The Record of the Saints Caliber Read online

  Nuriel coughed and sniffled. She brushed her golden hair behind her ear and then wrapped her arms around her lithe body, the black, star-metal armor upon her arms chiming softly on her breastplate. She couldn’t shake the sound of that woman’s screams, and she felt her skin crawl with goose-pimples despite the heat of the cavern. She shuddered.

  Nuriel rubbed at her runny nose and a tiny cough escaped her mouth. She looked up and about at the magnitude of the cavern she was in, trying to get her attention on something else. The perimeter was lit by the hellish glow of volcanic magma. Enormous stalactites, like the very fingers of the mountain, groped at her from the ceiling. An eerie turbulence engulfed the atmosphere, broken by an occasional blast that reverberated amongst the boulders. The jagged, rocky walls twinkled and sparkled in the ubiquitous ruddy glow that consumed the cavern, and a spray of molten rock leapt from a fissure that lined the far wall.

  Nuriel sniffled and tucked her golden hair behind her ear as Isley led her ever deeper into the volcano. As much as she hated Jerusa—as much as she hated that impossibly fat King Gatima and his entire, wretched kingdom—she hated being here even more. She hated sneaking around Dimethica and betraying her duties—not that she liked her duties thus far in the Saints Caliber—but at least in Jerusa she hadn’t been betraying Sanctuary.

  Nuriel wondered what Karinael would think. Right now her friend would be in her dorm room back at Sanctuary getting cleaned up for lunch. She wondered if Karinael was thinking about her right now, wondering what she was doing. If she was, she’d be wondering if she was off fighting the Unbound or Infernals; if she was fighting off the minions of Apollyon and searching for a way to awaken the sleeping goddess, Aeoria. Nuriel frowned. Her friend wouldn’t be thinking that she had been burning dissenters for King Gatima. She certainly wouldn’t be thinking that she had been coerced by her mentor into betraying Sanctuary and working for a strange woman named Celacia.

  Nuriel bit her lip and sniffled. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Celacia was a strange Saint. In fact, Nuriel wasn’t even certain she was a Saint. She looked like a Saint…kind of. But she was not like any Saint Nuriel had ever known. Then again, Isley wasn’t exactly what she thought a seasoned Saints Caliber would be either. In fact, nothing she and Isley had done in the few months they had been together was really what she had thought she would be doing as one of the Saints Caliber.

  Back at Sanctuary she and Karinael had sat up so many nights, dreaming of the day they could make the elite Saints Caliber and leave Sanctuary. They could get away from the bullies and their relentless torments. They could go out into the world and fight for the will of the sleeping goddess, Aeoria. It had never crossed their minds that if they ever made Saints Caliber they would be trading being bullied for doing the bullying.

  Karinael was still back at Sanctuary. She hadn’t made Saints Caliber yet, and probably never would. She was too nice, too sweet and too caring. Additionally, every Saint possessed special power that gifted them with speed and strength and made them more than mortal men and women. This gift was known as Caliber, and the more brightly a Saint could shine their Caliber, the more powerful they were. And Karinael’s just wasn’t strong enough.

  Nuriel wasn’t exactly the type to make Saints Caliber either. Back at Sanctuary the others had often teased her, saying she was too soft, too sympathetic to make it. Nuriel was beginning to think the others were right.

  To make Saints Caliber, a Saint had to have a strong Caliber. They had to be powerful enough to withstand the impossibly heavy Star-Armor they wore and still be able to run with the wind and fight like a hurricane in battle. But more than that, to make Saints Caliber a Saint had to have a certain psychological profile. It was a profile that neither Nuriel nor her friend Karinael had.

  Nuriel made Saints Caliber solely by the strength of her Caliber. She knew it. Everybody at Sanctuary knew it. It was something of a dirty little secret back at home. Having a Saint with such a powerful Caliber had apparently been too much of a temptation for the Bishops and they couldn’t resist putting her out into the field. So, against the Holy Few’s advice, they had given Nuriel her Call to Guard; her invitation to join the elite Order of the Saints Caliber.

  At twenty-one, Nuriel was the youngest to ever make Saints Caliber. Most Saints did not receive their Call to Guard until they were twenty-five or twenty-six when their Calibers came to full power. But Nuriel knew that Karinael would never receive her Call to Guard. In fact, most Saints never would, but it didn’t prevent them from dreaming. Deep down, Nuriel knew that even Karinael had come to realize she would never make Saints Caliber. It was something they didn’t talk about. It was one of those sore subjects; an open wound that Karinael lived with. They both dreamed of making Saints Caliber, but they also both knew that one of them never would.

  And maybe it was a good thing Karinael would never make it, thought Nuriel. It was only three months ago that she had gotten her Call to Guard. She was assigned to apprentice under Saint Isley and was given to Jerusa and King Gatima. In that short amount of time Nuriel had come to realize that being one of the Saints Caliber wasn’t all about fighting Infernals and Unbound demons. It wasn’t about fighting for a new age of hope or a means to awaken the sleeping goddess and return the stars to the sky. Instead, it had been about doing what Nuriel thought of as remedial tasks for King Gatima.

  She and Isley had been quelling uprisings and policing villages, things Gatima’s knights should be doing as far as Nuriel was concerned. They had even been collecting taxes for King Gatima, and as far as Nuriel could tell, that basically amounted to looting the villagers of what few possessions most of them had. Last month when Gatima declared a steel shortage and ordered that the citizens of Jerusa give up their swords and weapons there were riots in the streets of Gatimaria. After she and Isley put a swift end to it, they were told to round up every dissenter and their children and put them to the torch.

  Again that woman’s screams and her son’s hand reaching through the fires assaulted Nuriel’s mind and she shuddered. She sniffled and tucked her hair behind her ear. She coughed, but it was not from the sulfurous fumes of this volcano. She hadn’t felt herself since she left Sanctuary to apprentice with Isley and at this point she was fairly certain it was no longer just homesickness. She had never been sick before, but she really felt like she might be coming down with something. She had heard about the ills that often plagued Saints out in the field and supposedly homesickness was quite common with apprentices. Nuriel didn’t think it was homesickness though. She thought maybe it was all her Saintly duties that had been making her sick, but she had to dash that idea quickly from her mind.

  “We shouldn’t be here.” said Nuriel softly as they approached the end of the long cavern where a handful of Jerusan knights in shabby armor stood sentry. Her voice was indignant, testing what was appropriate for an apprentice.

  Saint Isley stopped and turned around to look at Nuriel. His face was soft with understanding and his eyes smiled along with his face. He looked at her with those tender, chrome eyes of his, and Nuriel couldn’t help but see something of Holy Father Admael in his features. She wondered if that was the reason she was so easily swayed by him. Even now Nuriel found herself wishing she could see Holy Father one last time. Meeting him at her Call to Guard Ceremony had been too brief and it left her craving more of his warmth and love.

  “There are certain things you do not yet know, Nuriel.” Nuriel always found Isley’s voice to hold a calm, soothing, tranquility to it. He moved close to her and took her arm in his hand. “I know you do not trust Celacia, and I know you do not like the idea of betraying Sanctuary, but there are certain things in motion right now that will bear fruit for the sleeping goddess. You must trust me on this, Nuriel.”

  Nuriel sniffled and tucked her golden hair behind her ear. She looked down upon his black star-metal gauntlet that rested on her arm. Every Saint had a unique star symbol, a stellaglyph. This stellaglyph was tattooed upon th
e back of their necks and painted upon their gauntlets. Upon Isley’s was the familiar dual stars of his stellaglyph, painted in red.

  He was known as Saint Isley the Wolf for the very reasons that Nuriel both admired and feared him. He had told her once that he thought his dual stars represented himself and his beliefs; both apart, yet inseparable. He said his beliefs stood apart from him because there were unknown truths—knowledge that needed to be pursued—and once obtained could forge and change his beliefs.

  Of course, no Saint really knew what their stellaglyph meant, other than it was the name of their star; unpronounceable, symbolized in the runes that only Oracles could decipher. However, Nuriel thought that Isley was the Wolf because he would relentlessly hunt the truths that he so desperately sought. And like a wolf Isley could set himself upon a path and put all his intention upon it, all his devotion and faith into it, and track it down to the very ends of the earth.

  It scared Nuriel that he, like most Saints, never questioned anything; never considered his actions to be constructive or destructive. Back at Sanctuary it was one of the things Nuriel often struggled with; the notion that she was to devote herself entirely to the will of the Sleeping Goddess, but to never consider her actions good or evil. Saints were supposed to be the very will of the Goddess Aeoria, and all things they did were righteous in their course.

  Again the unbidden memory of the burning woman and her children flashed in Nuriel’s mind and she lowered her gaze from Isley’s. Had that been the righteous will of the Goddess?

  Isley stepped into her and held her close to his side. He pointed to the sentries who stood at the end of the rocky cavern. Like all Jerusan knights, their armor was old and mismatched, pocked and dull despite having been polished. “Those soldiers are risking a lot to be here, Nuriel.” said Isley. “Back in Jerusa, they had it all. They were fed, they had weapons, they had nice homes and their families were well provided for. They gave it all up to come here with us, to align themselves with Celacia.”

  Nuriel didn’t like that last part, about aligning themselves with Celacia. She had never agreed to align herself with that woman. Above all things, Nuriel had given herself to Sanctuary and Holy Father. She hadn’t liked her duties in Jerusa, but at least she had been fulfilling her oath to Sanctuary by being there. She held hope that her days would get better and that eventually she would go off to fight Unbounds.

  But here in this volcano, in a kingdom she was not supposed to be in? Here they were only betraying Sanctuary and the kingdom they were given to. And on top of that, she still had no idea why they were even here or what they were even supposed to be doing. She had no idea what these soldiers had even given up their lives in Jerusa for. Had they been promised new homes here in Dimethica or some other kingdom? Nuriel wondered if things were really better in other countries, or if these men were risking everything for pastures just as fallow and fruitless as where they came from. She certainly had no idea what she was risking everything for.

  Nuriel’s golden eyes turned up to Isley. She had half a mind to leave him; to run back to Jerusa and find an Oracle and tell it about everything. Mentor or not, what they were doing just wasn’t right. They should be back in Jerusa, serving Gatima. “We’re going to get in trouble.” said Nuriel. “What if Sanctuary finds out we’re here? What if Gatima notices we’re missing?”

  “We are the Saints Caliber, Nuriel. We are supposed to serve a bigger purpose than Sanctuary and King Gatima.” explained Isley. “Everything we do is righteous in its course.”

  Nuriel bit her lip and shook her head.

  Isley took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him. He knelt down and placed a finger beneath her chin, the touch of the black star-metal cold and unforgivingly hard as she looked into those metallic, silver eyes of his.

  “Be loyal only to the will of our sleeping goddess.” said Isley. “Remember what they taught you in Sanctuary: Do not worry if your actions are right or wrong, good or evil, for your actions are the Goddess’s will. You are a Saint, Nuriel. Your actions—whatever the outcome—are the will of Aeoria. We are here for Aeoria. We are here because it is the will of the Goddess. When I found Celacia, it was the will of the Goddess that brought me to her.”

  Nuriel looked at Isley. She wanted to believe him. It would make everything a whole lot easier if she could.

  “Look,” he said, taking her hand in his. Unlike Isley’s Star-Armor, Nuriel’s didn’t include gauntlets. The arms of her white bodysuit extended out from her bracers and over her hands in fingerless gloves. Upon the top, painted in red, was her stellaglyph and Isley traced it with his finger. “This symbol is you; it is your star. You told me once that you thought it looked like a sword and scales, and that to you it represented Sanctuary’s justice. When we first met, you told me that you wanted to fight for the justice of Holy Father, because you are strong in combat. You said that the scales would forever weigh your actions.

  “But it is not Sanctuary or Holy Father you should be fighting for, Nuriel.” continued Isley. He peered into her eyes. Those silver eyes of his were so like Holy Father Admael’s own; the way Isley’s eyes turned up in a tender smile with his mouth. Nuriel found herself wanting to believe his words as if they were Admael’s own. “It is Aeoria, the Sleeping Goddess, that you should be fighting for.”

  Nuriel inhaled deeply and looked into Isley’s eyes. His face was soft and mild, his voice always sincere and genuine. It made everything he said so easy to believe. It had made it so easy for Nuriel to follow him, and end up here, where she didn’t want to be. Where she wasn’t supposed to be.

  “Sanctuary would have you believe that we only use the stellaglyphs to symbolize our names so that we can recognize each other, so that we don’t need to bother learning how to read or write.” said Isley. “But this stellaglyph is your guide in this world, Nuriel. They don’t teach that in Sanctuary anymore. My mentor, Saint Augustael—rest his soul—taught me that, just as his mentor before him taught him. Augustael once told me that we need to fight for Aeoria, not Sanctuary, and somehow I always believed that too.

  “Nuriel, this Celacia, she is doing something special. The stars are fading. There are very few that remain in the night sky. We have little time left to awaken the Goddess. Somehow, I know our path must lay along Celacia’s own. Perhaps at some point our path and Celacia’s will depart, but right now you must trust me, Nuriel. We must follow Celacia.”

  Nuriel looked down at her hand and her stellaglyph that Isley still traced with his finger. With her free hand she rubbed her eyes. Somehow she knew the dark circles were still there despite the extra sleep she got last night and she had a headache again. She sniffled and pushed her golden hair back behind her ear. She looked up at Isley and he smiled warmly at her. She forced a faint smile of her own.

  “Come,” he said, standing back up, keeping her hand in his. “We must report to Celacia.”

  Past the sentries the cavern opened up into an enormous chamber of stone, several hundred yards in circumference. They were in the heart of the volcano. The air here was abominable; sweltering hot and thick with the stench of sulfur and molten stone. Ahead, the stone floor spread out until it ended in a fractured line of broken earth beneath the titanic chimney of the volcano. Intense reds and yellows lit the chamber, radiating from the molten belly of the volcano. There were sporadic, thunderous roars that would shoot tremendous sprays of molten rock up and it would all come crashing down in wagon-sized chunks of red, orange and yellow.

  And standing there, like a black specter before the sprays of lava, was Celacia. Her back was turned to them as she gazed out at the vast, fiery pit before her, the waves of pressure and heat causing her black cape to violently flap and her long, obsidian hair to wave and drift like writhing snakes. Unlike most Saints, Celacia wore no bodysuit. Her black armor covered her entire body and it gleamed like the slick scales of a serpent in the volcanic light. There were a couple hundred shoddy looking Jerusan soldiers but all of them
stood far away from Celacia and the deadly heat of the pit. All except for one that is, and his imposing form was immediately recognized by Nuriel, even from this distance.

  Nuriel stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes focused on the heavily armored man’s white cape. It was agitated by the heat waves of the volcanic pit, but she was able to catch a glimpse of the red stellaglyph emblazoned upon it. The shield-like star symbol was unmistakeable. The man was Saint Erygion the Standard Bearer. He was built like a wall of glassy-black Star-Armor. He was covered from head to toe in it, from his bell-shaped helmet to the blocky plates that encased his arms, chest, body and legs. At his side hung his star-metal broadsword in a scabbard as black as the rest of his armor.

  Nuriel took a step back, a sudden panic gripped her. She felt her arms and legs grow numb and suddenly her Star-Armor felt too heavy for her body to bear. Not only was Saint Erygion one of Aeoria’s Guard—a protector of the walls of Sanctuary itself—but he was also the Guardian of the Hall of Saints and literally held the very lives of all the Saints Caliber in his hand.

  Within the Hall of Saints was kept the one thing more valuable to a Saint than anything else; the one thing that bound the Saint to their Star-Armor; the one thing that could be used against them, and all the Saints Caliber were powerless against it. Saint Erygion guarded the Hall of Saints where each Saint’s Sanguinastrum, their Bloodstar, was kept.

  Upon being inducted into the Order of the Saints Caliber a Saint’s Bloodstar was captured and they were then bound to their Star-Armor. Should the Sanguinastrum ever be broken or destroyed, the Saint would be consumed by their armor. It had happened before. Nuriel had heard the stories of what happened to Saints who ran afoul of Sanctuary. The Bishops and the Holy Few would have them “recalled”. Erygion or one of the Bishops would break the Saint’s Sanguinastrum and the Saint would be immediately recalled. To be recalled meant to be consumed by the Star-Armor, and that of course meant a swift and gruesome death.