The Divine Defender IV (fiction)

Kaleen Yweh (IV)

The armory was a temple to the spirits of war, raised off the ground behind the church tower, its exterior a series of pillars holding the concentric layers of white stone waves that made up the roof. They entered through an archway into a vast, open gallery lined with cases, chests and shelves of equipment. Statues of winged women with various weapons presided over the young Cherubim as they went about the cleaning and organizing of the arsenal, with a Sister or Mother infrequently patrolling one hall and vanishing out another. The center of the room had a circular island upon which stood a statue of their great ancestor, Mother Shiva, fully armored, her hair cast in mid-air as though by a storm. Kaleen always made a point that Mother Shiva seemed smaller now than she seemed years ago when Kaleen polished and sorted in this room.

Mother Leyka called out a blessing of the Spirits and a group of cherubim in their casual robes approached. They led the two women to the glass cases and gingerly opened them.

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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.

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The Divine Defender II (Fiction)

Kaleen Yweh (II)

The coachmen huddled within the overturned carriage, praying to the spirits for mercy. When the attack began they were immediately and violently flipped on their side. What was once a window now overlooked them, and they watched it with dread. It was their only source of light and they cursed it. A spotlight seemed to penetrate the forest canopy overhead solely to shine between them, to expose them to the enemy.

One of the men kept a cloth pressed hard against the merchant lord’s wounded shoulder. The lord shifted uneasily under the pressure. They were in a strange land now: it was their first trip into Sargasso. They had sent an origami swan out with a call for help. They had been told that Sargasso had a small army of Rangers that would answer any swans, but they knew no men fast enough to outrun the disaster soon to befall them.

Of the four men only one had a viable weapon. He pulled the latch on his old shotstaff, opening the barrel from the side and loading a cartridge. He drew the bolt, and aimed the weapon with shaking hands at their window overhead.

“How long’s it been since we hid here?” The lord said.

“An hour at most my lord. The beasts may still be out there.” Said the rifleman.

“You must escape.” The lord said. “Give me that thing.”

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The Divine Defender I (Fiction)

Kaleen Yweh (I)

Dear Father– Esteemed Gove– To Whom This May Concern

My name is Kaleen Yweh. I am a Seraphim residing in the Convent of Saint Abeni’s Mercy in the province of Bhisho, in your province. I would not write to you directly, most esteemed officer of the Queen’s law, without due cause. I seek no grievance and require no bribe. I wish only for acknowledgment. This letter may grow lengthy, and you may grow wearied by it, but for the sake of my late mother, I would wish–

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