The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 22: Apple VI

Moonlight cast the white blossoms in the Morning Garden with a misty glow. Apple carefully wound her way past the heady scent of columns and hedges in bloom, accidentally catching her arm on a thorn, wincing.

She spotted a few other students prowling in the darkness of the Garden. She ran into a couple who were so engrossed by each other's lips that they did not notice her passing by. If she sniffed the corners of the hedges like a dog, she believed she would find more of them. She scoffed at her silliness and crossed the citrusy rings of magnolias, star jasmines and more flowers foreign to her, towards the gargantuan stone Guardian of Demach where her purpose awaited.

In the shadow beneath the Guardian's bottom, Diana's hair looked just as dark as hers. She turned her head when she heard her approaching. "I was just about to leave, I never thought you'd really come."

"I don't like you," Apple said to the highborn lady, "but I was made with two ears for a reason."

Diana's nose flared at her rudeness. "I never sought your affection."

Apple sniffed the tinge of rose off the lady's skin from the bath she just had, the honeyed rosemary wash off her hair, and the pleasant earthly fragrance of her vast — albeit volatile— holy power. "Don't waste my time. What do you have to tell me?"

She sneered, "You act as if a commoner like you have anywhere more important to be in."

Apple would be curled up in bed, probably teaching herself to read better. She thought of tutoring Lucas some geography, but the segregated dormitories did not allow for any boys or girls to step into each other's sleeping quarters. I had nothing planned for tonight, she admitted to herself. But there was no way she would tell her that. She replied, "Unlike nobles such as you, I don't have servants who would make my bed and wash my bum."

Even in the pale lighting, Diana's face visibly contorted in annoyance. "I am not the villain here, Apple," she said, calling her by name for the first time.

"Well, most villains seem to think so."

"You antagonize me and yet you glorify a murderer," Diana snapped at her, with an accusative finger.

"What?" Apple exclaimed.

"After your duel with Carlos, the others seem to think I am the bad guy, when I'm only trying to put that murderer in his rightful shameful place."

"Why do you keep calling him a murderer?" Apple stepped closer, ready to throw hands. For the friend who saved her once, she was ready to fight Diana there even though she would probably lose.

"Because he is. Ask him. Tell him the name of David Rupert. Ask him how brutally he mutilated him like a game animal." Diana's voice never faltered until now. The loathing that burned in her eyes told Apple that it wasn't some cruel farce.

Yet, something felt off. "That's one tall accusation. If what you say is true, or even if you simply suspect him of murder, how can a commoner escape a noble's persecution after all this time?"

Diana laughed, "He was not a commoner before. But he is now. And do not worry, I would bring justice to him soon."

Apple strode back to her room, her thoughts muddled. She refused to take the ginger head noble for her words, but the seed of doubt had been planted. Maybe that is what she wants. To sow discord between our friendship. The highborn are good at their manipulation tactics.

As she closed the door behind her and threw herself on the lavendered sheets, she pondered about Lucas's identity. He might act like a lowborn, but he had the features of a lord born in nobility. The brilliant blue eyes and the striking gold hair. He even wore a beret to conceal it. But why is he hiding it?

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A lord's bastard? Apple surmised. Or did his family lose their land? If he were from East Bismuth, it would make sense. But all the nobles had sought refuge in neighbouring Houses where their sons and daughters had married into. Why did he lie?

Lucas never lied. He was not a commoner anymore. Diana said so. She called him a murderer. How could a timid boy even commit such a heinous crime?

Apple recalled that afternoon in the Henge Field, where Lucas put himself between her and the cursed grass. The memory of the gut-wrenching fetidness that emanated from him then was still vivid to her senses, even though it was long gone. It was certainly a demonic stench — equal to that of the tumbleweed that he destroyed.

She remembered the white dove's letter, its mention of the demon as putting on the mask of a young noble. Am I making a fatal mistake? Perhaps, I should have told Father then.

Questions birthed more questions. She wrestled with her doubts way past the middle of the night. The rays of dawn found her fast asleep. It was not until she heard knocking that she awoke and dragged her feet drowsily to the door.

"Dear," the old maid stared at Apple's uncombed hair and bed robe. "You won't make it to class."

That was when Apple looked at the window and blurted, "Oh no!" She scurried to fix her hair, grabbed the white boots and donned the blue uniform. She lost sleep over a boy. It was a first.

This is Diana's fault! Ignoring her hunger, she darted to the auditoriums, past pines and birches that had begun to put on their autumn garb, around the Morning Garden where the unmoving Guardian towered over the hedges, and up the stairs and through the wide arching doors.

The instructor was already there and based on the writings on the board, she had been for long. Apple met Diana's cold gaze. The lady looked better than she did. She probably did not rack her head thinking about last night's encounter as Apple had.

She greeted the professor with a small curtsy, "Good morning, professor." She started for her seat.

"Uh-oh, not so fast, girl," the professor said, her eyes peering at her. "What is your name?"

"I am Apple of Heinstead."

"Ah, excellent. I had been made aware of your talent and... grit. I am Amber Cosser. I teach Enchantment Fundamentals. Your blessing is one appropriate for the rest of our lesson today. Come up," Professor Cosser beckoned her to the dais.

Meekly, she ascended to the place next to her. Just yesterday, the same instructor stormed out when they returned from the henge circle. She seemed to be in a better mood now.

Apple's eyes leapt around the auditorium, smiling at Yuri and Hannah who wordlessly cheered her on. When she spotted the familiar beret resting on top of a young lad's bright countenance, the arc of her lips subsided. He waved to her. In reply, she greeted with a small nod. How do I even begin to ask him if he's guilty of murder? David Rupert, she recalled the name.

"Since you have revealed your talent to everyone on your own, I think you won't mind demonstrating again for us," Professor Cosser said, giving her the floor.

"Of course, not." She answered then chanted, "SONG OF CREATION!"

This time, Apple called on the subtle fragrance of bougainvillea flowers she stumbled upon in a tropical island when she was little. Tiny white buds surrounded by triangular bract petals of pink. A rich and deep hue. Delicate and demanding of attention. They served to be a burst of vibrancy in an otherwise green rainforest. With a chorus of wonder from her classmates, an encirclement of bougainvillea bloomed at her feet.

"Spectacular! I can almost forgive you for what you did yesterday," the professor clapped. "So, Apple here uses a SONG which is an enchantment originating from either the Archangel Grabriel or the Seraphim. But a SONG OF CREATION is not specific to flowers, for example, another student here uses the SONG OF CREATION to produce..."

"Jewels, professor, emeralds specifically" said the scholar in question, his tone haughty. He was among the top ten in their class.

"Indeed. Now, Apple, do you think you can create emeralds by chanting the SONG OF CREATION?"

"I can't," she shook her head.

"Why is that?"

Such a simple question, yet Apple had no answer to it. "I'm not sure."

"Well, can you tell me what your idea is as to why, dear?" Professor Cosser pressed her without intimidation. She seemed to have forgiven her indeed.

Lest she offend her again if she didn't try, after a moment of reflection Apple began to explain, "Uhm, I know flowers. Not stones. I know what they look like, what they smell like, what time of the seasons they bloom and where. I have really been fond of them since I could remember. I believe if I try to create jewels using the SONG, it will fail."

"Impressive," the professor clapped again soundlessly, "I think you understand the essence of it. The SONG, especially one from Gabriel, can only conjure the person's desire — what they want to create the most. If the whole world is to be filled by some material creation and you have to live and sleep and die in it, what would you want it to be? Flowers, emeralds, snakes, fish, anything is possible. But there is always a price, even the blessings bestowed upon us by angels. For SONGS OF CREATION from Gabriel, do you know what the price is?"

Apple muttered, "A growing obsession."

Professor Cosser nodded, saying in a solemn tone, "Yes, yes. Every time you chant the song, your obsession for your creation keeps on growing, and growing, and growing, until you hit the breaking point. From then on, it becomes a sickness."

"Why is there even a price, Professor?" Their top student asked. "If the angels are benevolent toward us, why would they bless us with something that harms us in the end?"

"Good question!" The professor bellowed, startling them. It was as though she was waiting for it. "Anything sweet still requires moderation, my dear blessed children. The angels have given us blessings, talents, songs and virtues to chant, but they also caution us not to abuse it."

* * * * *

"What happened to you? You look tired," Yuri asked, as they walked to the cafeteria after second period.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Happens to me too," said Hannah, smoothing the fringes of Apple's hair who could not manage to even comb properly. "A glass of water before bed will help. Or a cozy pillow."

"Thanks Hannah. I just had so much on my mind last night." She glanced behind her where Lucas strolled calmly without a sound, or smell.

Yuri must have noticed her looking, for he leaned in close and whispered, "You caught the love bug!" He pulled away chuckling before she could even jab at his arm.

It made Apple ruminate for a second. Am I fond of him? As a friend, of course, because he literally saved my life and got himself hurt. Is it simply guilt then? All her life, she had been moving about, journeying off to places the white doves told them. She had left every friend she had ever had. But she always intended to cherish her moments with them. Lucas was the first friend she made in Gallenport. And she loved her friends fiercely, perhaps that's why.

"Freshmen! How nice to see you," the familiar voice of Quain called over to them. "What opportune timing."

"My lord," Lucas curtsied to their sophomore acquaintance. He did it to every noble who ever accosted them. He used to bow to Yuri as well, until he told him to stop. 'Be a bit more like Apple,' Yuri had told him. 'Scorn the nobility even just a little, my friend.'

Quain paid him no attention and said to the other three, "We're forming a team. Marco Vermilon in particular. You see, the Crown requires Demach to save its bum, not for the first time."

"What happened?" Hannah asked, already cowering.

"It's just that one cursed being is loose in the Delta. The Holy Guards have not eliminated it yet, and we don't have enough guards to go around. I'm going with Marco. We lack one member, though. Is there anyone in your class with good reconnaissance skills? There will be merits."

"Why not ask the third years or the fourth years?" Yuri pried.

Quain grimaced, "They don't like him very much. This a competition among the top ten, you see. It would be like betraying their top students if they teamed up with him."

A cursed being near Gallenport? Is this what the white dove's letter pertained to?

Apple said, "I can go. I'm good at finding things."