Chapter 64-
“Doctor?”
Aiken’s gaze snapped from his suitcase to Janna, who was smiling with her hands clasped at her waist. She was dressed in a nurse’s uniform, a long white gown, sleeves cut off to show the arms of her powder-blue underdress. Atop her head sat a small folded cap branded with two scarlet horizontal bars, the universal sign of healthcare. At her collar was a loose strand of blue ribbon.
“Can you tie it?” she asked sheepishly. “I just can’t figure it out.”
Dr. Love sighed and made sure that his case was secure on the table and wouldn’t slide over from the movement of the boat before he straightened his back and grabbed the two ends of ribbon.
“You never learned how to tie a basic bow?” he dug her. “Did you learn anything that wasn’t out of a textbook?”
Janna blushed embarrassedly. “Not really, my dad said my mom was a great sew-er, but I never learned.”
Dr. Love pulled the ends tight so that the ears of the bow sat symmetrically on her collar. “Well, we might have to do some surgeries, are you good at learning on the job?” He closed the fasteners on his suitcase and lifted it carefully off the table.
“Ehh…” Janna blushed again. “I don’t know if you want that.”
Love glanced down at her, shooting her a mischievous smile. “I’ll take care of the suturing, then.”
She felt a strange momentous sensation as she stepped off the boat with her professor. Her dress and hair flapped in the sea breeze and she, still unused to it, had to hold her cap in place while walking to keep it from blowing away. Amongst the bustling, burly men of the docks, she seemed like a fairy, or a painting come to life with her vivid, bouncy movement.
“I’ve never been in another country before,” she noted, admiring the distinct classical architecture of the houses.
“Me neither,” Love confided. “A shame it’s on account of such unfortunate circumstances.”
The cobblestone streets made a certain kind of noise depending on one’s footwear, and the busy city produced a cavalcade of noise as pedestrians strolled and ran and stood, and horse-drawn carriages rolled through, praying to God that the axles of the wheels were built to withstand the rattling. Inevitably, the two medics happened across a swell of people, but they quickly realized that this was not an ordinary traffic jam.
A crowd had formed around a woman who had fallen on the street, a few were looking around frantically, shouting things like, “We need help!” and “Is there a doctor here?!” Love wasted no time breaking into a jog, pushing his way through the crowd.
“Doctor! I’m a doctor!” he announced. Janna, who was left in the dust, raised her hands meekly, wide-eyed, before following him into the throng of people.
“What’s the problem?” he snapped.
“She just fell over!” someone cried.
The woman’s eyes were still half open, and so the doctor at first tried to rouse her. “Ma’am! Ma’am! Are you okay? Can you hear me?” he stated quite loudly and clearly, waving his hand in front of her face. When there was no sign of a reaction in her eyes, he made note of this to Janna, then quickly got to work.
“Pulse is normal, though it seems like it could be slowing down. She’s…” he stopped for a moment, examining closely the woman’s face and neck. “Extremely pale and sweaty.” Love pressed his hand to her forehead. “Chilled,” he jumped to feel her hands. “Clammy, also sweating.” He paused again, not in thought, but apprehension for what he might incite. “Potential signs of a fever.”
A stir rippled through the crowd, murmurings of “She’s sick! She’s sick!”
Love’s pulse began to intensify, the last thing he wanted was for a panic to erupt. “Janna,” he whispered. “We need to take this woman to the hospital.”
Janna nodded in agreement, but before they could act, the patient stirred in a kind of convulsion. Another gasp shuddered through the crowd as Love raised his hand, “Please back away!” he commanded.
“Doctor,” Janna looked back and forth from the woman to Love. “I think she’s coming to!”
The woman’s neck twitched back, eyes still glassy, and hacked a few times, spitting out a sickly dark clump of blood; Love closed his eyes and gave his head one solid shake, gritting his teeth.
The crowd broke out into frantic commotion, all of them trying to distance themselves from the woman while desperately wanting to look on in morbid curiosity. Cries of “Plague! Plague!” tore through the air, alerting even those who were not involved in the spectacle; some dropped their things in fear, children ran for cover, tripping over each other and knocking containers over.
Janna had become familiar enough with Dr. Love’s temperament to feel his stress level rising dramatically. He was curious in that sense, calm and rational when the burden of a patient’s life was on his back, but possessing no patience for the mania of someone else. Unaware he was even doing it, his teeth ground against each other, his chiseled jaw and gloved fist both clenched tightly.
With great intent and the frightening force of personality that one would expect from a longtime professional, he rose up and, in a booming voice, proclaimed:
“Stop your commotion! Everyone will calm down this instant and allow me to work!”
An almost supernatural stillness befell the scene, all eyes pointed squarely at the doctor. He appeared to have a kind of aura about him, a glow that was palpable but invisible. Unbeknownst to both the crowd and Love, that glow was emanating from ribbons of light that cast warmth into the souls of everyone in the vicinity. Janna was still knelt near Love’s feet, hands clasped together.
She was glad that no one had seemed to pin the shift in energy on her, it was something she was doing more for Love’s sake than her own; this moment of incredible, supernatural charisma, which not even he realized, was well due.
A few moments dripped by in silence, save for the occasional sound of someone’s shoe scraping against the ground as they realigned their feet, or the light rustling of clothing. Love looked down to Janna, pulling out a scrap of paper.
“Here’s the address of the hospital, tell them that there’s a patient who can’t be moved and a cleanup required.”
Janna released Aruarian Dance and took the slip from him, standing up as straight and tall as she could.
“I’m on it!”
She arrived at the hospital, a tall, rectangular building with a pitched roof making up its front, a circular stained glass window placed snugly in its center. She provided her credentials and the message from Dr. Love, and was told that an ambulance would be on the way. Left in the main hall, Janna felt a bit of anxiety.
“Is it so good to be in a hospital during an outbreak?” she wondered. “If I’m not working, I don’t necessarily need to be inside…”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she asked a woman at the front desk. “Is there a door to the roof? I was just looking to get some fresh air.”
After receiving directions from the secretary, she familiarized herself with some of the hospital’s halls, passages, and stairways, all of a much more modern style than the classical interiors she was used to, even in the Academy in Andeidra.
Janna pushed open the roof door and was struck by the deep blue color of the sky, the clouds only enhanced it, like white brush strokes on a painting of the ocean she had become so fond of on the voyage here.
There was one other person on the rooftop, leaning against the rail, back to Janna. When this person heard the sound of the door open, their head popped up. By the time they looked around, Janna had already closed the door.
It was a girl, a few years older than her in appearance, but with a youthful, boyish face.
“I- I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I know I’m not supposed to be here-”
“You just want some fresh air, I understand,” Janna smiled, joining her at the rail. The girl was nearly taken aback at her friendliness. Janna reached out a hand, “I’m Janna, nice to meet you!”
The girl looked first at the hand, and then to her, and realized what was happening. It was all she could do not to say, “I know.” She took her hand.
“I’m Dazey.”
---
F-o-u-r = D-a-y-s = E-a-r-l-i-e-r
“You’re pulling my leg!” Gestalt howled.
“No, no, I swear to God,” Gallow insisted. “He couldn’t walk for a week!”
Gestalt keeled over in laughter. “That’s really something else,” he chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. Since they’d found some common ground, the two had been exchanging stories and thoughts day in and day out to stave off the impending boredom of their environment. For as much as he cringed at his days in the military, Gallow found his experiences had some value now.
In a very short time, he had opened up about his past and upbringing in a way he never had before. When he reflected on this later, he wondered if it was because he hadn’t made an honest male friend in so long, or because he had progressed personally in some way, perhaps both, or neither. Gestalt was such an intelligent and well-lived person; he was honest and unashamed of his opinions, not in the way of a street punk, but someone who was confident enough to allow society to drift away from them. “Live or die,” he’d said. “I can’t argue, I realized I just had to be true to myself, and that’s what I want to live like.”
The door opened, cutting off their merriment. The warden, whom Gallow had learned was named Queen, entered, caliper in hand, and strode to his cell.
“You have an audience,” he informed him, not bothering to look at him as he produced the set of keys from his vest.
“Audience?” Gallow asked with a cautious restraint.
“With the Grand Inquisitor, The High Father,” Queen finally looked up at him. “His Holiness, Jesua Saibit Bach.”
Gestalt leapt from where he was sitting on his bed. “What?!” Queen paid him no mind, opening the cell door and waving his caliper lazily at Gallow, whose hands snapped together as if handcuffed. “Out,” he commanded.
“Gallow!” Gestalt insisted. “Don’t agree to anything! Don’t trust them!”
With that, Gallow gave him one last glance before he was forced out of the short hall. Queen took his set of keys and locked the door behind them, flipping and turning all sorts of added locking mechanisms that would have looked more at home on the door to a safe.
It was the first view outside the relatively small and closed off cellar he’d gotten. Not much, a long hallway lined with torches which led past a series of other cells. In passing, he turned his head and saw a familiar face: Rodan stared at him for a moment as if he was seeing a ghost, then threw himself at the bars.
“Hey! Hey!” he called, his cries reverberating down the stone walls. “Gallow! Do something!”
“Don’t try a thing,” Queen whispered to him as they reached the end of the hall, where a steel door opened to another series of twists and turns down stone passageways. “You may have noticed that you can’t use your Vocation. That’s because of a little seal I’ve put on you with mine…”
Gallow refused to say anything until they passed through a large wooden door into a circular spire. A flight of stairs swept around the wall, so high upward that he couldn’t make out the top.
“All the way, huh?” he remarked, prompting Queen to throw an arm against his back, nearly sending him into a collision with the stone steps.
“Alright…” Gallow murmured, taking the lead.
Step by step, they climbed. Windows began to appear the further up the tower, arched openings barred with steel. Glancing out gave him some bearing of where he was, but he wasn’t familiar enough with the city to really place the location of the tower.
“What kind of a person is this Bach guy?” Gallow wondered aloud.
“Hm?” Queen just sounded annoyed.
Gallow kept his eyes on the stairs as he climbed. “It just seems like there’s a big hubbub about him.”
“You will understand the High Father’s importance in due time, “ he replied with sobering stoicism. “The leader of the Church and the Grand Inquisitor, he is my light and leader, I would give anything for him.”
“I’m not really big into religion, y’know?”
“I don’t like how casually you say that,” Queen remarked.
“I don’t know, I just don’t know if I could say for sure that there’s a God, maybe I know too much.”
“Foolish,” Queen nearly spat. “I’d take as much from someone so young. If you don’t have a God, then you don’t know enough.”
Gallow tilted his head to catch him in his periphery. “You sound pretty confident.”
“Of course, everyone has a God, even the birds and fish,” Queen was adamant, his words steamed ahead like a locomotive. “It is only the thing that orients your life, the central axis of your spirit. If you truly miss that, then I pray for you.”
“Jeez, alright,” Gallow laughed. “You don’t have to get all crazy on me, I’m just not into worship and all that.”
“I recall that you had a rebellious streak in your country,” Queen muttered.
Gallow’s expression took a turn for concern. “How do you know that?”
“It’s just as foolish to think that you can go through life without worshipping something,” Queen went on, ignoring the question. “Someone like you, who wanders, you worship the unknown, don’t you? I envy you in that regard.”
“Huh?” Gallow had lost track of the conversation.
“My Vocation is named ‘Love Market,’” he explained. “The power to see the spiritual makeup of the world in perfect arithmetic. I have reached the end of understanding, Gallow, where everything is intuitively understandable. When I look at the unknown, I have already torn it apart with my mind into a series of digits, wholly comprehensible. I have assessed everything, Gallow, that is why I am the unchallenged second-in-command, because it has led me to know that Bach is the greatest thing in my life; there is no other. Even his most ardent third-in-command, the man named Shade, only clings to him out of filial love. Imagine the ultimate knowledge, young one, I have surpassed it in Him.”
When he said “young one,” Gallow felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as if there was some incredible weight to his words, like he’d lived ten times longer than the average man.
Gallow’s foot touched the top step. He took another, and was draped in the light of sunset, let in through a balcony opposite the doorway. The shadows cast by the walls blanketed the rest of the chamber in blackness.
“Go on,” Queen encouraged him. “Proceed.”
Gallow walked deeper into the chamber, something weighing his movement down. His sheer animal instincts told him that there was something dreadfully dangerous in this room, and his heart pumped lead through his body, slowing his limbs and quickening his breath. He didn’t know when he should stop walking, or how far was past the point of no return, or if there was a chance to return at all.
“No,” He affirmed. “You can’t do anything about this, just move forward!” He steeled his nerves and listened intently. “Listen with your ears! Listen with your heart!”
Whatever seal Queen had placed on his spirit had rendered his spirit sight much like his actual vision, obscured in the darkness, but even so, something rang through. Not one, but two tones, both dulled but evidently present.
“One of them is Queen,” he calculated. “And the other is-”
A footstep from behind him, appearing out of thin air, sent his senses into a frenzy again. A hand curled itself around his shoulder.
“Gallow, what a young man you’ve become.”
His voice was soft and forceful, like a quiet explosion that made Gallow’s spine feel like a steel rod.
“Y- Y-...” He was barely able to speak.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” The footsteps circled around him until they stopped in front of him.
Jesua Saibit Bach, his back to the sun, cast darkness over Gallow, his face defined by steep shadows that toned his long, angular features.
“Is this the most fearful you’ve ever been, Gallow?” the whites of his eyes seemed to glow in the shadow. “Or was it in the fire?”
For the first time, Gallow stepped back, a grimace coming over his face. “This is getting old,” he growled. “Why do you know all this?”
Bach made a strange expression; one could say that it was a smile, but it was too weak, too faint, the fact that it was readable as a smile was discomforting in and of itself. “Gallow, I’ve been very interested in you for what you’d call a long time, ever since you crossed paths with the man named Warren Roseraid.”
Gallow grit his teeth; a fountain of blue light burst forth from him, crashing harmlessly into Bach, who didn’t move an inch as the light dissipated into a smoky haze.
“Queen,” he coughed, closing his eyes. “How strong was the seal you placed onto him?”
From the back of the room, Queen replied, arms folded obediently, “The strongest I’ve yet developed, Milord.”
“Consider developing a stronger one.”
Gallow saw that where his Vocation had fizzled out, small purple cinders were still burning out to ashes in front of Bach, like it had disintegrated in front of him. Turning his attention back to Gallow, he said in an almost sneering voice, “It seems like you broke through with anger alone, I don’t know what to do about that.”
“Just tell me what’s going on!” Gallow demanded, leaning forward, his chest drawn out and shoulders back.
That same negative smile appeared across Bach’s face, and he walked away from Gallow, bringing a fist to his lips before clearing his throat.
“I understand that you have some knowledge of humanity’s connection to the abstract world?”
Gallow decided he would need to follow along if he was going to get answers. “I remember I was told a little bit by a Spirit in a Garden-”
“Roe-zed Demmali,” Bach interjected. “Of the Garden of Armony.”
Gallow’s eyes sunk in; he remembered now, the name that Melty had told him. “How do you know that?” his words flailed, grasping at explanations. What kind of person would have access to knowledge like that?
Bach turned halfway to him, watching him in profile. “I know many things Gallow, because I’ve been here since the beginning.”
Gallow felt the urge to run away, but stood his ground. “What do you mean?”
Bach began:
“You were told that human beings are vessels for their spirits, and that each spirit is tied to the abstract world. That is why that crest on your hand is so interesting, it serves as its own anchor-point.”
Gallow glanced down at the sigil and remembered with discomfort that Warren had used a similar wording.
“Did you ever seek to ask where humanity began?” Bach continued.
Almost afraid to ask, Gallow replied with a cautious, “No.”
Bach looked into him for a long time. “Many eons ago, I was the first man-”
“What?!” Gallow was incredulous. “What are you talking about?!”
“I was sculpted and given form, and within my spirit, the template for all of humanity resides.”
Gallow could barely believe his ears; his pace quickened and his blood ran hot. His mind began decompiling Bach’s words until they were meaningless, perhaps in an attempt to ignore them.
“And so, within my body and soul was the first power that is called Vocation. I named it Rach, a word I conceived of to mean ‘One Forms From The Earth.’” Bach raised his fist to breast-level and clenched it tightly, deep violet flames cascading off of it. “The power to create vessels and sow in them a piece of my spirit, just as one breeds crops in their field. You must understand, Gallow, that I am the startpoint of humanity, and a shard of myself is within the souls of every human who walks the Earth. This cannot be changed, and it cannot be overcome.”
---
A few flags flapped high up, hung off the spires of the royal palace; it was a breezy day, and a few scant clouds hurried across the sky.
Ky knelt down and pressed his fingers into the snow. Other than the bench, arch, and a few trees around a nearly frozen pond, one wouldn’t have been able to tell this was a garden, located within the castle walls in a small courtyard area overlooked by the antique halls and windows.
“How funny that there’s a forest right outside these walls, but they can’t even be bothered to leave to take a walk…” he pondered. “They need little gardens like this to present them with a breed of nature they can control.”
In the meantime, something had been nagging away at his mind, a story Persicho had told him once when he asked why his brother was so detestable.
Leon’s birth coincided with an exceptional astrological event, the sighting of the Accord Star, so named for being the same star the Saviour was born beneath. The Saviour, whose birth was a miracle of higher power, signalled the beginning of a new covenant amongst humanity, referred to in theological texts as The Miraculous Accord. Leon’s association with this star, long believed to have been part of a fable built on by the Saviour’s followers after Their death, reappeared the night Leon was christened into the world, and he, being firstborn, became known as a miraculous person himself.
Persicho recounted that at his own birth, Leon refused to look at him out of disgust. This attitude persisted through their childhoods, as the elder brother made it known repeatedly that he was superior in every way. He was bigger, stronger, an intellectual who made adults giggle when he explained complex economic philosophies, while Persicho was the eternal runner-up.
“Whatever I did, he seemed to triple,” he recounted. “Like I was pushing him, like he couldn’t let me catch up to him no matter how hard I tried, I just never could…”
One particular incident he recalled in vivid detail was the afternoon that the two brothers were taken aside by their father into the courtyard and taught to swordfight. Leon picked it up with minimal difficulty, but Persicho fumbled with the fundamentals for just a moment long enough to receive ire from the king.
“Is that the best you can do?” he’d demanded from him. “You’re a prince! Look at your brother!”
The speed with which Leon understood the art only made the younger brother all the more incompetent in his eyes.
“Boys, spar!” he commanded, driving Persicho to quiver. Leon easily controlled the space between them, knocked Persicho’s weapon away, and smacked him upside the head with his own wooden sparring sword.
Persicho was nearly taken out by the blow, but refused to fall over. Leon gloated in his victory when he saw his brother pick up the sword again silently and face towards him. Again, Persicho met the same fate and again he picked up his weapon. The sound of wood clacking against wood followed by the rough impact of wood to the face repeated over and over. Persicho must have been whacked at least ten times while his father watched this strange rivalry unfold before him.
Face bloodied and already bruising, Persicho picked up his sword; Leon’s eyelids barely raised above halfway when he decided to switch up his attack. This time, he went for the gut, then the shoulders, then the groin.
Perischo knew that if he fell to the ground, he wouldn’t have the strength to carry on. As long as he could puppeteer his body, no amount of exhaustion could sway him from continuing to challenge Leon. Panting heavily, on the verge of wheezing, Persicho shot a glance through one eye to his brother, one that told him that he had no intention of giving up.
“Very well,” said Leon’s smile.
The next blow sent Persicho to the grass, bleeding and unconscious. The king sighed and called for the palace doctor to come at once, then congratulated his son on a good show of dominance.
Persicho got very distant when he spoke about this, almost like he was alone, it was much the same as a soldier recounting a lost battle.
The crunching of boots alerted him to someone’s approach.
“General Monaco, enjoying the garden?”
Ky stood up to catch Leon approaching from his right.
“That’s strange,” he thought. “His footprints start in the middle of the snow without any leading up to them…”
“As much as you could when it’s dead,” he replied with as chilly a voice as the snow.
Leon smirked. “You aren’t cold out here?”
Ky’s shoulder cape blew gently in the dry air. “Not at all, I’m surprised you aren’t wearing anything warmer yourself.”
“Me?” Leon chortled, drawing closer. “I’ll be fine.” They were now close enough that he could make out the pendant hanging from Ky’s neck. “Where did you get that?” he asked, pointing to it with a puzzled expression.
Ky glanced down. “You’ve never noticed this?”
“No,” Leon replied in a nasal tone.
“This was given to me by my father,” he held it up. It was a full salamander, not the simplified zig-zag used by the church, and was inscribed with lettering too small to read.
“His Holiness?” Leon squinted an eye. “But he isn’t your real father, is he?”
“No,” Ky’s eyes grew a touch more grim. Leon was already well-aware that High Father Bach was his adoptive father. “What point are you trying to make?”
Leon threw his head back and laughed. “I’m not trying to say anything, I’m just curious as to how you got such a lovely thing. And, besides,” his smile melted away almost instantly to reveal a monstrously dark expression. “That’s no way to speak to your king.”
Ky stared coolly into his eyes, now burning with gold fire. They held like that for what felt like minutes until Ky turned his head away. “Don’t get so heated, Your Highness.”
“I don’t like the way you said that,” Leon retorted. “You must have a lot of courage from the battlefield, General Monaco, but you seem to forget who has the power here.”
Ky’s head turned back just enough for one eye to seem larger than the other, looking right back at him. “Remind me.”
“I do,” Leon spat. “I am the King.”
Ky’s lips broke apart into something like a sharp grin. “You have a funny idea of power, Your Highness.”
“Oh? Now remind me what power is, General.”
Ky shifted his whole body so that his hand rested on his hip. “You know, I was born an orphan here. I didn’t have a single person to lean on when I joined the army, I didn’t get where I am now because I was related to anyone, it was because I was stronger than anyone else. Your ‘power’ is just in a title, if the country were to fall apart, people like me would rise to the natural top.”
Ky’s rant finished with a bitter bite, and he flinched the moment it was over. “Pardon me,” his voice was thorny but sincere. “I may have said more than I needed.”
Leon didn’t say anything, he simply waited for Ky to continue, and he did.
“I’ve only been adopted legally for about five years, now,” he explained, looking down at the pendant between his fingers. “Before any of that, I was living in the muck of society. Bach saw what I’d done and took me in. He gave me this…” His words were careful and guarded, perhaps to offset his previous brashness. “They don’t make many of these, they’re only gifted by the Church to certain people… It’s a precious thing to me…”
Leon scoffed. “I don’t care very much about that, but it’s good that you do. His Holiness has never been very warm to me.”
With that, he turned around and left the garden, white silk cape flickering in the wind. Ky was left alone with his thoughts, regret for what he’d said stewing inside of him.
“No,” he thought, clutching the pendant tightly. “You committed to it, there can be no going back in this life. My actions must be as certain as death, if I am to march to the gallows, I must march.”
Bach’s words echoed in his mind, what he’d said on their fourth meeting together. They were standing in the Heavensward Gladial at noon, watching the people of Galeton run about when Bach stretched his hand over the balcony to them and said to him,
“Look at these people, who scatter about like rats… You have risen from the dirt and muck, Ky. There are few in this world who have the strength to take God’s hand into his own. Most just scamper at his feet, as they do now…”
“What do you mean?” he’d asked. Bach smiled and said,
“Ky, I want to take you into my care.”
“You’ll-” he sputtered. “You mean, adopt me?” Bach nodded. “But… why would you…?”
“One day you will be able to understand, when the war becomes not so easy. There are many things in your grasp, now; you have yet to make out what is even further beyond, but you will. One day you will Strive high enough to enter into a new world.”
Ky relaxed his grip on the pendant and sighed. Straightening himself into a proper soldier, he left the garden.
---
Gallow struggled to find words, sweat formed on his brow. “No, what-?” he mumbled. “This is crazy, you can’t be serious…”
“This is more true than anything else, Gallow,” Bach affirmed, a spark of crimson touched his grey eyes. “And it is imperative that you come to recognize this, because it lays the ultimate burden at our feet.”
“Burden?”
“Yes, a task I have spent millenia arriving at, and another millenia toiling at. To understand, I only ask that you take a step forward.”
Gallow’s feet felt like they were trapped in solid concrete.
“Well,” Bach repeated, his soft, forceful voice growing stronger. “Take one step forward.”
Finally, Gallow mustered the strength and approached the Holy man. Bach raised his hand, worn and aged, so that it hovered a few inches away from Gallow’s bare chest. The same blaze of purple flame burst to life beginning at his palm and swirled above his fingertips.
Within moments, Gallow found the air ripped from his lungs. It was impossible to breathe, as if some barrier was blocking the path from his mouth and nasal. He suddenly became keenly aware of his heartbeat, every twitch of the heart muscle felt like a massive gong was being rung, and he felt an acute sensation like all of the blood was being sucked into a central point within his body because of it. He nearly fell to his knees when Bach released the flame. Ironically, once the pressure had vanished, he found himself dropping to the floor.
Hands pressed into the stone, Gallow panted like a dog in an attempt to regain some form of internal stability. His vision was going in and out of focus, and his face had turned red.
Bach looked down from above him, like the face of God peering down from the clouds. “What you just felt was not a physical attack,” he watched Gallow wipe drool from his lip. “It was not an attack at all; it was the pure release of my spiritual energy. Do you know why it had that effect on you?”
Gallow craned his neck to see Bach, who thought he appeared very diminutive from his place on the ground.
“It’s because my spirit is one of despair, Gallow.”
At last having found the strength to speak, Gallow huffed “Despair?”
“The first thing I created was not man,” Bach explained with the stone-heavy words of a preacher. “It was a terrible, failed experiment. Beasts, unlike any the world had known before or since, and when I looked upon what I had created, I was ashamed. With no one around me to judge my actions, I was ashamed, Gallow. Because I realized then what my nature was, and what the nature of those I created would be. But these beasts had no power like mine, so I decided I would create one which could break free of this, only possible with the ability of the same nature, and so I created mankind, borne from my own soul.”
“And Vocations…” Gallow muttered distantly.
“Yes, Gallow,” Bach continued, taking a step closer to him. “And that’s why you have come to me.”
Spite welled up in Gallow’s heart. “Why am I so important to you?” his words were razor-sharp, causing Bach to tilt his head ever so slightly.
“If you take any consolation, you were not the original I chose.”
“What do you mean, original?” Gallow’s patience was wearing thin.
Bach held his tongue for a moment. “Listen to me; my dream is a world without suffering, but I cannot do it myself. There are a select few people in any era who are strong enough to overcome this burden, and have taken it upon myself to reach their hearts when they do appear.”
A coin dropped in Gallow’s mind. “Are you saying-”
“That before you, I had chosen Warren Roseraid to follow me.”
Gallow was staggered, his head felt light and his awareness of what was in front of him was replaced with the grinding of internal gears. Bach allowed him a few moments to come to bearings with this news.
“I appeared to him from across the world,” he monologued. “And showed him my dream. I could not have foreseen where his ambitions would lead him to…”
Gallow whispered under his breath, so softly that Bach could barely make out a single word, “Just a random act of fate…” It was said more to himself than anyone else, as he was just verbalizing anything that rolled out of his mind and onto his tongue.
Bach began to exposit yet again, pulling up his chiseled chin and looking above Gallow at nowhere in particular, to his own fancies. “This perfect world-- it isn’t a world, it’s a state of being, can only be achieved when we are able to overcome the great Burden of our lives, that we are creatures of despair. We will tear out of our shells and become our true selves, hearts without despair or fear or hatred, all of it is possible when we surmount ourselves and break through the barrier that separates us from Heaven.” He turned his gaze downward. “But I am not strong enough now as I am, which is why you are so important, Gallow; you are the balance-tipper.”
Gallow held his ground, his eyes dark and shoulders hunched in a guarded position. “You knew Mello Drameda, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Bach replied in a light lilt. “I was the one who told him of your importance. He was a test of your strength.”
Those words didn’t sit well in the pit of Gallow’s stomach. “I don’t like the way you talk about him like that.”
Bach flashed an expression that said ‘Oh?’
“I don’t like it when you make him out to be so simple,” Gallow said in a near rasp. “I didn’t know him for very long, but he had a dream just like yours. It didn’t make sense to me, but that’s because it wasn’t mine.”
“And?” Bach batted his distaste away. “What difference does it make? He had people willing to die for his dream, just as you were willing to die for someone else’s dream.”
“Don’t try and win me over,” Gallow’s voice was full of disgust now, awash in the golden light of sunset. “I did that because I care about her!”
“You did it because it was your destiny to find me.”
The last thread of patience snapped; in a moment, the room was filled with blue light and flame, barreling toward Bach at breakneck speeds.
“Milord!” cried Queen from the doorway.
As quickly as the light appeared, a shadow flashed in front of Bach, soon enveloped in a sphere of flame. When it cleared a second later, Bach was gone, and in his place a burning, smoking figure.
“Who is that?” was all Gallow could wonder before the air disappeared from his lungs. He fell to the floor on his knees, his eyes dancing wildly around, trying to get a sense of what had happened. Bach walked around him again, having evidently moved behind in the blink of an eye.
“Your anger is a strong tool,” he proclaimed. “You have become very powerful for your passion, but I can show you the door to even greater strength.” As Gallow lifted his head to catch him in view, he added, “Strength beyond strength.”
Gallow picked himself up, dusted himself off, and said, “I didn’t do all that because it was my destiny or anything, you’re starting to piss me off with that. I didn’t have any desire to be so strong, I don’t know what you think you’re getting at.”
Bach tipped his chin down a hair. “Well, you fought quite hard to survive. I know it was your fate; I don’t expect you knew that, so there must be some reason you wanted to survive.”
Gallow grit his teeth, catching any words that might have slipped out and Bach gave, for the third time, that empty, nothingness smile. “You may say it was out of love, but you were really just lost, weren’t you? You had no idea how to absolve yourself of your guilt, that you couldn’t save Warren from himself…”
Not a word escaped Gallow, but he shot daggers into Bach’s heart.
“This state of being, it is called Golden Days, and it means the end of suffering, just as he wanted.”
“That’s not right…” Gallow muttered. Deep inside his mind, he knew that a life free of suffering was hollow, but there was another part of him, a tired part which was sick of heartache and worry, a part that wanted to end the feeling of burden that the world’s danger placed onto the backs of loved ones. He sought desperately to fight that tiny, nagging tear in his principle, and squeezed all of his frustration into a clenched fist.
“You say you want to end suffering,” Gallow finally spoke up, tension mounting in his voice. “But you were the ones who made the Exitis disease, who do you think you’re fooling?!”
For the first time, a look of confusion spread across Bach’s face; cocked brow, tilted head, pursed lips. “What do you mean?” he asked, something missing in his tone. “Is this some conspiracy theory?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Gallow growled. “Why else would it not have symptoms in Vocation users?”
Again, Bach spoke with confusion. “Pardon? I don’t know what you mean to imply.”
“You’re gathering Vocation users using the plague to weed them out!” Gallow insisted.
“Wouldn’t it be more useful to create a disease which only affected Vocation users?” Bach inquired.
Gallow stood still, the indignation which had moments ago been rising steadily within him died down and was replaced by reevaluation, an abrupt and intense frustration with Rodan and the thoughts he had put in his head.
“Besides,” Bach continued. “I created the Inquisition Squad to help those in need of treatment. And I do mean that, I created the Inquisition leaders with my own Vocation.”
“What-?” Gallow looked back at Queen, who nodded in assurance.
Bach held up his hand, strong and solid-looking, if not aged and worn. “With these hands, my Rach has given way to my new children, closer in makeup to myself than humanity.”
Gallow widened his stance. “So they’re all those type of porcelain doll-people?”
Bach looked suddenly quite grim. “You may liken it to a porcelain doll, but you did not harm my Jericho enough to warrant repairs… How do you know of this?”
Rather matter-of-factly, Gallow replied, “You sent something like that after us on the boat on the way over, are you stupid?”
“Sent? Sent what?” Bach’s voice was urgent, his eyes opened wider than ever before, he took a step towards Gallow in a position like a lunge forward, his curiosity was almost rabid in its eagerness.
“A… mannequin-type doll-person,” Gallow explained slowly, wary of Bach’s enthusiasm. “It had the same signature as those two you sent, the one with the parasol and the one who brought me here.”
“Just like them-?”
“Yeah, it shattered and everything,” Gallow’s voice was raised in pitch in conjunction with his annoyance.
“And what was it doing?” Bach insisted on asking rabidly.
“Look, it was trying to get at that black orb thing you took from me-”
Gallow stopped short, too distracted by Bach’s reaction to this, as he stood in place for a solid ten seconds, wordlessly muttering under his breath, nearly salivating with thoughts of something far off.
Without warning, he turned around and strode to the balcony. “Queen, take him back,” and then speaking to Gallow, though still turned away, “You will come to see my dream in time; for now, I must think something over.” His hands wrapped around the balcony rail, his silhouette painted against the sky.
Gallow’s heart jumped as his hands were bound together again by Queen’s caliper, the quick activation of which made him cognizant of an error he’d made earlier. He had initially believed that there were only two other people in the room, Bach and Queen, but now realized that Queen had been using his Vocation to manipulate his own spiritual presence into a kind of cloak that hid him from detection, likely a technique he had in constant use. That meant that the second tone he heard was not from either of them, it was…
Somewhere in that room, there was another.