The Sketch Rift: The Eternal Crusade

A Sky of Scarlet

"Soal, Irene," Hemingway paused to catch his breath as the trio passed into the courtyard of Counter's Hall, guardsmen bowing their heads to the Master Bringer as they paced, "despite our mission at hand, which the common Henderian is incapable of comprehending, we must consult the Count and the Countess. This will be the first time in months that they have laid eyes upon the Master Bringer, and there has been a furious debate since on how to combat the more recent threats, of which you will learn upon our arrival."

"Luc -- the Countess has somehow wriggled into Count's grim heart again, has she?" Irene was still struggling to forget their regretful past. "Er, uh, I mean..."

Hemingway chuckled as the interior gates opened before him without his input. From Soal's prior knowledge, these were not automatic doors. "I have heard tales of what happened before Count's eye was stricken. The Countess was in grievous condition when Count fell to the sleep in the first place. And when he awoke, he was a changed man."

"Man?" Soal had found this peculiar for some time now, but only at the present was it appropriate to declare. "Count is nineteen. And Hendera is a city of teenagers, which, in a way, includes us. Have you ever considered this before?"

"Yes, but they are mature teenagers with highly sophisticated minds," Hemingway, at this time, seemed to have an answer to everything, highly contrasting with his ordinary self. "Additionally, they were prisoners of war who were never saved externally, therefore saving themselves with the use of such minds and founding this metropolis."

"But --" Irene stammered in response, only to trail off her words as the threesome crossed an "automatic" door into the former Count's chamber, smaller than Soal recalled from when all of Hendera had huddled inside. The layout of the chamber was very much identical, aside from the fact that Count's initial throne was now occupied by Lucy, and Count himself was seated on a poorly centered, hastily constructed throne to the side, which was taller than hers to give the illusion that the Count and the Countess were the same height. "...Oh, never mind."

Both of the conductors beamed as they came into vision. "Irene, Soal! It's about time," Lucy seemed especially glad. "My, are you two looking... cross."

"Hemingway yanked me from my foster mother's wedding," Soal complained.

"And me from a significant school exam," Irene crossed her arms, both members of the Master Bringer in the midst of an intense vexation.

"This timing wasn't up to me," the pseudo-Sulukridger harrumphed. "While the both of you are fidgeting about in the earlier years, we have a paramount task to attend to. The era is growing ever-increasingly direr. In fact, I can see with my own eyes that the scenery itself has had gradual alterations since the Master Bringer's initial departure. The sky in the region has deepened slightly to a faded shade of crimson, and the few remaining local trees have been withering away. I predict that by September First, the heavens will be more scarlet-hued than fire, and Hendera's state of vegetation will be cold and barren."

"We, too, have observed such unnerving changes," Count folded his fingers beneath his chin, occasionally shooting a glance at the governess sitting beside him. "We may have to come to depend on the Thieves of Sogbury more and more with these trying times. There is a botanical sector of the harbor which we have come to depend on for food supply. Meanwhile, regarding the Master Bringer -- it has been long since we met. And I am certain you have learned from the pseudo-Sulukridger of this 'Kurst' conspiracy --"

"It is no conspiracy, sir," Hemingway's enthusiasm was evaporating quickly. "In another time, in another world, you would be speaking the same about Ivel."

"Bah," Count twiddled his thumbs before sinking his cheek onto a concerned fist. "I want to avoid debate with your nonsense. But while we have our cherished Master Bringer in the room, I want to keep them in the spotlight."

"Can do, sir," Hemingway nodded, but it seemed more akin to a hasty bow. "My original intention in bringing them now was for one primary reason, which was to invite the Ambassador. He is the only one now who is truly capable of igniting the flame of power inside these Sulukridgers' Vorrens."

"That may be impossible," Lucy's words questioned Hemingway's theory, and the pseudo-Sulukridger temporarily donned an alarmed expression. "That is, taking the Ambassador from the defense of the Crusade would be a death warrant."

"Then, sir, you must bring us to him," Hemingway wrung his fist, still aware of Count's troubled history with the Crusade. Soal and Irene listened innocently adjacent to their great-grandson, inhaling deep, worried breaths for each side of this unusual conversation.

"Nor can we aid that request," Count's forehead creased in weariness. His left fist took a break from supporting his cheek on the arm of his throne, only for his right to continue the trend. "From what we have seen you do, I believe you are clearly capable of flashing to the Crusade's current whereabouts in a heartbeat."

"I may be a pseudo-Sulukridger, sir, but I am not one of them," Hemingway contradicted some points of evidence everyone had overtly noticed. "Fine, then. We will journey on foot. It will not be a lengthy journey."

"Are you so sure about this?" Lucy was skeptical. "The Ambassador is enormously secretive, not to mention in possession of world-changing secrets, and the Crusade is barricaded by prejudice."

"Exactly!" Hemingway simpered, beckoning Soal and Irene to trail him. They were beyond the room before the door opened at all.