Among the dense crowd of workers and travelers, Aislin waited as patiently as she could outside the airship docks, her hands clasped in front of her and her shoulders confidently back. When Dara had come into her room to inform her of the Barbary‘s arrival, he had found the fledgling Vision sitting cross-legged on her bed, meditating, as she had been for hours. She just simply could not sleep. Meeting her first Legion was titillating, if not terrifying; she wasn’t sure what to expect. Throughout her childhood, she’d heard stories about the valiant demon fighters and their never-ending quest to rid the world of evil, but, like most people she knew, she had never come face-to-face with one, at least not to her knowledge. Dara himself had only worked with three during his tenure as Jarlath’s Vision, which he regarded as a point of pride. With the world overrun by demons, it was reassuring to know that there were areas free of them.
She turned to look behind her, checking wordlessly with Dara, who smiled gently and nodded. She was grateful for his calming presence, although she continued to fiddle with the ring on her right middle finger. Dara had been a Vision for years, well before Aislin was even born, and he often told her he couldn’t have chosen a better successor. He boasted to his superiors that she had gifts beyond even his, a notion she didn’t fully believe. She had improved over the past year, she admitted, particularly with telepathy, but she couldn’t imagine replacing him completely. That wouldn’t happen for several years, thankfully, so she figured she could work on convincing him to stay on as an adviser of some sort.
A thin ray of sunshine beamed through the clouds but quickly disappeared. The cold front that had settled directly over Jarlath hadn’t moved in several days, as Aislin had predicted, but at least it wasn’t sleeting as it had been. Early spring had always been like this, with nary a clear sky in sight for weeks on end, but no one seemed to complain, although Aislin attributed that to the anticipation of the annual Jarlathi festival, followed shortly by the onset of much more pleasant weather. Even though each year followed a fairly consistent pattern, the local leaders still looked to Aislin, as they had since she was seven years old, to determine when they should schedule the festival, and she hadn’t been incorrect once, even the year that the winter made an unexpected return for a week or so. They even instituted a holiday where her predictions would be broadcast to all citizens – a bit theatrical for her tastes, but Dara had explained that she’d soon be seen as a spokesman for the councilmen, as he had been, so she had better get used to it.
When the Legion finally appeared through the main gate, Aislin sighed in relief, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. Ren’s reputation was more than illustrious, being one of the only humans asked to join the Shadow Legions in recent memory, and her self-assured aura radiated through the air. It was strange; Dara had said that she’d be able to recognize a Legion without ever seeing him or her before, but the experience of sensing one was oddly delightful, like a slight tingling feeling on the back of her neck. Matching the Legion step-for-step was a rather spindly young man, who couldn’t have been much older than Aislin, exasperatedly running his fingers through his blond hair.
“I’m sure we can find the time to visit a proper barber,” the young man was saying.
“What, you don’t trust Tulay?” the Legion asked irritably, stopping briefly to let a pair of men lug an overloaded crate in front of her.
He scowled at her as he scratched his scalp. “I’d come away with a bald head.”
“I can’t believe we’re actually talking about your damned hair.”
“You’re just grumpy because you burned your breakfast,” he retorted.
“I did not burn my – you know what? I fight demons every day, which you’ve seen, and they’re a lot stronger than you, so you can just shut your mouth.”
Dara coughed and, when Aislin nearly spun around to face him, gestured slightly in their direction. She nodded, raised her hands and bounced a bit on the balls of her feet, waving at them for fear that they’d pass her.
“Excuse me, Ren Winde?” she asked politely.
The Legion stopped mid-step and smiled. “You must be Aislin.” She jerked her thumb back at the young man. “This is Mason Alderic.”
“Welcome to Jarlath!” She blushed at her eager enthusiasm, wondering if any other Visions had felt awestruck when encountering their first Legion. Luckily, Ren didn’t seem to notice and instead extended her hand kindly.
“Thanks,” Ren said distractedly, glancing around at the bustle that hadn’t even registered with Aislin. “It’s busy this morning.”
The docks were nearly always astir, except for an hour after sundown right at shift change. Before he had retired, Aislin’s father was a respected dockmaster, so much of her childhood was spent interviewing anyone who looked as if they were not from Jarlath. She even once met a merchant marine who’d just returned from a dangerous delivery run to the Spiral, and for weeks, she couldn’t stop talking about it to whomever would listen. When she told her mother that she intended to follow in the man’s footsteps, she’d found herself much more closely monitored than she had been before.
Aislin grinned. “They’re mostly vendors for the festival. In fact, in just a little while, it’ll be quiet as a tomb everywhere but Hanlon Field, just outside the city walls.”
“Which is advantageous for us,” interjected Dara. She had almost forgotten he was there.
Ren shook his hand. “Dara, I presume? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And I, you,” he replied, bowing his head a little. If he had any special insights regarding this Legion, Dara had not shared them with Aislin, and the expression on his face gave little for her to go on, as far as what he had heard of Ren. He was difficult to read on his best days and completely inscrutable on his worst. “Come. We must prepare.”
And with that, the old man led them away from the docks, with Mason chittering away in excitement.
“My first exorcism! How thrilling!” He executed a spirited jig, at which Ren smirked.
Aislin tilted her head slightly at him. “Are you a Legion, as well?”
Ren burst into laughter and had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk to compose herself, and just when Aislin thought she was done, a new swell bubbled up, this time paired with slightly misty eyes and the trickle of a tear on her cheek.
“I’m actually a Scholar, tasked with documenting Ren’s missions,” he explained as he snarled at the Legion.
“A very dangerous occupation,” offered Dara from the front of the group. “Particularly for someone so youthful.”
Mason took a deep breath and held his head even higher. “I’ve learned quite a bit about self-defense. I’ve discovered I’m quite handy with a bow.”
“Oh, please,” cackled Ren. “It’s a good thing Tremany can weld with how many holes you’ve put in the cargo bay walls.”
“I -” Mason cut himself off and clenched his jaw. “I have improved.”
“Well, let’s just hope it’s one of those rock demons you have to fight from afar,” Ren jabbed. “At least you’d have a target big enough to hit, then.”
Aislin watched them bicker back and forth, reminding her of her parents’ playful repartee at the dinner table, and giggled. Dara, on the other hand, was not as amused.
“Please, we must hurry,” the old Vision insisted.
Ren nodded solemnly. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”
They managed to take a few steps in silence before Mason chimed in again.
“Will there be any barbers at the festival?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, give it a rest, Alderic!” wailed Ren.
