You need to read the book, it affects all of us. You read it, you pass it on. . . .we keep it alive, or we die along with it."

Leslie fingered the corner of the tome, absently sliding her focus into the old paper and leather and feeling around for anything distinctive or interesting. She came out empty handed, but somehow the idea intrigued her enough to ask: "So who wrote this?"

"A sphinx."

"A sphinx. . ."

"Yeah. A servant of the Holy Elisandra. She learned the truth and she's been spreading it ever since."

She fussed with the book some more as she shook her head. "I met a sphinx that was one of Hers too and he didn't seemed too keen on sharing many secrets. . ."

"They're hoarders," Hector reclaimed his seat. "If something strikes their curiosity just right, they'll share it with everyone they meet but they love collecting things."

That actually explained a few things about Aee- he'd been pathologically obsessed with gambling and the accumulation of magical trinkets and items. At the very least then, she knew Hector had some experience with the winged felines. "So she collected knowledge then, all right. . ."

"She found out a long, long time ago. That book is part of her research, it covers the destruction of a city in the Free States called Popi. It was one of the last great battle zones between the dragons and gods, a battle she was present for."

"Uh. . . huh. Wow."

"You don't have to believe me I-"

"I didn't say I didn't believe you, I just- I mean, this is insane." Leslie fingered the book once more as she held tight to Hector's gaze. "I know what I saw, I know Isira is real. . ."

"To you, maybe-"

"To a lot of people, Hector. I've seen Her servant personally display Her powers to me-"

He scoffed. "That's part of the illusion, isn't it? Even I can handle Elisandra's powers. But it doesn't come from Her any more. It can't."

"Okay, let's try something different. . . .when I met one of Elisandra's sphinxes- sphinxi? I don't know, but the point is: I met this creature and one of Her Cherubs, too."