Chapter 7

A Story of Saints

Sleep came no easier than it had the previous nights. Elspeth's dreams were still tormented by the dead, faceless now, their features long since blurred from her memory. They would always start the same; in Delaryn, moments before the attack, and then the fire would erupt around her. Sometimes she would take up arms, others she would not; but no matter which path she chose, she would die. And then the dreams- nightmares- would shift to the canyon, where she would face the man whose life had been snubbed by her own hand. Him she could see clear as blood on snow. Every line, every twitch of his lips, and the fear that had replaced the smirk when Aethel struck him. And as her sword plunged through his chest, over and over, a question rang out in the corners of her mind. A whisper on the wind, an echo stretched across countless miles; If not him, then who?

After his body slumped to the ground, a darkness would consume her- blinding and endless, with no sound, no feeling. Nothing. The miasma spell, as if it was supposed to reach her. As if her life was meant to end that day. A blessing it would have been, a voice would call out to her- to leave behind the heartache of your past, and reunite with your mother.

I can't, she would reply, not yet, not yet... Then, in the dream, she found herself in an empty village so familiar and yet so foreign, homely yet strange. She did not know why it felt so. A light appeared before her, a ball of white that pulsed as if it were living. Breathing. At its core, a symbol she did not recognise rippled like a pool of gold. It spoke to her. "You make the right choice," said the light, its voice not like a voice at all; instead it was the drumming of rain on a shuttered window, the tinkle of bells and the crashing of thunder all at once. As the light pulsed it shifted colours; enamel white to translucent blue, topaz to azalea pink- but its core remained the same lustrous gold. "Soon you must come to me, small one. Come to this place, and here you shall remember."

Elspeth did not understand. "Remember what? Who are ye?" And why am I talkin' to a ball'a light...? A thought struck her. "Are ye... the Goddess?"

The light chuckled, if the sound it made could be described as such. "That you will know in time. For now, you must beware this place you have made home. Darkness lingers there- treacherous schemes and twisted illusions. I will send you a signal when it is time, many moons from now. White wings and a crimson flower. Remember, small one."

Elspeth wanted to laugh. "You what? I'm jus' dreamin'. You ain't real." She pinched herself, and felt nothing. When she waved her hand in front of her, it blurred at the edges like a mirage. See, not real.

"A dream this is, yes," answered the light, "and a dream this is not. I am here, but you are not. Now go, small one. Our time is no more, and yet our time is eternal. White wings, crimson flower. Remember." The light began to fade, its pulsing slowing.

"Wait!" she cried. It could not offer her riddles and then just leave her.

"I cannot." The light's voice was distorted as if underwater, the village around them fading to darkness with it. "They search for me. Hunt me. Heed my words, small one. You must wake now, as I have awoken. White wings, crimson flower..."

Who? Who searches for you? she tried to shout, but no sound would come out.

When she woke it was still dark, though her room was always dark- even during the day. White wings, crimson flower... She shook her weary head and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, curling her toes as she stretched. The dream made no sense to her. That's why it's a dream, stupid, she told herself. Yet it had left her with an ominous sense of foreboding all the same, a fear she did not understand. The light warned her about the monastery, too, she recalled. Schemes and illusions... She sighed, fingers searching the sheet for the soft fur of Aethel. When they found him, she gently combed through the tangles of his coat, light enough for him not to notice.

His wounded legs were mostly healed, thanks to Linhardt's basic healing spell, but the blade had cut through the muscle and bone. Any deeper, and the limb may have been lost. Despite having been healed by magic, Aethel's leg still needed time to mend itself. Most white magic could only close the wound, Flayn had told her, but there were those who could mend even severed limbs. It had been three days since they had returned, and would be another four before he could run again. Most of that time he had spent curled up on the bed, only waking at the scent of meat or whenever his bladder called. Elspeth was glad he was still alive- losing him would have shattered her soul.

Her eyes began to adjust to the dark, the outline of her hand visible when she brought it to her face. It was too late to go back to sleep, so she silently unfolded herself from the woollen blanket and swung her legs over the edge. She crept toward the door, avoiding the weak points where the wooden floor creaked, and left her room behind- kitsune none-the-wiser.

The warmth of the burning torches welcomed her bare arms and legs, yawning up the skirt of her white laced nightdress. It was a spare given to her by Flayn, though it was far too small and barely reached her knees, but she was thankful for it all the same. Besides, the Garland Moon was but a few nights away, when such thin nightwear would become a blessing.

Elspeth forced a smile in greeting to the knight stationed outside of her room and padded down the corridor of the servants' quarters, following wherever her feet took her. The stone was cold despite the warmth, and nipped at her bare toes as she turned the torchlit corners, her mind blank. Voices came from nearby, muffled behind the great oaken doors of the audience chamber. There were no knights in sight. Curious, Elspeth went onto tiptoes and pressed her ear against the solid wood, straining to hear. "...next month, yes," one said, though their voice was so soft she could barely hear.

"What of... rebellion?" said another, undeniably Seteth's voice.

"...be dealt with," the other replied.

"What are you doing?" a boy's voice startled her from behind.

Elspeth spun to face him, her eyes wide. "N-nothin'!" she lied, trying to think up an excuse. "Was jus' passin' by. Wasn't doin' nothin." She stood straight and crossed her arms, feigning confidence. "What're you doin' here?" Her voice was a whisper, afraid Seteth would hear and scold her again.

"Nothing, you say." The boy chuckled softly. "If that is the case, then I too am here for nothing."

She blinked at him, wishing she could disappear into the shadows. The boy was at least a foot taller than her, with golden hair that flopped messily over his forehead, and thin brows set upon gentle eyes. Torchlight flickered across his slim face, the shadows dancing with the orange light along his narrow features. "I was tellin' the truth," she whispered. "Couldn't hear nowt, anyways."

He considered her a moment, thin lips curving up at the edge. "I see. I was headed to the infirmary to visit Felix. Would you care to join me?"

Elspeth's heart sank. The infirmary was the one place she had avoided like a contagion ever since returning, the guilt too strong to face Felix. It was her fault he ended up the way he did- her fault that she had panicked and could not stop whatever had possessed Aethel. "Um..." she mumbled, gaze falling to the floor.

The boy placed a fair hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. I know who you are."

Her eyes flicked back up to him and narrowed. "Lemme guess; it's the hair."

He chuckled. "Yes, the hair. Sylvain spoke of you fondly..." His face turned grim.

"What is it?"

"Ah, nothing." He took a step back. "Come on, then, before the Archbishop finds us here and lectures us back to our beds." The boy retreated a few paces, turning with a frown when she did not follow. "If you think that he hates you, then you are mistaken. Felix may act... arrogant, at times, but he knows you are not at fault."

Elspeth shook her head firmly. "How can he blame no one but me? Was my kitsune almost killed 'im."

The boy sighed, shoulders tense. "There is something you may wish to know, but not here. Come quickly."

No, she wanted to scream. No, no, no. She had had enough of secrecy and riddles for one night. I should'a stayed in bed, and curled up with Aethel an' waited for mornin'. But despite her inner stubbornness, her legs moved to follow him. Dread hung over her.

Inside the infirmary lay Felix in the bed closest to the window, his chest bound in gauze and bandages. Every part of her wanted to flee, and yet she continued her approach, as if some invisible force was pushing her on. At the foot of Felix's bed sat Sylvain, slumped over with closed eyes. They fluttered open when the boy nudged him awake. "Dimitri...?" Sylvain stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, stretching up with the other. His hair was messier than usual, sticking up in all directions, and his face looked tired. When his eyes found Elspeth, he stiffened. "Why's she here?"

"Leave her be, Sylvain. She has as much right to be here as you do." Dimitri beckoned her over with a tilt of his head.

She edged closer, avoiding Sylvain's glare. "I'm sorry..." she heard herself say.

Sylvain scoffed. "Save it for Felix."

She wanted to weep, to run back to Aethel and lock herself within her room. But she was tired of running. Dimitri ran a hand over his face, pulling over a chair to sit. Elspeth sat on the empty bed adjacent to Felix's, stretching the fabric of her gown over her knees. "You still blame her, even after what we discovered?" said Dimitri, sounding exhausted.

"You didn't discover anything. All you have is some theory- a conspiracy."

Elspeth's brow furrowed. "Discovered what?"

Dimitri glanced at the doorway, voice low. "The door to your room was unscathed. How could that be the case if your beast broke free? It should at the very least have been scratched."

She mulled over his words, trying to cast her mind back to the events of that night. "Maybe I left the door unlocked?" she offered. No- she was sure that was not the case. But she was too tired to speculate, and her head still hurt from her dream.

"Even so, the door opens inward, not out. Your beast would have to claw at the edges to wedge it free."

It was true. "Are ye sure the knights didn't just replace the door?"

Sylvain reclined in his chair, arms crossed. "Why are we going over this again, Dimitri? Even if your fantasy is true, the creature still mauled Felix. He could've died."

Elspeth looked to Felix, his hair loose and cascading in purple ribbons of satin about his shoulders. His expression was one of peace, and he looked almost a different person without the crease in his brow. "I don't know why Aethel did it. He's nay hurt a soul before..."

"But he did. And this is the result."

By some saving grace, Felix groaned awake, ending their discussion. "The hell are you all looking at?" The crease returned to his brow, and his voice was hoarse. Sylvain offered him water, but Felix turned away. "No dream powder. I'm tired of sleeping."

"It's just water." Sylvain thrust the glass to Felix's lips, forcing him to take a sip.

Felix shifted to sit up, grimacing. "What are you doing here, boar? Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"I am glad injury has not dulled you, friend," said Dimitri. "Do you still refuse white magic?"

"Magic is for cowards, and I'm far from death. Besides, perhaps the wounds will scar. Who else can say they bear the scars from a kitsune?" He smirked, exhaling a pained sigh. "Water." He waved a hand at Sylvain.

"I'm not your servant," Sylvain grumbled, but complied. Felix ignored him, taking long sips from the glass.

Elspeth cleared her throat. "How are ye? Apart from, you know..."

Felix shoved the glass back at Sylvain and looked to her, an odd look in his eyes. "I'll live, if that's what you're worried about. Manuela says these rags can come off soon. Good thing, too. I miss having a sword in my hand and a fight in my veins."

Sylvain crossed his arms. "You could be up fighting already, but you won't let anyone heal you."

"Next time I'll allow it, if only to shut you up." Felix exaggerated a yawn, closing his eyes. "I think I feel another nap coming on. You may all go now. I bore of you." When they did not move, he opened an eye and groaned. "Go. I'll still be here come morning."

And so they left him in peace, though Sylvain was reluctant, lingering at the bedside. He ignored Elspeth's goodbye, and did not so much as glance in her direction when she and Dimitri retreated to the hall. In the view of the audience chamber she bid Dimitri goodnight, then made her way back to where her sleeping companion waited.

That morning it was not Flayn who came to wake her, but Seteth. With breakfast, as an apology. Elspeth was to join him in morning prayer, as a chance for them to see past their differences and find common ground under the eyes of the Goddess. When he realised she was not yet dressed, he left the tray of breads, roasted ham and the pitcher of milk atop her worn shelf and excused himself. Whilst he waited, Elspeth ate the bread in silence, sharing the ham and milk with Aethel, his eyes still droopy with sleep.

Once she was fed she dressed quickly into her slacks, tying her hair with a yellow ribbon of velvet. The clothes itched, but they were all she had. If she had money, she would buy new ones of good quality; a soft green tunic, perhaps, or a summer dress of turquoise cotton. There were some in the market that had caught her eye, but she had refused Flayn's offers to buy her one. I could get a job down in the market, help out the baker's boy or somethin', she pondered. Then I could buy clothes for me an' Flayn both, and treats for Aethel.

Baking was a skill her mother had taught her, though it had been so long since she had baked that she was not sure she still knew how. Aethel's whining brought her back from her daydreams. She attached his muzzle to his snout and hooped his leash over his head. He was long overdue a walk, and so she had decided to bring him along- whether Seteth liked it or not. "Ye look like a dog, boy," she muttered at the sight of him. He whined in disapproval. As she walked him to the door she said, "Don't worry, Aethel. They'll see soon enough how good ye are, jus' you wait."

Elspeth walked with Seteth to the cathedral, Aethel padding slowly between them. Students eyed her with suspicion as they passed, skirting round her like skittish deer. One dropped her leaning stack of books- a girl with a nest of purple hair- and ran screaming prayers of some sort, and that she "should have stayed in my room!" It saddened her, that they did not see Aethel as she did. A Riegan Tabby watched them through bright glossy eyes, fur bristling along its back. When Aethel tried to sniff it hello, it darted away with a fearful yowl. Seteth also looked tense, glancing downward every few paces, though he had not objected to his company. A start, at least. As they crossed the bride of stone, he spoke. "You left your room last night. Why?"

"Visited Felix," was her reply. He nodded once, and said no more.

The pews within the cathedral were occupied by many; both young and old, student and knight, servants and priests. Elspeth glanced at the faces as she passed, wondering what silent prayers they offered to the Goddess. Good health, she supposed, for those they loved. Safety or fortune; forgiveness, even. Some shuffled further down their pew at the approach of Aethel, others closed their eyes and muttered frantic prayers. Prayin' for him to disappear intae dust, she thought angrily. Seteth led her round to the saint statues, raising a finger to his lips. He used it to brush specks of dust from Saint Macuil's robes, looking up at his golden features. "You know of the saints?" he asked, voice low.

"Only their names. Flayn told me 'em," Elspeth whispered back. Aethel lay against her leg to rest his own, head between his large paws. Though she knew little of the saints, their characters were easy enough to decipher. Macuil was draped in robes of gold and wielded a thin staff, and wore a pointed hat atop his head of gold. In his other hand he rested upon the pommel of a sword, the blade dulled to a burnished gold. A mage, she decided. Indech wielded a bow, drawn back as if to fire, frozen in permanent stasis. He donned plated armour, and his matching helmet had no visor. A hunter... No, a soldier.

Seteth looked down at her, smiling. "They are the founders of the seven noble bloodlines, and the original holders of Crests. During the War of Heroes, they fought valiantly alongside the Ten Elites to defeat the Fell King. Do you wish to know more?"

Elspeth peered up at Saint Indech's unblinking eyes, a focused expression forever etched into his features. The saints did interest her, but she was afraid to appear too eager lest Seteth lecture her for hours on end. "Was Saint Indech a soldier?" she settled with.

Seteth chuckled softly. "Ah, so it is Saint Indech who interests you most? I suppose you could say so. He was a great warrior. It is believed his skill with a bow was unparalleled... or so the stories say." He observed her a moment, a curious look in his verdant eyes. "I see a little of him in you, actually. He was fearless- and bold, too."

Fearless... Elspeth was sure that was not true of her, but did not argue. "Which is your favourite?" she asked, resuming her examination of the statue.

"I have always held a certain fondness for Saint Cethleann."

A smile curved her lips. "Flayn's favourite, too." Elspeth walked over to Cethleann, scanning the jumble of letters etched into the plaque at her feet. Words she could not read. She frowned.

Seteth recited the tale of Cethleann; of her kindness, and how she was the daughter of Saint Cichol. A woman worthy of the title of Saint, he said- a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil of war. The more he talked, the more it all seemed a fairy tale; a story told to young children to lull them to sleep, of holy knights- the Ten Elites- and a great battle between the forces of light and dark. And yet, was the world she lived in not a fairy tale itself? Noble knights sworn to their kingdoms, and sorcerers who could pull from the ether and bend fire and darkness itself to their will. And Aethel, a being everyone seemed incredulous of, some ancient beast once a myth now brought to life, blessed with the power of the Goddess herself. May it be, Elspeth wondered, that the stories are true? "What 'bout kitsunes?" she heard herself ask. "Did they fight in the war?" There were no statues of them within the monastery, no shrine to their name. If they truly were beings of the Goddess... where were they?

Seteth cast his eyes to the floor, a frown on his face. "They did not." His fingers fidgeted. She had never seen him so uneasy. He looked deep into her eyes, as if searching the depths of her very soul. "If I tell you this tale, you must swear to tell no one."

Elspeth nodded, nervous butterflies tickling her gut.

"You must swear it." His whisper was harsh.

"I swear." She pulled out the necklace from her tunic and held it out in her palm, curling her fingers round the warmth of it as she spoke. "I swear on the Goddess' name- on my ma's and my father's." Would that I knew it.

"Very well... I believe you have the right to know." He glanced around warily, pulling her closer to the wall by her elbow. "Long ago, a kitsune- the first of his kind- swore an oath to Saint Cichol, to aid him should he ever need it," he began, tone hushed. Elspeth had to keep deathly quiet to hear, afraid to even breathe. Seteth continued, "When the age of the War of Heroes arrived, Cichol called upon that oath, for him and his kin to take up arms against Nemesis. Alas, the kitsune and his kin were nowhere to be found. They had vanished from the face of the earth, abandoning both the oath and Saint Cichol's trust.

"As punishment, all knowledge of them was erased, their history reduced to fables. Only the highest members of the Church know of the truth. For many years kitsunes were believed to have perished- that is, until Aethel arrived at this very monastery." He paused, staring at Aethel asleep on the floor. "No sightings for centuries and yet here one is, alive and well. I tell you this because of him, because of your bond- one I cannot deny. He must have chosen you for a reason."

Elspeth mulled over his words. There's others, then, she realised. Aethel's family. Somewhere out there, hidden from the world. "Who was he? The first kitsune?" The words came out a breath of air.

Seteth smiled, though it was sad. "His name was Ygdrun." He clasped his hands over hers. A shared prayer. "Now, child, let us pray. And speak not a word of what I told you."

A/N~ Thanks MonMinou for the review! A lot of stuff going on in this chapter but I tried to pace it slow enough for you all to soak it in. As for healing magic, I don't want it to be too overpowered so... it can close wounds but not do much else xD Anways, small update:

This story was going to go on hiatus for the holidays but now I'm not sure... So as of now it's kind of on a break but not really? Basically I won't be updating as regularly until the new year arrives.(not like I have been anyway wheee)

With that said, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah/etc. if I don't see you before then. And as ever, thank you all for reading/reviewing!

In the next chapter, a revered Knight of Seiros arrives at the monastery. Edit: omg this site hates me lmao it puts spaces where there shouldn't be