9: Lucky
"Hey, uh, Bishop Sasarai," Nikolai's crisp voice greeted me through the mists of fleeting sleep, "Are you going to get up and have some breakfast?"
I stir slightly and try to keep my eyes shut. I am not so sure that I want to get up just yet. I ache. And sleeping somewhere other than my own bed does not help.
"Bishop Sasarai!" Nikolai chirps noisily like a robin on the lawn, "Wake up! Your breakfast will get cold!"
I sit up slowly, my eyes still closed tight, "Ugh," I groan. Ache might be a bit of an understatement. The first things I see as I finally convince myself to open my eyes, is Nikolai's bright, youthful face smiling at me. He practically shoves a tray into my hands. I mumble a short prayer and begin to eat the scrambled eggs on the plate. Something about their taste reminds me of being back at the temple. Perhaps it's the fact that I only know one person who puts in that much pepper...
"Who cooked this?" I inquire of the boy sitting beside me.
"I don't know," he shrugs, "Mr. Latjke asked me to bring it to you."
I must just be imagining it. The cook probably just spilled the pepper. I have to stop thinking so hard about little things or I�ll never get anywhere.
Waves of shining grass roll and toss in the strong wind. The dark clouds blowing in are blotting out the sun as we recall again the darker days of long, long winters spent in the perpetual rain, until it finally finished up with a touch of soft snow dusting the Temple's roof.
I, for my part, shake off this grand depression and feel a thrilling shiver of exhilaration at the vastness unfolding before my eyes. I would not fear to be washed away on this tide of viridian, never to return.
"It's lovely," Nikolai pipes up cheerily, "I think I could watch it forever, Your Excellency, if I had forever to sit here on the hill."
"Forever," Albert remarks coldly, "Should begin on another day." He looks seriously at the two of us, hiding the gentleness that I saw touch his face by candlelight, "We're not stopping here."
"Aww, that's not good," the boy complains, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "I thought we could eat outside here like a picnic before it starts raining."
"Another time," the strategist shrugs as he turns and walks away.
West and alone. The wind blows by again, ruffling my robes and his rough pleasant garb. "There will be three coming today," Nikolai informs me, the gusts blowing his corn-colored hair into his face.
"What three?" I ask with concern, yearning for clarification. Anything Nikolai learns I will listen to. Any information would be useful.
"Wise ones," his serious face lights up with a smile, "Someone told me I'm more like Holy Hikusaak when he was young than you are."
The sudden change in the subject is not what bothers me. It's more what he has said, "Who told you that?" (I may have said it too harshly.)
"High Priestess Olia and Bishop Ket," he whispers, looking down at his sandals.
I feel guilty for being angry with Nikolai. It's not his fault. And, after all, I only wished to be like Hikusaak for all those years because I was always told that was how I should be.
"Nikolai," I tell him, softly placing a hand on his shoulder, "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to grow angry with you."
"I, uh, I know, Bishop Sasarai. That's not how you are." When he turns back to look at me again, he is smiling, "And regardless, I should still be happy. I'm so lucky! I know so many neat people! I have so many cool friends! It's because I'm here with you."
There's something admirable in him. I don't quite know what it is, but something about Nikolai brings me fleeting strength when I begin to despair again.
Gallant, chivalrous, valiant Sir Stephen caught up with us in the afternoon. I'm unsure of how he found a way out of the cathedral in Riverway to spend an undetermined stretch of time with us, but I will take it at face value. It's nice to see him.
It would probably be right and proper for me to give him a more orthodox introduction before I continue my narrative. "Sir Stephen" is little more than a nickname, truth be told. I first encountered this thin man with very long black hair nearly fourteen years ago, after I returned from Highland. I believe he's a second-class citizen, but he never really said anything about it. I've heard him called "Lucas" before, but he never told me his name, so I don't know if that is just a pseudonym at well. Much to the displeasure of Hikami (who was accompanying me at the time) I approached him when he was begging in the street. He struck me as a decent person who had just fallen on hard times. I helped him out and he became a priest. He assists Lord Komatsu in Riverway, and I don't see him regularly, but we're fairly good friends.
Anyway, Sir Stephen showed up with a smile on his face, asking if he could be included in this venture. I'm curious as to what he heard. It must have come from Komatsu since this "excursion" into the Grasslands is still something of a secret at the moment. I don't know what he knows, and, to tell the truth, I don't know what I want him to know of it!
"How's everything with you?" he questions. His accent is soft and smooth. I have no idea where it could be from, however, it's quite different from the voices I am used to hearing, and I like it.
"Well, that's a sort of strange thing," I reply, "Some things are fine and others, like being out here on an offensive movement I was firmly against at first, are just too odd to classify."
He laughs, brushes a loose strand of hair out of his face and nods politely at Dios, who appears from behind the tents, "I really don't want to fight any Grasslanders, particularly in light of having recently visited Matteo and seen his bandaged up head, but I had a feeling that what with you involved and all there'd probably be more behind this than is obvious to the casual observer." He leans in conspiratorially, "Tell me the whole story," he whispers. A trace of laughter still hangs in his tone. Someone is certainly having a good day.