Another History Lesson

"Okay, hang on." John raised a staying hand and frowned. His frustrations emboldened his insolence in spite of Wentworth's position over him. "You guys clearly hate each other. Do you really expect me to believe you’re going to give me an unbiased version of their history?"

"What I expect, Mr. Newman, is that you will listen." Wentworth seemed far less reproachful than John had expected. Still, the eyes boring into his were hard and unyielding. "What you choose to believe is up to you. Perhaps you will trust my pride as a historian to speak from an objective position, or perhaps you will brush off my words as the story of a bitter, old hag. I will gift you this lesson regardless, but I wonder if you'll have the same level of discretion when told the Brightons' account of things?"

"Maybe," John huffed.

"Don't act like a child," Wentworth scolded. "It won't get you far, and my patience has limits."

John did not respond with an apology, nor with a snippy retort. The first would be to admit that Wentworth was right, and the second would only show her the same. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and maintained eye contact. Inside, his chest was pounding at this act of defiance. He wasn't sure if he was hiding it well, but he was too angry to let himself be controlled by fear. This much, at least, he could manage.

"Okay, fine, you've made your point," he said. "I'll listen to what you have to say."

“Very well.” Wentworth folded her hands together, satisfied. “Now, do you recall my question about Pope Urban II’s motives in class today? Have you come up with a suitable answer?”

“No,” John admitted. “But I have a guess it had something to do with the Order, didn’t it?”

“Significantly.” Wentworth nodded. “Urban had intended to offer aide, but a Crusade? No. That occurred at the behest of the Order of the Golden Rose.”

“Okay.” John’s eyebrows furrowed with skepticism. “But that doesn’t make sense. If the Order is all about protecting people from the Abyss and keeping it a secret, why would they get a regular, real world leader to start a huge war? That sounds kind of like the exact opposite of their whole deal.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Wentworth mused. “If the Order are the righteous protectors of the innocent they believe themselves to be, what could justify this sort of action?”

This is a test, no way it isn’t, but do I call bullshit or just give her the answer she wants to hear?

“This is exactly the same as the question about Pope Urban,” John said, stalling.

“Indeed, it is. Your answer?”

“Well, I could say power, but I don’t think there is anything in the regular world that could match the kind of magic they must have,” John said.

“You’d be surprised at how effective even a simple pistol can be against an unprepared mage,” Wentworth commented. “However, the world would not see a proper firearm until centuries after this point in history. Black powder weapons were still in their infancy far to the east, in China. Nevertheless, there are still two advantages the mundane population has always had over the Abyssal.”

The power of friendship?

Sarcasm aside, John was silent as he considered what regular humans could offer any group of mages. Going by his own experience, humans could be a source of energy, but he highly doubted that even Wentworth would think the Order resorted to that kind of thing.

“What possible value could a bunch of regular- oh,” John stopped himself in realization. “Numbers. A bunch of regular guys is still a BUNCH of regular guys. Even with magic, there are still some things you just need a lot of people for, huh?”

"Correct, but great numbers are not always used simply to perform a large task. They provide ample opportunity for a mage to hide in plain sight, as both the Warden and I can attest."

"Makes sense." John nodded. "But what's the second thing 'mundane' people have that mages don't?"

"Freedom. Not in the sense you might think, but freedom from the politics of the Abyss." Wentworth reached down to open a drawer and extract an old map of the eastern mediterranean area, which she laid out atop her desk. It was the sort that rolled up rather than folded, a yellowed and musty smelling parchment. She had to weigh down the stubborn sides with the snow globe and a purple geode that she had also retrieved. When she was done, she gave John a probing look. "Have you been made aware of the Ashcroft Accord?"

"No? Well, sort of." John's fingers fidgeted as he searched his memory. "Moira and Nazrinn mentioned it, but they didn't say what it is. Some kind of non-**** pact?"

"Almost," Wentworth said. "Non-interference would be more accurate. Ashcroft Academy is a place of some importance, for several reasons. As such, it has the attention of Abyssal interests across this region of the country. Without some manner of accord in place, it would have been reduced to rubble by conflict years ago. That the agreement occurred at all was a miracle of negotiation, but it exists to guarantee the safety of this establishment and those within it. I won't waste time going over details that you'll almost certainly forget, but in short, the Ashcroft Accord establishes the Academy as neutral ground for all Abyssal parties, a place where any conflict between the signatories and their associated organizations is disallowed, so long as the mundane population remains unmolested."

"I was molested, literally," John said, temper rising. "But Nazrinn didn't break the rules? How does that work?"

"You agreed to be harmed," Wentworth replied, matter-of-factly.

"That's what she said!" John shouted. Recalling being taken advantage of didn't sit well in his stomach, even if the memory of exactly how he was used was a sweet one. "I didn't know what I was agreeing to, so how is that allowed?"

"An intentional loophole," Wentworth said, "a concession to the local infernal powers as a means of persuading them to sign. It allows them limited freedom to do what they will, so long as no lasting damage is done. A small price for the promise of absolute safety."

"But Moira-"

"Is not aware that the loophole exists for a reason. I assure you that her father is."

That worsened the feeling in John's gut. A few people years ago made a literal deal with the devil to let them do shit like feed on unwitting students as long as there was no 'lasting damage?' What kind of bullshit was that? He could feel the heat begin rising in his face and his muscles tense. Who gave them the right to make decisions for people who didn't even know what was happening?

"I see that look on your face, Mr Newman," Wentworth scolded, as if she were an etiquette instructor. John didn't realize it, but his expression had twisted into one of revulsion. "Don't be so quick to judge a world you do not understand. Whatever thoughts of virtue and morality running through your head are irrelevant in the Abyss. It is a world where lives can be snuffed out in the blink of an eye without repercussion, your run-in with the Cambion is little more than a scraped knee in comparison."

"But that's not fair! How am I supposed to be okay with this? Hundreds of people come here every day, and some assholes a long time ago agreed that it was okay for demons to nibble on them a little bit whenever they want to?"

John was red in the face and taut as a guitar string. He could feel the tingle of adrenaline beginning to enter his system, certain that there would be some punishment from his overbearing teacher for his outburst. His thoughts fell to trying to escape the Barrier, but he did not try- yet.

"'Fair' is relative, Mr. Newman," Wentworth replied, colder than ice. No change overcame her, but John felt as if she was towering over him. The edges of his vision darkened as the witch's presence became overwhelming. As before, he began to sweat and found it difficult to breathe. "Would you instead have the student body live in constant fear of **** and suffering that they are utterly powerless to stop, all so that they can rest easy in knowing that no one has made any decisions over their heads? Is that a more 'fair' state of affairs, Mr. Newman? Would you find that preferable to having the luxury of living a perfectly ordinary, mundane life?"

John swallowed, hard. That effort alone was as if he was attempting to **** a jawbreaker down his throat, let alone talk. Wentworth loomed over him without moving, dominating his senses on all fronts. Her oppressive aura let up just enough to allow him to speak.

"N-no…" John sputtered. He wasn't sure if he really believed it; all he knew was that his instincts were screaming at him to submit, as if his life depended on it. He could think about it all later, somewhere safe and far away from Wentworth.

"I thought as much," she said as the world gradually returned to normalcy. Her composure settled down from that of a condemning judge to that of a harsh matron. "It appears you may be more susceptible to the Order's zealotry than I expected. Disappointing."

Wait a second...

"You can't hurt me," John said. He had a white knuckled grip on his chair as he spoke. "You're not allowed to. We literally just talked about it."

Wentworth's reaction to John's defiance was not even close to what he had expected. She did not grow angry, but calm, almost aloof.

"While you are correct by the letter of the law, you could not be further from the truth," she said with a surety that was somehow just as frightening as her quiet fury. "The foremost, but not only, reason why is that you are a mage. Unlike the mundane staff and students, the Ashcroft Accord affords you no protection beyond the bounds of the school itself. Should you truly earn my disdain, you will find no safe haven outside of these walls: not at home, not in the Abyss, not on the run, not even behind the Warden's precious shield. It takes a bit more than an infantile tantrum and a step out of line to gain my enmity, but I do not threaten idly. You needn't like me, nor even trust me, but you will respect me. Are we clear?"

John tried to swallow again, but his mouth was completely devoid of moisture. Somehow, he had forgotten how terrifying this woman was. He would not forget again.

"Crystal, ma'am," he squeaked.

"Good." Wentworth smiled ever so slightly. "Now pay attention, we've wasted enough time checking your ego."

"Yes, ma'am." John nodded fervently as the color returned to his face. He scooted his chair closer, realizing that he must have pushed it back out of fear without noticing.

"So then," Wentworth cleared her throat, "if some ill-intentioned mage chose to find sanctuary at our beloved academy, harming no one within while their machinations unfolded without, how would you apprehend them?"

John hesitated. He knew the answer to the question was a lesson, whatever it was. Wentworth had always made a habit of manipulating students into teaching themselves, and this was one of those moments. It was always something new that she was looking for, related to but not exactly what the lecture had been about so far. With that in mind, the answer she wanted couldn't have been about demons or waiting for the mage to leave. There had to be some way for him to touch the untouchable. John resorted to searching his memory for video game puzzles that faced the same problem. He'd solved a lot over the years, mostly without walkthroughs, it was possible they might help him now.

How to do something I can't do. Portal, Zelda, Tomb Raider, help me out here!

An idea struck him. It was not from a game's puzzle, but the game itself: Shadow of the Colossus. The entire story revolved around the player doing what a sealed god could not.

"I would…" John paused as he processed and reprocessed the thought, making sure it fit the bill. "I would get someone to do it for me. Normal people are protected by the Ashcroft Accord but aren't controlled by it, right? That's what you meant by being free from Abyssal politics."

"Very good." The tiniest hint of a smile cracked on to Wentworth's face, and John would be lying if he did not admit he was proud of himself for figuring it out. "There are some places a mage cannot go and actions they cannot take without invoking the wrath of several powerful factions. The mundane are not restricted by the clauses of Abyssal accords, they possess a freedom they do not even know they have."

"So, mages use regular people to do their dirty work when their hands are tied?" John said, biting his tongue to prevent another outburst. He thought back to the book he had read earlier that day. "That means putting mundane people in deliberate danger. Isn't that not allowed?"

"They do, but less often than you think for precisely the reason you stated," Wentworth replied. "It is a calculated risk, usually performed with a subtle hand. In the case of our hypothetical rogue mage, harming a person sent after them would break the accord and invite certain doom. As such, the mundane individual is relatively safe."

"And what if they do it anyway?" John asked. Not every villain adhered to good sense, especially while cornered.

"Then things get messy for everyone involved," Wentworth said. "It is something to consider ahead of time. The key is to involve oneself as little as possible, so that it seems to everyone that anything done by a mortal was their own idea, independent of Abyssal influence. This is precisely how the Order approached Pope Urban."

John swallowed Wentworth's lecture with a bit of indigestion. To tell the truth, it was hardly any different from big gangs, governments, and companies taking advantage of the rank and file. It was hard to hold it against the Abyss when the normal world was already so full of that kind of thing, but John had hoped that a secret world full of magic and monsters would be different.

"So what you're trying to tell me is that the Order wanted something, or someone, in Jerusalem, and they needed the Pope to invade in order to get there."

"Precisely." Wentworth tapped a finger on her map, indicating the Holy Land. Her finger traced an area around the location as she continued. "Ancient and now defunct accords were in place then, preventing the Order from acting within the region. The treaties were obsolete even then, but still enforced, and a group of Scions took advantage of this to protect themselves from the watchful eye of the Order while they worked. Their mistake was underestimating the lengths to which the Order would go to retrieve what they possessed."

John didn't know what a Scion was, but he wasn't about to interrupt Wenthworth's lesson to ask.

"Whatever it was had to have been insanely important. What was it?"

"A gift from Gaia, 'The Lady', as they would say. It was second only to the three artefacts wielded by the Wardens to this day," Wentworth' expression hardened as she spoke, solidifying into an unreadable mask. "The Sword of Final Judgement, Excalibur."

"Hold on." John was gobsmacked. "The Excalibur. Like, the King Arthur Excalibur?"

"The very same." Wentworth nodded.

"The Order started an entire war just to get a sword?" John was incredulous. If Wentworth was telling the truth, and that was a big if, the Order was insane.

"Shards of a sword, to be more precise, the weapon had been sundered long ago," Wentworth continued without so much as a flicker of emotion. "But make no mistake, Excalibur was no ordinary sword, it was one of the greatest artefacts in recorded history. The blade earned its title for its ability to slay a man with a single, effortless stroke. The Sword of Final Judgement cut down mage and mortal alike as if they were wheat for the reaping, and that was but the least of its powers. What those were has been the subject of debate for centuries, but there is one thing that is agreed upon: possessing the sword all but guaranteed victory. Even so," Wentworth emphasized her point by locking eyes with John, "the potency of the relic pales in comparison to its origins. It was bequeathed by Gaia herself, the supreme creator Goddess, in one of her last known direct actions upon our world."

Gaia, the name was familiar. It was mentioned several times in the book about the Abyss. The World Spirit, the Earth Mother, the Lady, all of them and more were names for one deity that everyone seemed to respect.

"I guess that's kind of a big deal, huh?" John blinked, apparently less impressed than Wentworth was expecting. She suppressed a twitch of her eyebrow.

"Put it this way, Mr. Newman: if the greatest god ever to exist, the one responsible for all reality, descended from the heavens and offered you a toothpick, how would you respond? Imagine that god made it known the world over that the toothpick was a gift from her to you, and you alone, then vanished forever. Even if it was in all other ways an ordinary toothpick, how do you imagine the world would react?"

Swarms of paparazzi instantly flooded John's mind. Bulbs flashed as a cacophony of questions assaulted him from all directions. He was tugged this way and that by grasping hands, some fervently trying to dig into his pockets in search of the mythical toothpick. Anxiety overcame him at the thought of how much worse it could get: threats, kidnappings, beatings. Even if he were to get rid of it, he would never have a private moment to himself for the rest of his life, for however long he would even survive.

"I can see from your expression that you have a sense of how 'big' a 'deal' the situation would be," Wentworth said. "Consider that there is no faction throughout the Abyss more dedicated to serving Gaia than the Order of the Golden Rose. An enemy possessed shards of a holy relic, a dangerous enemy hiding an item of potentially devastating power. It should surprise no one that there is nothing the Order would not do to retrieve the remains of Excalibur."

"So…" John was confused, still reeling from his terrible imagination. "The Order was justified?"

"I never said that." Wentworth shook her head in displeasure.

"Then they weren't?"

"I haven't said that either," Wentworth sighed. "Have you been paying attention or not?"

"Then… wait." John's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Mr. Newman," Wentworth took a deep, centering breath to stay her agitation, "this has not been a lesson on what is and is not just, it has been a lesson on the events of history. Whatever conclusions you draw are yours, not mine."

John doubted that Wentworth's intentions were not to sway his opinion in one direction or another. The only problem was that he didn't know what that direction was. She clearly did not trust the Order, but surprisingly she did not completely condemn them either. Maybe it was just a ploy, like how she said mages convinced ordinary people to do things of their own accord. Maybe she was just trying to make him decide to hate the Order without outright teaching him to. Then again, maybe not. The only thing he could be certain of was that Wentworth and the Order hated each other.

Speaking of hate...

"I just remembered something," John said. "I made a joke about the Templars when I first talked to Moira. She got mad. I mean, like, really mad. She said something about how I should never compare the Order and the Templar. If the Templars were all in on this whole crusading thing, and the Order started them, why would she be so mad about it?"

"Your question comes from an astute but ill-informed place, Mr. Newman, and assumes too much." Wentworth leveled her gaze. "The First Crusade was long over by the time the Knights Templar were founded, but I can confirm that they and the Order of the Golden Rose do detest each other. If you truly wish to know more about their relationship, I suggest you ask the Warden."

John wanted to press the issue, but he understood his teacher's words to mean 'I'm not going to tell you' and let the question be.

"So, did they get the sword? Or, uh, the pieces of it, I mean," John corrected himself.

"They did," Wentworth nodded, "at great cost."

"Something went wrong," John said. "Or else why would Moira and her dad be based in some podunk city in the U.S.? If the pieces are as strong as you say, the Order wouldn't have any problem keeping the Abyss away from the public."

"An excellent observation, Mr. Newman." Again, Wentworth cracked an almost-smile, but said nothing more on the subject.

"Um, am I supposed to guess what?" John asked.

"No, your lesson is finished." Wentworth rolled up her map and put it away, soon replaced by a stack of papers and a quill. "If you have any further questions, pursue them at your leisure. From the moment you leave my office, we will once again be nothing more than an ordinary teacher and student. I will not be a Witch, and you will not be a… 'Gamer.'"

"Oh, actually I have a Class now: Freelancer," John blurted out before he could catch himself.

"Fascinating."

From the way Wentworth's face fell, it was anything but.

"So, no more private lessons then?" John changed the subject.

"None. You will take care of yourself from now on," Wentworth said. "Live and let live, as it were."

"So," John wrung his fingers together, "what happens if the Order asks me to do something involving you?"

"You'll use your best judgement," was the unbothered reply. "Now, do see yourself out, I have a schedule to keep."

John really couldn't have hoped for a more illuminating response. Still, would it kill Wentworth to be a little less cagey about everything?

"R-right," he said. "Uh, bye then."

"Good day, Mr. Newman," she said, no longer even looking at him.

John cast Exit Instance before Wentworth had a chance to kick him out again and braced for the bizarre sensation of shifting through reality. It was less unpleasant when it didn't catch him by surprise.

-
<Quest Complete!>
Secrets of the Golden Rose, Stage 1
+100 exp
+10 RP with members of the Order
Boots of Bounding acquired
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