Part 9
A few days from that time they were eating breakfast, quiet, Nervous, and anticipating something awful soon. It had been another week since the bandits’ appearance, And they all were wondering if they would come again. “They will not come!” Chrysanthemum said, smiled at her sausage. “They will not come! Rose has frightened them, they’ve gone away!” “I’m not sure,” said Marter, chewing bacon very slowly. “They are brave and foolish, they may chance another time.” He had barely said this when the whir of metal sounded, And a voice cried out: “Oy, Rose! We’ve come to play again!” All but Saera ran off to the doorway—she went elsewhere. All the rest, then, stood there, and beheld with awe and dread. There amid the middle of the village stood a robot: It was somewhat rusted, but it still gleamed in the sun. It had four legs, and four long arms; all bristled with weapons: Pulse lasers, machine guns, and a long blade on two arms. A relic of older days, when wars were fought with robots. Now it stood there, diodes blinking golden in the sun. “Oh my God,” said Marin, frightened to behold the robot, Frightened for her friend, who even now took to the air. “You fools, why do you trouble me again? Again you come, to stoke my awful ire. I see the coward hearts that lurk within, The furnaces that lack their wanted fire. So, brigands, as you call me, here I am. I’ll make you see your efforts are a sham!” As the voice rose, suddenly the wind turned cold and vicious, And the clouds above took on a gray, foreboding look. Frigid wind out of the North began to blow intensely, Buffeting the houses and the trees growing nearby. Rose turned up her palm and a great blast came at the robot, Knocking it away and sending it near-tumbling down. But the robot’s four legs kept it balanced, and it tipped round, Weapons primed, and its twin lasers flared with bright green light. Rose dodged and she wove, and sent another mighty wind gust-- But this time the robot twisted round, and dodged the blast. That hard wind instead went flying at a nearby cottage, Blasting it apart into great chunks of wood and straw. “No!” cried Rose, her eyes gone wide beneath her bright red cloak hood. All the wind then died away, and she flew higher still. The gold diodes of the robot flashed with target info, And its bullets flared and blasted up into the sky. Rose dove and she wove and tilted here and there, uneasy, Unable to get another blast of wind down low. The war robot charged, all of its weapons firing loudly, As the villagers went cowering inside their homes. Its loud servos churned and thundered as its blade-arms swung round, Keeping Rose from coming in to hit it at close range. A laser fired—and caught the cape that trailed behind her! Rose gasped as her cloak caught fire, flames flared bright and hot. As she shifted, using cool winds to put out the fire, The robot poised right beneath her, weapons primed to strike. “Rose!” cried Marter, fear within his voice, and he ran forward, Out into the street, against all odds, his face set firm. But the robot’s bladed arms poised at him, edges gleaming. Marter paused, and hesitated, fear upon his face. Saera fin’lly put the fire out, but she went swirling, As the lasers zeroed in on her, close, closer still. Suddenly a huge spike of hard rock burst from the dirt road, Right beneath the robot’s feet it shot up, sharp and firm. It pierced through the battle robot’s metal chest like tissue, Blasting out its back with sparks ablaze, and circuits fried. The robot was squirming, groaning, writhing in impalement. Rose then took her chance: she darted in, the winds blew cold. She poised both her hands into a blade. The air swirled sharply, And she drove it at the robot’s head. The cold winds howled. The spike of air punched the robot’s head off like a comet! Its limbs whined, then drooped down to the ground as they went dead. Rose then hovered up above the robot, winds still howling, And the bandits looked on her with dread, and with great fear. Underneath her hood her eyes were now neon white glowing. She swung out her arm and sent a gale-force wind at them. No houses hit this time—just the bandits, who were battered, And the wind, now three weeks in a row, blew them away: Out into the air, across the fields, into the distance Far away, until they could no longer be observed. Rose sighed, and she sagged, rosy red cloak billowing round her, Then she drifted off into the sky, and out of sight. “She did not rhyme,” said a woman, watching as she vanished. “She had no time,” said an old man, looking at the sky. “That steel monster is the greatest enemy she’s battled, But she still defeated it! And now we’re safe again!” “But poor Pansy’s house is ruined,” Marter said, with sad eyes. “Ruined by Rose’s own wind, when it was poorly aimed.” Pansy, who was lovely, stood beside her house’s wreckage. She sighed bitterly, but she still said, “I am content. I’m committed to supporting Rose in all her struggles. And she won! That is important, yes? She saved us all!” “She only saved us from a menace of her own making,” Marter said. “The robot was brought here only for her. What if two robots come next week? Rose already faltered. If she had not summoned up that spike of hard rock there, She would have been burned and shot to bits by that behemoth, And what would have happened to us then? I cannot say.” “But Marter,” said Saera, coming to him, pale as always, “Rose wants to be rid of all the bandits, once for all. That’s the way it seems to me—to free you all forever. That’s not so bad, is it?” “Saera, as I’ve said before, I do not quibble with what she TRIES to do—it’s noble. But I worry that her actions only bring more pain.” Marter was silent after he’d said this, and he wandered, Wandered off along the road, into the rosy fields. Saera sighed to watch him go, her white hair blowing gently, Billowing within the wind out of the cloudy sky, Wind that also blew the roses, red and white and yellow, Pink and purple, every color, waving in the breeze. The moon hanging in the night was waning very deeply, Less than quarter-full, and darkness spread about the air, Punctuated by the stars that twinkled up above them, Up above, as Saera and Terry walked down the road. “Thanks for the assist, Terry,” said Saera with a smile. “No problem,” he said. “You were in trouble, so I helped.” He sighed, and he said, “I hope you’re right about the third time. I really want you to drive all these guys off for good. Really, you may have—they may today have pulled their last trick. What more can they muster, when a robot’s not enough? I think you are right about the poorness of this warlord. If he were rich he would not rob roses as he does. I think he is poor, and has just limited resources. Hopefully this is the last time he will escalate.” “Yes,” said Saera, sighing, silver eyes at the road gazing. “I shall not look forward to a worse fight the next time.” Saera touched her bicep, where her bullet wound still troubled. “I’ve been lucky twice now, thanks to you and Marin both. Maybe you were right—maybe we should have left already. Maybe Marter’s right. Maybe I’ve just caused trouble here.” Terry sighed himself, and gazed up high into the darkness. His eyes, gleaming copper brown-red, surveyed all the night. “I understand why you’ve done what you did,” he said softly. “I think that it isn’t right, what these people go through. But Marter is right as well—we’ve caused a lot of trouble, Trouble that we did not have to cause, while we were here. We could have kept our heads down, and let them pay their tribute, Let the warlord and his bandits have their roses free. But you wanted to try hard to change things, so you did this, So you made up Rose—and she has done amazing things, But the warlord has not backed down, and you have not either. Sooner or later one of you must capitulate.” Terry twitched his right hand, and the dust about him spiraled, Forming a dirt devil that went swirling round and round, Making a cloud of black dirt that circled round the rose fields, Until Terry waved his hand, and then it disappeared. “We are all so powerful,” he said. “It can be tempting. We think that we all can change this world. Maybe we can. But we’re not the rulers of this world; we’re not kings, or gods. There’s a lot that we can’t master, even with our pow’r. Maybe we should be more humble… all be more like Marter. Put our heads down, let the world go on in its own way.” “Maybe,” Saera said; she sighed aloud, and up the winds whipped, Blowing cold and slowly from out of the distant North. Terry felt the chilly wind and laughed. “You feeling gloomy?” “Yes,” she said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I think I shall fly a little. You can come, if you like.” “Nah,” he said. “I’m tired, and I’m going to go to bed. Let me know when you get in, okay?” he said, and smiled. “Yes, I will,” said Saera, and she waved as he walked off. Then the winds about her billowed, carrying her upward, And like a leaf in the Autumn, she blew to the sky, Soaring up and flying high into the starry heavens, Sighing as the winds blew cold about her, fueling doubt. Winds—cold winds! She could not warm them, however much she tried, The warm winds of Springtime had been banished from her midst. Now she felt the chilly Northern air of doubtful Autumn, And she could not run from it, could not escape its cold. She felt the chill surround her, and wrapped her arms up tightly, Welcoming the cold—it matched the freezing in her heart. She WAS Wind, the Wind WAS her—they were one thing, united. There was no point where she ended and the Wind began. Rather, they were seamless, whole, a single, complete being. “Hypostatic union” – that’s what Arius had said. So, the doubtful cold of Northern air crept into her heart-- Or maybe her own doubts and fears stoked the polar gusts. Who could say what was the origin of what she felt now? The cold in the air, and in her heart, were of a piece. “Chilly up here!” came a cheery voice with cultured accent, And with silver eyes gleaming bright, Saera turned around, As towards her through the air came someone flying swiftly, Flying through the air on bright, broad wings that widely flapped. These were wings of metal, gleaming silver in the starlight, And they glinted neon silver as they flapped and flexed. “Gabrielle,” said Saera, smiling, not mad at her coming, Grateful to be distracted from her own doubtful mind. Gabrielle came—an ArcSeraph, one of the four great ones, A leader among her people, ‘mongst the Seraphim. She, too, was a creature of the Technocracy’s science; They were built, like all four Elementals also were. Not all of the Seraphim were kind to the four children, But Saera knew Gabrielle would listen, and be soft. So she welcomed her as she approached, silver wings beating, As Gabrielle swirled into a hover, wings spread wide. “Sorry,” Saera gently said, as she in the air floated. “Sorry, I think these cold winds have come from me—I think.” “You are the Air Elemental,” Gabrielle responded. “If you’re troubled, it’s not surprising the Air is, too. Are you troubled, Saera? Are you all right? How are things now?” Saera sighed. “I’m going through a lot right now, ‘tis true.” “Because of all that you’ve done while staying in the village?” Gabrielle said. “As you’ve worn that bright red cape and hood?” Saera gasped. “You saw--” “I did,” the ArcSeraph said gently. “Uriel and I watched all of it from far away. That was a brave thing you did, to face off with a warmech. Those things used to kill entire battalions, in their day. And you have been doing this for several weeks now, have you?” Saera nodded. “It’s been three weeks now, since I began.” “Well, good for you,” Gabrielle said, silver wings adjusting, Keeping her within a stable hover in the sky. “This village, according to my inquiries, has suffered. They seem to be victims of a warlord near at hand. That warlord has kept them under his thumb quite a while, And they pay a tribute to him, which hurts them a lot. So you want to free them, right?” “I do!” said Saera, earnest. “But each time I think I’ve won, he comes back so much worse. He keeps escalating, getting more advanced technol’gy. I felt like I’d die when I was fighting that robot, I was very frightened—and what if it’s worse the next time?” Saera’s pale face blanched. “I am afraid, Miss Gabrielle.” Gabrielle sighed. “I can see that. You’re still so young, really. You four really are quite young to deal with all this stuff. I admire how brave you are. You have done a good thing. And I want to say that we two both are here to help. I think that this warlord, and the other ones around here, Have had some arrangement made with the Technocracy. The Technocrats use these lands for some strange, hidden purpose, And they use the warlords as their proxies for control. In exchange for ruling these lands at the Technocrats’ will These warlords are given the means to enforce their rule, Including the weapons that were used against your village, So if we can root the Technocrats out, that should stop.” “How close are you to that?” Saera asked, her hope now rising. “Not so far away—Uriel and I have good leads. More than that, we’d love to help you to defend your village, In such way as we can, if our mission will allow.” “Ahh,” sighed Saera, grateful, and the winds whipped warm about her, Blowing now like Springtime through the starry, darkened air. “Hmm, that’s better,” Gabrielle said, looking gently at her. “Feeling better now?” “I am,” said Saera with a grin. “Going to go to bed now, dear?” “Not quite yet,” Saera answered. “I wanted to fly. Say, would you like to fly with me?” Gabrielle smiled gently at her. “I would be delighted.” So she flapped her wings in mighty circles, and swung round. Saera stirred a great West wind that blew them both high upwards, High into the air where clouds and stars gleamed silver-bright, And the Elemental and the ArcSeraph flew, gleeful, Both enjoying freedom in the realms above the Earth, As the roses far below blew easily in moonlight, Showering the ground with their sweet scent, as darkness swelled.
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