No Sin Too Great

Chapter 3 - Ally


“My dear, are you sure you want me to do this?” pleaded the older woman, waving the scissors around to make her point. Her voice bounced off of the walls in the empty room.

“It is a burden to my daily duties,” said Phyra. “It is outlandish, and draws unnecessary attention. And it is too long and always in the way during our morning training.”

Cera looked unconvinced. She set the scissors on the wooden table, and grabbed at two handfuls of the woman’s long white-blond hair. The silken strands that slid through her fingers glowed under the candle’s dim light. “Tell me this is a sacrifice for the goddess. Tell me she will bestow power on you if you make this sacrifice for her.”

Phyra shook her head. “That would be a lie. Your goddess does not favor me, and she would remove her power from you if I admitted as much.”

“What is going on in here?” said Jaron from the doorway. “I can hear your voice all the way down the hall, Cera.”

Before Cera could explain Phyra’s brash decision to cut off her hair, Phyra removed the scissors from the table, grabbed a section of hair, and cut off several inches of its length. Putting down the scissors, she looked at the strands in her hand and offered it to Cera.

“Remove this amount, please,” she said.

Cera’s face paled. Without a word, the older woman dramatically stomped out of the common room, almost barreling over Jaron in the process of her exit.

“Well,” he said as he walked up to Phyra, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so mad.”

Phyra merely shrugged. “She would not abide by my wishes. I simply gave her an example in case she did not understand what I was asking of her.”

Jaron held out his hand, and Phyra placed the strands of hair in it. He held up the length, then looked back to the curious woman with the lopsided haircut. He laid the hair on the table, and reached for the scissors.

“May I?” he asked.

Phyra simply nodded. Jaron made quick work of her hair. After he evened up the section she had hastily severed, he easily cut away the remainder. When he was finished, her hair that had fallen to her hips now barely touched the top of her shoulders. Jaron took one more look at the straight line of her ends, then put down the scissors with a grunt of satisfaction.

Phyra reached back to feel the ends, and nodded her approval. “You are very adept with the shears.”

Jaron laughed as he crouched in front of her to make sure it was even from the front. “I was the oldest of six siblings, and the only male. The girls fought all the time, and hair-pulling was the favorite sport. Keeping their hair short was a weekly chore.”

“I must say,” said another familiar voice from the doorway, “I’m afraid I have never seen Sister Cera so angry.”

The two of them turned to see Priest Risyn in the doorway. He was leaning on his cane a little more over the last few weeks. When Phyra had inquired about his health, he simply stated that his bones did not enjoy the cold air. He did not seem inclined to explain further, and Phyra did not ask.

Jaron moved to the priest’s side, and took his arm to help support his walk across the common room. “Did she yell at you again?”

“No,” he grunted, pain slipping into the word as he eased himself into chair across from Phyra. “She has locked herself in the chapel, and mentioned prayers of redemption.”

Phyra did not speak, and Jaron continued to laugh. “It seems our newest recruit has a way of making the Head Priestess reevaluate her faith.”

Phyra kneeled to the floor to clean up the discarded hair. “Cera’s faith is not in question,” she said. “She has made my lack of devotion and holy guidance her personal mission.”

“And that is why I’m sending you on this assignment!” said Risyn enthusiastically.

With confused looks, both Jaron and Phyra glanced to the head priest. He was wearing a large smile on his face, until he realized that his two students were looking at him curiously, their faces clearly questioning his sanity.

“Oh my, I’ve done it again,” he said, deflated. With a sigh, he continued, “Phyra, Cera tells me that your training is going well, but she is worried about your lack of, how should I put this…spirituality. She tells me you are unable to perform any of the basic healing spells.”

“That is false information,” she stated as she dropped the strands into the burning fireplace. “According to Jaron, I have channeled healing power, but not from the source that either of you share.”

Flabbergasted, he turned to Jaron. “Is this true? Have you seen her power at work?”

Jaron glanced to Phyra. It had been their secret for a couple of weeks, and he had not expected her to own up to what she had done because she had only seen the results, not the actual power in use. Obviously she still didn’t fully understand what she had done, or how she had performed such complicated healing. The both of them had been surprised; however the act had not repeated itself since. Phyra gave no indication if she wanted him to proceed, but she had already opened the subject for debate. And Jaron didn’t like keeping secrets from the old priest.

“Yes, head priest, I have,” he started. “It was at the accident site a couple of weeks ago. Phyra treated the only surviving soldier at the scene. He broke his leg, and had several other wounds as well.

“The bone had pierced through the flesh of his leg, and it was bleeding profusely. Phyra tore at her robe, and as she was using the fabric to stem the bleed, the man stopped yelling in pain and calmed down.

“What I saw was something similar to what our spells do, but it wasn’t her hands that were glowing, it was the markings on her arm and her back. Slowly, her arm started to flicker as if on fire. She only touched him for a few moments, and when she was finished, the bone was reset and the wound was cauterized.”

Phyra returned to the table and sat across from the old priest. He only looked at her, scrutinizing the story Jaron told. He noticed that she was not ashamed of what she had done, not the act itself or the fact that she had covered it up and swore Jaron to secrecy.

He wanted to be angry with this indiscretion, but instead, he found himself curious to learn more. “You agreed when we took you in that if your power started to manifest, you would tell us immediately.”

Phyra was not fazed by his words. “It was not my power that healed the man. I did not call it. It arose when I touched the man’s wound. I did not divulge the information because I have not reproduced its effect since that day, and I did not want to appear a fraud in your eyes.”

Risyn mulled over her words. It didn’t make sense, if she didn’t call the power, how was she able to access it? With a power as unpredictable and destructive that he believed she had the ability to call, why would it re-emerge now as healing energy? There had to be a triggering moment while they were in the hole, something that would define the energy’s purpose.

“Phyra, what were doing in the minutes leading up to fixing the warrior? What did you do while in the accident area?” he asked, needing to know more details if he was going to solve this interesting mystery.

Phyra explained how she had gotten there in the first place, and about her surroundings while she was in the hole.

“What caught my attention amongst all of the destruction was a door. It appeared to have taken no damage from the cave-in or from the fire. I was on my way to examine it when I heard Thorrin call out again.”

Jaron had not been able to see anything in the hole. He had moved around solely based on Phyra’s guidance, so he had not seen this door either.

“The area around this door, was it damaged?” Risyn asked as something in the back of his head told him he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” she nodded, thinking back. “The walls there were blackened just like the rest of the room.”

Priest Risyn had remembered encountering a mage once when he had visited the previous regent. He had been waiting in the man’s office while the regent was meeting with his accountant about back ‘donations’ that had yet to be paid to the monastery. A robed person had stepped inside and moved to the regent’s vast bookshelves in search of something. Risyn had felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the air seemed charged with the person’s presence. He managed to catch a glance, but the mage was gone in a flutter of cloth before Risyn could discern any details. It would make sense that this mage had magically sealed his work area against the nosy house staff and the occasional natural disaster.

“I do remember something else,” she stated as she thought about Thorrin’s blood all over her hands. “I remember asking what I should do. Not out loud, just to myself.”

Risyn raised an eyebrow. “And I am to guess that something answered?”

Phyra nodded once. Unconsciously, Jaron reached across the table and placed a hand over hers. She looked at his hand, then at him, not understanding the intent of the gesture. Jaron was immediately uncomfortable, and quickly yanked his hand away.

Risyn was oblivious to the exchange between his pupils. “You have given me much to ponder, fire priestess, and much to research.”

“I am no priestess,” she said, correcting her teacher.

He shook his head. “When you so selflessly represent this church, you are, Phyra. And that’s what brings me here this evening. General Worjack has a mission, and he has asked for Phyra specifically.”

Both of the students turned their shocked stares to the head priest. “I know, I was surprised as well,” Risyn continued. “The general was impressed with how you handled yourself at the site of the cave-in, not only with the victim, but also with the warriors on the scene.”

Jaron was the first to speak. “What will she need to do on this mission? While her random healing magic is phenomenal, at this point, it has not proven reliable. And you’ve seen her in training enough to see that she is no fighter.”

For the first time, Phyra felt injured by Jaron’s words. How could this man who was not only her associate, but her friend, slander her in front of the head of the church? One side of her said she shouldn’t care, that it was part of the human condition, and yet, her human side was able to reason with Jaron’s words.

“Well then, I believe you just nominated yourself as her partner on this mission!” Risyn laughed. Jaron’s creamy complexion went pale, and Risyn continued before the man could complain. “Oh, don’t fret, it’s merely an escort mission. The men in charge of this area have been summoned to the palace in Lochlayn to meet with the king’s advisors, and select a new representative for our area. The previous agreement stated that we send one priest for every five warriors, however since both of you are new to the order, I feel it will be best if you both go. The experience will do you both some good, not to mention the abundant fresh air.”

Jaron knew the air would be extremely fresh since winter was just a few weeks away. The temperatures had dropped significantly as the daylight hours lessened. And from what the locals had told him, winter in this region could get especially nasty. This was not an adventure he would look forward to.

Priest Risyn grabbed his cane, and carefully rose himself from his chair. “Unfortunately, you have a limited amount of time to prepare, and both of you will need armor for protection. I know the warriors can take care of themselves, but some of that may not extend to the two of you.”

Armor and weapons would be easy to come by within the monastery, at least for Jaron. But Phyra had remembered Cera telling her once that it was rare for the women to go on missions assigned outside of the territory. The warriors were always more comfortable with priests in the midst, not priestesses.

“Phyra, you will need to meet with the blacksmith tomorrow morning, as early as possible. I do not wish you to come to harm because we do not keep suitable armor here for our feminine followers, and Jaron will have enough on his hands keeping the warriors from attacking you.”

Jaron liked this plan less and less. Phyra, on the other hand, remained silent as she too rose from the table, and left the room behind Risyn.

~*~*~

The following morning Phyra awoke to find items left for her on the neighboring bed. Cera had retrieved a small dark green cloak and a pair of brown pants, as well as a pair of soft leather over-the-knee boots in a rich brown. There was also a furred cloak, and Phyra wondered if the weather was finally taking a turn. Cera had left a bag of gold next to Phyra’s bedside with a note exclaiming that this was for the blacksmith’s expediency. After dropping the purse into an inside pocket on the cloak and rolling her hair into a tight bun on top of her head, Phyra pulled up the hood, and left as the sun was just cresting the horizon.

Risyn had given her specific directions. She was to follow an old dirt path to the southwest, and when the path turned to run parallel to the ridge, she was to keep heading forward over the hill. After a short walk, she came to the top of a hill and stared down at a barren valley. Below, a river cut across the rocky land, separating the northern vegetation from the southern sediment. On the opposite side stood a small thatched hut with a large stone furnace at the back, a continuous stream of smoke billowed from the chimney. As she walked down the side of the steep hill, she saw a simple wood bridge crossing the water at its narrowest point.

As she got closer to the hut, the air instantly got warmer, so much so that Phyra removed her cloak and draped it over her arm. She crossed the bridge, and noticed the river was barely moving, possibly due to the time of year. She approached the hut, and raised her hand to knock on the paneled door when it was opened from the inside.

Before her stood something she had not imagined to find in a blacksmith’s hut, a very tall and muscular elf. Clearly head and shoulders taller than she, his black hair was cut short, a practical way to keep it out of his face as he worked. Wearing only a pair of long pants and no shoes, she could easily see his body, defined with the muscles of his art and empty of any excess hair. His eyes were so pale she almost thought they were silver, and they were stark against his dark chocolate coloring.

But what really caught her attention was his metal arm. She tried not to be obvious about her interest, but the elf followed her gaze. As he stroked the small goatee on his chin, he stood back and said, “I was just fixing breakfast. You can help me set the table.”

The inside of the hut was sparse. It was simply one room containing a stove, a table with two mismatched chairs, and a bed roll. A second door opened into the forge, which was currently providing light and heat for the home. The home’s occupant grabbed two plates from the table, and proceeded into the forge. Seeing no reason to lag behind, Phyra draped her cloak over one of the chairs and followed.

She could not remember entering a forge before, and found that standing in one now was intriguing. The large hearth was centered on the back wall, directly below a massive chimney. There were three anvils and a set of tongs for each, and not far away was a large barrel of water. On the opposite wall hung several different types of weapons, some she couldn’t even identify. In the corner to the left of the entrance was a large pile of black rock. But as she stepped closer, she found that rock was metal. Flames from the hearth caught some of the flat sides, and mirrored the light all around the forge.

“Here,” said his voice from beside her. She turned to find a steaming plate of meat and eggs waiting for her. “Eat first, business later.”

~*~*~

Breakfast was eaten in silence. Phyra was not bothered by this for she was used to it at the monastery. What made her nervous were the repeated glances her way. Every time she took a bite, she found this man watching her. Occasionally he would grin before taking a drink, but at no point during the meal did he say anything. She wondered if he was waiting on her to speak first, but she did not know him, and she was not one for idle chatter anyway. The only other sounds in the small room besides their chewing were the pops of the raging fire in the hearth. When finished, he left his plate on the table and let her eat the remainder of her food in silence. Phyra soon followed.

“Lift your arms,” he said when she entered. He approached her with a long piece of twine.

She did, and the tall man stood directly in front of her. Taking one end of the string, he wrapped his arms around her back, and pulled the string around her body and brought the two ends together in the front.

“Good, you’ve not gained any weight in the past few months. I think your old breast plate may work. I’ll just need to augment it slightly, and strengthen it with some of my newer materials that I’ve created. It will be ready by morning. You can put your arms down now.”

But Phyra did not hear the rest of his words. She was still troubled by his first sentence. “I apologize for my rudeness, but have we been acquainted before?”

The elf eyed her suspiciously as he wrapped the twine around his hand and tucked into a pouch on his work belt. Unsure of what else to say, he commented, “You could say we knew each other, in another life.”

He could read the confusion on her face as she thought through that one statement. “In what way?”

He took a step back and watched her earnest eyes. A memory of this fair and fiery creature wrapped up in his bedroll, her face the epitome of ecstasy came to mind. But he had a feeling that was not the kind of information she was looking for.

“I provided a service, of sorts,” he said, chuckling.

Phyra’s eyes glanced to the far wall again, staring at the weapons cache. “You have made armor for me before?”

He nodded. “I have made armor and weapons for every warrior that has been stationed in this region. That rock in the corner? It is only found here, and only in the spring and summer. The winter thaw and summer rains filter this sturdy material down from the mountains, and it settles in this valley. I have enough over there to keep me busy through the coming months.”

The explanation made sense to her. All the warriors she had seen in this area, including Darius, wore the black armor. The color wasn’t a choice, it was actually the color of the material.

He stood before her now, his right hand extended in a form of greeting. “You can call me Ramad.”

Phyra had seen a similar gesture before, between some of the soldiers on the work site. She mirrored Ramad’s action by extending her own right hand. Ramad laughed and reached out for her hand and shook it gently.

“This is the part where you tell me your name,” he said, smiling at her innocence.

But Phyra was no fool. She returned his smile and said, “I would think you already know my name.”

Still clever, this one, Ramad thought to himself. Just as quick on his feet, he said, “I’m sorry, but I was simply commissioned to fit you with armor. We were never properly introduced.”

She watched him warily, but was satisfied that the statement seemed sincere. “I am known as Phyra.”

He squeezed her hand again before releasing it. “Good to meet you, Phyra. Now, can you remove your tunic for me?”

Ramad walked away from her to tend the fire, assuming she would simply comply. But when he turned around and found her still fully dressed, he inwardly cursed himself. This was not the same woman he knew before, and this one didn’t seem as eager to get undressed.

“Look, I need to check on your power base, and see how it’s changed since I last created armor for you.”

Phyra crossed her arms over her chest. “What is my power base?”

Ramad stepped forward and took her right hand. Gently he slid his hand up her arm, exposing her skin. “This tattoo, it is the seat of your powers. I need to see if it has advanced or regressed since I last saw you.”

Her human side was telling her that his touch was nice. His hand on her arm was callused and warm, unlike the metal hand holding her other one. It wanted her to recognize that this man was flirting with her, in a somewhat professional manner.

When he let go of her arm, Phyra grabbed the hem of her tunic, and pulled it over her head. In the process, she managed to disturb the bun on her head, and her hair came tumbling free. As she shook her head and handed him her tunic, she heard Ramad gasp.

“What have you done to your hair?” he said as he took her shirt.

Phyra watched as he hung it behind the door. “It was a bother, so I had it removed.”

Ramad only dropped his head, and shook it despairingly. Phyra could only figure that this man had liked her hair, in her previous life. She wondered if there was more to their relationship than he had let on, but found this only a fleeting concern. As of now, she was half-naked in front of a man she had just met while standing in the middle of a smithy.

Pulling out the twine again, Ramad produced a small scroll and a pen. “If you will lift your arms for me again and try to relax, I’ll try to do this as quickly as possible,” he said, trying to keep his tone soothing even though he was feeling particularly lecherous.

Ramad went to work measuring her right arm. Delicately, his metallic hand drifted across her skin. He stopped for a moment to write down his measurements before stepping behind her. She tried to resist a chill that ghosted across her skin as he placed his hands on her back.

“Let me know if you get too cold,” he said as he tossed the edge of the twine over her shoulder. The single piece of string rested between her breasts, its frayed end tickled the band of her waistline.

“If I may ask, what became of your arm?” Phyra asked, trying to distract her flighty human side.

“You may,” he said as he pulled the string back again. “It was a bother, so I had it removed.”

Phyra couldn’t stop herself from laughing. To hear her words thrown back at her with all seriousness was truly unexpected.

“I must say,” she said, trying to regain control of herself. “Your choice of replacements is indeed interesting, if not unorthodox.”

Ramad gripped her shoulder, and in a scolding tone, said, “Stop laughing, you are skewing my measurements.”

Phyra immediately straightened up, unsure if she had offended this man who had so far tolerated her existence. “Please accept my apology. I meant no offense.”

The room was silent for a few moments as she heard Ramad counting under his breath and scribbling on the scroll.

“It was meant to be a practical joke,” he said as he walked away to toss the scroll and pen onto a nearby table. “What I thought was an illusion spell turned out to be a spell of reconstruction. My father did not approve my remaking the stone arm I was born with into something more durable. You can put your arms down now.”

As Phyra let her arms drop back to her sides, she felt Ramad’s human hand on her back again, directly over her right shoulder blade. “I do not follow. Are you not elf?”

Suddenly, she felt warmth radiate through her right side, and the tattoo on her arm glowed faintly. “On my mother’s side,” he continued. “My father was an earth elemental. According to him, that arm proved my lineage, like it was my birthright. And since I had inadvertently made myself into an abomination, I was banished from my home. So here I am, secluded on the edge of a wasteland created by my ancestors, performing a duty to my people in my own way.”

Abomination, is that what the townsfolk thought of her? Is that how the families of her victims saw her? Something in this man’s short story spoke to her, and she could see that maybe in a past life, she could have been friends with him.

Phyra’s heart fluttered lightly as he continued to press upon her back. “What is it you are doing to me?” she asked, her voice coming out as a whisper.

Ramad placed his metal hand on her waist to hold her still. “I am testing the elemental within you. It was weakened greatly, as though you had to expend a large amount of energy at one time. Your markings have receded tremendously, and they do not appear to be regenerating. I fear your access to the elemental may be limited.”

“You said they have receded,” Phyra said, “were they larger before?”

“They once engulfed your entire torso and both of your arms,” Ramad said. “The elemental that you bonded yourself to was very powerful, and very old. I always wondered how you had accomplished it because fire elementals are the most recluse of all. Power is everything to them, and to share that with another is prohibited. By the way, your escort is here.”

Phyra did not follow the sudden change in subject, not until she heard the front door bounce against the frame and she saw Jaron step into the forge.

The two topless elven creatures simply stared at the young human gawking at them. He fumbled with the sword tucked into the belt of his robes. From behind, Phyra heard Ramad sigh, and felt the brush of his breath along her neck.

“What are you doing to her?!” Jaron almost squealed, his voice rising an octave higher than normal.

“He is testing the spirit within me,” Phyra said with a straight face.

Jaron finally freed his sword from its scabbard, and aimed it at Ramad. “Take your hands off her this instant!”

Phyra felt the warmth within her dissipate as Ramad stepped away. “I think we are finished here. Get dressed and I’ll meet you out front.”

When Phyra appeared fully clothed and hair back in place, she found that Ramad had also found a shirt. He was cleaning up the dishes from breakfast and Jaron was standing near the front door. He seemed impatient to leave.

“I have what I need,” Ramad said. “Everything you need will be delivered while you sleep. I’ll also get in touch with Dilun. You’ll need specific garments if this armor is to work efficiently with your assets.”

Phyra stepped between the two men, and retrieved the pouch of gold from her cloak. She handed it to Ramad, and as he took it, he made sure his fingers grazed hers.

Jaron’s hand was on the door. “If you are finished, can we go now?”

Ramad picked up her cloak and held it up for her. Phyra turned around and let him drape it over her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, turning to the large man behind her. “Our talk has been most enlightening. I hope we may speak together again.”

She heard Jaron groan, and almost rip the door from the frame as he yanked it open. Phyra turned to find him already at the river’s edge with his back turned to the hut.

“I would like that as well,” Ramad said as he walked her to the door.

Phyra stopped as she felt the heat of the man’s body behind her. She found it comforting that she had discovered what she considered a kindred spirit amongst all the others who despised her. In this place, maybe she could be herself. Maybe, this man would allow her that.

Phyra turned to thank him again, but instead she heard the door slam behind her, and felt her body shoved against it. In the next moment, Ramad was pressed against her, and his lips were on hers. She didn’t need her human side to tell her what was going on. The feel of his mouth sent sensations all through her body, and the rough goatee tickled her flesh. The spirit also awakened, sending warmth along her skin, and to other areas deep within her body.

Through his lips she felt what he was. She felt her heart beat in chest as though the world shook violently from a quake. Her skin was alive like the spring grasses breaking free from the frozen ground. She felt the caress of a creek trickling along the surface like fingertips trailing down her spine, and she felt his hands on her body like the massage of a summer rain.

And as the kiss ended, and Ramad pulled away, Phyra saw the flicker of a flame in his eyes, and knew he had experienced her as well. She wondered now what other services he had provided her in the past.

Ramad wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her away from the door. As he opened it, Phyra pulled up her hood to hide her flushed face.

“Be safe on your journey,” he said as he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “And may your journey find its way to my doorstep again.”

Still too stunned to speak, Phyra merely nodded and left the warmth of the forge for the cold outside. She found the sun was now past its peak in the late fall sky, and wondered exactly how long she had been spellbound by this man who knew her in the past. Would he tell her more about herself on her next visit? Maybe he would even tell her what they were to each other. He was clearly disappointed when he realized that she did not know him, and his reaction to her shortened hair had astonished her. Indeed, she needed to find more business with Ramad.

“Hello? Phyra? Are you listening to me?”

Phyra turned to the young man next to her. He seemed more flustered than normal. She wondered if he was nervous about their first mission together. Phyra found that at this moment, she really couldn’t care less.

“You’ve been gone more than half the day! We still need to meet with the general to get the full details. What the hell were the two of you doing in there all day?”

Phyra only smiled, and started the long trek up the hill.


TBC...