Chapter 44 – The Night of Children

“As our most holy Goddess’ representative on this mortal plane, I welcome all who joins me on this hallowed eve. Tonight marks the first of seven nights of remembrance. Though we might mourn those we love on all days, the Goddess blesses us with these nights to once more see those we thought lost. They return to us, faded yet vibrant. A reminder that the end is not so terrifying, that for the innocent what suffering we shoulder in life is unburdened from us in death.”

Beyond the priestess the cathedral was silent as the grave, men and women bowing their heads as they solemnly followed her verses. Bleached flames flickered from chancel to nave, casting the building in stark monochrome relief. Under their light the living were pale as ghosts, while the shadows of those who watched from beyond ran like wet ink from its judgement.

Rosalina spoke her words softly, each syllable that passed through her lips an inevitable truth sheltered in divine certainty. Her name was familiar, it had a sense of unease attached to it that somehow couldn’t be placed. Had they met before? Or was it a name heard in passing, spoken by an unknowable stranger?

Did it even matter?

Her words were more important. What was a little unease compared to the glory of the Goddess?

Then Tintinnia grabbed her arm, fingernails digging into her flesh. “We need to leave. Now.”

“What?” Palmira startled, blinking heavily. The priestess continued to speak, and she found herself unconsciously mouthing along.

“It is through only the holy book that we might speak these words, and only upon these days of mourning, for such tragedies are not meant for mortal ears. In the ancient war between Angels and Demons, Kindly Death was slain and her veil torn jagged. For seven days and seven nights heaven and hell alike were abandoned as the shades of those long dead once more returned to life. Yet on the eighth day the Goddess returned, her scythe stained with the ichor of her harvest and her heart set with determination to set the world to rights. With silver thread she wove the veil anew, healing that which should never have been harmed.”

“That’s Rosalina,” she hissed, her free hand clenched around and invisible handle even as she dragged her to her feet. Despite speaking as quietly as possible, the smaller girl’s voice was deafening compared to the suffocating silence around them. “She was the… erg… uh, the fire mage in Sinbad’s party. You remember what he said about her, right?”

Sinbad… the shitty Paladin? What was he—?

Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered his words. Of how his old allies had fallen to the Demons, and the dangers they posed. Clarity filtered through the smoke in her mind, even as the priestess’ prayers continued to batter against her soul.

“Hey,” she hissed quietly, grabbing Chiara’s shoulder. Behind her Tintinnia pulled a snail’s shell from her pocket which she tapped against frantically. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

“What? Why?” Chiara scowled at her. “We’re in the middle of mass!”

“Because…” the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. She knew, logically, that they had to leave. But she couldn’t find it in her to speak against the benevolent priestess who prayed for their souls.

“Yet to restore is not to create, it is merely to remold, and silver thread shines a brilliant scar against the darkness of death. A week of death now stains the tapestry of history, a week which begins tonight. A celebration of tragedy; a lamentation of victory. As Autumn leaves bleed onto frozen ground, the Goddess once more loosens the shackles of our souls, so that saints and sinner alike may once more face those they’ve long left behind. So that we may forever remember the faces of those otherwise lost to us.”

Palmira grimaced. She knew they had to leave. She knew they had to leave. If they stayed… something would happen. Probably. Sure, Tintinnia said so, but she had a skewed idea of morality. It was probably nothing. And if it was…

Would it really be so bad?

Malocchio’s twin tails tightened around her waist, the pain centering her mind.

‘Reminder,’ he spoke normally, yet his voice ricocheted against her skull. ‘We cannot protect Our Lady like Morte can. We recommend immediate withdrawal, followed by long range bombardment from a safe distance.’

Palmira took a deep breath. Chiara was ignoring her again, once more enraptured by the priestess’ sermon. She moved to stand in front of her and tightened her grip on her shoulder.

“Ow—Palmira!” the other girl growled. “What in the world is wrong with you!?”

“To live is to suffer. Such is the price we pay for the sins we have committed. For the sins our forefathers have committed. And to die is to be relieved of suffering. Yet life is not cruelty alone, and a drop of love is enough to save even the most tattered soul. For the world is dark, yet full of wonders.”

It was impossible to tell the truth about why they had to leave, so she needed to lie.

“I need to pee.”

Why—!? Surely she could have come up with a better lie than that.

Chiara shot her a weary glare. “Can’t you go by yourself?”

“It’s pitch black out!” she hissed, mortified but in too deep to back out now. “I’m not going alone!”

“Hey!” someone behind them snapped. “Don’t they teach kids these days to be quiet during sermons?”

Palmira ignored them. This was far more important.

“Ugh, fine,” she grumbled. “But you owe me!”

“Thank you.”

Unfortunately, they were just a little too late.

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A chill ran down her spine. Flickers of movement danced in the corners of her eyes. Childish laughter danced behind her ears.

Palmira blinked as fingers manifested themselves in front of her eyes. They clutched at her hair, her chin, her nose, at every part of her face. A pair of eyes met hers, desperate and relived.

Are you alive? A voice whispered in her mind, not unlike Morte. Am I alive?

“Tonight we pay homage to both light and darkness. To mothers who have lost sons, to fathers who have lost daughters. Such tragedies are indiscriminate, no matter class nor race nor creed. Even the Goddess mourns her daughter.”

“Okay, we need to go now,” Palmira rushed past Chiara, not even bothering to argue with Lamezia. Dragging the much larger half-orc to her feet, she began the arduous process of scooching through crammed church pews in the dark. Behind her, and exasperated Chiara followed, pushed along by a frantic Tintinnia. She apologized as she went, but not a single person responded to her, all of them simply mouthing along to the sermon.

The silence unnerved her more than anything else.

“If you’re afraid of ghosts you could have just said so,” Chiara grumbled from behind her. “You didn’t have to make such a scene.”

“I’m not scared,” she muttered back, resisting the urge to light a fire. The blinding white of the church flames made her desperate for the natural orange of her own. “Whatever. Hurry up, we’re almost out.”

Finally, they reached the end of the row, pouring out into the aisle. Lamezia seemed to only now realize what was going on, blinking rapidly as her mouth clicked shut. Her steps hitched, slowing them down but thankfully not stopping them.

“What is…” she muttered in a daze. “What’s going on?”

“Palmira’s scared of ghosts~” Chiara snickered quietly behind them.

“Am not,” she muttered, even as she picked up the pace. There was a bone-deep sense that they were running out of time.

Apparitions watched them as they fled. Old and young, crying and laughing, washed-out and lively. A girl her age held a babe in one hand and her head in the other. A young boy who was nothing but bones snaked between her legs, chasing little more than mist. Hands with too many fingers reached out from shadowy corners as they drew near, only to dissolve the moment they touched.

Palmira forced herself to ignore all of it. The dead were always unnerving to the living—they were dead, after all. But that’s all they were. They weren’t the real danger here.

Though they were surrounded by ghosts, it was the priestess’ prayers which haunted their every step.

But the cathedral was not so large that it took them long to reach the exit. Before they knew it they had reached the ornate doors of the cathedral, towering over even Lamezia. They were far to big to push, but that was why there was a smaller, human-sized door cut into the bigger door.

Unfortunately, it was sealed shut.

“Oh? Leaving so soon?”

Palmira froze, her hand wrapped around the cold iron of the door handle.

Rosalina the Priestess smiled indulgently at them from the altar. It was a kind smile, warm and understanding even as it gently chided them. There was no cruelty in that smile, no evil. The woman before them was as blessed as the Goddess herself.

Palmira’s hands dropped to Malocchio, grasping at his hilt in a death-grip. Her hair finally ignited and her pupils dilated as she instantly fell into fight or flight. Tintinnia joined her in pulling out her own oversized hammer, even as Chiara and Lamezia stood confused behind them.

Nobody else moved. Not a soul acknowledged their existence. The hundreds of people in the pews simply continued to pray, their heads held low in supplication to the Goddess.

“I understand that you may believe wherever it is you want to go important, but I assure you that church mass is far more vital,” she waggled a finger back and forth. “I know you are young, but this is your immortal soul. In the face of that, doesn’t everything else seem so small?”

Palmira wasn’t sure she could fight her. Wasn’t sure she wanted to fight her. Wasn’t sure she wasn’t sure she wanted to fight her.

The thought began running through her mind in circles so she forcibly cut it off. Desire wasn’t important right now. All that mattered was getting out.

She thought hard, considered as many options as she could, but only one stood out to her. She grimaced.

Well, in for a piccoli.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

Rosalina paused, having not expected that response. “You… do?”

“…Yes.”

“Can you not… hold it in?”

Goddess why couldn’t she have thought of a better excuse? “Not for several hours of sermons.”

The priestess frowned, then shook her head apologetically. “We all must suffer for the sake of our sins. The Goddess has simply decided this will be your penance tonight. Please return to your seats so we might continue. You’ve already distracted us enough.”

Damnit, she’d just embarrassed herself for nothing. What else could she even do? Maybe… set the place on fire? That worked surprisingly often.

No, no, Rosalina was supposed to be a fire mage, wasn’t she? She could just put it out. Fighting was still out, even Tintinnia’s hammer was whimpering in fear! There’s no way they would be able to—

The massive doors of the cathedral burst open with a deafening BOOM.

The girls yelped, having just barely missed getting clipped by a foot of solid oak. Throughout the rest of the cathedral everyone jumped in their seats, whatever spell that had been cast on them dispelled through sheer shock. Palmira spun around along with everyone else, wondering just who had come to their rescue.

Sinbad the Paladin stood in the doorway, equipped head to toe in full plate and wielding a sword of holy fury in his hand. Palmira felt her shoulders slump at the sight of him, relieved beyond words that he had come to save them.

Sinbad’s sole eye darted first to Rosalina, then to the four of them, and finally to the hundreds of men and women who startled at having their prayer interrupted.

He considered them all, before steeling himself and locking eyes with the priestess.

“Rosalina,” his voice was calm and precise, even as it was hounded by an undercurrent of rage. “I did not realize you were in Firozzi.”

“Sinbad!” Rosalina gave him a dazzling smile, seemingly cheered by his arrival. “How wonderful of you to show up. I was just beginning evening mass, and you are more than welcome to join us. These faithful followers of the Goddess would be truly blessed to hear you lead us in our evening hymns.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have the time for that,” he ground out, each word sounding as though they were painfully ripped from his throat. “A dangerous… situation has occurred, one which requires both of us to be elsewhere.”

“Ah,” she drooped, appearing genuinely distraught. “But I just began evening mass. And for All Saint’s Day, no less! I had been so looking forward to it, are you certain the situation is so precarious it requires both of us to be there?”

“Yes. I am certain.”

Rosalina sighed, gently placing her holy book back on the lectern. “I see. I’m truly sorry, everyone, but it appears I will be performing my duties to the Goddess in a different way than I expected this night.”

Worried murmuring from both the living and dead filled the cathedral, though the Paladin was swift to soothe their fears. “To all of you here tonight, please do not be alarmed, the situation is already resolving itself. Simply remain indoors with the priests until mass is over and you may return to your homes after. And if you do happen to hear anything occurring—including but not limited to; angry shouting, explosions, or the chanting of an angelic choir—do not approach and instead find your way to safety. Thank you, and I apologize for interrupting your evening.”

Sinbad saluted the crowd stiffly as Rosalina made her way down the nave. Palmira stumbled out of the way of her approach, every sedate step she took feeling like an avalanche was barreling ever closer.

Finally the priestess stood abreast with Sinbad, her smile not leaving her lips even as her blindfolded sockets met his sole remaining eye.

“I admit, I’m looking forward to this more than I expected!” she chirped, clapping her hands before her in prayer. “I must thank the Goddess for this day, it’ll be just like old times!”

“…I certainly wish it could be.”

His piece said Sinbad stepped out of the way, gesturing for her to leave first. The woman did, but not before turning back to her, causing all of them to tense.

“Oh, and do remember to finish your prayers, Palmira di Firozzi,” her smile was as gentle as her words were damning. “Your soul more than any other certainly needs it.”

With that the two old heroes left the cathedral, leaving behind them a confused crowd and a shaken young girl.