Part 7
As the evening fell upon the town, the voices rose up, As the rose wine flowed, and as the beer was cheer’ly drank. “God bless Rose!” said Daisy, who laughed hard, and drank her glass then. “God bless her, and bless the Lord who sent her to our town!” “God bless her indeed,” said Marin, with a knowing smile. All the Elementals sipped their rose wine carefully. “Yes, indeed!” said Sage, a woman Daisy had invited, As she dined with them and, like them, drank her rosy wine. “She has been the answer to the prayers we’ve prayed for ages, Someone who can rid us of those bandits once for all!” “Hmm,” hummed Marter, at the table’s end, silent and pensive, Drinking gently, stirring at his vegetables there. “Oh, Marter, I know you disapprove,” said Daisy gently, “But I really think Rose has been very good for us. She has fought the villains who have troubled us for so long, And twice now she’s driven them away, and brought us peace.” “We thought she had given us that peace when she was first here,” Marter said, “but then the bandits came a second time, Came with greater, stronger weapons that did much more damage, And poor Violet’s house was burned, and totally destroyed. That, I think, sums up my fear, and why Rose makes me nervous. She fights violence with violence, but to what end? All that it has bred has been more suffering and hardship-- And what does she do when she is done? She goes away, Goes away and leaves us here to fix what has been broken, Broken by the fighting that she brings about herself.” “But,” said Saera, “what if the bandits are gone finally? What if she has driven them away, once and for all? Then you will be finally at peace, and not pay tribute, And your roses will be fully yours, to sell yourselves.” “This is true,” said Marter, “but thus far she’s been a failure. Like I said, we thought that she had won on her first try, But the bandits came back once again, and did more damage. How much more will this take place, and will it get much worse? The bandits were trouble, but they largely were not violent. We paid tribute to our warlord, and we were at peace. Now that peace has been disturbed, and Rose is at fault for it, And who knows, now, how it all will end? What will occur? It may be, true, that the warlord finally gives up soon. But it may be true instead that many here will die. Maybe we will be destroyed—all of us, crushed and broken. Then what will Rose do? She will have no one to protect.” “So… what?” Ardo asked, and took a bite of his roast carrot. “What would you do with the bandits, if you were in charge?” “I would leave them be, and take their trouble with some patience. There are worse things that could happen to us in this world. Even if they’re dealt with, we will have more trouble later. Only in the next life will we fin’lly be at peace. So we must be patient, and bear hardship with persistence. That is what I think, and what I wish that Rose would do.” Saera flushed, but tried to hide it, silver eyes half-lidded, As she felt the bullet wound sting on her upper arm. She glanced to the side, and Marin smiled gently at her, While Terry looked pointedly down at his half-full plate. Marter’s talk had put the table in a mood more somber, So they mostly ate in silence from that moment on. Later on Marter and Saera sat around in silence. He said nothing, and she did not say a word to him. But she thought, within the quiet, they arrived at comfort, Until she smiled up at him, and he smiled in turn. She went out a while later, seeking for the starlight, And to feel the wind that blew so fresh upon her skin. She passed Violet’s house, the house the bandits had demolished, And a tinge of sadness hit her; she felt Marter’s words. “Yo,” a voice said, and she turned and saw Ardo approaching, Bright red hair a beacon in the half-moon-lightened dark. “Hello!” she said smiling. “I came out to feel the night breeze.” “Me too,” Ardo said, “but also...” and he looked around. “You see anyone?” “There’s no one else out here,” said Saera. “Great,” said Ardo, and he snapped his fingers once, twice, thrice-- And on the third time a flame broke out between his fingers, And his hand was soon engulfed in fire, bright orange-red. “Ahh,” he sighed. “Haha!” he laughed, and then his flames went surging, Flaring onto both his hands and up both of his arms. “Feels like I’ve been cramped up in a car,” he said, frustrated. “Yes, I know,” said Saera, and the winds whipped round her then, And she hovered. Saera floated off of the ground slightly. Ardo walked on, burning, and she hovered next to him. So they journeyed through the quiet town, amid the darkness, Lighting it with Ardo’s flames, as Saera’s wind blew soft, High technology, the Technocracy’s own creations-- Elementals of the Fire and Air, respectively. “I worry that Marter is right,” Saera said, her eyes soft. “What, you think you’ve done more harm than good?” Ardo replied. “Look at Violet’s house back there,” said Saera. “It is ruined! And what if the bandits really do come back again? I wanted to save this village, but I’ve caused it damage, And I shall be vexed if all I do here is destroy.” “Hey,” said Ardo, turning towards her, fire blazing brightly, “Hey, I have faith in you. Have some faith in yourself, too.” Saera smiled, and she sighed, her fears tamping down briefly. They went on; he walked, she hovered, fire glowing bright. They did not see one small figure dart between the houses, Follow them, and pause to gape, small eyes gone wide in awe.
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