A/N: Onigiri=Rice Balls, Kudamono=Fruit, Ocha=Tea
It was always the darkness that she remembered first. In the first grey light, she would lie awake, shivering. That time, before any of the monks were awake, was the time she hated most-when she could feel the absence of energy in the silence of the walls. Lying there, alone in her alcove, Emmaline would whisper prayer after prayer to the Nine, hoping for a guardian against night.
This day was no different. The whisper of stray leaf against cold stone, the creak of wooden banister rippled through her unconscious mind and dragged her primal self to wakefulness. Her eyes flew open, instantly alert, the fear too real to ignore.
Slowly, as her mind subsided to a steadier pace, she sat up. It’s not real, she thought to her fear. Yes, Emmaline, it is, her fear whispered back.
Her eyes trained on the doorway, she edged slowly to the stone wall behind her futon. The darkness of the hallway licked against the doorframe. Emmaline refused to ask for a torch outside her door. It was weakness, to fear dark, and she was determined to fight it on her own terms.
For several minutes, she glared fiercely at the shadows, willing them to recede. She saw her own will, her own Sora, glowing bright from her body and pushing at the dark. Her concentration flared brighter, radiating into the hall beyond.
This was when she had to stop, every time. If she burned too bright, she would wake one of the older monks, and then all of them would know what it was they felt in their sleep.
As the light subsided and collapsed back into her, Emmaline drew in a shuddering breath. Her first Test of the day was done. It was not her choice to face her hardest Test first; that was simply how it went.
Her body stiff and aching, Emmaline clambered off of her futon. Consistent poise is a stone in the path to greater Sora, chided the Voice. Emmaline allowed herself the ghost of a smile. Then, with somewhat more gracefulness than a few moments previously, she began the first set of stretches in her routine.
Arching her back towards the ceiling, hands together and stretched, Emmaline paused.
The barest breath of cold against the nape of her neck sent tremors down to her gut. She wobbled, her focus broken, and lurched sideways toward the wall. Her breath was a trembling shudder of air and as she turned, it condensed into mist.
Like an anchor, Emmaline trailed the tips of her fingers along the wall as she walked to the warped window. Like the rest of the monastery, it was older than a lot of the rivers in the plains below. Time had not been kind to the glass, as it rippled and bent along its length.
She tugged up her sleeve and rubbed it on the glass.
Through the ripples, she could see no more than a few meters before the valley gave way to thick, deep fog.
Emmaline lurched back. Her heart thumped, kicking into fight or flight mode, surging adrenaline around her body. Against the chill dawn air, her skin burned.
But amidst all her survival instincts, she felt no strength. No bravery. Only fear that gripped her throat and crushed her lungs, that screamed through her mind with rampaging glee as it set afire all self control.
The slightest of whimpers escaped her white lips.
A shadow flickered in the fog. It slithered, closer and closer, sliding in and out of view. Emmaline backed slowly away, towards the door-then stopped.
No way forward, no way back, the Voice chuckled. Two ways in and no way out. What now, Shatterborn?
The shadow grew form, and tentacles. The darkness drew strength from her fear and licked at her feet. And still, within, that binding fear that battered at her mind.
Emmaline gritted her teeth. In the last corner of her thoughts, she shot a single prayer to the Nine.
“Grant me my safety, and I grant you my worship.”
The smallest of cracks appeared in the glass.
“Miramel, Rionan, Aceroth, Yahweh, Aira, Amaterasu-Please, one of you-“
A single bead of shadow dripped to the floor.
“HEAR ME!”
The glass exploded towards her as her mind burst into oblivion.
With a heaving gasp, she wrenched herself awake.
Emmaline trembled. “Just a dream… It was just a dream…”
The panic did not subside. She could feel it, pushing at her.
Light dispels dark; calm repels fear, the Voice called gently. Emmaline nodded absently, remembering an old trick one of the monks had taught her.
In her mind, she could see the dark and shadows that were her fears, baying at the fringes of her thoughts. With delicate precision, she eased herself into a calm concentration. She visualized a point of light in the centre of the confusion. She saw it spread; she willed it to spread, enveloping her thoughts in pure white light. As the light grew, her heart rate diminished, and she felt her muscles relax.
Vaguely, she felt a sensation tickling the edge of her concentration. It was a message, a cluster of information. Effortlessly, she splintered her mind, leaving part to focus on the light and the other back to the real world.
Then she heard it. A soft thud, thud, thud.
Footsteps.
Again, she focused, pushing her Sora into pockets of energy. Her hands pulsated a faint blue light.
The footsteps grew closer. She felt her body coil itself, ready to jump in attack.
A loud crash echoed down the hall; a strangled oath seconds after. Emmaline couldn’t help herself; she giggled.
Moments later, a similar blue light lit up her doorway. She relaxed and lowered her hands.
“Good morning, Azrael, sir,” she whispered to the figure.
Azrael grunted. “Oh, good morning Emmaline. I like the booby trap you left in the hallway.”
Emmaline smiled innocently. “What do you mean, sir? That wasn’t me.”
“Humph,” he grunted disbelievingly. Light flared from his palm and rose, bobbing, to the ceiling.
She groaned into her pillow. “What’s the time?”
“First grey.”
Emmaline rolled onto her back. “For the love of the Nine, what are you doing here then?”
Azrael chuckled and sat down on the floor, placing the tray he was carrying between them. “I brought breakfast: onigiri, ocha, and kodomono. Hurry up and eat.”
She reached for one of the onigiri and took a bite. “But why are you here?”
“Because we’re going for a walk,” he smiled, sipping at his tea.
They ate in silence for several minutes, only broken by the occasional sip or clatter. Emmaline spoke first.
“So… where are we walking to?”
Azrael’s eyes danced mischievously. “Up.”
“You mean,” Emmaline said warily, “up the mountain?”
He pretended to look thoughtful for a few seconds. “Well, yes. To see the dawn.”
Emmaline frowned. “Why? Why waste time on that, when we could be doing lessons?”
Azrael glanced at her, surprised. “I thought you’d be happy to watch the sunrise. Anything for a break from lessons, right?”
She nodded. “Well, exactly. If it’s not lessons, it shouldn’t exist, according to you.”
“I thought so,” he said sadly. “I’ve been pushing you too hard. We need to enjoy ourselves sometimes, after all.”
Emmaline smiled. “Thank you, Azrael. I appreciate it. Now get out of my room so I can get dressed. Oh, and shut the door,” she added. “Please.”
Once Azrael had exited her room, Emmaline sat up with a sigh. Not once in six years had she been allowed a sleep in-barring when Azrael knocked his head on a bench, and that didn’t count, because he woke her up twice as early the next day.
An afterthought flickered through her head like a moth before a lamp.
“No,” she murmured. “Not six… Seven.”
Her birthday, and Azrael remembered before she did. Emmaline laughed, then leapt up and dashed to her wardrobe.
Emmaline had three sets of clothes. Travelling clothes, which doubled as her hiking gear. Her acolyte robes, threadbare and far too small, and a single dress. She never wore it. It was unpractical, and didn’t even fit her: a hand-me-down from a pilgrim who gave it as a gift. She grabbed the travelling outfit and hauled it on.
“You done yet?” Azrael called.
“Would I still be in here if I was?”
“Actually,” he retorted, “yes you would-sleeping.”
She snorted. “Stop spreading your lies, Azrael, it’ll do you no good.”
She glanced at the mirror. “A year older, huh?” she murmured. “I don’t look it.”
Well, actually, you’re only a day older than yesterday, the Voice said slyly.
Emmaline laughed at that. “Who the hell are you, anyway, Voice?”
Silence.
“Figures.”
She walked into the hallway. Azrael was leaning against the wall waiting.
“Whom were you talking to, anyway?” he asked as they walked.
Emmaline smiled knowingly. “Oh, you know, a voice.”
Azrael frowned. “A voice? In your head.”
“Yeah, why? What’s wrong with that?”
“How long has it been talking to you?”
She shrugged. “As long as I can remember, I guess.”
Azrael stopped short. “And you never told me?”
“I never thought to, ok?”
He sighed. “Alright. Sorry. I’m… a little jumpy for some reason.”
It was her turn to frown. “Can you feel anything in the Sora?”
Azrael focused for a moment. “No. Well, I don’t think so.”
“We’ll tell a monk when we get back, ok? Maybe they can try.”
He chuckled. “Thanks.”
Emmaline raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You,” he smiled. “Mothering me.”
She punched him in the arm playfully. “Oh, shut it. Fine. It’s the harbinger of the Apocalypse, come to begin his war.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Fine,” she sighed.
They passed a group of monks gathered around a small shrine.
“Should we-“ Emmaline began.
“No, Emmaline, they’re praying,” Azrael replied wearily. “How many times-“
“-Do you have to tell me, yadda, yadda, yadda. Got it. No talking to praying monks.”
Azrael mumbled something about doubts. Tactfully, Emmaline ignored him.
“So, how high are we going, exactly?” Emmaline called down to Azrael.
“The plateau,” he called back.
“Not too bad then,” she said to herself.
They had been walking for half an hour, but neither had even broken a sweat. Emmaline had had years of endurance training from Azrael, preparing her for-in her opinion-pretty much anything.
“C’mon, Azrael,” she said, louder. “This is a cakewalk compared to roof-running.”
“You were the one doing the running,” he gasped. “Whose idea was this? Wait. Don’t answer that.”
“Don’t worry, we’re nearly there old man. Just another fifty metres of rocky, steep mountainside.”
Azrael glared. “Revenge is sweet, I see.”
“Sweeter than a cherry blossom, would you believe.” She laughed sweetly, dancing over the rocks.
“Well,” he growled. “I would, actually. Come on, Azrael, you’ve still got some life in these bones.”
By the time he reached the plateau, Emmaline had spread out the blanket and opened the food pack. “Don’t worry, sir, take your time.”
With one final gasp, he sat down beside her. “This had better be worth it,” he grumbled.
Emmaline pointed skyward. “Look. You can see the dawn star.”
“You know it’s not a star, Emmaline.”
“Yes, I know,” she said sadly. “But it’s less magical to call it the morning planet.”
Azrael looked at her curiously. As she gazed at the sky, searching for more constellations, he remembered the first time they had walked up here. He carried her on his back the last fifty metres, and they lay in the grass exhausted together. At that moment, Azrael could see that child perfectly in her face.
“Azrael,” she began, still looking at the stars. “Why did you never teach me astronomy? Not worth the hassle?”
She glanced at him then, trying to read his face.
“Because,” he said slowly, “Because… I wanted to leave a little mystery in your life.”
She smiled a small, affectionate smile. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Above them, a solitary falcon cried out. “He’s up early,” Azrael quipped.
“Oh, and we… Can you feel that?”
Azrael frowned. “No, I can’t feel anything. What do you feel?”
Emmaline creased her brow. “I… I’m not sure. It feels like… People. A group of them.”
Azrael squinted down the valley. “I think I do see something, actually.”
Emmaline jumped to her feet. “Hold on. I have an idea.”
From her mouth emanated a sharp call, emulating the falcon. It swooped and perched lightly on a rock. Cautiously, Emmaline walked toward it. She reached out with her hand and brushed its head. It nudged her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and made the connection.
Her Sora melded seamlessly with the falcon’s Sora and together they soared. Emmaline felt the wind’s cold embrace on her wings as they whistled through the air together.
Down, she thought. To the people.
Together, they swooped. The falcon, a peregrine, sent a thought-shape-question to her-who was all she could understand.
A bundle of sound nudged at her. She splintered her mind, lurching back but not.
“Emmaline. What can you see?” Azrael asked anxiously.
An image flashed through her mind. “Men, garbed in black. They have weapons. Swords and bows. They fly a banner… But I can’t make it out. I have to fly closer.”
“Emmaline, N-!”
Swift as sound, she nestled back with the falcon. Down further, she asked. We have fish, if you want it. Somehow, Emmaline thought that the falcon laughed a little at that.
They swooped again, flying ever closer to the men. She could feel their Sora now. Deep black, cold and angry. She shuddered. The falcon, too, felt it, and shied away. Please, she thought.
There. The banner, fluttering in the wind. A black sun rising against a grey background.
One of the men looked up. His eyes narrowed. Through the falcon’s eyes, she saw his irises-midnight blue, flecked with silver. A flicker of panic rushed through her mind.
Another nudge distracted her. She hesitated, then ignored it. In that moment, the man reached behind him and pulled out a bow, notching it.
She glanced down; saw the glint of the steel arrowhead.
No.
She heard the whistle of the arrow through the air. Tried to turn, but found her mind frozen in conflict with the falcon. Heard, rather than felt the thud of the arrow as it pierced through feather and skin, flesh and heart.
The falcon’s scream echoed through the valley.