Fires of Justice

Part 2:  Paladin – Education

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The ritual was finished some three hours after dawn, and Altairen, now a man, and a Champion of Alethanna, was released from the straps that held him still.  The last healing spell had taken away the last of his pain, and he felt . . . wonderful.

He felt human.

For a long moment, after he turned over, Altairen simply lay propped up on his elbows, with his eyes closed, seeming to drink in the sunlight.

“Oh, Goddess,” he near-whispered, tears leaking from under his closed lids.  “Goddess, for this, I am yours.  Until I die – and after, if I am needed! – I am yours!”

And Alethanna answered him.

*I accept your service, my Champion.  And my first command is this:  Take a week, my son, and savor being human again.  For four years, you have not seen the sun, or tasted food, and for a year you have not known the caring touch of another’s hand.  It is only just that you be given some small time to take joy in being a person, before you begin training for my service.  Especially after your valor in resisting your hungers.*

*Rest, my Champion.  Be a boy again, for a little while, before you begin becoming a man.*

“I . . . Goddess, I – thank you!”  He turned to Jenara, who, while exhausted from the magics she had wielded, to expunge the vampire from his being, was smiling, and watching him.  “High Priestess Jenara, she spoke to me!  Alethanna spoke to me!”

“I know, young Guardian,” Jenara said, smiling at his wide-eyed wonder and delight.  “I know, for she allowed me to hear, to be sure that, in your zeal, you did not take to your training too soon.

“You need time to heal, Altairen.  Your soul is sick with hunger, for the simple pleasures of life.  Indulge it, that you may be strong in all ways for your training.”

Smiling, Altairen leapt up off the altar he lay on, and looked around.  He looked full of energy, and vigor, and very much the handsome young man he should have been, not the nearly-wasted, half-dead refugee he had been the night before.

“High Priestess, a question occurred to me, between the work on the tattoos on my arms, and the one on my chest.”  Altairen didn’t look worried, or upset, just curious, as he asked, “What would have become of me had I not had the strength to refuse your offer of blood, last night?”

“You would have been allowed to feed, as promised,” Jenara said, trying not to sound too grave.  “And then your prayer would have been granted.  Alethanna would have granted you the strength to stand your ground, and see the sun rise – one last time.

“But, your valor in resisting so long would not have been wasted, Altairen.  You would have earned a place in Her Silver Courts.  For, while you did not do so knowingly, your love for justice made you her worshipper.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Altairen said.  “I . . . thank you, High Priestess.”

“You are welcome, Guardian.  And please – we use titles only for ceremonies, here.  Call me Jenara, and I shall call you Altairen.”

“As you wish,” Altairen said, and sketched a small bow at her.  “Jenara . . . is there a mirror, somewhere?  I would see the tattoos on my chest and back.”

“Of course, Altairen,” Jenara said, and motioned for him to follow her.  “You were very brave, young man, during the ceremony.  You never cried out once, Altairen – and that pleases Alethanna.”

“I . . . it was a gift, Jenara, and it was given to me because I . . . because I am strong, in a way, I think.”  Altairen looked a bit embarrassed, and Jenara smiled at him.  “I thought I should exercise that strength, during the giving of the gift.”

“You are a puzzle, sometimes, Altairen,” Jenara admitted, as they walked into the temple, and then into the area for private quarters.  “In some ways, a boy, in others, very much a man – and a wise man, at that.”

“I thank my mother for what wisdom I possess,” Altairen said.  “And for my skill at reading and writing, and my knowledge of the ways of a gentleman.  And she taught me numbers, and adding and subtracting.  And a little of the nine Gods.”

“A wise woman,” Jenara said, turning into her quarters.  “A wise woman, and you honor her memory, Altairen, by remembering what she taught you.  You are very learned, for one of your age.  And your manners are very pleasing, courtly, almost noble.  When you prayed last night – Altairen, I have seen nobles who were not so careful or precise in their assumption of the position of deep respect as you were.  Wrist perfectly balanced on knee, fist just brushing the ground, not supporting your weight at all . . . it was very pleasing to me – and to Alethanna.”

“I thank you,” Altairen said, unconsciously sketching a small bow to the priestess.  He glanced around her quarters, which were of a reasonable size, and very pleasing to the eye.  Very . . . balanced, in their décor.  And in one corner stood a triple mirror.  He approached, and looked – and the look became a stare.  He barely recognized himself.

He had been tall, and thin, almost wasted, when last he had seen his reflection, in a stream, some three weeks before.

Now, though . . . thin had become slender, and that, coupled with his excellent posture, made him appear bigger than he was.

He was over six feet, by perhaps two inches, and he guessed he now weighed perhaps 170 pounds.  His broad shoulders and chest made him appear almost slender, elsewhere.  His face, which he had barely looked at, in the last year, for his self-loathing, was even of feature, with high cheekbones, and a strong jaw.  His nose was straight, his mouth slightly wide, and wearing a slightly amazed smile.  His eyes . . . his eyes were rather deep set – and a clear, almost crystalline, medium grey.

“Jenara!  My eyes!  The ceremony must have changed them!  They used to be blue, I know it!”

“She changed them,” Jenara agreed.  “It has happened in the past, to those she favored.  Now, Altairen, look at your tattoos.”

He obeyed, first looking at his forearms in the mirror, so that he could see the lines of pure silver right side up, without contorting his neck.

On his left forearm, was the shield of Alethanna, emblazoned with the Silver Star that was her symbol.  On his right, Her flaming sword, and . . . the flames almost seemed to flicker, as he watched.

On his chest was the nine-rayed Star of Alethanna, covering most of his chest and abdomen, and seeming to gleam, even when there was no light shining on the silver lines.

And nowhere was there sign of a burn, or any puckered skin.  The lines were smoothly blended into his skin, as though they had always been there.

“Your back, Altairen,” Jenara said, from across the room.  “Look at your back, for it is there that Javika – the priestess who drew your tattoos – did her best work.”

Altairen turned to the appropriate angle, to be able to see his back – and drew in his breath, sharply, in wonder.

There was the Lady Herself, Alethanna, her wings spread across his shoulders, as she flew upwards, flaming sword in her right hand, drawn back to swing, shield on her left arm, her face looking out at the world.

“Oh, Goddess!” Altairen breathed.  “Jenara, that is beautiful!  At dinner, this evening, would you point Javika out to me?  I would like to thank her!”

“I will,” Jenara said.  “So, Altairen, what will you do today?”

Altairen turned to answer her – and froze, staring.

Jenara had undressed, completely, and was sponging herself clean with water from a basin.  She was small, and slender, though covered with the sleek muscles of a runner, and glistening with water droplets.

She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Altairen?” Jenara asked, turning more fully to face him, thinking he had not heard.  “What will you do today?”

“I – Jenara, should I go?”

“What?” Jenara asked.  “I don’t under— Oh!  You are not used to casual nudity, are you, Altairen?”

“Uh, no, La— No, Jenara, I’m not.”

“Ah,” Jenara said, making no effort to turn, as she continued her sponge bath.  “I think, young man, you had better get used to it.

“Altairen, while we do not actively seek to be without clothes, we think very little of it, either.  It is autumn, now, so we are dressing, to stay warm.  But, in the temple, and outside, during the late spring, and the summer, you may find that nudity is more the rule than the exception.”

“Oh,” Altairen said.  “But doesn’t that lead to . . . other things, Jenara?”

“On many an occasion, it does,” Jenara agreed.  “Especially among the younger acolytes.  But there is nothing wrong with that, so long as it is what both parties – or all three, or four, as has happened on occasion – so long as it is what all involved want.”

“Oh,” Altairen said again.  He was trying not to stare at Jenara, and failing miserably.  “I see.”

“I don’t think you do,” Jenara said.  “Yet.  But, you are a handsome young man, and very courtly.  I suspect it won’t be long before one of the younger priestesses teach you what I mean.

“Altairen, we are all warriors here – if needs be, any and all of us would die for the Goddess.  So, she sees nothing wrong with us celebrating life, while we live it.  We work hard – she expects us to play, just as hard.  Balance in all things, Altairen.”

“It shall take some getting used to, Jenara,” Altairen said.  “If I ever do get used to it.”

“Altairen, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course, Jenara.”

“Have you ever known physical love, Altairen?”

Mutely, he shook his head.

“I thought not,” Jenara said.  “Relax, young man.  The human body is a beautiful thing.  Looking at a beautiful thing is no sin, in the eyes of the goddess.  Nor is touching it – nor loving it.”

“I shall try to remember, Jenara,” Altairen promised solemnly.

“All right.  Now, what are you going to do today?”

“I would like to walk in the woods,” Altairen said.  “And perhaps find a clear place, and take a nap . . . in the sun.”

“An admirable ambition,” Jenara said.  “I suspect I shall do much the same, after the noon services.

“Now, see Vexx, for some appropriate clothing – and get you gone, young man.  Enjoy yourself, Altairen.  It is what the Goddess commands, after all!”

He left, then, sneaking one glance back at the still-unclothed Jenara, as he left.

And, that day, after getting tunic and trousers from Vexx, Altairen of Kavendale, Champion of the Goddess Alethanna, went for a long walk in the woods.  Eventually, he found himself a clearing in the trees, and took a long, restful nap.

In the sun.

_________________________________________________

The next day, he asked if there was a book that contained the tenets of the Goddess, and the wisdom of her clerics.  There was, and Jenara, after determining to her own satisfaction that this was what Altairen really wanted to do, gave him a copy of the Book of Justice to read.  He finished reading the thick tome by nightfall.

_________________________________________________

The following week, on Alethanna’s Day, he began training with Vexx.

Altairen was smart enough to know that he knew nothing about weapons and fighting – and foolish enough to think that the lessons wouldn’t take very long.

At the end of that first week (seven days, one for each of the Gods save the Black God, and the Chaos God [no one knew why there were no days named for those two, but it was so]), Altairen had yet to as much come close to Vexx, with either weapon or bare hand.

At the end of a month, Altairen had added fifteen pounds of muscle to his frame, and many of the priestesses were vying for his attentions.

Near the end of the second month, Altairen landed a single blow, with his foot, hitting Vexx squarely in the jaw.  The big priest simply hauled himself to his feet, congratulated the boy, and returned to the lesson – but Altairen saw the delight in Vexx’s eyes, and knew he’d done better than expected.

_________________________________________________

In the fourth month, Altairen discovered the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask.

He and six other young acolytes, four men, two women, had gone to Kerannus, the nearest large town to the temple, for some foodstuffs and other things that the temple could not produce itself.  It was a long journey, three days, in springtime, five, in the dead of winter, when they went.

On the return trip, the second night after starting back, the little camp was attacked.  The watchman, Mikadd, shouted a warning, but there was almost no time for Altairen to do more than climb out of his sleeping furs, and his tent, before the enemy was on them.

It was a pack of weir-wolves, in their half-forms, and they were hungry enough to attack a group of clerics – a very bad sign.

Mikadd had begun casting a spell, when the first of the weir-wolves leaped over the fire at the center of the circle of four tents, claws extended to tear out the young priest’s throat.

Without thought, Altairen leaped to intercept the creature that attacked his friend, intercepting the weir-wolf with a roundhouse kick, and knocking it down almost in the fire.

Mikadd finished his spell, and suddenly, the camp was lit with a light as bright as daylight, revealing all six of the weir-wolves.  They were in a rough semicircle, save for the one Altairen had knocked down, and as the light came up, they moved to attack.

The other clerics had come out of their tents, bearing weapons, leaving only Altairen unarmed.  He had left his short sword laying beside his rolled up cloak, which he used as a pillow.

It didn’t matter.  His greatest skill, from Vexx, was empty-handed combat.  And his short sword was not silvered, so would not hurt the weir-creatures at all.  All he could do was hold off the creatures, until the spells or weapons of the others could finish them off.

Or so he thought.

The weir-wolf he had knocked down was up, and leaping for him.  Altairen shifted his body sideways, gabbing the creature’s outstretched . . . arm? . . . and beginning to pivot, to throw it into the fire.

Then he heard Alethanna’s voice in his head, saying, *Burn, my Champion.*

There was a feeling of something in his chest breaking free, and a warmth ran out from his chest, to suffuse his entire body.

And burn he did, bursting into a softly flickering silver-grey fire, that ran around his bare torso, and flickered over the rest of his body, concentrating most heavily in his hands.

The weir-wolf let out a horrific scream, as it’s fur, where Altairen touched it, burst into flame.  It hit the ground, just to one side of the campfire, with a mighty thud, and Altairen followed it down, striking at the base of it’s neck with his silver-glowing hand, too surprised at what was happening to not finish what he had started.

The thing’s neck broke, and it began turning back to human, even as Altairen stood, and moved to help Gavana, the youngest priestess in the group, who was barely holding off the creature that attacked her, with her silver-capped staff.

In moments, it was all over.  Six dead humans lay on the ground, the weirs having reverted to human, when they were killed.

As soon as the fight ended, the silver fire around Altairen flickered out – but he could still feel it, deep in his chest, flickering, waiting to be called again.

There were only minor wounds, among the clerics, and they were quickly taken care of with spells of healing.  Only Warell, a short but powerfully built cleric, had been bitten.  Mikadd knew a spell for removing a curse, and took care of it, before healing the young man.  There would be no lycanthropy for Warell.

Altairen, while nominally just a member of the party, took charge, after the healing was completed.

“All of you, back to sleep,” Altairen said.  “I am not tired, and I will finish out the watches, tonight.  And take care of the bodies.”

“I can finish my watch, Altairen,” Mikadd protested.  “I am not that tired.”

“Tell it to the bags under your eyes, my friend,” Altairen said.  “Come, Mikadd – I may not be able to cast spells, but I know that they can be tiring.  And you only learned enough to remove a curse last week, am I right?  You are tired, Mikadd.  I am not.  Sleep.  I will watch the camp.”

The others went to bed, Gavana staying up until the others had gone to bed, to hug Altairen, and warmly kiss his cheek, in thanks for his aid.  Then she, too was gone, and he was left alone with the bodies of the weir-creatures.

He built a rough cairn for them, not having a shovel, or being foolish enough to think he could dig in the frozen ground if he did.

When the job was done, Altairen knelt next to the fire, and reached inside himself, feeling for that silver fire.  He found it, and called it forth.

Again, he was bathed in silver flames, that warmed him, but did not melt the snow around him.

“Lady Alethanna,” he whispered, not wishing to wake any of the others.  “Oh, Goddess, I know not how this happened, but I thank you!”

*You need not thank me for what you have earned, my Champion,* Alethanna’s voice said, ringing softly in his mind.  *The Fires I loan you are a tool whose use you have earned, by your devotion to me, and to the things you are taught by my acolytes, Altairen.*

*The fires will protect you from harm, though you will not be invulnerable.  They will speed the healing of injuries.  And they will burn that which is evil.  You need never worry about carrying a dozen weapons, to be sure that you carry the banes of evil creatures – for, in a sense, you are a bane to them, now.  You, and any weapon you wield, while burning with my fires, my Champion.*

“Is this why I have been taught nothing of spellcraft, Goddess?” Altairen asked.  “I had thought perhaps I was slow in my studies.”

Her laugh, like silver bells, was a delight to hear.

*Oh, my child!* Alethanna said.  *How can you even think that?  Do you not see the expression on Jenara’s face, when she speaks with you of the things you read in the Book of Justice?  Can you not see her pride, as you learn?  Her delight in how, even when you are mistaken in how you interpret something, your interpretations are never wildly wrong, or tinged with hatred, or self-interest?*

*There is such a thing as too much humility, my Champion.  It can, like too much pride, cause you to make mistakes.  Balance, Altairen.  Balance.*

*As for spells . . . .  No, you will not learn spells, my Champion.  Yours is a different path, to balance that of the acolytes of my faith.  You are to be a warrior, teaching justice by the example of the fist.  To learn spells would teach you to shape the fires I loan you in ways that others already practice.  I would rather you shaped them with your heart, than your head.*

“I will do so, Lady Alethanna,” Altairen whispered.  “And I shall strive for better balance, in my thoughts.”

*You will learn, Altairen.  I have faith in you, as you have in me.*

_________________________________________________

At the end of his first year with the Temple of Alethanna, Altairen was required to begin assisting in the Rites of Judgment, the weekly hearing of the troubles of penitents who came to Alethanna’s Temple to settle disputes.  He had been sitting and listening for all of his time here, and Jenara, on the instruction of her Goddess, began having Altairen write how he would settle a dispute, before she announced her judgment, or, in those cases where the Lady Alethanna made her wishes known, that of the Goddess.  After the Rites were over, Jenara would discuss Altairen’s decisions with him, pointing out the flaws in his thinking, helping him learn the ways of balance.  He enjoyed the lessons, and learned quickly, though not without flaw.

_________________________________________________

At the end of his second year, on the first Day of Alethanna after his eighteenth birthday, Altairen came to the Rites of Judgment, and almost fell over in shock, when the acolyte serving as herald called for the occupants of the room to rise, as he entered the main room of the Temple.

A call to rise was only made for the one who would sit in Judgment, that day.

Jenara was sitting in the chair Altairen usually occupied, and hers – the chair of the priest or priestess who sat in Judgment – was empty.  Even as he stopped and stared, Jenara motioned Altairen to sit there.

He sat in Judgment that day, listening with almost desperate care to the words of the people who came seeking justice.  He made his decisions carefully, and Jenara never spoke, or indicated in any way that he was making mistakes.  And, once, he heard the voice of Alethanna, making Her will known.

When the day was over, and the room empty, save for Jenara and Altairen, the High Priestess came to him, and handed him the sheet of parchment on which she had kept notes on what she would have done, as she had required him to do.

“You did very well, young Guardian,” Jenara said, as he looked over the sheet.  “Only once did we disagree at all, and that was not in the judgment, but in the punishment.  I thought your assessment of the monies owed the farmer whose sheep were killed a bit steep.”

“High Priestess, there was a plague of heat sickness in the lands just south of here, this summer,” Altairen said, matching her formality.  “The price of sheep has gone up by almost half, due to the number that died.  I based my assessment on that price.”

“Then you were right,” Jenara said.  “I forget that you make the trip to Kerannus, far more often than I do, and know the prices better.  Should I make a mistake like that, while in Judgment, make sure you tell me, Altairen.”

“I did well, Jenara?” Altairen asked, sounding eager.

“You did wonderfully, Altairen.  The Goddess is pleased.”

_________________________________________________

At the end of his fourth year, Altairen knew more about fighting than he had ever expected to learn.

With every one of the more than 30 varieties of weapons in the armory of the Temple, he could at least defend himself, and attack adequately, if not brilliantly.

With four different weapons – quarterstaff, mace, saber, and halberd – he was deadly.

And with two, only Vexx was his equal.

With a morning star in his hands, a short-handled weapon with two spiked balls on foot-long lengths of chain, Altairen was a blur of violent motion, constantly spinning the spiked balls, as both defense and offense.

And with a short sword – especially with two short swords, one in either hand – he was a master, and Vexx’s equal in every way.

And with his bare hands, and feet, Altairen was actually passing his master, his youth granting him a flexibility and stamina that made him able to outshine Vexx, occasionally.

On the day of his twentieth birthday, Altairen graduated from his training, and was sent out into the world, to be the Champion of his Goddess.

_________________________________________________

On the first Day of Alethanna of every month, Vexx and Altairen would fight in the yard behind the temple, all the practice weapons in their racks hauled outside for the two men to choose from.  Vexx would choose first every other month, allowing Altairen to make first choice, the rest of the time.

Every member of the Temple whose duties permitted would come to watch the two men spar, sitting around the edges of the makeshift arena, and cheering them on.

This day was Altairen’s birthday, and he had decided to try something new, and different.

Altairen knelt at the edge of the arena, waiting for Vexx to come outside.  Though it was his turn to choose his weapons first, Altairen made no move towards the racks that held the practice weapons.  Instead, he knelt, and recited a prayer that had become almost a mantra, to him.

"I will bend to the will of the Lady Alethanna. Hers is the way that lights the darkness. I will be true to Her dictates, and walk on the ways of Justice. I will not fear death, for death is not failure. I shall stand beside those of strong faith in the Justice of the Gods. I shall be courageous . . . for without courage, there can be no Justice.

"I shall bear the fire of Her Silver Star into the darkness, that those lost within the darkness might see that there is a way out. In the name of Alethanna, I shall do these things, for Hers is the hand that made me whole."

He opened his eyes, then, to see Vexx standing across from him, waiting.

“It is your turn to choose first, Altairen,” Vexx said.  “Come, choose your weapons.”

“I have already chosen my weapons, Master Vexx,” Altairen said, addressing the other man as he had been instructed to do, during combat training.  “I choose no weapons at all, save those I was born with.”

There was a ripple of excitement, among the 40 watching acolytes of Alethanna.  This had never happened before.

Vexx raised an eyebrow, nodded once, and walked over to the racks of weapons, where he took up two of the practice short swords, their edges and points dulled slightly, so as to not give deadly injury easily.

The ripple became a wave of excitement, then.  Vexx had only one equal, with these weapons, and that was Altairen himself – who had no weapons, yet did not look at all worried.

Altairen stood, stretched once, then relaxed, and simply waited.  For a long moment, Vexx simply looked at his pupil – then he attacked.

For more than a minute, Altairen simply moved, dodging the attacks of his master, blocking the arms, not the weapons, when necessity demanded, and retaliating with punches and kicks that were, at first, all stopped.

Then Vexx came in low, spinning counter-clockwise, the sword in his left hand scything at Altairen’s knee, the one in his right coming, point first, at the younger man’s side.

Altairen did not leap back, or even over the attacks, as everyone expected.

Instead, his left foot came up, then stomped down on Vexx’s left forearm, pinning it to the ground, and causing him to release the sword he held in that hand.  As Vexx continued the strike at his student’s side, Altairen leaned back slightly, letting the point of the weapon pass within a hairsbreadth of his side, before grabbing the wrist of the sword hand, and twisting, pulling across his own body at the same time, letting up slightly the pressure on Vexx’s forearm, to avoid dislocating the arm at the elbow.

As Vexx flopped on to his back, Altairen dropped, his knee landing on his teacher’s shoulder, and his right fist coming straight at the man’s face –

And stopping, just barely touching Vexx’s nose.

The acolytes of Alethanna rose to their feet, and cheered.

Altairen stood, then, and offered Vexx a hand up.  His teacher accepted, a huge grin splitting his face, and his eyes glittering.  When he was facing his student, Vexx simply waited, until the cheering had died down, before speaking.

“Altairen of Kavendale,” Vexx said, in a loud, booming voice, “Champion of Alethanna, Guardian of the Silver Star . . . I can teach you no more.”

There was a sudden, weighty hush in the clearing.

“With your empty hands, you have bested me, while I bore weapons that are nearly a part of me, I know them so well.

“I can teach you no more.

“You are ready, Guardian!

“You are graduated to Alethanna’s service, and may She watch over you, wherever that service may take you!”

Altairen could only stare, stunned beyond the ability to speak, until Vexx suddenly hugged him, hard, and said in his ear, “I am proud of you, son!”  

*I am proud of you, my Champion.*

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