Lady Willcott followed Paulo into an ill-lit corner of the labyrinth of the basement underneath the church. Not mistaking fear for caution, the woman kept a hand on the hilt of her shortsword, as too many shadows and open doors were to either side of them as they continued down a hall with many turns to it. It unnerved her to realize that however big she had believed it to be, the size and scale of the church far surpassed her most ample expectations.
Torches lit the hall but were more sparse the farther they walked. The halls became so narrow that Lady Willcott’s height forced her to duck at the few they continued to pass, their heat pressing near her head each time they did. Her instincts did not like that the Bishop had opted for no torch of his own, as if he had no fear of what lay ahead, instead knowing his safety was preserved. He did not look back at her since leading her here, and she kept a trained eye on any movements from the hands that lay folded in front of him, her guard always ready.
The rooms they passed were not lively; some were ill-lit, furnitureless, and buried in darkness so that you couldn’t see the back wall; more were the rooms used for storing an abundance of food in stacked barrels, allowing only a single person to be able to walk in the center aisle of such rooms. Some were home to followers, those loyally pledged and given the title from Paulo himself, and yet their title did not seem to afford them luxuries. No bigger were these rooms than four paces either way. Stacks of bedding where some individuals slept and others sat quietly, watching Paulo and herself pass by in dazed awe, their glazed, thoughtless eyes unsettling even to her.
Never had Willcott been with Paulo while his demeanor seemed so burdened, evident by both his feet dragging and shoulders slouched. Mutual respect was as high as her feelings had even ascended in her relationship with the holy leader, but that was now diminishing too. It was his original plot all along, with herself, her son, and her army but his pawns to put in position. Now that it had hit snags in the road, so too did his confidence falter, as she knew it would. And as she had planned perfectly.
One final turn in the hall revealed no more paths ahead, with Lady Willcott nearly walking into the halted bishop before realizing. On either side, torches illuminated the black gate that now stood in front of them. To her, the gaps in the gate revealed what looked to be another hall.
Paulo let out a deep, resigned sigh before reaching into his robe. The sound of many keys was apparent before he spoke, “In truth, Willcott, my intentions had never been to show you this. Nor anyone with a special exception to Christopher. I ask that everything you find in here remain as it was before today; a secret. There is little you can do with what you see immediately, but my mind will be eased nonetheless should the thought of revealing today be thwarted now. We are so close, so very close…” Paulo trailed off, revealing the circular keychain from his robe as he did. The bishop continued to look straight as if seeing something in the dark distance, fingering through the keys.
Lady Willcott had no reply, instead, she took one of the torches from the wall in preparation to enter the darkness. She could feel a trickle of sweat dripping down the length of her back, the heat of the torches playing a role and yet she knew the anticipation to find out more of what was still mysterious to her was the true cause. She had many things on her mind today, and yet the unknown was the part she wanted to strike at first.
The key Paulo selected proved to be the one, and with a click the key slipped into its hole, with a twist of the wrist sliding open the metal bar. The gate opened as Paulo pushed inwards, the sound of the metal hinge screeching.
Following Paulo, Lady Willcott lost the anxious sense of the small halls immediately as she passed through the gate. As her heels met the concrete of the room, the walls around her amplified each step in a rhythmic echo. The room they entered was unlike any of the others; the size of it was similar to the size of the church, the ceiling so tall that the single torch could not cast it’s light to reveal it, and the shadows similarly hid any stoppage to either side of her. What she had seen silhouetted by the torches when the gate was still closed were not halls, but shelves of enormous height that erected into the darkness that swallowed the tops of them. Moving the torch from one side to another revealed at least two other rows of shelves, but instinct suggested that there were many more than that still yet to be discovered. The room felt like a new world compared to the tunnels they had come from.
Paulo was still moving forward, and so was she. Walking directly ahead with the shelves towering to either side of her, she felt uncharacteristically small in the aisle, still wondering how tall the shelves must reach. The only thing unimpressive about the room was the lack of content that was housed on the shelves. She slowed at the passing of any books that were found there, and yet they were so few compared to the space available. No more than a few dozen were contained in each row, yet the room could have filled thousands upon thousands. She saw through the shelf at her eye level, seeing the section behind it similarly keeping only a few books that were spaced out from one another. In the few that she quickly examined in the torch light nearest to her, they appeared weathered and without covers or words on the spine.
“Bishop, how old are some of these texts?” Lady Willcott said, her voice carrying an echo in the hall that only affirmed her suspicions of its size. She found no reply from Paulo, who continued to walk forward without looking back. Looking again to where he went, Willcott lowered the torch, seeing now that the light she brought had stopped her from seeing the light in front of her. It was incredibly faint, and yet somewhere in the distance at what appeared to be the far end of the room, a white light could be seen.
Her interest in books diminished, and Lady Willcott walked eagerly to meet Paulo. The Bishop turned sharply to the right, and she lost sight of him. She moved quicker to get to where he was, and upon taking the same turn, she found no more need to rely on the torch. She couldn’t directly look at it for too, the hue of light almost blinding. In front of her now, on a granite pedestal with no unique distinction, sat what she wagered to be the largest diamond in all of the world.
It sat there on its table, the flat surface that was the top of the diamond, the point of the culet stabbing upwards. In the girdles of its lines appeared to be where her eyes could not venture for very long without the need of blinking, as the edges appeared to be burning white. Strangely, while the light had appeared too weak to be seen until well into the hall, she found that the torch proved inconvenient compared to the light she found herself in now, able to see the ceiling that stretched to what must’ve been over ten yards in height, the walls of the room stretched far to either side of her and even the weathered, faded details in the wooden shelves now revealed to her eyes. It didn’t make much sense, but turning back to the diamond she could feel more than she could explain as to how it was possible. The glow felt warm, almost lifelike against her cheeks.
Blinking rapidly, she was aware of one more detail within the diamond she needed to see for herself. Years had passed since the Bishop first made her aware of the existence of this item at all, but she did not forget what he had told her may happen. Evident was the fact that something did occur, an event outside of their control, for if nothing had happened the diamond would have lost all of its current shine nearly instantly. For over three weeks, ever since the Bishop had resurrected a lifeless man in front of her very own eyes, the diamond had remained emitting this warm light and displaying the names necessary for the last of a great power to be available to them.
She saw it now; trapped inside the diamond, two words were etched piercingly bright, brighter than the edges and corners, and yet she was able to stare at them without pain. Only until she stared at length did the characters appear to leap from the inner workings of the diamond to the forefront of her mind, imprinting the two last names that were still so much more significant to Paulo than she could reason them being:
Whitewood
Nola
“Nola!” Lady Willcott burst out laughing, with Paulo remaining stoic and unamused beside her. Calming, she continued, “You’ve never told him the truth, have you?”
“And what good would that do? It would only confuse the boy, and confusion is the only reason I stand here with you now. We don’t need more of it.” Paulo replied, his tone hard and voice soft as if someone may be listening.
Lady Willcott’s face hardened, turning to the Bishop and waiting to speak until he became uncomfortable with her stare, forcing him to look her way, “I wish you had shown me this sooner, Paulo. You may not appreciate me, nor even the soldiers who fought on your behalf and lost their lives today, but for this all to work we must have respect for one another. It has been one-sided until today, I even have my only son in a foreign land fighting on what had only been your vague beliefs before now. But seeing this with my own two eyes, I have no further qualms that everything you have guided us to do has been with great purpose in mind. For that, I thank you and Him for the guidance, and ask for your forgiveness with my plagued thoughts.”
Paulo had fully turned his head to see her, his mouth open yet unable to speak at first, “I-I… do appreciate you and your company as well, Willcott. Fighting and warfare are a burden no era should engage in, yet the choice could not be made. We have tried to convert others of many families over the centuries, and His fortune has left us with one of the two that we need. And yet, the Whitewoods have always been stubborn, their hearts shut to our church. If they had been, none of this would have happened. The chalice would have commanded them both to swim-” Paulo cut himself short, seeing now the interest peak in Willcott’s face.
“Why would you have them swim, Bishop?” Willcott asked, slyness apparent in her tone.
“That’s enough.” Paulo said, his face blushing and head shaking, “Enough for today, you have learned much, more than-”
“No, we are not through here.” Willcott replied, taking a step towards the Bishop to tower over him, “Listen well, Paulo. Now that I’ve seen it, I can not turn a blind eye while you stumble to our finish. You yourself admitted my role in your endeavors, but I am not so convinced that you have done your part. If you intend to require my support any further, you will hear my single demand.”
Paulo did not back to her, his face stalwart and brow bearing down as he looked up to the woman’s face. His voice was a cold whisper, “Do you truly dare to cross this path, Willcott? Threatening me? You mistake my day of disappointment for defeat too quickly. And of your forces, the ones coming with the Whitewood girls are loyal to my cause. Your son would be devastated to hear of your insurrection.”
“All I ask,” Willcott replied, her voice more soothing to calm the Bishop, “Is if you want my vested interest and my humble allegiance, you hear my council. For I believe you have taken a misstep that will cause you greater stress in the days to come than you feel now. My respect for you lays in the wake of your decision, for there is foolery plaguing your plan.”
Willcott walked past Paulo, who didn’t move besides in the shakes of his fists balled and hidden in the sleeves of his robe. The Bishop resigned, sighing, “And where is it that you place your advice?”
“Is it truly your intention to name that boy you keep close as the heir to the true gold? I believe that to be an incredibly unwise decision.”
Paulo looked at her puzzled, as if trying to see through her words, “Of course not. His excitement and hopes to be the one left with the chalice keep his spirits high, so high that directing him to where he must set off will be painless. Once he is there, I will do the rest, within him.”
Lady Willcott flashed a smile at the Bishop as she continued to walk in a large circle around the diamond, “A fine plot, very deceptive. Well, that brings me great relief, however, it is not the end of my demand.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Demand? I thought you wanted to add your council!”
“I do, for it still regards the eventual successor. I wish to be named the true gold’s heir, Your Holiness, and I demand it now.”
Paulo was not taken back as she had thought he would be, instead his face darkened to match her own. The two stood an arms reach from one another, half their faces fully detailed in the light of the diamond, while the other halves were shadowed at the angle. It became a matter of a staring contest between the two, and Lady Willcott was not enjoying the gap in response. Her glance fell to his hands, still appearing together and hidden in the large sleeves of his robe and laid at his waist, and when she found his eyes again the faintest uptilt of his head showed a new understanding come over the religious leader.
“So, it has always been about the gold, has it? Long have I relied on your lust for power to sway you in cooperating with the church’s goal, but now you look to thwart me? You are greatly overstepping your role, Willcott.”
“I overstep nothing, for I trample those that think themselves to be higher than I. This is no exception, Paulo. You and I are after the same thing, the same opportunity for a grab at the power that sits in the balance. You’ve plotted yours for decades, even stealing that boy you treat as one of your own, so don’t talk of morality and roles, bishop.”
“Decades…” The word was an unbelieving whisper, followed by Paulo spitting on the ground. It was uncharacteristic, and so was the face of disgust he now showed as he increasingly raised his voice, “Decades? Decades! Ignorance! Blissful ignorance for the foolish! That is the burden I bear, Willcott! The burden of all those that have bore the gold before me, they have surmounted and now crush me! It is not the plot of decades, nor am I to credit, He is!” Paulo pointed an arm to the sky, his sleeve falling and revealing a shaking hand, “This is not a ploy for power you ravenous witch! Not a plan of decades, nor even centuries, but a millennium! That is what you don’t understand!
“Lost to the entire world is what will happen if we don’t succeed if I don’t succeed, for the church is the final defense that knows of the coming days ahead. It is laughable now, but every day that passes we are sooner to the brink of collapse. As I was taught and as I have taught to those who will listen, High Hillford had been protected long ago. Why? To preserve where we stand now, these texts you surely wrote off as undiscarded garbage are the first-hand accounts of everything that happened one thousand years ago! Should the church be commended in the wake of our success, so be it! But I do not need to live to see that, I only need to live to see this diamond extinguished!
“You speak of power, Willcott, but you will never know what true power is. I will never know what I felt in this room; checking it every day as my Father did before me, only to find it glowing on that dreaded day. Yes, I masked fear for excitement, because I had seen the name Nola and knew I had prepared well. I thought I had power then, the power to upend and rescue this world before they even noticed they needed to be rescued, but I don’t. You covet the gold, yet it is the diamond that holds everything. For the diamond casts the final wish, and when it is cast the chalice will become a relic. As will your son's sword, and the Visconti sibling's power too. You are all so feeble-minded! You can’t see-”
Paulo had become red with anger, the veins in his neck and temple protruding in the glow of the diamond, and Willcott had been disgusted by it; to be spoken to by a man of short stature who had never fought a day in his life was unbecoming to her. It had been an eye-opening tale, one she wished to hear more of, but not in this way. And his hand pointed up and nearly seizing as he spoke, had distracted her, very much annoying her. She allowed herself a moment to watch as the redness of his face diminished, the fiery man softening instantly, as he realized that his hand was now on the floor. Lunging forward, she drove her dagger low and into his naval area.
“AHH-mmm!” Paulo screamed a moment before she muffled him with her other hand, a ball of cloth concealed in it that she had readied as she walked around the diamond. She knew what would come next; Paulo tried to call the chalice to his still good hand, but Willcott was quicker in grabbing his wrist and pinning it to his back. He had called it, but the chalice fell to the ground where it rang and echoed in the large room. Though she had expected it, she still had been surprised to miss it appearing. She went from looking at it to looking at Paulo’s screaming, pleading eyes, wide in their sockets with tears forming.
“Power, Paulo, is in knowing.” Her eyes seared through him, her smile wicked as she brandished her teeth, “You speak of feeling it in confidence, but even the most confident have been wrong. Knowing is true power, like I know…” She twisted the blade slightly in his abdomen, the muffled screaming of maddening pain taking to new heights as she did, “I knew that would hurt, and I know you don’t have long, Paulo. Now is your chance, there is nothing more than you want to see your destiny complete, right? Make me the heir, and I will allow you to take your chalice. I know you can heal yourself as well as others, and I know you need it more than ever now. And should you not, I will kill that boy anyway, and allow the churches worst nightmare to be reality. What will it be, Paulo!”
Paulo’s eyes fluttered, but his resolve was strong, not passing out as the pain burned inside of him like a thousand suns. Cornered, and panicked, his only resolution was to play the part she wanted. All he needed to do was to assign her the heir, and upon leaving she could still be killed. It wasn’t his plan, far from it, but as the pain overtook him, he clung to his eventual revenge as the strength he needed.
Paulo nodded, his head falling to his chin as he did, and Willcott pulled it with a hand under his chin before releasing the gag from his mouth. Paulo tried to speak, and at first, the words were lost, but the strange words did come, “Mea heredis, imperium autem la true gold, Lady Willcott…”
Lady Willcott tilted her head, confused yet satisfied, “Is that it?” She asked, and upon Paulo’s nodding she ripped the blade from his stomach. Grasping at the area with one hand, Paulo reached out, his hand ready and calling to the chalice.
It never made it to his grasp. Falling again to the ground unscathed, the noise it gave was far more prominent than Paulo's body falling to the floor with a soft splash in the blood gathered at his feet. Pouring profusely from the newest gash in his throat, Lady Willcott wondered if she had always thought too highly of the man, for what a fool he was.
She looked down at the chalice, the blood beginning to pool around it, her first thought being that he had deceived her in naming her heir. If he had, her respect for him wouldn’t have diminished as much as it did. But when she stretched her arm out in front of her, thinking of the item as she once did with her son's blade, her final surprise of the day was how light it felt in her grasp.
Basking in the light of the diamond, she sidestepped the trickling blood of the Bishop as she beamed brightly at her reflection in the chalice’s side. Looking down at the Bishop’s body, she grasped the chalice tightly in her hand, watching as blood began to form within the cup.
“Let us celebrate, Paulo, to our new unison.” She drank deeply.
<><><><><>
Christopher had stayed up well past his norm. Looking at the lone candle burning on his bedside stand, he reckoned he had no more than an hour's worth of wax left, not enough to last him until dawn. He was becoming increasingly worried, and with the worry came a sort of slowing to the passage of time. Listening intently to the footfalls of Paulo as they either passed or came to his door warded off any tiredness that tried to climb to the surface.
On top of earning the title of heir and the learning responsibilities that came with the role, Christopher had new accommodations made that he felt indebted and blessed for. For the first time, he had his very own room; stationed closest to Paulo’s chamber, the attributes were unchanged compared to his old room sans the lack of roommates. Still, his feet became cold when he stepped on the solid concrete floor, the walls a matching grey of little decoration beside his doings; passages from religious texts transcribed himself were organized in five rows, with five equidistant pages in each constantly admiring the strength he felt in their words. As well as his bedside stand, a distressed, drawerless piece of furniture, was his single cot. He enjoyed the view of his ceiling, the openness not lost in his nightly prayers of thanks.
He had tried to keep his mind away from what Paulo and Willcott were doing, seemingly still doing even at this late of an hour, but everything he tried proved fruitless. Not even the book he had brought from the restricted library was turning his attention enough to steer him toward sleep. Admittedly, the book may have even worsened his anxious restlessness. The text he had chosen was similar to all the other books in that room; loose pages frequently required a delicate touch and patience as he flipped pages, an activity he had panicked over during his first few engagements with these relics. The content of this work focused on the anguish of Angela, a titleless work that may have started as a diary done by a priest of the old millennium. Frequently mentioned was the lack of understanding, open-mindedness, and overall education from those who turned their backs on the welcoming church. As it became too late, the priests of that time could do no more than weep and record for those to one day learn of the mistakes of the ones who shunned the safety He provided. The text made Christopher feel the weight of his role in the days to come, while also affirming some of his own frustrations when he had tried to share the blessing of the church on deaf ears.
Christopher hadn’t mustered the courage yet, fearing he may be overstepping, but one day that felt soon in his heart he would ask Paulo if he could begin transcribing these works into current literature. He could not understand why some of them hadn’t been already; each work compiled so many new details from the time of His second blessing, the thousand years of prosperity and fortune for those in High Hillford, as well as the blessed chance to rebuild and renew the main continent.
If the people of Angela were to read this, the horizon would be shipped many by sundown! The thought was warm to him, a chance to truly help those who are blinded by ignorance at no fault of their own. He had trouble believing he could make such an impact in so short a time, but to that end, he had wondered what the golden chalice may be able to conjure.
A light rapping at his door startled him near half-to-death, almost knocking over the candle as his elbow struck the bedside table. He looked to the door questioningly, more convinced he had made up the sound than him missing the distinct footfalls the bishop repeated nightly on his way to his room, but the thought was immediately quelled as a familiar voice came from the other side.
“Christopher, your candle is burning, are you awake?” Paulo said.
“Father! I am,” Christopher said, rising quickly and taking the two short strides required to reach his bedroom door. Opening excitedly, Paulo offered a smile as he came into view, “You are up so late, Father Paulo! Was your meeting with Lady Willcott blessed?”
Paulo’s kind smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, his eyes falling to Christophers' feet, “Lady Willcott…” The man said, taking a short pause as his brow furrowed, trying to search for the words he had started to say. Scratching the side of his head, he seemed both unsatisfied and relieved to find any words at all, “Fine. Yes, yes I do believe it went fine. I think I am more tired than I give myself credit for.”
“Would you like a hand in your room Father?” Christopher said, his voice turning concerned.
“In a minute, perhaps. There is one more item on my agenda tonight. If you’ll allow me a brief time in your room.”
“But of course!” Christopher said, offering a wide sweep of one arm like he was presenting his quarter, while the other offered a hand to guide the tired man. Paulo accepted the offer, revealing his hand from where it frequently was hidden inside the sleeves of his robe.
His candle did not have the thickest wick, the light providing only a faint idea of the details, but as Christopher took Paulo’s hand he needed to double take at it. The Bishop’s touch was like ice, colder even than the concrete floor he was standing on, and as his eyes darted to inspect it, he thought he saw a strange paleness that ended just at the wrist.
“Goodness, Father. Forgive me but you are exceptionally cold!”
“Yes...” Paulo started, and though the walk to the bed was but three steps for him, he hesitated all the same as his face became dark with searching. Christopher saw the occurrence again, but before he could say anything Paulo continued another pace and sat down on the bed. Paulo took his hand back, hiding it inside of his robe before Christopher could get an improved look with the candle’s light closer.
Paulo began with a sigh, “There is much I need to tell you before I retire for the night, I fear I won’t be able to sleep if I keep this from you any longer. I can not offer you much explanation, I have searched hard for it myself through the years, but the truth is fact and the fact is true regardless of the proof. I have told you of your future here, of how you will come into my role wiser and more exceptional than I was at your age, along with the great responsibility that comes with owning the chalice. You will be a healer, not just to each individual of the church, but to the world. And the reason for this lies in who you are, who you are.
“Your name, your full name, is and has always been Christopher Nola. And it is your blood and your wisdom He tasks with so sacred a duty.”