Obligations

I am on a starship traveling a strange journey into unknown spaces. My liege, Lady Erian Li Halan, presses us further into greater and greater danger in pursuit of her quest. Our fate has now led us into barbarian space, escorted by a Vuldrok pirate lord through jumpgates unknown to the empire -- lost worlds which we hope to find again.

I have much time to write here in my cramped cabin. My journals are caches of my reflections on our travails, on our hopes and fears. I often send copies of them by trusted courier to my childhood friend, now chartophylax at the Vermillion Repository on Midian, who sees that they are published and distributed among allies. For this reason, I have not yet transcribed our leading goal here among the barbarians.

But danger is ever preying upon us, and I fear that we may not all survive this adventure. For this reason, I feel it best to record our goal. If we cannot accomplish it, then it is a lost cause. If we do, then I shall burn this entry and leave no evidence of our quest.

It was on Byzantium Secundus, where so many plots and causes are hatched, that fate chose to chain my lady to new obligations. She had only recently taken her vows as a Questing Knight, and already we prepared to tread new and dangerous paths for reasons given us in visions by the great Anunnaki Gargoyle of Nowhere. So as not to insult our host during our stay, we partook of his grand parties at his villa outside the Imperial City.

Boring and tedious affairs for the most part, my lady did find them amusing at times, for she knows the thrusts and ripostes necessary to thrive in such atmospheres. I, however, have no mind for even petty intrigue, and found myself on far too many occasions drawn into social conspiracies without my knowledge or consent, only discovering the truth of these matters after I had excused myself for the evening and discussed my meetings with Erian.

Such was the status quo on this night. Rather than be suckered into yet another attempt by some bold noble compatriot to pass messages to a lover or co-conspirator -- why are priests considered such good envoys for such things? Are we that naïve? -- I slipped from the hall to wander down a side passage near the servants' quarters, finding myself deep in contemplation of the proper response an Eskatonic provost should give to such frivolous social entreaties as met me on nights such as these.

A servant quickly exiting from an open door nearly knocked me over. He was in a rush and I lost in thought; we barely avoided a painful smack. Before he could get his wits about him, I heard a yell of pain in the room. Reacting on instinct rather than wisdom, I stepped into the room to see who had cried so.

On a straw bed lay a soldier, his tunic and the straw beneath him stained in blood. A horrendous gut wound was apparent, one to which another servant was doing his best to administer. But he was no chiurgeon, and I wondered why no physick had been summoned. Harshly, I stepped over and snatched the blade and gauze from his hands, kneeling down to examine the wound. "Fetch hot water," I said.

The servant immediately leaped up and joined the other, and both left the room in a rush. I hardly noticed. My attention was completely drawn to the wound. It was greivous. The man was dying, and it was amazing he had not already passed on. I calmed myself and spoke the litany taught me years ago by Mother Kalpa, calling upon the divine fire in my breast to seal the torn flesh. The skin grew taut and the edges of the wound - from a sword, I presumed - reknitted somewhat. But it was not enough.

The man was looking at me now. He had awakened from his temporary delirium and stared into my eyes with an intensity I had never before encountered. Who was this soldier to have such a general's glare about him?

"Leave it, brother," he said, sighing. It seemed he was in a place beyond pain. "I am dying, and there is nothing your rituals can do about it."

"Who are you?" I asked. "I am a confessor. I can hear and absolve you."

"Of what? I bear no sins, but for pride perhaps. Regret, maybe"

"Can I help?" I said as I soaked the blood from his wound. It did no good. My rite had not closed the wound entirely.

He then looked at me with that stare, one which commanded complete respect. "I need a Questing Knight, brother. Not a brat on tour away from father's fief, but a real knight."

"Then I shall fetch one," I said, standing. I could not hide my smile at the amazed but skeptical look on his face. I stepped out of the room and saw the servants returning, each ferrying a pail of steaming water. I took one from the lad I had nearly collided with earlier, and said: "Go to the main hall, quickly. Fetch Lady Erian Li Halan."

He stood there for a moment, doubtful, looking into the room. The soldiers' voice came: "Go, boy, do as he says. But quietly!" The lad was immediately off, moving as quickly as he could yet taking pains to appear like a normal servant on no mission of import.

I stepped back into the room and dipped the gauze in the water, rubbing it over the wound to cleanse it. The man dropped in and out of consciousness. I momentarily thought he had died, but a fierce will within him kept him here.

Erian Li Halan came into the room, a look of concern on her face. When she saw my charge, her jaw dropped. "Warlord Sentaku" she whispered in awe.

His eyes fluttered open and he looked at her. "Who?"

She dropped to a kneel and bowed before him. "Lady Erian Li Halan, daughter of the Seven Petaled Rose lineage. You served with my father in the Shansei Conflagration. You saved his life. I remember sitting on your knee as you told the tale before the Matrons."

The man smiled. "Can the Pancreator be so kind as to bring you before me now? Quickly, young rose with thorns, are you indeed sworn to the Emperor as this priest says?"

"I am."

"Then I ask this one thing of you: Travel beyond all the maps we know to a barbarian world called Sky Tear. There, in a bunker, is hidden a relic important to the empire. Fetch it and give it to its rightful owner."

Erian looked dismayed. This was an insane request. I shook my head, signaling that I believed the man to be delirious.

"What you ask is difficult," she said.

The man parted his collar, and revealed there an amulet carved into the shape of a fiery lotus.

Erian shuddered and nodded. "The Burning Lotus. There is no greater military honor from my house."

"It was given me by your father."

"Then I shall do what you ask, if it is in my power. But I have a quest of my own, you must know."

"He who gave me this ring" the man said, struggling to remove a large ring of copperish-purple metal, "takes precedence." Once he'd freed it from his hand, he held it out for her. "It is Second Republic manufacture. It knows the makeup of my body, and I now set it for you. Take it." She did. "Hold it here, where I can reach." He touched it and a slight sound emanated, but nothing more. "There. None can now bear this but you, and it is a sign that you are my chosen. It carries the lore with it that you will need. In return for the quest I have set you, the owner of this ring shall render to you a service of your asking."

Erian looked puzzled, waiting for him to reveal the patron.

"Look on the inner ring," he said, his strength beginning to fail him.

Erian gasped. "The Phoenix Seal of Vladimir. Only one man can rightfully use it...."

"It is he," the soldier said. "Now I am through."

And there he died.

And here I now sit, in a starship somewhere making its way to the mysterious world he named. It is known to our guides, but they only laugh when we ask about it, and say that we will know it when we ingest it. And then we will "know everything." I have no idea what they mean, but I suppose we will find out.

We did not speak of the incident to anyone, for the servants declared that the soldier demanded secrecy. Our host was an ally of his, and he had appeared at the gates wounded, seeking aid from someone he knew would keep his secret, but he gave the servants no explanation. By the time our host arrived, Warlord Sentaku had died.

Our host was greatly troubled and would not speak of it, but he did notice the ring on Erian's hand - his raised eyebrows were hard for even him to hide. He seemed to have some unspoken idea of the debt wearing it entailed, for he was ever more respectful of her from then on. It seemed to me he treated us all as if we were leaving for a war from which we would not return.

It seems that the heavy hand of obligation makes martyrs of us all.

From Passion Play