// Marlon

  Same Day, Harlequin

  Violent winds howled as it violently pelted the town with an almost sideways heavy rain. Marlon trudged through the two-inch deep water. The cobbled mainstreet unable to drain it fast enough into the less-maintained sidestreets and muddy alleys. Despite the weather — or rather because of it — the townspeople were in a mad scramble to secure last minute supplies and workers were desperately attempting to keep their buildings as dry as possible given the weather.

  Marlon, on the other hand, guided his wet feet towards the Old Town. The last living members of the Godswood squad, plus their new healer, in tow. Each carrying several bags of cremated remains.

  “Sir, where are we going?!” The Healer asked.

  It then accrued to him that the woman was not of his faith.

  “We’re heading to the Origins Church here,” Marlon said.

  Constance stopped in her tracks in apparent shock, only to get bumped by one of the more grumpier men. “Keep movin’ lass. You wanted to come, yer’ gonna learn our ways.”

  “B-But the Origins Church is considered a Pagan religion!” She managed to blurt out when she was chastised. “I thought you’d worship the Eternal Dragon, you know, being part of the Empire…”

  Jet was the one to speak this time. “We’re from the Godswood. As far as those nobles are concerned from both capitals, wer’ part of both their nations…”

  Marlon continued. “For generations, we followed the Originals’ Will and held watch over the Godswood. Many of our people have left for the stability of the cities, but most never forget their roots. You say its an obscure religion, but to us, your religions are the obscure ones.”

  “You speak like a fanatic,” Constance chuckled uncomfortably. Maybe because she was drenched in water. “Not.. That it’s going to be a problem. I don’t really follow anything.”

  “Marlon here was in line to join the Inner-Table!” Jet said as he patted the bag of ashes. “Knows all our rites. He never made it though. Couldn’t focus on history nor was that great at Magicks! Haha!”

  “Inner-Table…?” Constance asked

  Marlon explained. “The people who are considered to the Eternal Dragon’s Vatican. Not as grand or fancy. View it as the Wisemen of our religion. Those who leave keep in touch with their questions or records of new blood or faithful. And to bless and return the dead home – that is what we’re doing now. The Chapel here will send our friends home.”

  “But there’s a travel ban!” Constance announced.

  Jet agreed. “Of course. They’ll keep them safe, Lass. Wer’ not in the position to take the home ourselves, nor will the Army allow us to take them after the hurricane passes.”

  Constance though on it as their small group stepped off into a muddy alley to avoid a traffic jam of people, carts, and what looked to be a brawl. The mainway was orderly, mostly clean, and kept an overall pleasant appearance with the local militia in platmail; kept on marked corners, along with the constant patrol. A stark difference once they reached the Old Town boundary where things came more worn. There were less patrols within the ten minutes of them navigating the maze-like streets, and the ones they came across were more like heavily armored bands that kept their paces brisk.

  No where in town could you find the Kingdom’s banners. They were replaced with the Empire’s, yet here several old dilapidated banners hung for dear life. Rather than being removed to show their presence, their conditions suggested that this area of Harlequin had little care from both nations’ officials. This point was furher reinforced by the sewage smell that came in hand with the smell of freshness that came from the nearby forest – a clash of smells that the freshness loss when the wind momentarily died.

  At an intersection, Marlon approached a street urchin crouched in a crevice of what appeared to once have been a stone guard tower. It had crumbled, and in its wake, created a sort of man-made hill with small caves that several more children could be seen in.

  “Pardon me, but do you know where I can find the Origin’s Chapel?” Marlon asked.

  The urchin had crawled backward into their own cave, but curiosity kept them close enough to have a conversation through the belligerent storm.

  “No Chapel for the armored men!” The child spat at him before giving a crook-toothed snarl similar to that of a grumpy old man. “Leave or I’ll call my big brother on you!”

  Constance stepped forward to say something, but Jet held her back with an arm. Marlon pulled a small cast-iron amulet from under his armor. It ran the leather cord over his head and held it in front of the kid. It hesitated for a moment, then edged forward before it took the amulet into their dirty hands. It was at this point that the child turned out to be a little girl no more than 10 years of age.

  “Why you looking for the Chapel, amored man?” She asked with less hostility.

  Marlon gestured to the bags. “To return the fallen home, and seek guidance.”

  The little girl nodded.

  It was only then as Marlon took his amulet back and moved aside that he noticed that they were being watched from windows, doorways and alleys alike. Suspicious gazes were the lot of them, interspersed with curiosity and notably, several greedy ones.

  “Come!” The little girl said as she jumped into the mud, sinking shin deep before sprinting off to finding what looked to be a trail of wood placed atop the dirt leading towards the western edge of Harlequin’s walls.

  They followed for several minutes as the child waited for them at intersection, and acted as their defacto liaison. Locals at certain points seemed to want to ambush the group, but the child seemed to have the ability to dissuade them of their notions. It was quickly apparent why patrols they did come across were as big as they were. Especially as they went deepeer, the tiger the roads became, and the less sky they saw.

  Balconies encroached upon the sky as if they were the canopy of the forest. At some points, buildings connected then disconnected – all order lost.

  Yet the child guided them to one especially nondescript three story building that had a healthier appearance compared to the rest. The mud gave way to stilted platforms. Several groups liotered around, but appeared more like guards than random citizens.

  “You brought stranger’s, Lola.” One of the men closest to the entrance called out to the child as she approached.

  “I was playing princess in the tower at the fort when I found them.” Lola said happily. “I checked their amulets and everything!”

  The man chuckled before he handed her something before patting her head. “Run along now.”

  The child waved to the group before she picked her way back.

  “Marlon.” The man greeted Marlon.

  “You know me?” Marlon asked.

  “Of course —” The man pulled down his hood revealing a young countenance. “Don’t tell me the man who used to teach me how to use a sword forgot about me.”

  “Devonos,” Marlon gave a delighted chuckle. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Most people don’t,” Devanos pulled the man into a hug before he took a step back. “I sorta landed here after the trope I threw my lot in got themselves hung for treason.”

  “Treason?!” Marlon asked.

  “Yeah, they signed with some minor lord in the south. Man had aspirations better than his cock and got his fill. Which is to say, dead as well.” He answered. “Their sploppyness was their saving grace. I managed to say I was with a different trope and I avoided the noose. Since Sir Henry was too lazy to do any book-keeping, there was no roster. No roster, meant the investigator was willing to look away since I’d been at the bar all day. A few coins helped with my innocence.”

  “As lucky as even I see,” Marlon laughed. “As nice as it would to catch up, I need to see the Keeper. “

  “Who?” Devonos asked.

  Not who he wanted to speak to, but who had died. The tone of the question left no guess to that.

  Marlon listed off the dead, and Devonos expression was as dire as the weather.

  “Go, on.” He said.

  It was clear the conversation had died after. They had said what needed to be said.

  They stepped through into a rather nice establishment that seemed more like an tavern if not for the subtle, yet openly displayed sigils of the Originals.

  “Marlon and company.” A man said from behind a bar. “Welcome.”

  “Nethan,” Marlon greeted.

  Nethan nodded, glanced at the bags and a frown populated his expression. “Blessings?”

  “Blessings,” Marlon said before he took a seat.

  Nethan gestured to the others to set the bags on the end of the bar. Constance looked uncomfortable with the act, but followed before she took her place beside Marlon. She’d been quiet the entire walk, more out of fear than anything, but now she seemed more at ease.

  “Um… I thought we were going to a chapel…?” She asked

  “This is the Chapel.” Marlon asked as Nethan placed a drink in front of each of them.

  Nethan followed it up. “I married the priestess for this town. I ran this bar for over 30 years, and over time, we saw how those above hated the Originals and their will to keep ourselves ready for the Returning. We have. However, Nobles are not keen on people training, and tried to snuff us out. The Chapel here was destroyed a few years back during a purge of nobles. She now runs it out the back where the soldiers refuse to go.”

  “Its why you view us as Pagans,” Marlon added after he took a sip before turning to a woman who came out from the back of the building. “Marie.”

  “Marlon,” She nodded. “I heard were had guests, but I see I have faithful to attend to.”

  Marlon nodded.” Ambushed. Twice. Once on the frontier by new monsters, and once against by a different set of monsters.”

  She nodded before her eyes were set on Constance. “Come, girl, help me with the bags.

  /// Constance

  She placed the bags upon what looked to be a large tree stump. It had runes etched into it with candles that hung from a stone roof. No doors had separated their way from the bar down into this room beneath the building. It was cozily let, and several teens were in the room organzing bundles of herbs.

  “Did you need anything else…?” Constance asked as she looked around, uneasy.

  The room was more… Witchy and nature-theme than she was comfortable with. Having grown up in the Kingdom’s Capital, she was not used to such things.

  “Sit,” Marie said as she gestured to stool opposite of the stump as she pulled her own stool over. “Let the men have their talk of blood and death – its clear you have different questions.”

  “Was it that obvious?” Constance asked as she did as she was told.

  Maria untied the bags and began to scoop them into ornate clay jars with red writings across their bases.

  “You have the eyes of a scholar more than a warrior, evident by the staff you carry… Healer?” Marie asked as she finished one bag and sealed the jar. She chanted a prayer over it before she handed the empty bag to one of the teens who took it and placed it in a pile with other similar bags. “The bags will be burned upon a full moon so that whatever gods they believe in can take them.”

  “I thought the Originals believed in a God… The God of the Gate?” She asked.

  Marie gave off a witchy cackle before she shook her head. “No, the Originals is more… Of an Order than a religion… A blend of the two. We have a main religion, yes, but only because the faithless always seek something to believe in. The mainstay changes when the most prominent members die and new ones take charge.”

  “Okay, that makes sense,” Constance said. “But why all the secrecy? The church – err, order – is almost on the verge of being the top conspiracy theory heard in towns.”

  Marie nodded. “Such is the way of life.”

  Another bag continued, and the air grew somewhat fresher. As if mother nature itself had come to say her farewells to them.

  Marie continued. “The Originals Wills were that Humans watch the gates. When the Heaven’s Fell years ago, it brought with it the fall of Magicks. With each generation, lesser and lesser strong mages were born. The spells they could cast loss their potency and a brief age of darkness took. You know this as the Age of Divide.”

  “The original nation at the time splintered from civil war,” Constance said. “Science and Magic studies stagnated. No more explorations continued and we were besieged by monsters as well so we lost land.”

  Marie nodded. “The Star that fell was believed to be the catalyst. Many of the Originals were embroiled in the war, leaving only the ones we know as the Gate Guardians to keep watch over the World Gate. Sadly, many of the records from that time had succumbed to the times. We only have the retellings of their words.”

  “So, how did the Originals Order, or religion, come to be?” Constance asked as she helped with the duties as they talked.

  “The descendants of those guardians continued on with the mission,” Marie said. “As to your earlier point. Its not that we’re secret about our intentions, but rather, its the new generations who’ve forgotten their roots. And the dangers.”

  “Dangers?” She asked.

  “We speculated that Mana, like the sea, would come back. Low tides and high tides. To say, that the sea had unnaturally receded like this hurricance; yet there is no high ground for us to retreat to, and we must brace for the sea of mana that is about to crash into us. The Returning.” Marie said.

  She continued. “In terms of science, we believe the star that fell that day has been soaking up the naturally generating mana. Starving off the Monster and Man alike. With less mana, we saw less and less monsters – as you know, mutations because of mana, and less and less mages. In terms, a less violitate world until men decided they would just kill themselves with steel than spells.”

  Constance nodded. “When I went to school, this was called the Dark Ages of Mana. The current spells are adapted to our times. They’re more efficient and potent. We had to just to make them work.”

  “That I’m well aware of,” Marie chuckledd. “Humans would have given on their gods if not the holy powers bestowed upon their respective warriors giving them worldly examples. But alast, to your final point… We’re becoming a religion… If only because our mission has been going on so long, that its almost a fable now. And fables become legends, and legends become gods. Maybe in the year of my grandchildren, a god will herald us.”

  “Do you think its possible?” Constance asked as she finished the last jar.

  “We have depictions and skulls of dragons. With time, anything is possible.” Marie said. “Though, that is the hopefulness of a mother who wishes peace for her children.”

  Marie gestured to the solemn teens as they too prayed over the jars as they were secured in a wooden crate before cover in such a way to make them look like a normal crate.

  “If the words of Marlon are to believe, my worse fears have come,” Marie said. “Mana will spill back into the world. With both man and beast no longer use to the density of days past, I fear the crash would fare rough for all.”

  “So if this was to come as a wave… Where would it come from?” Constance asked. “We don’t have a definitive grasp on how mana is created, though we know of rituals and plants can assist in gathering mana to make areas mana rich…”

  Marie pointed upward. “From the poles of the planet. The “deadzones” – or icelands. Where life ceases to life.”

  “I mean, the mana is thick there, but I don’t—” Constance was cut off by Marie.

  “I cannot answer anymore than I know,” She said. “Our ancestors were sure that the planet itself was a globe, and mana was generated at the two axis points. How or why is beyond us, only that it was. We believe it was the star taking in the mana because our northern axis was weaker in mana compared to the south where the non-humans are. Not by much hower. In the sense that a drain is off-center. The mana was being drained regardless if it was not near.”

  “So how would we know if mana is coming back?” Constance asked.

  “When large mutations – Monsters – can be born.”