Private Tales Be Thou My Vision

[Ivy]

It was morning again. To Ivy, she was used to the dreariness of waking up on the streets. T
He sun in her as she still tries to sleep on the hard cobblestone, waking up starving, for she only had scraps for dinner, fearful of being kicked around and pulled away by guards. She lived in constant fear and filth for as long as she was stranded in the Shallows. But now, she wakes up clean, comfortable, and feeling safe. She still feels hungry in the morning, but she knows that there is going to be breakfast in the kitchen. She gets up from her bed, in the chamber she sleeps in with Reinlinde, putting on the sandals she was given. It felt extremely weird on her feet, since she had gone bare foot for most of her life, even from where she came from. But, given the how she got many cuts and callouses from wandering around the Shallows barefoot, she is grateful for the sandals.

She changes into the green smock and brown trousers after washing her hands and face in the washbasin. She walked out into the kitchen where she helped out the cooks prepare and cook breakfast, oatmeal and bread. She also helps clean up the kitchen and courtyard. It was quiet work, but she works diligently as to keep the people around her happy. After her morning chores, she sat with Reinlinde and ate breakfast with her. It was warm and way better than the scraps she was used to on the streets. After breakfast, she was given some simple training from Reinlinde herself in the courtyard. Having to survive on her own had given her some survival instincts, but she still lacked self-defense. These short training sessions were to strengthen her awareness and combat in defense situations. She trains hard, to actually have a chance to fight for herself and to defend herself from larger and stronger people who want to hurt her. She does not know it herself, but she is pretty strong on her feet, and can lift heavy objects with ease, which Reinlinde seemed to be shocked and intrigued. After their training, she takes a rest by the fountain in the courtyard. She got a bit of cuts and bruises, but those were nothing to her now compared to being on the streets, and it is not as bad as before because Reinlinde is there to attend to her small cuts, which gives her time to rest before her basic lessons in language and writing before the afternoon prayers. For the first time in years, she can smile warmly. She is sheltered, clothed, and fed. She feels safe, she feels loved, she views Reinlinde as a big sister she never had. Not a complete replacement for her family, but she finds it nice for what it is worth.

Reinlinde

 

[Reinlinde]

It had been some months since Ivy had come on at the abbey, giving Reinlinde a renewed sense of purpose. The child was freakishly strong; a curious but pleasant discovery, and she was not a slow learner by any means. Of course, the knight Reinlinde was apprenticed to, Alric Crane, didn’t see it that way.

“Bow-legged and clumsy to boot,” Crane had told her after watching Reinlinde and Ivy drill sword and shield one day. “Best stick to lemon tarts,” he’d suggested, much to Reinlinde’s annoyance, all the while furiously puffing a pipe beneath his ginger red mustache.

What does that old drunkard know anyway, Reinlinde had thought, though she didn’t mean that truly. Sir Crane was a superior swordsman after all.

So she was surprised when the old knight had bothered to show up at their practice that day.

Reinlinde had been treating Ivy’s cuts near the fountain in the courtyard when the balding swordsman strode up, unconsciously stroking his great mustachio. Reinlinde was wearing a simple white and gold tunic and chain-mail, a wimple and veil draped over her blonde bowl cut.

“The master knight graces us with his presence,” the nun warrior smiled, though Sir Crane did not smile back.

“And ill tidings, girl,” he replied somberly, glancing at Ivy before meeting Reinlinde at her eyes. The two spoke in a hushed tone and out of Ivy’s earshot, every so often looking up to make sure the teenager couldn’t hear them. After a couple of minutes Reinlinde broke away to fill Ivy in, concern etched on her freckled face.

“The High Justiciar has requested my presence,” she told Ivy softly, resting a hand on the teenager’s shoulder. “Go give Sulla a hand in the kitchens. I’ll meet you in the nave after lunch to let you know what’s going on.”

The look in Reinlinde’s sapphire eyes should’ve told Ivy something was amiss. Neither was Sir Alric his cheery pompous self.

 

[Ivy]

The man with the mustache approaches the two. When she first met Sir Alric Crane, she was intimidated. She still kind of is. He doesn't smile at her, which is unusual of the man since he is usually jolly, which she didn't mind as much as it was a change of attitude people towards her. She sits patiently by the fountain as Reinlinde speaks to him. She has no idea what they are saying, wishes she did. But, from their facial expressions, something was off. Reinlinde returns to her finishing up the last bits of wound care, she instructs her to go to the kitchen to help with the luncheon.

"Okay, Miss Reinlinde". Ivy makes her way out of the courtyard and back into the kitchen. Sulla was there making a hearty beef stew with bread, fresh apples, and a brie tart for dessert. She helps Sulla with cutting up onions and carrots to place in the pot. She puts the bread in the oven as they get ready to bake, and sometimes helps herself to an apple or two. which Sulla allows. She can't stop but think what Reinlinde is talking about with Sir Alric. It seemed important. Perhaps it was time to kick Ivy out of the abbey. Ill-tidings was what Sir Alric greeted her. Maybe she has become too much of a burden to the abbey. They might kick her out and on to the streets of the Shallows again. She shakes the thought out of her head. She knows that she works hard to earn her keep in the abbey. She can't leave now, not when she finally found some sort of normal life where she can begin searching for her family.

Reinlinde

 

[Reinlinde]

Deep in the bowels of the waxen St. Jerimimmum’s Abbey was an atrium where the High Justiciar of the Order of Esion presided and made his rulings. The chamber was referred to as the Judicant’s Ascendancy, and it was a splendid, if ancient, piece of architecture that was constructed over five hundred years ago.

The ceiling extended all the way up to a stained glass dome depicting the white lion God with his mighty wings spread, and the room itself was held up by towering white pillars surrounding the throne where the Justiciar sat.

The atrium always took Reinlinde’s breath away when she entered, as she’d only been in it twice before. Once to be blessed as a child by the High Justiciar himself; the second time to recite her oath as a knight’s apprentice before him.

Now here she was a third, this time accompanied by several other master knights, apprentices, fathers, brothers, and sisters. If the chamber hadn’t been so big they might’ve felt crowded. But hundreds of years ago there’d been quadruple their number to attend the High Justiciar, and so even with two dozen of them there was plenty of space to spare. It was sad that this was all that remained of the Order.

Cobwebs stretched from pillar to pillar and vines crept down the white stone walls like an invading army. It was obvious the Judicant’s Ascendancy was seldom used. Even the High Justiciar was a crumpled shadow of his former self; a bent old man swallowed up by his chair, weak and quivering, his ancient head swaying as he struggled to stay awake. Reinlinde tried to remember the last time she’d actually laid eyes on him. He rarely left his chambers these days, so she knew whatever this was about must have been important.

Regardless, Sir Alric looked none too impressed…but then he’d been a knight in the Order since he was a young lad. He’d been surprisingly sober when he’d found Reinline and Ivy training…a detail that only underscored the importance of this gathering.

When the Justiciar spoke, it was in a wavering soft wheeze. It was as if a turtle awoke and slowly, blinkingly extended his head out his shell.

“The Order is dying, brothers…fathers…sisters…knights. And I’m not getting any younger either.”

The truth cut the stale chamber air like a headsman’s axe.

“Our God’s light is fading, as is mine. Soon our ways, our customs will be forgotten…and justice forsaken with them. For we were once the justice.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the castle chamber. Reinlinde stared at the Justiciar intently, her heartbeat thumping. What was this?

“The children need us. The poor need us. The downtrodden need us…the mothers, the fathers, the unfortunate, the misfortunate. We cannot go quietly into the shadows. We cannot fade into the abyss. We must keep…the light…alive.”

“Five hundred years ago St. Jerimimum built this abbey in Alliria with his own two hands as an ode to the winged white lion Esion’s majesty, and five hundred years later it still stands. But with the passage of time I fear irrelevancy has crept up on us…the Allirian noblemen, once eager to dispense the lion’s justice, now count their coppers while our abbey crumbles. They have replaced the Gods with money, driven by greed, corruption, and sloth. How is it we turn a blind eye to justice? How is it we shun what is right for what is wrong?”

A coughing fit suddenly racked the Justiciar’s trembling, frail frame. A white and gold cowled brother stepped forward to offer him water, but the Justiciar waved him off, continuing.

“I have never had the stomach for politics, and we are worse off for it. This position is political in nature, and yet I have shunned my duties. I should have been planting seeds eons ago. We should have been spreading the gospel to every corner of the world. Instead we’re taking our last breath.”

“But a meaningful breath it shall be.”

Reinlinde stood at attention, curious where this speech was going.

“I have assembled you all here to carry out a most righteous pilgrimage. If Allirian nobles no longer have use of our ancient religious order, then the Duke in Engleshire will. I have used the remainder of our coffers to charter a ship to the Thumb…where you all will be tasked with commissioning a new abbey in a new countryland. Justice is justice no matter the city state. It's not a concept confined just to Alliria. We must spread it as far and wide across the land as humanly possible…in the kingdoms of man, elf, dwarf, and halfling alike.”

“The Englemen are from humble beginnings. Their world is less gold and more envy…envy of their wealthy Allirian neighbors, of course, but perhaps we can use that to our advantage. The Duke has always been a just man, and Esion is a just God. Should we not look to just men for leadership?”

There was a murmur among the master knights, and Reinlinde could tell Sir Alric was bristling; the old knight was red in the face and tugging one end of his mustache, but he managed to stay silent in spite of himself.

“A nobleman is a nobleman is a nobleman. They covet gold and power like we clergymen covet our scripture. And there is power in God. We will bring them power on the wings of Esion. On the wings of justice. And our Order will live on for a millenia or more.”

The details were harrowing…this would be an undertaking unlike any Reinlinde had ever seen. They were to sail by ship to Engleshire of all places? The nun warrior had never been as far south as the Duchy of Engleshire. She knew nothing about it, other than it was an old world city state still stuck in its ways…taxed to seven hells by the same greedy noblemen the Justiciar was accusing the Allirians of being.

It was same parts exciting and terrifying, and it was all Reinlinde could do to contain herself.

But after they’d been dismissed from the chamber, Sir Alric Crane was quick to give her his own opinion.

“A fool’s errand!” Crane muttered as they walked the white paved halls, his bald head as red as a cherry. “Twenty-eight years of service, to be pissed away on a cursed ship back to Engleshire.”

“But wasn’t that your home once?” Reinlinde asked, struggling to meet Crane’s furious pace.

“There was nothing there for me, girl, just as there’s nothing there for the Lion God. Commission a new abbey, he says. Hrumph! We can’t fix the one we’re in!”

Sir Alric’s fury was so curious, Reinlinde almost forgot about meeting Ivy in the nave. Oh, poor Ivy, she thought, as she made her way down winding stairwells and passed stained glass windows. How would the child receive this news? She couldn’t possibly come with Reinlinde on their journey…could she?

But then…perhaps…perhaps being out on the open sea…Ivy was an islander after all…maybe it could help jog the memory of her homeland. Maybe sailing the coastland was just what they needed.

Maybe this pilgrimage was the key to reuniting Ivy with her family. Esion worked in mysterious ways after all.

When Reinlinde found the teenager waiting for her in the pews, she rushed to hug the child, still caught up in her own emotions. “Oh Ivy,” she sighed, not knowing whether to be scared or happy as she clenched Ivy's head to her bosom. Uncertainty stifled the air like a humid summer night.

 

[Ivy]

After helping with lunch, she was in the nave, sitting at the pews. She gotten a little used to the god they worshipped, but not by much really. She waited patiently for Reinlinde's return. Right on cue, she arrived by her looking... worried? Sad? Reinlinde didn't say much to her, but she did go to embrace Ivy tightly. She was very confused, and now she was getting a bit worried herself? Is this it? Is she getting kicked out?

"Miss Reinlinde, you look sad... Is there something wrong?"

Reinlinde