A Conciliatory Fall Chapter One: False Glimmer

Editor’s Note: This is a continuation of Ben’s original story “A Conciliatory Fall.” Check out his other chapters in the Arts and Entertainment Section.

False Glimmer

The seal of silence on Wraeclast that clung to it like fine melted wax, found itself broken by the heavy, uneven footsteps of Joseph sprinting down the labyrinth of mossy cobblestone streets. His thick, heavy leather work boots fitted with treaded bottoms sent out a booming echo with each lumbering step. While the durable boots strapped to his shins were a marvel of technology for their intended purpose of farm-work and physical labor, the stiff material proved an arduous test in patience when it came to the process of prolonged running. The heavy awkward footsteps made that even after only a brief few minutes of panicked running in the direction of the great stone monastery; he was soon drained of energy by intense aching pains which burned his calves. To add to his misery, the confining leather mask with its overwhelming scent of lavender hindered his breathing. Soon he was gasping, exhausted and covered in a layer of thick filmy sweat that soaked through his clothing.

Joseph knew that despite his uncomfortable exhaustion, stopping his fevered sprint was not an option he could consider. Upon exiting the winding labyrinth of side roads onto the wide central road, he began to try and distract himself from his labored breaths by studying the darkened buildings around him.

Even through the murky confines of his vision shrouded further by the dark night, the decrepit state of disrepair and damage of the houses around him was more than evident. Life seemed absent: no light shined through the windows from oil lamps, not a single person walked along the street or sat on their step to take a smoke before their rest. Joseph remembered his time as an orphan on the darkened streets of these slums, how the whispers of children drifting through the night air from their beds as they devilishly hid from their responsibilities of sleep, the laughter of drunk workers returning home, the lullabies of the mothers singing to their precious babes, the soft yellow glow of lamps illuminating the dim streets, all seemed so pleasant. He would lay on the cold ground of the alleys, staring across at the sleeping form of Raden as he relished in these brief comforts, imagining the quiet lullaby’s were being sung for him by a mother he would never know. Joseph remembered how jealous he was of that ability of Raden’s to sleep through anything. He always managed to smile even knowing the time of their next meal was as uncertain as the whispered words of the children. Joseph found the ability of sleep as elusive as Raden’s ability to grasp anything but childish innocence. How his ignorant and empty mind appeared so insolent to the cynical and pessimistic eyes of Joseph, though his anger towards Raden had faded as sleep only brought upon dreams he was more than happy to ignore. Dreams that sent Raden into fits of frantic night terrors, eyes rolling into his head as he cried and screamed as his body shook with horrible pain, tears pooling beneath his head. That was a fool’s fate to endure to Joseph, which seemed all the more a bitter tragedy for Raden to afflicted with such a burden.

That was the city he remembered, cold nights spent listening to the pleasant lively atmosphere it created; his sleepless nights spent in watch for his friend’s terrors, which caused him to tear at his own flesh as if it was the cause of his agony. He would wrap himself around the sleeping Raden for hours, trapping his arms until he he felt the raptured breathing and terrified screams fade, replaced by sad injured whimpers as Raden’s body shuddered against his. Only when Raden lay still, his breathing returning to its soft and peaceful pace as the monsters of his mind fled did Joseph return to his perch across from him.

The city he remembered was one that had children running through the streets, mothers tidying the poor yet well kept single story crescent roofed houses. Even the worst memories, returning from a fight as a child dirty and covered in sickly bruises empty handed, the viciousness of the people at the site of the Orphan, assuming not much more of him than one would a rat. Even the source of his sleeplessness, and the fear for the future, it was still better than now. He saw no one in the streets, the whispers of sneaky children seemingly abducted from their beds. No glow from lamps illuminated these streets to provide their comforting glow. Half the houses boarded up or abandoned by its occupants, many marked for purging with blood red circles cut into thirds by two red lines, with three lines connecting to make a loose pair of triangles, all soaked in dark oily paint that dripped down the frame. The other half of the houses now matched the color of this paint, lying in piles of soot and sickly grey ash with their hollowed out frames sticking out into the night air like a massive black spider. Joseph began seeing faces in the ash, manifested from the swirling dust as though Oni had risen up from hell itself to punish this worlds misdeeds. Faces of children, mothers, fathers all let out a low aching wail, their charred faces melting away to reveal nothing but blackened bone.

He had reached the monasteries stairs without even realizing it, distracted by the images manifested in his mind. His blunderous, awkward pace collided with the first fine marble step causing him to topple forward, only stopping his perilous fall with a fortunate catch by his right arm. He straightened himself, and looked right as he observed his surroundings. He let his head back to let out a aggravated hiss of anger, looking up at the sky to contemplate his incompetence upon seeing the trolley horses stalls. He had gotten to Raden’s post on one of these said Trolleys, but in his foolish haste he had left it behind in favor of his oh so joyous run. He let out a final frustrated sigh, and looked up the stairs towards his destination.

Even with living near and in the religious cathedral his entire life, its scale still managed to leave him somewhat breathless with its grandeur. Leading up to the building was about 20 finally layered and polished wide stone stairs, each about 10 feet across with 3 foot railings holding each sides. At the end of these twenty stairs the area lengthened, providing room for a small floral garden filled to the brim with arrays of well stewarded Bleedinghearts, flowers that depending on the season would either be red with white tips, or white with red tips. In the middle of the garden stood a tree with a soft, elegant curve that when finished shot upward into thin branches that held hundreds of soft, round pink leaves. Even in the soft yellow lamplight, the leaves seemed almost like colored glass as the light passing through it left a soft pink shadow beneath it, producing a tranquil shade for simple wood bench beneath it.

On the entrance to this garden two marble statues stood guard, their beautifully crafted figures etched in the shape of a modestly robed women with extended bird like wings. The angelic Fae stood, hands raised towards the Heaven, their eyes locked on a slight little babe they held within their motionless palms. This babe was unlike the rest of the marble, as it was cast in a fine gold finish that was rare to see on even the richest lord’s decorations. Each pillar beside these two particularly grandiose examples had much more humble guards that remained kneeling in their stone carved duty. Each had their hands clasped around their downcast heads in prayer, all meant to welcome flocks of worshipers up into a exorbitant display of faith to the Architect. I walked around the Garden, up the second set of stairs that split off around the garden, though both led to the same location. As he walked up this final ascent, he studied the building itself. It was by far the largest building in the city, its Gothic twin towers stretching nearly 200 feet into the air, the tops open to allow their bells to echo across the city as a signal for Mass. The structure itself was a straight box of pillars and windows, with a grand windowed dome, filled with religious stained glass designed to illuminate its faithful with a brilliant array of bright colored light. From the sky it would look like a grand dome, a sprawling masterpiece of Architectural design. From Joseph’s perspective staring at its heavy wooden doors, it looked like a dark stone fortress.

He rested his hand on the hardwood doors surface, pushing its massive weight open with a loud echoing creek like a great beast was waking from its slumber. The interior was no less spectacular, each side lined with ornate symmetrical arches on each side, the tall hallway of the doorway he stood in opening up into a almost inconceivably high center room. The center dome of the structure sat above tens of hundreds of benches lined into several roles, divided in half by a fine red linen carpet that was lined by a captivating gold outline. Each bench was padded with this same pattern, though the material seemed to just be simple leather. The dome area was the only section that was illuminated, the vast area behind the arches holding up the structure enshrouded in a impenetrable darkness. The arches curved in around the dome, ending at the altar situated in a place of grandeur in the back of the room. Up a wide set of five carpeted steps a figure enshrouded in black robes sat upon his knees, his thin gnarled hands clasping his hooded head in prayer. Standing on either side a mere few paces away were two immense armored warriors.

From head to toe they were covered in thick steel plate that had been blackened through some process, the arms segmented into several jointed plates that seemed a sea of moving metal. Upon their head was a elaborately ornate helmet, the cone shaped helm disappearing into a artistic elongated forehead piece that help up a silver-casted crescent. The helmet had attached a draping neck guard, a mixture of wood and entwined steel plates that stretched completely around their head down to the shoulder pauldrons of their armor. Their faces remained hidden, covered by a thick steel mask that came down of the helmet. The mask had human features, but it was sat in such a blank, emotionless manner with sunken, empty sockets that made the eyes of its wearer near invisible. The mask was not necessarily terrifying, but the vaguely Fae shape and exaggerated features, such as its overly animated mouth created a unsettling feeling that sent shivers up its viewers spine. What made this fact ever more prevalent was the thick cloth gambeson underdress that hung from the mask. It was sown with red thread to create a shroud that completely covered the neck before disappearing beneath the plate chestplate, making it look as if the mask was a floating, detached face.

The sight of the guards disturbed Joseph very little, as he had grown use to their unsettling look. He was much more unnerved by the Presence of Fitzroy Taylor the Second, a son of a rich merchant who in his father’s great humbleness had decided to name his son a name that meant “The heir to kings.” In reality the father was a tailor who had come from a long line of the like. The man’s grandfather had struck a fortune after he invented a system that allowed him to use cheap, unskilled labor in his mills and shops to do small, easy to learn preset tasks so that production could be completed quick and easy. This revolutionary idea replaced the skilled laborers of old and replaced it with legions of poor replaceable workers that quickly made the man the richest man in the country with his product and my selling his knowledge. With city’s sprouting around these newly christened factories for a variety of products, soon the tailors became the most influential group in Jitain, with even the Shogun heeding to his beck and call. However, in this time of strife the family was hitting upon tough times, much of their factories forced to shut down. This combined with the incompetence of the most recent heir of the fortune, Fitzroys uncle Davidson, and the next in line Fitzroy being no better. While many saw Fitzroy’s presence as a great honor, I didn’t like the style of man he represented. He was a man hoping to use the church for his own interest, expecting to rise through the ranks with a few well placed donations and by being a obnoxious bootlicker of the arch designer, the man who sat kneeling at the altar.

Fitzroy stood at his usual spot, talking in a pace that if listened to at the right moment could be compared to the buzzing of a insect. His outfit remained color blind as always, a elaborately expensive purple vest with a puffed white shirt sticking out from its front that was enshrouded by a sickly checkered, Oak-wood green cloak. His head was topped with a black top hat adorned with a orange strap, as if to fully assault Joseph’s eyes with painful array of colors. As Joseph walked down the center Aisle to stand at the foot of the stairs, he heard the man whose face couldn’t be described as anything else but that of a rodent’s, he could make out only pieces of the very one sided conversation. Currently he was apparently confessing to a multitude of lustful sins he had committed, with such detail that Joseph received a image that included mentions of ropes, nine tails, rags and gags, all of which he could do without thinking about. The last pondering thought Joseph was left with before speaking his greetings was how oddly boisterous the man sounded for supposedly repenting his sins.

Upon his greeting, the Designer turned, still ignoring Fitzroy as he looked towards me removing his simple black hood. The tired blue eyes of a old man looked back, nearing his forties but looking on death’s door as the wrinkles beneath his eye and balding grey hair making him look as old a sixty. The man still had a kind face, one of such softness that one seemed comforted by simply looking upon it, as even strangers described him as a friend. His face brightened upon seeing Joseph, mouth widening into a thin, warm smile that seemed to brighten the room. Joseph began to get down onto his knees to do the customary sign of respect to someone of the old man’s position, but the old priest raised his hand, his voice stopping Joseph’s descent.

“Forgo such formalities my child! You know their is no need for you of all people to kneel before me. Stand and come to me my son!” His voice, while it had a soft and kind quality, held such a strong tone of authority that seemingly betrayed his thin figure. Joseph smiled, standing and ascending the stairs with the disgusted look of Ftiz tracking him. The old man stood, spreading his arms to beckon Joseph forward before drawing him into a firm and comforting hug, before saying “You do not know how happy it makes me to see you my boy! It has been far too long since I’ve had the time to enjoy your company. Stand back, let me see you.” He looked up and down Joseph, nodding, clapping his hands onto Joseph’s shoulder before giving him a boisterous shake. “Still looking sharp as always! Filled into your new position nicely I see, though I see you still can’t find that comb I gave you.” the old man said with a chuckle while gesturing to Joseph’s unkempt, dirty blond hair. Joseph let out a chuckle, retorting with a sly smile “And I can see you still can’t find your hair.”

The old man let out a fit of powerful laughter, nodding his head in agreement. His smile softened at its edges as he looked up at Joseph, who was nearly a foot taller than the old Fae, to say “How is Raden? Boy not getting himself into trouble I hope?”

Joseph nodded, his smile fading as he remembered his purpose in coming here. “I actually came here to speak about him.”

The old Designers Chromatic eyes darkened, the Aqua blue tainted by the seeping worry of a dark purple, his Brow knitting into a look of worry. “Oh? Has something happened with him?”

Joseph shook his head, twirling his hand as if to orchestrate the misspoken words he had said by elaborating “Not about Raden, what Raden and I saw upon the tower.”

The old man relaxed, letting out a fatherly laugh of light mockery as he said “Oh how serious you are, always straight to business with you my boy. I suppose we’ll have time for pleasantries later than. Please speak then my son, what troubles you?”

Joseph swallowed before speaking, a sudden dryness of mouth preventing his words. Letting out a sigh to relieve the tension in his chest, Joseph then spoke saying “My holiness, I believe another has fallen. Now I may be mistaken, but I thought it important to not make sure to inform you even if it turned out to be a mistake. I know the falling figures are nothing new, but this one appeared to be… moving in a manner as if it were alive.”

The Arch Designer, a man who even despite his considerable experience and long career as a man who faced atrocity and sin on a near daily basis, still could not prevent his calm exterior breaking into a look of uncomfortable shock. The man took a step back, pacing slowly along the carpeted as he began to softly stroke his chin in concentration. Joseph noticed the same worried purple colour return to the man’s eyes, seemingly betrayed in its significance by Fitz’s high wheezing laugh destroying the stunned silence suffocating the room.

The thin, rat faced man let out these laughs in short bursts as through the act itself were causing him to choke. His laughter continued as he flung out a arm in Joseph’s direction before saying “Oh you poor, simple man! Now befallen with grand hallucinations of superstitious nonsense! Tho, to be frank, it’s not surprising men of your caliber would buy into whatever nonsensical rumour running from mouth to ear.”

Josephs eyes burned orange with a frustrated anger, snapping to the man and nearly screaming at the man. Joseph paused for a moment, knowing where that road would lead, and said in as pleasant as a voice he could muster “Whatever could you mean by that Sir?”

Fitzroy held up his hands, his laughter interrupted by short coughs “I meant no offense of course! It’s just simply the fact that you expect his holiness to believe that a creature has survived a fall of such heights from the heavens themselves, from the words of a uneducated street grunt and his simple, pinheaded little servant.”

Joseph gritted his teeth, locking his now seething magma like eyes onto Fitzroys, which gleamed with a smug Blue Green colour. Before Joseph could retort, the Designers hand snapped in front of Fitzroy’s face before he could continue with his line of surely more direct insults. “Enough, I will not have you two drawing blood with words or blade in these halls. While Fitzroy, my gracious lordship, if Joseph truly did see what he believes he saw it cannot be risked to throw it off as fantasy.”

The man scoffed, saying “Even if it is true, what’s the concern? Who cares about about another body hitting the ground, even if it is alive? Surely your holiness has more important matters to attend to and we can let the drebbel in the Congregation handle such dut…”

Joseph frustration boiled forth as he snapped forth with his words to cut off the man, with a almost animalistic snarl saying “Forgive me, oh my gracious and humble great lord of our holy creator, but i’d assume someone of your position in would know the significance of not letting or only possible means of salvation be torn apart by some brutish mob? Or has your incompetence grown to such a degree that I should retrieve you maiden’s gown?”

The other man’s eyes widened as he glared mouth agape at Joseph. “What do you think gives you the right to speak to me in such a manner? What foolish notion has brought such vile words from your dirty mouth?”

Joseph smiled kindly, saying in an exaggerated sweet voice “If your concern is looking unsightly in such a tight dress, don’t you be worried! I’m sure there’s nothing down their large enough to create any concern.”

With a small smile that quickly faded, the old man cut off any chance of a response from Fitzroy by saying “Enough Joseph, I understand your frustration, but that does not allow you to forget your place!” His voice came out with a booming echo that bounced along the confined interior. He then turned to Fitzroy, whose face had been overtaken by as sly of a smile as a Fae could manage before continuing “Now Fitzroy, I couldn’t more heartily agree with you about gathering the Congregation to search for the Fallen. In fact, as reward for your devotion to the church and its ideals, I would personally like for you to lead our people on this search.”

The smile on Fitzroys faded into a look of confusion. He let out a short laugh before stuttering out “My Holiness… I dont see why someone of my importance must attend to such a matter! Roy could surely be considered competent enough to…’

The designer waved away his words, continuing with a smile “Why my lord, this is a great honour! Since it was your suggestion, I would like to see you personally attend to Joseph’s fears of the the viciousness of my flock and make sure the Fallen is brought back unharmed. Do you wish to refuse such a honour, my lord?”

Fitzroy opened his mouth, but looked down with a defeated look as he shook his head no. The designer clapped his hands together and gripped the young man’s shoulders, saying “Excellent! Now go, there’s not a moment to waste! I’m sure you’ll make the church proud with your service.”

Fitzroy began to sheepishly walk down the steps, before turning to say “On my return will you be available to talk about the monetary arrangements my family has with the church here in Wraeclast?” The old man smiled brightly, nodding his head in agreement before saying “Of course! You know my heart and ears are always open to you anytime you need.”

Fitzroy nodded doubtfully, and walked the rest of the distance down the long carpeted path till he disappeared out of sight down the stairs. Upon his departure Joseph turned to look at the designer, controlling his posture but the anger escaping through his words. “Why must we heed that man’s beck and call like a whipped hound? The man stinks from his very posture of corrupt arrogance.”

The old man sighed, saying with weary voice “You know why we must. How many times must you be reminded that to protect the righteous sometimes those with black of heart must be ignored. I wish the same as you Joseph, but you cannot simply insult such a man like a rabid animal every time he speaks! The Architect is gracious, but does not simply cause coin to fall from the sky that can feed the hungry, equip our congregation, and rebuild this city. I know you wish the same as I, you want to see this city gleam. So please, can you shake hands with the black of heart and turn the other cheek so his words don’t turn your own heart black as his?”

Joseph shrugged with downcast eyes of bitter agreement, but simply said “Doesn’t Change how punchable his rat faced mug is.” Joseph said, A smile returning to his face.

The old man smiled weakly, whispering under his breath a soft prayer that Joseph could not hear, but knew the words all too well. The Arch Designer Looked again at Joseph before saying “If what you saw is true, then i’d like you to go with Fitzroy. While his obsession with this church would seem enough to make him vigilant in his duty… I’d just like to be sure. Sorry that we were not able to catch up under better circumstances.”

Joseph smiled before covering his face with the thick mask, striding away as he locked the straps in place and shrugged his hood around his head. He called out “If you truly want to catch up, why not buy me a drink tomorrow!”

The Designer laughed, as Joseph knew of the man’s vows of celibacy. “Very funny child!” the old Fae called out as he watched Joseph stride away. His smile faded as he watched Joseph fade from sight, as his gut seemed to twist with a deep, indescribable worry. It was as if he sensed something dark in the future for the boy but could not grasp what it was. He turned to kneel once again, preparing to finish his nightly prayer and to ask the Architect what these feelings of dread meant. Before beginning, he turned to look at one of his guards.

“Tell me Alefrid, what do you think of this?” The steel clad giant gave no response, and the Architect nodded “You’re right, I did not think of that! I love these little talks of ours, they give me so much to think on.” The man laughed, before speaking to Aelfrid again “Would you gather my things? If you agree with me, then I may need them. Don’t worry, well leave soon and you won’t have to stand watching over my frail form in these depressing halls.”

Aelfrid turned, bowing with surprising ease despite the heavy Armour, and walked away into the dark recesses of the Cathedral. The old man nodded, and brought his head to touch the Altar.