Christopher had wiped so much sweat from his brow that the sleeves of his new robe were damp and felt uncomfortable against his wrists, compelling him to roll his sleeves to his elbows. His heart continued to pound, an anxious agony that had lasted almost an hour now and only worsened as the seconds pressed on. He had been instructed to not interfere no matter what happened, his attendance specifically for observing the process. But to watch as the only person to show him any regard for his well-being in a family way reduced to veins and dried-out flesh was tearing at both his heart and his mind.
Since the announcement that Christopher would be both the successor to the Grand Bishop Paulo and the heir to the gold chalice, his life had taken many turns for both the better and the alarmingly uncomfortable. For the past three weeks, Christopher had become privy to all the nuances that came with being the Grand Bishop, and more importantly the secrets of the divine power granted to the chalice’s owner. Aside from the miracle of resurrection, a power Paulo admitted was still new to him as well, he had been taught the rather simple process for bestowing more minor miracles like ailments and handicaps. He still needed to wrap his head around the concept of the chalice’s exchange, and today was the day he would have a first-hand look at what Paulo had called a partial single exchange.
Presently he found himself in the basement of the cathedral, which sprawled with a tunnel system that led to an abundance of rooms dedicated to either priest like Christopher or for Paulo’s purposes like the small room he was in now, Christopher was not enjoying his introduction to the gold chalice. The circular room was an extension of Paulo’s own chamber, and while it was well-lit with torches all around, the room comfortably fit no more than two people. While Christopher stood and fidgeted, the third person in the room spoke from where he sat cross-legged on the ground.
“Father Christopher, let us pray for his holiness to keep both our spirits and his own at ease.” The woman that joined the two clergymen had not just been a follower of the church, but someone who had been blessed by Paulo some months ago. She was a fair woman of no more than thirty, her brunette hair long and flowing to the ground.
Christopher glanced at her, looking at her interlocked hands as she closed her eyes. He remembered vividly how she had once been, arriving at the church nearly a year ago with mangled hands that had caused her excruciating pain.
“You’re right, let us pray for His Holiness.”
Christopher closed his own eyes but continued to stand. As he recited a prayer mentally, mouthing the words but not making a sound, he found himself stealing glances at Paulo.
In the center of the room, housed on the single piece of furniture in the small room - an ornate, circular glass table, was the gold chalice. Cupping the chalice in both hands but remaining on the table, Paulo stared blankly at a fixed point in the distance. He was not wearing his usual robes of white, nor the newer, special robes of black and gold he had fancied of late. He stood now in only a white, sleeveless vest and black briefs, a wardrobe selection that had confused Christopher upon his arrival. But now it was obvious why he had chosen the garb, and Christopher went through bouts of being thankful and disturbed by seeing the honesty of the chalice’s power on full display.
Before the day that Paulo had resurrected a dead man in front of the entire church, Christopher only knew of the chalice’s power of healing. But there was so much more to its capabilities, and Paulo acknowledged that while he had an advanced knowledge of its power, there could still be more to unearth. Now, Paulo was using the Chalice to live through another’s life, a priest far off in the country of Runswick.
It had been unnerving to watch the pupils of his eyes fade away, leaving only the milk-white eyes, but ever since the horror had only exponentially. Calm and collected prayer had escaped Christopher’s abilities nearly a half hour ago when only the color had completely flushed from Paulo’s skin. Since then, the decay of Paulo had become more pronounced; bony wrists and ankles could no longer be thicker than Christoper’s index to ring finger, cheekbones drawn into a point of malnutrition looked sharp enough to cut with, and the shirt that had been tight on him to start the day was now hanging loosely on one shoulder, while the other portrayed more bone than skin. He was the closest thing to a skeleton without being dead.
Christopher could not get through his entire prayer, instead taking two steps forward and putting his hand in front of the mouth of Paulo. No reaction came from the bishop, and only the faintest of breathing seemed to kiss his hand. There was no doubt in his mind that Paulo was nearing an irreversible point, one that would lead to his death.
Almost like his wish came true, Paulo suddenly took a long, almost choking breath in. Christopher stumbled back, still witnessing as the blue of Paulo’s eyes slowly returned, and now saw the bishop attempt to acclimate to his reduced self.
Paulo, fighting to find his strength, released one hand laboriously from the chalice. Turning to Christopher, his eyes pleading, he found his limp arm to only be able to raise his finger. He used it to point at the follower, her eyes wide with both surprise and genuine admiration. Until her pupils began to fade away.
Christopher watched in frozen alarm as the empty eyes of the follower continued to stare at the face of the struggling Paulo. As much as he wanted to move to secure a place next to the bishop, who seemed on the verge of collapsing, he couldn’t find himself able to move his shaking legs. It seemed he even paused breathing, as the follower moved one knee at a time to the outstretched finger of Paulo.
When she was near, Paulo used what little energy he had left to flail his wrist, enough to drop lazily on the top of the woman's head. As a couple of seconds passed, the limp hand that seemed close to slipping off her head was now firmly placed in the tangles of the woman's hair. With that, Paulo had completed the requirements to revitalize himself.
Christopher’s mouth hung agape as he watched the details unfold; the pale, shriveled skin that clasped to bones on Paulo’s body began to fill with color, forearms the size of modest twigs swelled to their original state, and the disheveled face that had protruded with bones began to round with the healthy fat they had been accustomed to. Paulo was groaning, struggling throughout the affair, while the follower let out a tuneless, choked noise that sounded like a prolonged sucking of air. The longer it went on, the more balanced and upright Paulo became. From her knees, the follower had started to accumulate hair on the ground. The volume and color she had no more than a minute ago was being reduced at a blazing speed.
Christopher’s eyes moved to the chalice. It had sat there alone on the table when they arrived at the room, empty and sparkling in the torches. But now the chalice had started to brim with a deep, dark red substance, and as it frothed and spilled down its side, the thickness was apparent. It was blood, and it continued to spill over and cover both Paulo’s fingers and the surface of the small, circular table.
As Paulo finally materialized into normalcy, so did the pupils that escaped his eyes. Christopher was looking at them, before realizing that the follower’s eyes also had their pupils return. With one last sound of effort like one would make when popping a shoulder back into place, Paulo released his hand from the follower's head. From it, strands of hair were stuck or were falling listlessly to the ground to join the others. The follower, trembling all over, fell to her hands and panted for air.
Christopher moved closer to Paulo, a look of unbelief painting his face. He watched as Paulo almost had to will his hand free of the chalice, and as he did the blood it contained, along with the blood that pooled on the table and wettened Paulo’s hand, began to dissipate in a light, nearly unnoticeable smoke.
“F-f-father...are you feeling well?” Christopher asked nervously.
Paulo responded with a tired, aggravated sigh. Though his physical appearance had returned to the same vitality as when they had entered the room, there was an obvious weight that had been added to his slouched shoulders.
“As they often do, the plans set in motion did not go as intended. We are far from lost, but I am far from satisfied as well. A thousand years of planning, and yet a single arrow can undo everything.” Paulo said, turning his back on Christopher and taking a step towards the exit.
“Father Paulo, what about the follower?” Christopher asked. The woman, who was transitioning from gasping for air to grasping at the strands of hair that littered the ground in a blank, lost gaze, seemed to be in another place entirely.
Paulo did not turn, “She has proven a devout loyalty that He will not forget, and that He shall rejoice with her when her life has passed. She should know this, and know that she had played a vital role in His work. Praise be to her. She should return to the others, and praise Him for her important role.” Paulo exited the room.
Christopher started towards the woman, before seeing her face look up to where Paulo had exited. Tears streaked down sunken eyes, a face that had no more youth to it, before falling to the ground. The woman had entered the room no more than thirty, and if Christopher had to guess she seemed a woman in her half-century now. But the smile that brandished on colorless lips was enough to tell Christopher that she hadn’t been scornful for her toll.
Christopher felt an uneasiness that had the chance to turn to sickness swell in his stomach. Assuming she would find her way, Christopher followed Paulo and exited the room, wondering why he thought the woman would be abashed for giving some of her life to Him.
<><><><><>
Paulo hadn’t intended for Christopher’s teachings to include any concerns related to the efforts overseas, a tactical invasion that could replace a world of devastation with a single, silent battle. The implication remained above Christopher’s head, yet he understood that there was a necessity to recruit, or rather capture, the daughter of the Whitewood bloodline. But as Paulo continued to brief Christopher on what had occurred, a feeling of mutual trust, one that Christopher alone had with Paulo, became more apparent as the bishop rambled and brooded.
King Whitewood had been killed in the invasion, yet by an arrow. This was more curious due to the fact that the Holy Order had not equipped any archers for the battle, and the arrow itself came from the Runswick side, more specifically a Silver Acre soldier. This business of Silver Acre being so involved was one of many stressors that Paulo outlined, as their presence had been both unexpected and mostly vanquished. There was no telling how immediate it may be, and without the King’s hand to pen false letters suggesting a steady pace over Runswick, the lack of communication to Silver Acre will only hasten the country's revenge.
Everything had gone swimmingly until it had not. They had stormed the outer wall undetected, and eliminated all opposition at the inner gate, and aside from Veronica Visconti slaying one of her soldiers, it seemed all Holy Order soldiers would either recover or be unharmed. That Visconti had slayed one of their own, was not lost on both Paulo and Christopher, the latter having only a vague idea of who the woman was. He felt his inner defenses go up at the very mention of her first or surname.
It all ended in the moment that should have been the apex of the invasion when confusion had taken the Runswick defense like a virus. As word spread of the King’s downfall, defeat settled heavily over the defenders stationed outside Runswick castle. Heaviest on all, the daughter and princess Elenor Whitewood had come to surrender on her own accord. In a tone that may have contained admiration, Paulo told Christian of her acceptance to be led away from the kingdom, in exchange for the end of any more bloodshed. Not only was the deal sufficient for Paulo, but convenient in its haste. Before high noon could cast itself high into the sky, the chariot made for the captured Whitewood had been wheeled through the outer gate, making its way to the ships stationed on the western shore.
There had been a lot to take in, but Christopher did well to understand the implications. His own role, waiting for the captured Whitewood to make the voyage to High Hillford and embark together to the holy site set in the west reaches, was still set in motion. But between slouched shoulders and a wary scowl, it was obvious that Paulo was far from satisfied.
“Should you etch one thing to memory today, my young prodigy, remember this,“ Paulo started, his eyes looking through and beyond Christopher, “When you come to a point that you know everything, quickly realize that you know nothing. Your mind will play you, reassure you, and even bargain with you that while you may not know everything, you may know some things. But even those things you know, if you believe in them in an unwavering, absolute fashion, realize your ignorance before it is too late.”
It was the end of a long tale, begging only one question be answered: who had shot King Roland Whitewood?
“To what gain would Silver Acre have in killing the King?” Christopher asked. He had been to Silver Acre before - the closest country to compare to High Hillford had always been Silver Acre. While they lacked organized religion, they made up in their upkeep of the impressive country. With towns and cities situated on top of mines laden with silver, the average wealth in Silver Acre was even greater than that of High Hillford.
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“Like I said earlier, I thought I had known and now I know I don’t. There is no option in my mind that would lead the rulers of Silver Acre to carry out such an assignment on a friend, and less of a chance considering the number of Silver Acre slain by our soldiers.”
“Does it all…” Christopher was deep in thought.
“Yes?” Paulo sat down at the foot of his bed, feeling the sides of his temples as a headache came on.
“Was the Princess and King standing next to one another?”
“Close, most likely shoulder to shoulder, but again I do not know for sure.”
“It just seems rather convenient that only one Whitewood be killed by either an assailant or traitor. Why not kill off both?”
Christopher watched as Paulo rubbed at his bald head, contemplating the question. It seemed to be the catalyst his mind needed, raising his head and looking at Christian with eyes filled with enlightenment.
“They didn’t kill both Whitewoods...because they know of the diamond.” Paulo seemed to be answering himself more than Christopher, leaving the young man with a quizzical look as Paulo rose and began out of his chamber.
“Father Paulo! What diamond-”
“Call on Lady Willcott to be in the main hall at once. See to it that she arrives alone, and you will join us when she does. I am at fault for this, but it seems your lessons are far from over today Christopher. Far from over indeed.”
<><><><><>
The lady Willcott did not need a formal greeting from Christopher, her glittering black eye dismissing his presence entirely as he was now following her through the entrance of the cathedral and into the main hall. Between her towering height, intense stride, and the upward tilt her sharp chin gave that made it feel like she was looking down on your very soul, Christopher almost felt ashamed of himself for no other reason than being small compared to her. Her white double-braided hair bounced off her wide shoulders as she walked, the color not a dye but a sign of age. Though she was in her fifth decade, rumors had it that no youth besides her son could last longer than a minute sparring with her.
The short, black heels of her boots resonated loudly and with an echo as she walked up the temporary stairs set in front of the center stage. Her hands in fists, she was trailblazing the distance between herself and the other end of the hall. Down the far end of the catwalk, Paulo stood stoically.
She began speaking before even reaching the bishop, her already loud voice amplified by the ambiance of the hall, “Paulo! It must be bad news if you wish to see me at this hour. Turns out, I have some bad news as well.”
Christopher felt a tightening in his chest, dismayed by the lack of cordialness towards the Great Bishop. Paulo’s face displayed no reaction, but the lack thereof only affirmed the effort Paulo had to be giving at the moment. Christopher knew Paulo had not washed and dressed in his new robes, the black patterned with small golden crucifixes, to be addressed with such informality. As both Lady Willcott and Christopher came to form a triangle at the center of the stage, Paulo relaxed.
“I’d appreciate it if you would address me by my title, Willcott.” Paulo said.
The lady Willcott wrinkled her nose, before responding, “I am not happy, Father. Neither should you be. I have not had a single letter of communication from my lone son’s army, and while his defeat would rid me of another disappointment, I’d like to believe I did well with him.”
Paulo pursed his lips, taking in what the woman had to say before nodding to Christopher. A tinge of panic fluttered in Christopher’s heart, nerves getting the better of him as he attempted to recall what that signal could mean. In his worldview, he was stationed between the two greatest teachers of all time, the true spine and heart of High Hillford. He was finally able to catch one of the many thoughts in his head and revealed a letter from his robe pocket.
The lady Willcott snatched the letter so fast that Christopher could only stare unbelieving at his hand, wondering if he had really even produced it in the first place. He looked to the lady now, her eyes darting left then right at a noteworthy speed. A moment later, the letter that had stretched from top to bottom in the text was balled in one of Willcott’s fists.
“Was this supposed to be your bad news? It reads as a great success to me. One casualty and my boy is on his way home with the Whitewood girl. Your plan, sponsored by my arms, is forming your holiness!” Lady Willcott said, stretching her hand out to shake Paulo’s.
Paulo scowled now, “This was no success. Your son and the others are now racing to the shores with no insurance for the Whitewood girl, and the battle spilled too much blood from the last country we should want to engage with. How did you not know that Silver Acre had come to the aid of Runswick?”
Willcott pulled back her hand, “You told me specifically that any spies or communication would come from either that damn fool Giorno Visconti, or one of your priests. I hadn’t a status report on Runswick in a month, though I never expected to need one. And while you are afraid of Silver Acre, I am not. There is a reason so many seek refuge in our country rather than there, and we can convert even more through power.”
Paulo continued to brood, unlistening to Willcott’s speaking. Before she could complain about his lack of response, he asked a question, “You truly haven’t received a single letter from the troop?”
The lady Willcott shook her head, “Was this not your first?”
“Far from it. We have received letters every day since they succeeded in their voyage.”
Willcott stomped a foot to the ground, causing Christopher to flinch. He stole a glance at the floor, wondering if she had punctured a hole in the stage.
“I’ll get my hands on that pigeoneer, so help me God! They’re few and far between, a good pigeoneer, and this man thought me a fool! A forgiving fool! He shall-”
Paulo raised a hand, motioning to silence Willcott. She did, though she bit at the bottom of her lip.
“You will not threaten another life underneath my temple, underneath His temple. I’ve been extremely neglectful in filling you in for this very reason. We should not have to butt heads over simple manners. And your pigeoneer is the same as mine, Willcott. The blame may not be so easily applied. When exactly did you acquire your pigeons?”
Her gaze was either seething or bored, and Christopher nearly made his choice on which option it was before she stole a glance at him. He had been staring, and it was a sin that he would need to discuss, for he had stared at both her reaction and her figure. She was wearing a leather corset, buckled to the very last buckle and nearly embedded in her flesh. The clothing only amplified her breasts, which could have been the size of Christopher’s head. He hadn’t even looked in a lustful way, more impressed. He now felt that she was going to cut him down right where he stood.
“Admittedly they were a late addition, however, no qualms were made with the timing of such a request that is fifty pigeons flying to one location. They were his newest, fastest birds, and he had assured me they would be ready.”
“Unfortunately for both the pigeoneer and ourselves, there are far greater factors in play than that of speed, expertise, and assurances. Time, however, time may be the greatest catalyst and determent left in our way.”
“Ah yes, time.” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking more imposing than ever, “It’s also about time you start discussing the real details with me, Father. You want nothing more than my help, my coin, my ships, and even my son to do your bidding, yet you leave me with riddles and secrecy anytime you and I are in person. If the situation is as dire and tense as you say, you should want my unwavering support more than ever. But I will not support a man I can not trust, even if that man poses as something beyond some mortal limitation. I would be skeptical of God himself, and that is not my fault, for He made me this way. So tell me everything or be left with nothing, Paulo.”
Christopher held words in his throat that burst to its seams as Willcott finished her last sentence.
“You will not talk to His Holiness in such a tone! Repent for your tongue! Repent for your ill-guided thoughts! Repent!” Christopher shouted up at the woman.
The lady Willcott looked down her nose at the shorter Christopher, a smirk forming on the right corner of her mouth. He saw her eyes move up, down, and up again, undressing him in a way that made him feel intensely uncomfortable.
“You are a small man, a small man with a role too large.” Willcott said, “Tell me, with such a fragile figure like yourself, you must be easy prey. Does he touch you, Christopher?” A playfulness was evident in her tone.
Christopher flushed, unable to speak and unable to bend his mind to her lewdness. Paulo had never approached him in such a way, and outside of the gentle back rub he would give Christopher while he repented, no physical touch came between the two. Christopher assumed Paulo made all feel comfortable during their sermons, as he felt, before the bathing that cleansed him of the sin.
The bathing is a tradition! It is His teaching! The voice was small in Christopher’s head, drowned by others.
“Enough of this!” Paulo broke from the calm demeanor he had clenched onto, and now his stare-down shifted Willcott’s posture, “You will not defile what I am on the cusp of! What High Hillford has dreamed for all of Angela for one thousand years! It will not be undone by your disgusting accusations, in His sacred temple! You need all the information, don't you? I am happy to give it away, but know that I know nothing! I will not faint as if I know of every connection, but what I will never waver in knowing is what I know I believe.
“Like the bishop before me and all the ones since the Great Calamity, I believe that the unison of all people under the eyes of God will reclaim the millennium we have experienced. I believe the people of the main continent have endured long enough; Silver Acre and their enormous gap between the wealthy and the poor, Runswick and their rivers of alcohol and sin, XXX and their beastality practices, and YYY fighting friends and foes alike for spoils and sport. The sins of man can end now, yet only High Hillford knows this. The only known diamond outside of our own was in Runswick, stationed with one of the necessary bloodlines, and yet they would have allowed everything to end in their blind and shameful ignorance. Because of our efforts, not only will the calamity be averted, but the people will be brought together like they were a millennium ago. And yes, it will be under our God, under our flags, and do you know why? Because we are capable! Because we can! And because it is right!”
Paulo’s face was beat red, sweat glistening on his forehead as he inhaled and exhaled rapidly. Christopher’s chin quivered, their body shaking all over, and his eyes welled with tears. It was the most moving speech he had heard since early in his youth when Paulo wasn’t a mentor but seemingly the Holy Spirit himself in the flesh. As emotion continued to sweep over him, Christopher moved to his knees, then to the ground, where he stretched his hands as far as they could reach in front of him and prayed for the continued well-being of his savior. Tears hit the wooden stage, and he could hear the patterning in the new stillness.
A satisfied look was painted on Willcott’s face, and she brought both hands in front of her before slowly clapping. With each clap, Christopher felt a rising from his stomach that would boil over in his throat once again, should she have continued.
Presently she stopped, saying, “If you had only said this sooner, you wouldn’t have to put up with so much of my shit, Father. Now, let’s go take a look at this diamond you speak of.”
Christopher watched from the ground as Paulo locked eyes with her, a grim expression portrayed on the man's face, a face that had aged rapidly in the last few weeks. Willcott wouldn’t flinch, and now displayed a look of amusement as she towered over the much smaller Paulo. Christopher wiped his eyes, the tension in the room nearly physical in its presence.
Paulo turned to him then, his face transforming to a sullen and defeated gaze that seemed to look through Christopher.
“You’re dismissed for the night, Christopher. Find me after the service tomorrow, and we will continue your teachings.” Paulo said monotonously.
“Is your heir not privy to such knowledge? Have you not-” Willcott broached, but stopped at the widening of Paulo’s eyes. She had been waiting for that look, waiting for the moment that Paulo knew his corner was inescapable. Though she was not cruel enough to continue, her satisfaction at the old Paulo losing his grasp on the secrecy he sought to preserve had her in a peak mood.
Christopher began to rise, slowly as if to not make a sound. There was so much discussion that was going on above his head, with this discussion of some sort of diamond being the highest on the list of items he wanted to understand. But he knew before Paulo replied that the decision had already been made.
“Father Christopher will be privy to not just all in the land, but all of His works and plans when the time comes. There is still much he needs to learn, and so much he has already retained. He will make a great heir, but not on this day.” Paulo placed a hand on Christopher's head, “In due time, son. In due time.”
Paulo looked back to Willcott, nodding to her before he began to exit the stage. She followed, leaving Christopher to watch her stride once again. All he could feel was an anxious sensation buried in the back of his mind, with many targets in mind; lady Willcott with her ability to compromise even Paulo with words alone, Father Paulo’s increasing urgency in a scheme to large for Christopher to understand, and the mystery behind what the diamond the two of them were heading to.
He wanted to follow but knew his place. As Paulo then Willcott, who had to lower her head to enter the short door, came out of view as they descended to the basement level, Christopher could only reflect on his day of learning. A day that added more questions than it did answers.