Chapter 51 - Assumptions

Alaric departed with a final nod, leaving Lazar to approach Madeline and Matilda’s home alone. “If you need me,” the man said before disappearing down the road, “pull the bell strings.”

By then, night had fully settled across the plane, drowning out the rare vibrant blue day for a dark grey night. The light of the realm gate seemed especially blinding backdropped by the hazy, drifting clouds. Lazar turned away to knock on the little home’s door. It swung open with a creak, and Madeline’s beaming face appeared on the other side.

“I was wondering where you went. Come in, come in!” She gestured energetically, stepping aside to allow the seraph inside.

The interior of the home was brightly lit with candles, the flickering flames casting wooden planks in a soft glow. Lazar’s eyes focused on the pile of old clothes lying atop the table. Beside it sat a second pile of fabric strips, long ribbons cut with straight edges that reminded Lazar of the pieces of cloth he’d seen decorating various parts of Carran.

Madeline must have noticed his stare, because she explained, “They’re for the festival!” She stepped over, moving a few pieces that had slipped dangerously close to the table’s edge. “Oh, but I’m not sure if you celebrate it up north. It’s pretty unique to Carran, I think.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Lazar offered. The woman nodded.

“It’s pretty simple, really.” She pointed at the fabrics. “The village travels to the forest south of here—it’s about a day’s journey. Then we tie these to the bare branches to bring good fortune.” She hummed, smiling to herself. “It really is beautiful when we’re done. You and Ciel should come!”

She paused, glancing around. Her brows furrowed. “Wait, where is Ciel?”

“She had some business to attend to.” The lie came easily. “I assume Matilda is away as well?”

Madeline nodded. “She should be back later tonight. She had to go buy some things. Did you need something?”

The seraph hesitated. He’d hoped to talk to both of the sisters at once, but he supposed this was alright as well.

“I wanted to speak to the two of you.” He felt curious brown eyes watching him, and he continued carefully.

“Ciel and I weren’t completely honest about our goals when we first came here. In truth, we’re both trying to ascend to the second plane. Alaric recommended I tell you, and I agree. You’ve both shown us great hospitality, and we’ve repaid you with half truths.”

Lazar waited patiently for a response, grey eyes steady as he searched for any potential reaction.

Madeline was quiet for a few moments. She stared down, wavy blonde hair falling into her face and brows furrowed in thought. When she did look up again, she had on a small, wry smile.

“I guess the second plane really is better.”

Lazar paused at that. Though Madeline’s tone remained light, there was a trace of bitterness in her voice that felt so unlike what he’d come to know of the woman.

The open door to the room that he and Ciel were staying in sat in the corner of his eye, and he remembered Alaric’s comment, that name he’d heard. Elliot.

Lazar spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“Alaric mentioned you had a friend who ascended.”

A flash of recognition passed through her features. The woman opened her mouth to respond, but at the last moment she seemed to reconsider.

Her jaw closed, and instead of a direct response, Madeline turned and gestured for him to follow. She strode down the narrow hallway, entering the open doorway and coming to a stop in front of the shelves lining the walls.

Lazar watched curiously as she pulled out one of the hand-bound books, though perhaps “book” was an exaggeration. It was little more than a stack of papers hastily strung together with a fraying cord. It looked rather heavy, and her hands shook a little as she set it down on the desk and flipped it open.

The seraph leaned closer, peering down at the pages of messy, hastily scrawled notes. Madeline’s own eyes ran over them, nostalgia temporarily clouding warm brown.

“Elliot ascended about a year ago,” she said, not taking her gaze off the pages. “He left most of his research here. I’m not sure if it’ll help, but you could take a look if you like.” She chuckled fondly. “It might be a little hard to read, though.”

“Thank you,” Lazar said sincerely, and the woman smiled.

“Happy to help!” She paused. Her voice lowered, and her eyes became more serious. “You know, it’s probably better if you don’t mention it to Matilda. Elliot, I mean. She won’t mind the ascension.”

Lazar turned to face her, the question clear in the gesture, and she continued quietly, as though scared someone might overhear them.

“She doesn’t like to talk about him. We haven’t seen him since he ascended.”

“He hasn’t come back to visit?”

Madeline shook her head. A bit of that bitterness returned, carefully held at bay before it could truly poison.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“No. I understand, though. The second plane’s very strict about descending planes. A lot of people who come down aren’t allowed to go back, so I don’t blame him for it or anything.” Her eyes moved to the notes again, and she lightly traced some of the words with a finger. She changed the subject.

“If you have any questions about magic and Alaric’s busy, Matilda also knows a lot. She and Elliot used to practice together.”

“What about you?” Lazar asked. Madeline looked up and laughed, the sound light and clear like a ringing bell.

“Me? Oh no, I’ve never been good at this sort of thing.” She shook her head and stepped back, taking a second to smooth out her dress.

“I should go. There’s still a lot to be done before the festival.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Madeline made a shooing motion. “Don’t worry about it! Besides, you’ll probably want some time alone to look at those notes.”

The seraph nodded slowly. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

The woman beamed. With a final nod, she turned to exit the room, leaving the seraph alone with the shelf of crinkled papers.

He waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade, then stepped towards the desk to scan the pages more closely. They were, indeed, rather messy—filled with crossed out text, ink blots, and tiny words squeezed into tight margins. He turned the page.

The next section held lists of magic practice routines, notes on how effective they were, and theories on the nature of essence manipulation. It was fascinating, in a way, to be able to see and follow the man’s line of thought as it developed and he learned more. Magic was simply an innate fact of life for seraphs, but by reading those notes, Lazar could feel the wonder and curiosity bleeding through the page.

The seraph pulled out the chair, set his halberd down, and sat to take a closer look.

As suspected, much of the notes’ contents were on things he’d already known, but he was still impressed at how thorough they were. Lazar flipped to another page, then another, then another. He paused.

There, just below a blocky wall of text, were a few hastily scribbled diagrams drawn in wobbly ink. The seraph leaned closer.

There were more on the next page. Each one was slightly more detailed, more certain than the last. The circles grew wider, the surrounding lines smoother. Several were crossed out either entirely or only in part.

They were diagrams of the soul, Lazar realized.

A hand moved unconsciously to his chest, where the marking sat beneath his coat. He turned the page, and there were more of them—rows and rows of diagrams.

For seraphs, the physical form of the soul wasn’t a primary focus. Magic and essence were intuitive feelings, not something to be studied and dissected. There was a general understanding of the different layers of the soul and how they protected the soul from the density of essence, but not much more beyond that. Paying excessive attention to the physical was, after all, beneath Elysium’s concerns.

Glancing around, Lazar noticed a small dip pen pushed to the corner of the desk. He brought it forward, hoping Madeline and Matilda didn’t mind him using it.

It took longer to find a blank piece of paper—nearly everything had been thoroughly written over—but he eventually found a torn, wrinkled half sheet that he smoothed to the best of his ability.

Once he was done, the seraph closed his eyes. He forced his mind to remember the sensation of falling, the overwhelming pain when he’d drawn in the essence.

He recalled the burning and freezing, the aching hollowness that seemed to consume everything in its wake. The blinding light, the piercing, the twisting, the crushing of feathers and the layers of the soul stripped and shredded and torn away.

Lazar opened his eyes and exhaled. His heartbeat had quickened at some point, and he took a moment to let it settle again.

Once it did, he leaned forward and carefully began to sketch with the pen, forcing himself to remember the sensation as he roughly mapped out the worst parts.

It was slow, tedious work. He constantly had to stop and remember again, and despite his efforts to be careful, he ended up creating multiple diagrams in an attempt to better identify the precise damage done from falling.

If using magic necessitated the drawing of essence strands into the soul, then he would have to map out the damage and try to find a way around the cracks. That was his only chance at success.

Time ticked past. Lazar was so focused on his task that he didn’t notice the approaching footsteps. The door swung open, and his head jerked up.

Matilda’s cool blue eyes met his. She was still wearing a coat over her long dress, suggesting that she’d returned recently. Her gaze shifted over to the open notes, but she made no comment, her expression remaining flat and difficult to read.

“I didn’t realize you’d returned,” Lazar apologized. “I—”

“Madeline already told me. You’re trying to ascend.”

Matilda interrupted the seraph, and he paused, blinking in surprise. He cleared his throat.

“I am. I’m sorry for not saying so earlier.”

Matilda didn’t say anything to that, simply humming in response. Lazar watched her closely, and his conversation with Alaric rose to the forefront of his mind. He could still remember that strange look she’d gotten when she’d first seen the scars on his back, the whispers between her and Alaric and the glances tossed in his direction.

His curiosity bubbled, and perhaps sensing it, Matilda raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

The seraph took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Alaric mentioned that you’d formed a theory about my background.”

“Ah, that.” Matilda stepped away from the doorway and leaned against the wall. Lazar could feel those keen eyes studying him, and just when the silence was becoming too much to bear, the woman shrugged.

“I was wrong. I ran into Alaric on the way back, and he mentioned you and Ciel going to the woods.” Her expression remained flat. “If you have experience with combat, then my theory falls apart.”

“...Could I ask what it was?”

A few beats passed, that icy blue never leaving him. When Matilda spoke again, the words were slow, but steady.

“I’ve met fleeing bondservants with scars like yours.”

It took a second for the words to process.

Lazar’s throat went dry. A storm of different emotions rose, churning and impossible to discern, but at the forefront he recognized disbelief. A stream of questions flooded his mind, but in the end, what came out was a simple, “Why?”

Matilda frowned at that.

“As I said, those scars are telling.”

The answer did nothing to settle the growing wave, the strange coldness that was beginning to fall over him.

“Surely that wasn’t the only reason. There could have been a number of explanations.”

“Perhaps.” She hummed consideringly. Those pale blue eyes were piercing. “You’re rather defensive about this.”

Lazar blinked, taken aback by the comment. Was he?

“I only wish to better understand your reasoning,” he tried to say, but he could tell from the gleam in the woman’s gaze that she didn’t believe him.

Matilda shook her head.

“Well, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.” She straightened and turned.

Without another word, the woman stepped into the hallway and shut the door, wavy brown hair streaming behind her as she disappeared from sight. The sound of her footsteps, even and measured, soon faded away, leaving the seraph alone in the room. The candle light flickered and bounced off the silver metal of his halberd.

Slowly, Lazar sat back down. He hadn’t realized that he’d stood at some point. Shaking his head, the seraph stared down at the drawings and picked the pen back up.

Despite his best efforts, he found himself unable to fully focus for the rest of the night.