a little more juju

The biting chill of the early Ust-Kurtsan morning suddenly hitting her on the face startled Ren out of a deep sleep, and she shot up into a sitting position, ready to fight, finding a terrified Mason holding onto the edge of the down comforter that had just been covering her body. He was frozen with wide eyes and began to stutter nonsensically.

“No,” she growled, snatching the comforter and pulling it over her head. She snuggled deeper into the pillows and drew her knees to her chest, trying to warm herself back up. It had been what seemed like a lifetime since she last slept in something so exquisite as this bed: heavy frame and headboard, overstuffed mattress, wool sheets. Toma, the head housekeeper, had started a fire before Ren had retired, and the remaining embers were still radiating most welcome heat, even if the the room as a whole maintained a much cooler temperature. The castle-like home of Beniamin, the local Vision, did its best as a fortress against the harsh northern winter, but even the thick stone walls had trouble keeping out the persistent cold.

“Well, I-I tried everything else to wake you,” complained Mason.

Waking up had never been Ren’s strong suit, a fact she had been told nearly her entire life. Her father used to tell her that, if she really wanted to eventually take over his carpentry business when she was old enough, she would have to be up earlier than the sun so she would be able to greet it with a smile. Even after she rebelliously relinquished her claim on the business to her younger brother, her father would force her out of bed and onto her daily duties.

“You need to get up,” Mason insisted, and Ren heard him step forward to approach the bed again. She sat straight up, gripping the blanket close to her body.

“I actually dare you to try and take this again,” she grumbled, her voice much more menacing than she’d intended.

Mason pursed his lips and slowly crept away from the edge of the bed.

Since leaving Torch nearly two months prior, Mason had tried his best to stay out of her way, occasionally trying a little too hard to get firsthand exposure to the demons she was fighting. For the most part, though, he’d kept out of harms way and documented from afar. Like she had assumed. Dormani eventually admitted the Scholars were sending her on easier missions in an attempt to prepare him for the more dangerous ones, it was a nice departure from the nearly death-defying situations shed normally find herself in, but it was still difficult for her to adjust to having what was essentially a stenographer following her around. At least he didn’t interview witnesses for a more researched, in-depth experience piece. He didn’t even see the outcome of last night’s assignment, which was probably for the best. It was quite a bloody affair.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, his tone a little wounded, adding just before he left her room, “You should come downstairs.”

Ren plopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, dreading getting back into the real world where a warm bed and hearty food didn’t await her. She longed to linger in this fairy tale, where she was surrounded by rich tapestries, woven with various scenes from Ust-Kurts religious texts in bright reds, blues, golds, and touches of green, and delicately patterned gold crown molding framing the entire room Beniamin must have hired a master craftsman to design and build the furniture: the wood was sturdy, albeit a bit chunky for her tastes, and the beautifully simple lines and ornate carvings required such skill that Ren might have considered apprenticing herself to the carpenter, had she not been killed and resurrected a Legion. Ren craned her neck to look over the edge of the bed and contemplated leaving her current state of comfort just to feel the lush fur rug that covered most of the floor. She remembered Toma briefly mentioning that her room was often reserved for dignitaries visiting Ust-Kurts royal family and wondered who had been here last. Even if Beniamin was only offering the room as an obligatory gesture in appreciation of her work as a Legion, it was still a welcome one

Well, I’m awake now, she thought with a sigh, begrudgingly swinging her legs off the bed and sliding her bare feet into the fleece slippers on. the floor. She shivered after she stood, quickly grabbing the dark blue wool robe hanging off one of the bed pests. She nearly wanted to steal the damned thing but figured it would be best not to anger her host, even if it was someone as generous as Beniamin.

Though the kitchen and dining room were four stories down from her room, the aromas of a heavy Ust-Kurtsan breakfast wafted through the hallway and stairwell, which were decorated similarly to the guest quarters. The crown moldings only became more complex in design and the tapestries were more secular in subject, like images of Enna, the strong draft horses that Ust-Kurts was known for breeding, and portraits of long-dead royals. At its end, the stairwell opened up into a great hall, which was nearly devoid of any furniture but featured glorious frescoes, tall mirrors, and a collection of ancient melee weapons. It seemed church-like, which was somewhat fitting, considering its owner, but Ren felt highly out of place, wrapping the robe around her further and scurrying toward the smells of breakfast.

When she finally reached the dining hall, she was greeted by the sight of a fully-set, sixteen person antique table, with hand-painted dishes. several loaves of dark rye bread in a large bowl serving as a centerpiece, and imported goblets already filled with freshly-squeezed juice, which was not an inexpensive thing this far north. Mason was seated to the right of the head of the table, which Ren assumed was Beniamin’s seat, busily writing in his pad – about what, she could not be certain.

“If this is your surprise, I’m not impressed,” Ren remarked. “Breakfast is kind of a traditional thing pretty much everywhere.”

Before he could respond, Toma burst into the room, carrying a wooden box and a smile that could warm the coldest soul.

“Ahhhh, good morning, my dear,” she cooed in well-practiced Trade. “This is the good flatware that Master Beniamin requested I use in your honor.”

Mason set down his pen and paper and grinned.

“Excellent! He was telling me about them last night at supper. Is it true that they were once used by the royal family nearly four hundred years ago?”

“Yes, Master Alderic, it is true,” Toma responded cheerfully as she went around the table, placing the utensils in their proper places. “They were a gift from King Jaska II to his sister, the Countess Geniya, on her wedding day.”

“It’s astounding that Ben would ever use such a treasure!” lamented Mason. “It should be in a historical display in the king’s palace, don’t you think?”

Ren turned and stared at him incredulously. He was calling a Vision he had just met by a nickname? And speaking as if he was a member of the Ust-Kurtsan aristocracy himself? If he noticed her reaction, it didn’t show.

“Master Beniamin believes that, based on his knowledge of the Countess, she would not want anything to be simply admired, particularly if it remained useful,” Toma clucked. “I am inclined to agree with him. The Countess was well-known for her pragmatism, which was uncharacteristic of many royals of that time.”

Mason leaned forward on the table, listening intently as Toma continued her description of the Countess, who she inferred was a near-perfect saint of a woman. The king’s sister would regularly take trips through her brother’s kingdom, wearing peasant dress and posing as a traveler, of course, simply to mingle with the people. She even founded Stettin University, a school for women only, that was still held in high regard by much of the North as an excellent institution of higher education, and Mason expressed disappointment that he had not been allowed to even attempt to apply due to his gender. The housekeeper fell short of claiming the Countess was also an incarnate goddess, but she wasn’t too far from it.

“Tell me again how she invented light,” joked Ren, receiving disapproving glances from both Toma and Mason. “What? Did she not have a sense of humor, either?”

Ren watched as they shared a peeved look, but they otherwise ignored her comment. An air of superiority fell over them, but she dismissed it with a quick eye roll. She had never been very good about appearing civil in public, although her tendency to unintentionally offend people got worse with each passing year. At times, she enjoyed the backlash from “proper society,” but most of the time, she was just as annoyed with their behavior as they were with hers.

“When will breakfast begin?” Mason asked politely, carefully folding his napkin in his lap.

“Master Beniamin will be down shortly,” stated Toma with a jerk of her head.

“Perfect,” Mason said. “Thank you, Toma.”

Toma bustled out of the room, the silverware box firmly in her grasp.

“So, do you want me to remove the pretentiousness stick from your

entered the kitchen.

ass before or after we eat?” Ren asked as soon as the housekeeper had Mason straightened in his chair, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. “Excuse me?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Her nose wrinkled slightly as she furrowed her brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, marveling at the embroidery on the edges of the napkin.

“Um, well, you’ve turned into some type of sniveling aristocrat wannabe in the past five minutes, for one.”

His entire face turned red as he turned his head toward her. “Just because I speak correctly -“

Mason cut himself off to flash a sunny grin and stand as Beniamin waltzed through the doorway of the dining room. Easily close to seven feet tall, Beniamin had once been a low-ranking member of the royal family, far removed from the current Ust-Kurtsan king Harlan IV, yet was still a respected official, stemming from his status as a Vision.

Having renounced his royal connections and removing his surname, Beniamin was also a venerated priest, starting his spiritual studies at the young age of eight and, later, at seventeen, joining the Holirus monastery, against the will of his parents. Even now, he worse the basic Holirusite frock under the indigo scapular and various talismans, and his full beard nearly reached his leather belt, as Holirus scriptures did not allow a priest or priestess to alter appearances in any way. Ren was not familiar with Holirus doctrine, but it did seem to allow possessions, or perhaps Beniamin was just a special case.

“Good morning, Ren!” the giant man boomed. “I trust you rested well last night. Mr. Alderic had to keep me company after you rushed off to bed.” He winked at her and laughed, a resounding chortle that echoed throughout the castle. Regardless, Ust-Kurts now has one less demon, thanks to you.”

“Just doing the job, Beniamin,” Ren said. “But why all this pageantry? I mean, really. You brought out the good silver.”

Despite or possibly because of Mason’s appalled expression, the Vision erupted into even louder laughter.

“I have yet to meet a Legion – nay, another person – who despises any type of affluence as you do, Ren.”

“Hey, I don’t hate it,” said Ren defensively. “I just don’t see much point to it, particularly if 1 have to carry the shit around.”

“Ren!” hissed Mason. “You are in the presence of a priest.”

Beniamin tapped his nose twice and leaned back in his throne of a chair. “Trust in this, my dear Scholar, I have heard much worse from your superiors!”

Mason flushed again and took a long gulp from his goblet.

“Anyway, it’s been nearly six years since you’ve come to Ust-Kurts, and the last time, you were barely here long enough for me to thank you,” Beniamin continued. “It’s not often that I am able to entertain a Shadow Legion of your caliber. Hence, pageantry. Do you like that robe?”

The question caught Ren off guard, and she gingerly touched the velvety-soft collar. “It’s nice. Warm.”

“And it will fit easily in any pack you may carry.” He winked at her again.

Ren was quick to protest. “Beniamin …

He held up his hand and shook it.

“It is a gift. You have done much for me and my city-state, so it is the least I can do. And do not think for an instant that I cannot locate you and force you to keep it.”

She sighed. There wasn’t much point in arguing with the man, so she let it be. It’s not like the robe would weigh her down. The fact was, she essentially lived off of charity, despite the Guardians providing the necessities like weapons, clothing, the occasional transport, and sometimes shelter and food. There were certain perks to being a Legion, and one of them was that most people willingly gave her the things she needed in exchange for protection. It didn’t necessarily make it any easier to accept donations of any kind, though. Her parents had taught her to be prouder than that. But they were dead, so it wasn’t as if their personal code benefited them, anyway.

Toma emerged again from the kitchen, this time carrying a platter full of various slices meats in one hand and a tray with three bowls of porridge in the other. With the grace of a dancer, she handed the meat platter to Mason and then laid the bowls in front of each of them. Behind her was another servant, who was trying to move as smoothly as Toma and, at the same time. balance a silver tea set on a salver. She was shaking as she placed it to the right of Beniamin, eyeing Toma as the housekeeper raced back into the kitchen for what Ren could only presume was more food.

“Ranya, you must calm yourself,” Beniamin said tenderly before slapping her on the back playfully. “I don’t fire people on their first days.”

The girl giggled nervously and quickly rushed back into the kitchen, much to the Vision’s amusement, right as Toma was coming back out with a gravy boat and several serving spoons. She muttered something in Ustic to Ranya as she passed, who nodded in understanding.

“So, Mr. Alderic, did you give any further thought to our discussion last night?” began Beniamin, who was reaching for a chunk of rye bread and motioning for Toma to bring him the gravy.

“I did, actually,” Mason said after he finished swallowing his first bite of porridge. “As it tums out, I had considered returning to Moneteras after my tenure in the field reaches its end.”

“You wouldn’t consider studying at another monastery for a wider perspective? Holirus is just another interpretation of the old faith, and we welcome all belief systems,” Beniamin said as he ladled a few spoonfuls of gravy onto his porridge.

Mason nodded slowly, wiping the edges of his mouth.

“That is an option, I think, but I still believe it would be best for me to be officially ordained by the Ansgarines before venturing elsewhere. But any plans I make would have to be decided in conjunction with my Scholar duties.”

Ren observed Mason in renewed astonishment. He seemed much more comfortable when he was interacting with Beniamin: no stuttering, plenty of eye contact, almost assertive gestures. This version of Mason was at home in this environment, which made Ren wonder if he came from the upper class himself. Even further intriguing was his admission that he wasn’t a recognized Ansgarine priest as she’d originally assumed, not that it made much difference to her, especially since her mouth was now watering at the delicious scents of the meal before her. She gobbled up the porridge in a rather unseemly fashion, dipping torn pieces of bread into it, and nearly burned her upper lip on the hot tea that Toma had poured for her. She barely even noticed that Mason and Beniamin had stopped talking and were staring at her with almost judgmental eyes.

She shrugged and continued what she was doing. She would have a full belly at the end of this meal, with or without their approval.