The Divine Defender III (fiction)

Kaleen Yweh (III)

The road to Saint Abeni’s Mercy curved around a lake. The temple complex had stood near its waters for centuries. Walls of stone sealed the complex, its farmlands, part of the nearby forest and half of the lake – such were the wonders that their ancestors had built for them. The sisters tapped into their lake for the fields that fed them and for sacred rituals to Rashine. Their forest and fields grew life-giving amaranth, lentils, berries and citrus and other essentials. The convent was a small self-supporting community.

Kaleen approached the eastern gates with her battlegroup, her idle glance examining the bright noon sun over the lake waters. Behind her, the five Cherubim trainees in her patrol group waved a greeting to the women in the watchtowers, who returned the gesture with one hand – the other being occupied with the handling of a turret weapon.

The gates slid open for them, pulled by thick, snake-like arm golems, whose heads ended in two large digits that tirelessly gripped the doors. The mission was over. Kaleen felt the breathing of the monitor mage vanish from her mind. No more messages would need to be passed through their iron bands. They had returned to their sanctum, against which nothing would dare strike. The caravan had been set as right as it could be towards a small nearby village. Everyone had been informed of the courses to be taken from there. The Seraphim upheld their duty to the province of Bhisho as they had for centuries.

The squad leader dismissed everyone within the walls except Kaleen. The Cherubim fluttered to the vast, open training grounds for their day’s exercises, tails wagging rapidly. Kaleen followed Mother Leyka, her Seraphim Superior, as she was instructed to. They headed toward the armory to turn in their armor and weapons for the day. Kaleen’s suit of plate and her mace were both still stained with their enemy’s wretched gore.

“You performed well today,” Mother Leyka said. Kaleen hardly thought so. Sorian bandits were low on the food chain for her. A migrating tribe would’ve been a challenge, or even a warband of deadly soldiers – but killing a few untrained brutes was not worth praise. She did not communicate this thought and instead returned the Leyka’s smile.

“Thank you Mother.” Kaleen said.

“You’ve been part of the patrol battlegroup for eight years now, correct?”

“Yes, Mother,” Kaleen said, “I’m twenty and two now.”

“There’s always a Seraphim or two that are left in the group to watch over the children. Myself included.” Mother Leyka said, and smiled. “Don’t take it as a judgment of your ability. The patrol group is an important duty as any.”

Kaleen nodded, genuinely unperturbed. If it were asked of her, she would remain in the patrol group her entire life. She did not know where these statements came from – she in fact felt a little insulted that they were deemed necessary.

“All the girls look up to you.” Mother Leyka said. “They admire your grace and power.”

“Why not you?” Kaleen asked. “I’m surprised I am worthy of any admiration.”

“I think they see you as an achievable template, while I’m too apart from them.” Mother Leyka said, and she smiled again. She was athletic, Kaleen thought, much like her own self, but though solid she was not statuesque or altogether very rough. She was, however, older than her, with a sharper face and a bit of gray in the head. For a Cherubim, who’s own body was quickly catching up to the supernatural power bestowed upon it, Kaleen would have guessed herself to be quite a spectacle, being closer to them in age.

“Though, they find you unapproachable and difficult to converse with.” Mother Leyka continued. “They think you’d be much more charismatic if you loosened up.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. I’ve never been a giggly girl like them.” Kaleen said. “I hardly know where they draw the energy to bounce around like they do.”

Mother Leyka laughed. “It’s amazing how you can look so giggly, and be so ungiggly.”

Kaleen shrugged, her ears and tail hanging low and with some embarrassment.

“Yes, the girls aren’t very like you.” Mother Leyka said. “They spent their childhoods in a different way. You grew up encased in Saint Abeni, and the formality of it all. But perhaps that is a blessing. Even if it does make you ungiggly despite your giggly young looks.”

“I reject even the appearance of gigglyness.” Kaleen said dryly.