Cyrano and Evie’s Memory – Ages 30.

Evie did the best she could not to move. Her ballooned purple legs were at least double the size they should be, and even breathing somehow seemed to accentuate their furious throbbing. Sweat dewed her brow from the pain. They stretched out before her on a ten foot long pew within an alcove of a cloister walkway. The glittering black stone of the walls seamlessly moved into the arched ceiling and opened into delicately ornate pillars that created a series of archways parallel to her. It looked as though someone had sectioned off part of the night sky and curved it into a single walkway. Silvered teals and violets hung like ethereal clouds and white specks grew and shrank. It was clearly magically constructed. A single tendon twitched in her leg forcing a wince at the subtle movement. The Petrian Elf’s healing magic was working quicker than she anticipated. That also meant she could feel the shrinking of her inflamed muscle fibers. All of them cried out at the smallest shift in movement. A Petrian Elf. . . She thought, A full blooded Elf! An Elf from the cradle of civilization. . . Her thoughts drifted behind the unbelievability of it. A welcome distraction.

Cyrano stood eight feet away beneath one of the arches. He did his best to give Evie space while her legs healed, and she took some time to process the strangeness of her surroundings. At the sight of her wincing, he stepped forward to help, but the quiet clunk of his Celestial Armor reminded him what he looked like. He recalled the first time he’d seen a Celestial Knight. Its armor seemed as though a tremoring pool of molten metal had begun taking shape in the air, but before all the edges of its form could smooth out, someone had frozen it in its predatory and cratered form. The sharp points and talon-like edges that served as peaks of its surface reminded him more of a battered meteorite than metal. A relation he knew now, to be close to the truth. So as quietly as he could he stepped back to his original position.

The silence between them loomed over Evie’s heavy breath. Cyrano felt the weight of each dragging second carrying the need for elucidation. How would he explain this place? How would he explain anything? The past fourteen years in The Afterworld of Serenity. The Silent King and Carthus. Zendell, Mirabel, The Company of the Sparrow, the baby. . . the baby.

“Are you hurt?!” Evie asked urgently. Her breath stuttered as she stared at Cyrano with unfeigned concern.

“No!” Cyrano replied, unfurrowing his expression. He smiled at Evie but caught himself and went back to looking concerned. Seeing her again brought back joy he hadn’t felt in years.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. . .” Cyrano started.

“Smiled? AH!” Evie interrupted before her left leg cramped. It subsided almost as quickly as it came and when she caught her breath she hissed genuine laughter through clenched teeth. “Ok, at least I know it’s actually you now. You’re allowed to smile C. I would, AH!, if I could.”

Cyrano felt a tinge of familiar embarrassment wash over him, filling his heart with joy. He hadn’t felt this way since he was a puppy eyed teenager following Evie around with devoted admiration. She was his whole world for some of the most pivotal moments of his life. She protected him, stood up for him, demanded and handed out justice when the other kids tormented and teased him. She was the only true family he had left. He was smiling again.

“I’m happy to see you too.” She said to him through a forced grin.

She was still doing it. Even when she was in so much pain. Cyrano sighed and looked over his shoulder.

“Araya!” Cyrano called out.

In an instant the Petrian Elf turned the corner and glided into the walkway. He walked in with the same assured elegance as when they applied the healing charm on Evie’s legs. They wore the robes of what Evie recognized to be a Petrian servant. Being an engineer, she had spent many years being reminded over and over how they were the first to utilize Points of Power. How their Hestian Obelisks provided light at night, protected husbandry, and maintained simple sanitation. How it was the first known civilization where Humans and Elves lived peacefully together and began breeding with one another.

It wasn’t just from her formal education that she was forced to constantly hear about them. Her father railed against them, claiming it was the beginning of the end of nuance and elegance. How he could ever believe that the end started nearly six thousand years ago and still hadn’t come to its conclusion she never understood. He was right in a bigoted sense. There were no more full-blooded elves. But both species had bred new life, intermingling their bloodlines to enhance one another over the centuries. The elves extended the human lifespan and provided magical sensitivity to better understand and control the arcane energies around them. While humans diluted the Elvish sensitivity, it allowed them to exist in the modern world as more and more powerful magical objects began enhancing quality of life for everyone. It was a beginning, not an end.

Evie took Araya in. She recognized the pristine white wrappings around his neck and the palms of his hands as that of a Petrian servant from her textbooks. Simple runes the same shade of white was sewn into them. Markings of ownership, and incantations to ensure punishment for disobedience took as little effort by the masters as possible. She did find the thick, black, curly beard odd. It blocked the view of the Ownership Wrappings on his neck, and as far as her modern education had taught her, a beard of that length signified piety or the mastering of the arcane. Most details outside of written text were purely guesses though. She had so many questions!

“You summoned me, Master Cyrano?” Araya asked.

Evie’s eyes bulged and an amused smile washed away her pained expression at the utterance of “Master Cyrano”. Cyrano saw her head turn comically slow towards him with a jovially shocked expression on her face. Cyrano side eyed her, shaking their head in disagreement at Araya’s titling. He turned his flustered attention back to Araya.

“I . . .don’t call me. . . Some wine please Araya.” Cyrano fumbled.

“Of course. May I inform you however sir, that the consumption of wine would only serve to further the inflammation of Mistress Evie’s ligaments as they heal. Might I offer to bring some to you both after the charm has completed its purpose?” Araya offered.

“Do you have Petrian wine?!” Evie interjected. The ghost of her addiction slithered its famished anticipation into her spine.

“Of course, Mistress Evie. It has been immaculately cared for in our cellars and enchanted to maintain its youthful fruit. Petrian wine was never made to age as long as more modern wines. These are perfectly maintained to be at the peak of their character.” Araya confirmed with a satisfied grin of pride.

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There was a tinge of hesitation in Evie. Two years sober. The aches of days lost to hang overs, her utterly drained body from years of poor sleep, the shell of a person she was as she acted out what was required of her daily. All the lost years after her father’s imprisonment, came back to her. But how foolish would she have to be to pass up the opportunity to drink the wine of the first known civilization? She also just survived being hunted by The Veil’s Marshalls and those inky black malformed creatures. Shit! She deserved this!

“No need to wait, I’ll take it right now!” She said.

Cyrano stared at her legs. They had gone down somewhat in the half an hour since Araya had applied the charm.

“And there’s absolutely no way to dull the pain?” Cyrano asked Araya.

“I’m afraid not, Master Cyrano. If we were dealing with just the inflammation of Mistress Evie’s muscle fibers then yes of course. However, and forgive me Mistress Evie, but in your inexperienced casting of the Haste Spell you didn’t properly purge the aura, or seal the channels of arcane force. The swelling is also the byproduct of an excess of arcane energies still pouring in, and in accordance with the effect of the spell, at an accelerated rate. The charm does mend the flesh, but also works to expel the excess magical force, and seal these channels so no further damage can be done. Applying any sort of numbing charm would only open more channels, and there is a high probability of them not keeping pace with the channels of the Haste Spell. It would only worsen Ms. Evie’s condition I’m afraid.”

Cyrano sighed and looked back at Evie with remorse.

“I’ll take that wine now.” She chuckled through pained breath.

Araya cleared his throat and the two of them turned to him. “There are other methods I know of. I’d have to check the medicinal gardens on the fourth floor but there may be some poppies that might prove useful. Neighboring tribes during my time used them for both medicinal purposes as well as recreation. I could. . .”

“No.” Evie interceded. She could handle one glass of wine. Opiates would start a whole other snowball she wasn’t ready for. “Just the wine. Thank you.”

“Very well.” Araya replied coolly. He waved his hand and a clay basin appeared in front of him filled with a carmine-colored red wine. Even several feet away Evie could smell the bouquet. Its ripened plum and cherry notes were uplifted by a grounding woody scent and an airy spice swirled it all into balance. Evie’s mouth began salivating and her heart raced. Araya could witness the ravenous thirst in Evie’s eyes and smiled pleasantly as they carried an already filled clay cup to her.

“This is a vintage from Lord Habuk Telsani’s personal vineyard. A mean spirited greedy man, who mercilessly worked his township to feed his gluttonous appetites. In the night, one of his Chamber Boys slit his throat and, still naked, just walked out of the Lord’s manor. With no consequences at all. Not even his guards felt the need to avenge their lord’s murder. From that act of rebellion the township cultivated the land, without a master, and made some of the finest vintages in all of Petra. Even the land appeared to be grateful of his passing. The clay the basin and cups are made of, also come from that very land.” Araya regaled, as he handed out the clay cups.

Evie swallowed a mouthful, and her mind took a moment to react. It was extraordinary. For a moment she was transported in time to the land the grapes were picked from. It felt revelrous and grateful. A spirit had been maintained in the crafting of this beverage. She could feel the warmth of the sun and the thankfulness hope brought with it. She downed the rest of it and held out her hand for more. Araya cocked his head and looked deeply pleased with her response.

“Sorry, can’t get up at the moment.” Evie said.

Araya motioned his hand and the cup drifted from Evie’s and dipped into the basin. Araya walked up to it and wiped the dripping wine with the cloth on his palms. He walked up to Evie and handed it to her with his head bowed and eyes to the ground. After she took it, he pressed his palms together and said “Thank you for allowing me to serve you.” A soft glow emanated from his pressed palms and when he parted them the wine stains were gone.

“Please, joins us Araya.” Cyrano requested.

Araya nodded in agreement and waved a hand over the basin. Another clay cup rose from the pool of wine. He covered his hands with excess fabric from his robe and wiped the cup clean with the inner part of it. He took the wine and softly bowed towards Cyrano before taking his original position.

Cyrano chuckled at Araya’s formality.

“You’re a free elf Araya. I’m not your master.” Cyrano reiterated, this time clearly.

Araya smiled and sipped the wine savoring it before swallowing.

“The Cathedral has accepted you as its new master.” He turned to Evie, “I am just as much a part of this place as the walls and ceilings that hold it together. I am eternally bound to it, and serve it, and its master. At our first meeting, your chosen blood brother saw it fit to release me of any servitude. Knowing of their freeing of The Afterworld of Serenity, The Cathedral’s previous home, and witnessing such unwillingness to claim ownership of not just one servant’s life, but an entire realm of the afterlife, I chose to serve him.” Araya turned back to Cyrano and bowed.

Evie’s eyes were wide with disbelief. Araya took another sip and spoke up to help clarify the confusion in Evie’s mind.

“The Afterworld of Serenity serves as the immediate destination for the souls of people who never accomplished anything of repute in life. These are neither good nor bad persons. Forgive me, are you aware of the hierarchy of the twelve afterworlds and The Divine?” Araya paused before continuing.

Evie didn’t register the question.

Cyrano freed an entire world of people? She thought.

She was staring at him and the stark difference in not just his appearance, but how he held himself, finally sunk in. He stood with his chest out and shoulders back with an almost militant air of confidence. Only when he addressed her did the meek teenager she knew reflect back to her. The fear from earlier today, of when she saw him marching towards her in that feral looking armor, came back to her. She was certain he was there to end her. Some leader amongst those malformed humanoid creatures who slaughtered the Veil’s Marshalls and chased her through the burning wood. After Cyrano removed his helmet, the wellspring of reprieve and blissful thanks at seeing her dead friend again overwhelmed her even now. Not friend. We swore an oath. We’re family. She thought.

“You died.” She whimpered through tears.

Cyrano looked up from his cup. He extended his arm out for Araya to take it and in the same movement began towards Evie. Araya held their hand out and the cup floated into it. Cyrano knelt before Evie and clasped her hand.

“I didn’t. No. Well, its . . . strange.” Cyrano fumbled. They still didn’t know where to start. They kissed her hand and all the love he had held for her over the past fourteen years came pouring out. Evie held her hand against Cyrano’s tear covered face.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Cyrano cried as he tried to wipe the tears from his face.

“You still apologize too much C.” She teased and stroked the side of his face, avoiding wiping away any tears.

Araya released Cyrano’s cup and it took its new station floating above the center of the basin. Without asking, Araya ushered Evie’s cup from her hand and it joined Cyrano’s above the carmine-colored wine. The initial distress at the cup leaving her was quickly replaced by the touch of her sibling. She mouthed a thank you to Araya and Araya nodded in response. His eyes wandered away from the intimate reunion to the library adjacent to them. A six story rotunda filled with books spanning ten thousand years. Many civilizations forgotten to most but preserved and protected in this Cathedral. He took one more look at the two chosen siblings, bound by blood magic, and the near whole of history beside them. He closed his eyes in thanks and walked away.