Away to Arusalem, part I

DAMSEL

Chapter Fourteen

Margarethe had Eve by the elbow again as they were rushing up the main aisle of the Chapel Over Chapels, to go before the altar of the King Over Kings, and the good-she-monk laughing very hard at the poor, dirty girl’s penance—trekking down to a dragon’s cave, and “Oh, Damascus will be pleased! So pleased to hear how this went. And, had you noticed how we’re back just in time for church to start this Seventh-day morning? Had you, Miss Evil? So that counts twice, as perhaps the best Seventh-day school lesson ever…”


But then, the rush-and-go of the chapel people there suddenly became more meaningful to them, as shouts went up, and guards put everyone away from the rose-colored windows. Eve and Margarethe turned back and saw the burned slash-mark in the carpet, where they had stepped out of their transubsisting miracle of return—and it was still smoking. It was natural to want at the exeunt places, to get a closer look at what may be coming, but then several windows on their right blasted in, they threw arms up and tumbled over, in a white skirt and in a gray skirt (with no underthings, which Margarethe screamed even harder, for her charge’s sake).

“What’s upon us? It can’t be that damned Rapture again—”

A guard shouted once again for them to stay down. Some of the rue-cross burners were running like crazy to count, to fetch water, to cry out for more arms to carry it. Margarethe and Eve were instantly over there to help. As they were rushing towards the anteroom where the Ruecross was located, Eve twisted her left arm painfully a sudden as Margarethe stopped in a hallway dirtied by glass and gravel, pointed.

“Direct brood of the Devil Queen herself…”

For, a red dragon barreled and swept through the air just at the top of the white wall, so easy, and so close.

“Now, that’s orange and gold put together—Eve, come! This is what all this miracle-work is going for now. Stay calm, my girl!”

“It’s Fanven…”

“Yes.”

“What I made Axz do… what he did to all King Richard’s men, that’s nothing… picking off soldiers from the turret, one by one… it’s like nothing to him.”

“Very horrible. We’ll have to pray for their souls, while we hurry.”

“Fanven is just… snacking.”

The red dragon spread its wings, looking like a horrible hawk from afar, with a dragonfly’s tail, climbed up through clouds, flapped, still climbing, then somersaulted around to dive again. Then, that straight tail lashed again, he contorted and struck away again, like a ribbon slipping loose through one’s fingers in a wind. They wondered why—if Unicorns were odd enough in their half-mortal walking, then Dragons were horrible to watch in their movements as well… the glass broke right near them this time. Margarethe shielded with an arm, then through a weird instinct, ran up and stopped the hot projectile from rolling at them with her foot. She tapped it around a bit.

“Oh no…”

A metal helmet with a man’s severed head still inside. All of the hallowed volunteers screamed and sprinted ahead, almost over each other, to get to Archbishop Damascus in the Ruecross Room.

Damascus was reared on his weird little legs, his fat belly lit up by the shadow and orange of bonfire light around him. Smoke everywhere.

“By the Father—he’s going to try balancing it. What a pure heart—”

“What, Mother Margarethe?”

They threw their water on, it made more smoke, then Margethe had Eve step back.

The flame erupted, walked through the air to the ceiling, licked along that, spread and burst at the corners of the room. When it was done, everything had cleared and Damascus had gone.

“Oh! He’s barbecued himself in all our sorry names, the poor delicious goat.”

“Is this really how you deal with tragedy? With your rotten jokes? No, Eve. Damascus has gone there the same as Fanven brought himself here. A good many of the dragon’s allies are presently dealing with an angry, galloping Unicorn stabbing them through, I think. Come on, more water is definitely needed for the next one…”

Eve was laughing so hard, she didn’t realize how she panicked, how she was holding onto Margarethe but not going anywhere, how she dragged and then fell-out from exhausted fear, and running and hoping after dragons and what-else for a day and more.

And as she lay gasping and turning on the marble floor, Margarethe pulling out a rosary over her, Eve saw Damascus burn himself up another time, and another. He was on a stake. He was gone as well. And Cymen. And, Axz a dream. And, she was always the one to be tied up and lit up next…

In her sweating terror, Eve realized they had all been her dearest friends. Even the perverted old goat.

And so, Eve was deeply affected--and this came as a wild shock--to see a living creature vanish into nothing in but a breath.  At first, she amused herself to contrast the digging sadness.  Well of course she would be startled that something as loud and greasy and flippant as Damascus, Archbishop Damascus, that he could suddenly pop, really burst like a soap bubble exactly as she'd willed him to and fiercely so many times these last three months.  But then she thought of the holy species of ass, how he had called himself such when first they became really acquainted, and that right then, she realized that Damascus must be sad, taxed, and lonely at his work... he was going to miss Cymen too.  Small comfort that they might mourn together--and then they didn't.  Tinier comfort that he would be the one to guide her at Whitewall--no again, because Margarethe had done that.  Infinitesimal, speckless grain of warmth then, when Eve understood how false Micco had been all along, and that Damascus knew it too. That was what truly brought him down, when there was no Cymen Ruecross to excommunicate, nor virgins to trick kisses from...

"Oh Damascus!  And I never confided in you.  I never even liked you.  I never even reached to pet you or scratch you behind the ears, as I know most animals get designs upon... not even that!  Oh, Archbishop, oh first saint-maker... and now you are at the front of battle, its very worst side, and I never said good riddance."

Sister Margarethe knocked on the bedroom door.  Eve had been given her own room--something like a closet with enough space for her to sleep on the bed and swing her legs over it and stand a little.  Margarethe always rapped with her knuckles, sharp, twice, and then the floorboards leaned.  She always put those fists to hips and waited for the insolent to admit they'd been bad.

Eve opened it.  "My nightmares... now they involve a certain pudgy holy thing."

Margarethe crossed arms beneath her bosom.  "It's been a long time, with little news.  It's alright to worry."

"But tell me not to worry!"

Margarethe ushered Eve back inside, and truly tucked the other woman in.  "Shh... Damascus is a dear, dear friend.  I miss him terribly too."

"Are you in love with him?"

Margarethe swatted Eve's shoulder, through the blanket. "Giselle would murder me and eat my soul, I swear it."

"Ha!  That wasn't an answer.  But it's alright, I was just being bored and starting trouble.  With every day that passes I feel more convinced you really mean all those vows, Margarethe.  Why, I'm going insane--"

"Yes, far more than usual."

"And you are at peace.  You are at peace and I am losing mine." Eve yawned.  The tip of her tongue licked at the roof of her mouth, then teeth snapped closed.  "Damascus is your kin."

"Not quite."

"I know, not that.  I meant... more than your friend.  Not like a brother.  Nor a father, nothing like that... you are allies.  Family?  No... I'm missing the word."

"We both wear the cloth."

"That is real love.  To care for a person who is so disagreeable and a complete waste of space and fine fur.  I'd like to wear his fur, did I ever tell you that?  Well, anyways, Damascus is awful, but you want good things for him."

"He is not a person, and you do like him too."

"Yes, I do." Eve drowsed.

"He loves you, dear."

"And I love Damascus." Eve smiled a little.  And she was certainly near completely asleep to have gone quite that far.

"We all do.  He's a cuddly little angry Archbishop.  Good night, dearest Eve." and kissed her brow.

This made Eve see Damascus everywhere in her sleep.  He danced and trotted, leaped happily through meadows and snacked on flowers.  No, no.  It was her pet goat, the one she had... alright so it was the neighbor's but she would have liked to have had him, but the pet goat was merry and sweet.  It was the goat in a Damascus suit.  But once, when Eve held Margarethe by the ears and swore, spitting a little, that dreams were real visions of the future, she knew it, she'd earned gold on it, Margarethe pinched Eve's lips shut and snarled back that they were just emotions bubbling forth, the Father was giving us a way to know what was inside of our hearts, touch that and then do something about it once we roused in the morning.  Dancing chickens meant Eve was hungry, not that she should go and dance with chickens, sacrifice them, and so forth.

So then... Eve realized that she desperately hoped Damascus was happy and safe out in the Fringe.

Oh Darling, I'm flattened.  You think I'm sexy, don't you?

Eve sat up in bed.  A few more blinks, and the cold winter air helped.  She needed to get back to the pillow and the warm brick Margarethe had brought, beneath that.  Warm red.  Soothing black.  No more thoughts...

Please, do not wake up again, Miss Evil.  It is disastrous, poking Cymen in the night and starting this whole thing again.  He's exhausted, and my turning around on the horse difficult.

"Are you..." Eve looked down and found herself riding a horse alongside them.  Yes, this was the doing of Damascus.  He had no inkling as to how underconfident and incapable she was on horseback.  "Oh!  Damascus, you're riding in his arms.  Like a little lost sheep."

"It's warm in his lap."  Damascus nuzzled into Cymen.  The man's head bobbed as he drifted in and deeper into sleep.  More miracle that Damascus' horn remained neatly out of the way.  "No!  Don't you touch him.  I'm comfortable."

"So then the two of you are alive!  And the Crusades?"

"How do you know this isn't Heaven and I'm saying our final goodbye.  Look at the road.  Look how white it is, Eve.  And it's so very shiny... we could very well be dead, in the afterlife, and me very very pissed at you!  Maybe I want to make you see how we died before it's too late.  This war is all your fault."

"I suppose... it's more likely that I destroyed life and ended civilizations, yes.  Come then, tell it."

"No, first you must be angrier.  Distraught, mournful and loud, pathetic, come on."

Eve screamed and ripped her clothes, leaned over and hugged the neck of her emotionless horse.  When she was done rubbing her nose, Eve sat up again and folded hands neatly over the reins.

"Oh, I don't think I shall ever give you permission to be yourself again.  Alright, take a breath, creature.  We shall delve deeper into the vision."

Eve was then perched in a tree.  Men shouted, and fought below her.  She had never seen Cymen fight like this before.  He was savage and murdered like a beast…