They heard Agaepsonia before they reached it, saw it in the horizon before they heard its life and noise. The fortress was overwhelming in every way, in every sense: Cecilia had thought it massive from afar, when she first lay eyes upon it come noon, but drawing closer, the towers and walls that loomed high in the distance, as much a part of the mountain range as the rocks were, and each step enlarged them, made their grandeur almost frightening in a way that Cecilia could describe only as hubris. This is but one of the Rose’s great strongholds, and it is grander than any palace I’ve ever seen. Though the structures themselves were nowhere near as tall as the Tower of Rebirth, with the highest peaks of the Vale of Dreighr as the foundations upon which Agaepsonia was built, it appeared immensely higher, dominating the entire Vale.
Once past a triad of sloped hills spotted with fading greens, even more of the fortress came into sight; the long stone steps carved on the rocks, a twisting path to the outermost layer of Agaepsonia proper, a most daunting sight and proposition to any enemy army. Storming the castle was as good as impossible, and if adequately stocked, starving a garrison would be a vain errand as well. This was the shortest way from Loclain to Tesmaria, and it was impregnable. Would-be invaders would need to make their way around the entirety of Dreighern Range. And so, though Loclain was plagued by diabolic apertures and monstrous incursions, those terrors were, for the most part, contained there, with the Gairning Host confined to their breeding pits or wherever it was that the vermin dwelled.
Soon Cecilia was hearing distant sounds. Life, and the living. The loudest were the hammering of wood and metal, then the braying of beasts, and lastly the voices of men and women. There were the smells, too, faint traces of smoke, the agreeable tang of fresh waters running along bare stone and cooling the air, the stench of manure and hints of meals being cooked and served. All of these melded into one another, the same way the noises did, and the chill of the Vale of Dreighr was broken by the shreds of embers coming from cookfires and beacons, for by the time the Blossoms finally reached Agaepsonia dusk was falling like a veil to shroud these lands.
After all that, the outer bailey was almost a disappointment. Its walls were wooden palisades with a scant few watchtowers, only one of which Cecilia saw as manned. None were particularly tall, the towers providing a merely acceptable view of the surroundings. All were weathered and aged, with little of the original stone fortifications remaining, time having long since consumed and crumbled them, leaving only the wood exposed, and with only few groves untouched nearby, repairs and rebuilding likely needed costly imports of lumber. The cottages behind the walls were similarly humble, mere thatch and timber and few portions of exposed mortar. In Eschenstadt, constructions such as these were historical fragments of old peasant villages from a thousand years ago. Meanwhile, Agaepsonia itself was of such proportions and complexity that modern techniques would struggle to replicate it.
The southwestern gate was open, unguarded, and was but some thin lumber devoid of any metal bandings. From this side there was no need to fear any assault, and though some spots of graveling remained as faint traces of the roads that may have once connected Loclain and Tesmaria, this hadn’t been a meaningful trade route in centuries.
The Blossoms’ arrival was noted with relief, though only some of the populace there paused their work to receive them. And, from their indiscreet gaze and barely-concealed interest, it well could be that it was the supply carts that were the cause for such a response. The Blossoms and their beasts of burden poured inside gradually, the pachidons giving pause to the adults but to the children were only a source of fascination. As the cratefuls of goods were unloaded by Triella, Ise and Prishia, Cecilia took the time to inspect the area.
Moss crept between the stones that remained of the walls and towers, but for the most part only timber structures were left, sturdy but unseemly. They were quite unlike the grandeur of Agaepsonia itself, though far more practical for what was ultimately a small garrison, the majority of which were refugees. They tended to some dozen or so chickens and a single cow, while caring for small plots of dirt to the south. This was not a great environment for farming, though some magic could remedy that, but for the lack of space there was no solution. In times of favor, villages scattered along the Vale would have sufficed to supply Agaepsonia—whose concealed and sprawling glass gardens, a wonder of ingenuity, were able to provide much of the food the fortress would require to maintain a fair amount of defenders—but the centuries saw Agaepsonia deserted, until only the outer bailey was manned, and not strongly at that.
“We had expected more Blossoms,” a woman said as she approached the caravan; she carried herself with authority, and Cecilia understood her not to be a mere refugee even before she could see the crossbow at her back.
“Hoped for it, more like,” said her partner at her side, a man clad in boiled leather, his back bearing an impressive longsword of plain make but strong steel. “‘Tis a relief to see ye here, and a sorely needed one. We’ve heard nought of the world beyond our walls since… Whatever it was that befell ye.”
“I fear we know less than we would like,” Sieglinde admitted. “Foul sorceries have culled most of our Order, and we have not yet been able to establish contact anon with all of our bloom-sisters,” Cecilia did not fail to notice how that word made Ise Ubami grit her teeth. She draped herself in her feelings openly, it seemed.
“We’ve heard a similar telling from the Lady Jiang,” said the woman. “Though she shared with us only as little as she must, and perhaps not even that. She has locked herself in that grotesquely huge castle since our arrival, and while I’m fine not having to deal with her, the people here are concerned. They want to depend on her.”
The guards were open with information, perhaps all too freely so. They are concerned, Cecilia realized, and at once she understood why: simple though their armor might be, their lone adornment were their wolfskin capes, fastened with copper clasps hammered clumsily into the shape of the eight-pronged sun that was the sigil of the Dawning Company. They are but one step removed from the heresies the Rose quelled over the ages, and in times past their ranks were purged by magical girls. They’d left such ways behind, their commanders swore, so now they worked as honest mercenaries—were such a thing possible.
“You are a long way from Graufor,” Erika Chantesse remarked, her tongue dripping disdain. “Have you no vampyres to hunt in your savage east? No, I do believe you remain quite infested with those creatures. Or could it be that you’ve wiped out all inhumans that don’t fight back? I suppose when you live in that gloomy swamp your heart does grow to yearn to bring your pogroms to sunnier lands.”
“Peace, Erika,” Sieglinde demanded. If nothing else, these Dawners were well aware of their reputation, and showed no surprise nor offense. It was true that the Good Men of the Dawn had not slaughtered any ielfcynn in two hundred years, which perhaps had something to do with the fact that no ielfcynn settlements remained in Graufor for the past two hundred years. “The people here have them to thank for their safe arrival here, and thus they have our thanks as well. What service brings you far from your homelands?”
“We were in Lord Haierger’s service,” said the woman, “to teach his household guards our ways of the hunt, for he feared the Gairnite encroach upon the neighboring demesne of Lady Varbow. But their instruction was interrupted by grim news of a demonic incursion summoned not far from Varbow’s keep. She was slaughtered with her knights, and only half a dozen armigers returned to tell the tale, scared out of their wits. Lord Haierger bid his riders to make haste in spreading the message to all nearby villages, and his guards to guide refugees from Varlow lands.”
“That is very generous of him,” said Sieglinde. “Not all lords would go to such lengths for those who are not their people.”
Not all would do it for their own people, Cecilia knew, but chose not to mention it.
“Aye, generous. Varlow and Haierger boasted of amicable relations and of being close as kin. Alas, the Gairning Host did not march on a mere raid for plunder and sacrifices, nor did they watch from afar as fiends lay waste to the lands. We were caught unawares, too, and lost our company’s commander for it. Demons we know how to kill, but men, even if less formidable, are not driven solely by instinct, and the Gairnites preyed upon Haierger knights as they rode and fought on their lonesome or with squires, and they far eclipsed our numbers. Another warband sacked Lord Haierger’s estate, so we would find no refuge there. We fled, us and the surviving guards, and as many of the peasantry we could save. It was all we could do to salvage something from this disaster.”
Erika scoffed, and turned her back on them to go nowhere in particular. Though Cecilia could scarcely fault her distaste, and even envied her honesty somewhat, it was not for them to judge, and Cecilia knew better than to speak when not spoken to. She listened, learning as Sieglinde learned more from the Dawners. The man and woman before them had leadership thrust upon them, being the oldest and most experienced hunters remaining after their commanders fell in battle. They introduced themselves as Taysia and Valentin, but beyond that they shared no personal details, and neither did Sieglinde ask them for those. Admirable as it was that they did not simply desert the helpless populace when defeat was upon them, they nevertheless remained sellswords, and as such their service was not freely given. They had not been paid in full, by dint of the untimely death of the man responsible for their wages, and though their contract had nothing to do with the Red Rose, Sieglinde chose to honor the terms set by the late Lord Haierger so as to keep them in their employ.
Only when the Dawners had left them did they join with Erika by the armory, where most of the remaining blades sat unused for many long years, having gone to rust long ago. The forge had not been stoked in what seemed like decades, but the fletcher’s was not in such a sorry state, with several arrow shafts set aside by a small chest of feathers and a scattering of iron arrowheads. Erika sulked as she inspected the arrows one by one, barely acknowledging Sieglinde’s arrival until her attention was called.
“Do not antagonize useful would-be allies,” she said, firmly. “Our time of need demands concessions in the name of pragmatism, and we haven’t the luxury of choosing our associations. The Dawning Company has saved the lives of the folk sheltering here, and a good deed warrants acknowledgment.”
“But it does not merit forgiveness of foul deeds,” Erika retorted. “The works of allies and servants alike reflect upon one’s honor and image as though they were your own. Good Men,” she said ruefully. “This corner of the world, far from the lands where they’ve hunted for centuries, may not know or care about their ill repute, but in much of the world their name is spat out like bile, like poison, for the blood they’ve shed.”
“That was a different time,” said Sieglinde. “I don’t believe the sins of the past must echo unceasingly, nor are sins inherited.”
“What say you, Cille?” Erika turned to her.
“I question the wisdom of relying on the uncertain allegiance of mercenaries,” she said. “All they owe to us is what’s on the terms of our arrangements, and even then it is not rare for sellswords to turn and flee. Nevertheless, they have died for these people. I mistrust them, but we cannot rely solely on those whom we wholly trust… So I lack an answer.”
Sieglinde nodded, stepping away to call forth the rest of the Blossoms to make the ascent towards Agaepsonia, but Erika was not satisfied. Her eyes had turned cold, judgmental.
“I know you have opinions,” Erika said. “I’ve heard them, Cille. They are heretics, both you and Sieg know it. She might not care, but you do. So why is it that when confronted by any authority you bend to their will and speak in terms so uncertain, until you wash your hands of the choosing?”
“Because I don’t know everything,” she said. “Because my views alone should not guide my path, our path. It is good to listen to others.”
“So that’s your answer. I suppose it is quite liberating to let others make your choices, Lady Kleinfeld. Let us go on, then. That overgrown monstrosity of stone and mortar awaits.”
Erika did not wait for her. For her part, Cecilia was quite confused by such a harsh reaction. Why she felt so strongly about this matter was quite strange to Cecilia, or why she demanded a stance on some order of mercenaries from a land forgotten by the sun.
Still, Cecilia was not one to complain. She knew griping to be unseemly, and it never attained much sympathy. Frustrated though she may be, she followed her fellow Blossoms towards the narrow stone steps carved on the very mountains, the jagged crags but a breath apart from the stone railings. It was a slow way up, narrow and twisting, enough that Cecilia heard Prishia jape that if she were a soldier ordered to storm Agaepsonia, she would just jump down the cliffs to her death, praising the convenience of the precipitous fall. Reinforcing the fortress, too, seemed a nightmare. Carts could move through these paths only with great difficulty, and were it not for the sheer size of the fortress allowing for farms to be established behind its thick walls, it would only take a small blockade to starve an entire garrison. Cecilia was reminded of a tale she’d heard of the old kings of Biratgar gifting vassals of uncertain loyalty a majestic white elephant as a token of their esteem, their tusks gilded, their hides pristine, the beasts seen as sacred incarnations of nature spirits… And how they ate, enough to drive a lesser lord to debt, but such a gift could not be refused…
True enough, that tale was shared elsewhere, too, but with more fanciful creatures, no longer living in this world. It well could be that, ten thousand years ago, a dragon would have been an unwelcome burden to a high lord of long-lost Serytlis, but now that they were gone such a beast would be most tempting indeed… And perhaps that was why their Rose was so eager to reclaim this great monstrosity of stone.
The pass widened only when the great gate of Agaepsonia was ahead, though that space was yet the furthest thing from spacious. Empty battlements overlooked the passage, arrow slits now used only by birds nesting, no sounds but the winds whistling through the gaps. But not all was deserted, Cecilia noticed. They were not unseen. A shadow drifted by the parapets; a ghost, she thought, until she saw it was only a girl. She stood atop the gatehouse, bow and arrow pointed at them, her fingers quivering. Some beauty lingered in her hair, lengthy and unbraided twin white tails, in her graceful stance and martial poise, and her mantled armor remained pristine even as her face and hair were soiled, filthy. But her eyes, half-mad and flickering, betrayed all that refinement. Plainly exhausted, her form was wretched, and she didn’t have the strength to fully draw her bow, and if she kept trying to hold it like that, she might loose her arrow on someone.
“Blossoms,” she called to them. “For you are Blossoms, are you not? Speak truth, for I will know it should you lie. I have told the cultist scum at the fort not to let outsiders dare approach, but I do not trust them. Yet you look like Blossoms, carry yourselves like Blossoms… But how can this be, when there are no more Blossoms?”
“There are,” said Millicent. Sieglinde, by her side, was bold enough to step towards the gate, and though the girl above flinched for a moment, she soon seemed to recognize her. “There are new Blossoms. Who are you? What have you seen…?”
“New… New Blossoms…” She let go of the bow. Cecilia thought it was relief that she saw in her expression, but the girl was too distant to be certain, and her voice was heavy with grief. “Yawen Jiang. My name. I know you, Sieglinde Imorial. I have seen you and heard of you. So you live. Yes, you live, but these other girls… New Blossoms? Bathed in the luminosity of the Lumenvasculum and given the gift of Efflorescence…?”
“Just so,” said Sieglinde. “Open the gates. We are here to help you.”
Yawen said nothing. She stepped back into the shadows, and instants later the gates began to open, slowly, loudly, the metal screeching, almost pained. Even before the Blossoms could step inside, however, Yawen was above them again, watching, then leapt towards them, landing with a grace that ill-matched her weary visage and legs trembling with weakness and exhaustion.
“Children,” Yawen hissed between teeth. “Mere tributes to winter, you autumn leaves. A cold wind will sweep you away to dust as it has my fallen bloom-sisters, but of you there will be no memory! Sieglinde, you fool, what have you done? They still breathe, these gales, they howl and shriek. Why would our Rose doom these souls to the abyss yet beckoning? I feel it,” she raked at her arms and shivered; her pale skin was freckled with red lacerations the size of her nails. “I hear it. Ghosts, it calls us. Wants us.”
“Let us talk inside, Yawen,” Sieglinde said firmly. “You are safe. We are safe. The calamity is behind us. Speak with me, please. I cannot begin to imagine what you have been through, facing this loss in a strange, distant land, though if you would but talk to me—”
“Talk to you, dandelion waiting to be scattered to the winds?” She exhaled, her breath cold against Sieglinde’s face. “How many yet live? Do my kin in Heiginzhua mourn me? Held a funeral for me? Count me among their ancestors?” She shed tears like crystalline drops of wintry dew. “This dying, our dying… I watched them die, you plucked flower, I watched them die, all of them! How can you say the dying is past? I still feel the cold. It comes for us. Days from now, or months, or years, we will join the dust of the dead.”
“The dying is past us,” Sieglinde insisted. “Not the scars, not the pain, but past the night of our withering none have died. All these months behind us have seen no further death, and we have a small understanding of the horror that reaped our sisters. May I hold you? You have been so brave and strong to have survived this long, but you’re not alone anymore.”
She said nothing, but did not resist when Sieglinde wrapped her in a kind embrace. She did not react, either. Her eyes were distant and aimless. Her face contorted in weeping, but no tears came out, and she made no sound.
“Brave…?” She stepped back when Sieglinde let go of her. “There is no bravery. Courage or strength did not spare them. My companions. Mayne was braver than I, and died all the same. She died slowly. I could have held her, but didn’t. All of them, I could have done something, I could have said something. They reached out to me. They flickered, they faded, they withered, and I didn’t, so they… They reached out to me. I did not comfort them. I slapped their hands away. I screamed. I cried. A slow, difficult dying…”
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Sieglinde told her. “Everywhere… Everywhere our bloom-sisters have suffered this sorrow. And it was so cruel that you had to witness it before you… Let us step inside, Yawen. Let us talk.”
“We are talking,” she retorted. “Agaepsonia… I have only truly lingered here, at the outermost walls, in this gatehouse. The castle is too large to hold. I thought it a fine place to die, and the food and water I held would not last much longer. The outsiders sometimes came bearing meals, but I wouldn’t let them come closer. They learned to stay away when I loosed arrows at them. They would have poisoned me, I know it. They were just waiting for me to die. And I would die, but not… Not easily. Not quickly.”
“Yawen…” This time, when Sieglinde approached her, Yawen Jiang furrowed her brow and stepped away. “When have you last slept? You are—”
“I am not mad!” She said. “I have perfect mastery over my mind and my faculties. I know they wanted me dead, I know, because I know what this castle is. Do you know the purpose of Agaepsonia? Why such a huge castle was built here, of all places? To defend the passage leading from Loclain? Yet a marching army could simply trample over the bailey and bypass Agaepsonia, for even the mightiest bastion cannot move, and would thus have no choice but to watch feebly as it was ignored, launching arrows in vain from afar. This is no watchpost. It is not a mountain pass which Agaepsonia guards, but the castle itself is the purpose. It is why I had to stay here. It is why they wait for me to die. It is why I had to kill those… Those… Spies,” she spat out the word, disgusted.
“Spies?” Triella asked, aghast. “What do you…?”
“Those cultists, those vile heliophiles, they are not, and were not, the only leeches hoping to drain me of my blood. Some… Men, women, all scum of Loclain, they too arrived at the outer bailey, they said they urgently needed me so the fools down there told them they could find me in Agaepsonia. They held a flag of false peace and my bow did not deter their efforts, so I chose to hear them, and I’m glad I did… They were informants, they said, and invented ciphers and codes that meant nothing to me as proof of their identity, their loyalty to the Red Rose… I did not trust them, could not trust them. If they were trying to fool me, they were a threat, so I had to slay them all… And if they spoke truly, then they knew our secrets, they could hurt us, and even if our Rose was gone, even if I remained the last living Blossom, I could not close my eyes to that risk. I let them in and killed them. For our Rose. And now that you’re here, now that I know we endure, now that you promise me that the worst is behind us… You can help me, now. You can help me defend this castle, ghost-haunted ruin that it may be. And you’ll hear them, the ghosts… You’ll see that I’m not mad. You’ll understand everything.”
The Rose's Torn Petals 