Canta isn’t really sure what it is exactly that he had expected, as the carriage draws into the gates of the city. Alleluia’s bewildered face stares out of the window, together with his. But what he sees is water. A gigantic waterfall crashes down against the ground below, falling from the highest point of the white-stone gate, and they’re heading right towards it.

“The hell is that?” asks Canta.

“You might want to close the window,” advises head-priest Valenti.

“Huh…?” asks Canta, tugging on Alleluia, to get her to come back inside.

“Water,” says Palatinos Salvador.

“Water?” asks Canta.

“Water,” replies Salvador, plain as day.

Canta yelps, grabbing the window as Alleluia pulls herself back inside. He quickly pushes it closed, just as the carriage approaches the waterfall. As they go through it, the surge loudly crashes against the roof, rattling the entire carriage. Canta can’t help but wonder if the many soldiers and priests aren’t having a bad time out there.

“What’s with that?” asks Canta loudly, pointing at the water pouring down the windows. He raises his voice to speak louder than the roaring waterfall crashing against the roof of the cart.

“It’s water,” says Salvador.

“I can see that!” yells Canta at the man, slowly becoming frustrated. “But why?!” he asks, shrugging. Alleluia presses her face against the glass, looking out at the stream pouring down the sides of the carriage.

Valenti explains, as the sound becomes quieter, as they apparently have gone through the gate now. “The water runs around the whole city. It washes away any sins.”

“Huh? Really…?” asks Canta, raising an eyebrow at the impressive claim. But he is skeptical about its validity. He can still smell the sins outside of the cart. Minor, tiny ones, but they're present nonetheless.

“It’s symbolic,” explains Salvador, looking out of the window. “Plus, after a long march, it’s what you look forward to most,” he states, staring longingly out of the window, as if reminiscing of older days. Canta can hear them now, the voices from outside. The priests and soldiers, who had accompanied them, are now as unserious as ever, and they seem to be having the time of their lives, playing in the water like a bunch of excited children.

“Huh…” says Canta, looking at Alleluia’s excited, wide-eyed expression as she turns back to look at him for a second. Everyone seems to be in a good mood except for him. But that's because he's paranoid about something. It's been gnawing at him for a while.

“Can I open the window again?” she asks.

“You may,” says Valenti, nodding to her with a smile.

The city is massive, filled with large, white-stone structures that look as if they had been destroyed and rebuilt several times over. But not in a decrepit way that one might attribute to inhabited ruins, but rather, the obvious reconstructions seem to add on to the old bones and ornate pillars of the city with a new layer of detailed craftsmanship that accentuates the old remnants rather than trying to hide or obscure them. Much like the dead tree in the center of the city, the old pieces of the stonework are ancient scars, testament to some great happening having once taken place here, in an era long since forgotten.

The rattling of the carriage, while still loud, does little to overpower the many voices and sensations taking place all around them. While Canta had perhaps secretly wished for some grand welcome of some sort, he is at the same time relieved to see that the many people simply go about their business, letting the soldiers and priests march through without so much as a cheer or a happy cry. At most, the occasional wave comes, but then seemingly only from acquaintances of those in the rank and file, rather than as a gesture of some grand welcoming. Although, one or two of the soldiers do get greeted by some very excited people, who Canta assumes are their families.

Maybe his paranoia is unnecessary after all? It looks like everything is going to be okay.

“Canta! Look!” says Alleluia, leaning out of the window a little further. Canta nervously looks ahead as he hears the wooden wall of the carriage groan from the weight of her body leaning against it. Although he isn’t sure what it is that he is supposed to see specifically, perhaps she was just gesturing to anything and everything? This must be very exciting for her. She points at something, asking him what it is. Then, before he can finish explaining, she moves on to the next thing, and then the next thing, her hand apparently hardly able to keep up with her eyes. Canta isn’t able to keep up to begin with, but he's happy that she’s in a happy place right now. Emotionality can sure be a confusing thing.

Much of the architecture of the branching buildings is covered in bright green ferns and ivy, which adds to the odd mixture of ‘ancient, yet restored’ that seems to define the entire layout of the city. Although, all of the greenery also seems well tended to and not like it's out of control. The streets are filled with people of all manner, who wear all sorts of, in his eyes, odd outfits, that come in all kinds of colors and cuts. But, then again…

Canta spares a nervous glance back behind himself, down at his oddly pristine, royal get-up. This is what he has been paranoid about. If there is some grand welcome, then everyone will see him like this. He has no problem with making a majestic appearance before the people, so that they can throw some adoration and maybe even some food his way, both of which he clearly deserves. But maybe after a change of clothes into something less… frilly, and after a bath and a night of sleep in a real bed.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He spares a look at Alleluia. Her excited, childlike eyes continue to flash every which way, taking in every little thing that, for her, is likely an oddity. It reminds him of when they escaped the dungeon. She spares a few excited waves for some children that run after the cart. “Hello!” she calls out to them, waving and laughing as she smiles. Canta rolls his eyes, but smiles himself as he sits back down and looks at the two men across from him, deciding to let her have her fun. Maybe that odd, unkind phase of hers is finally over with.

“Yup, that’s a city all right,” he says, looking up at the roof of the carriage. “I don’t remember anything like this, though.”

Valenti nods. “That is possible. The length between death and a rebirth can be… substantial.”

“Huh,” says Canta, ruffling his hair as he thinks. He turns his head, looking to the side at Alleluia, who is still stuck head first out of the window. He clears his throat, staring for a second too long at what there is of her to see, before he turns back forward. “I wonder how long I was out for then?” He ponders, crossing his arms. “It must have been a while for a city like this to appear. Then again…”

“Then again?” asks Salvador.

Canta shrugs. “I don’t really remember too much from my old life, so… hmm… oh well, it’s probably not important.”

“Probably not,” says Valenti. “If the gods had deemed it so, they would have left you there.”

Canta tilts his head, about to argue with the man, considering what a dick the universe seems to be, as far as he has seen. But then he decides it might be best to let it rest. There's no need to make an enemy right away.

Suddenly, there is a loud knocking on the side of the cart. All four of them look as Salvador opens the door on his side. A soaking wet man, riding one of the large birds alongside the cart, leans down and speaks to him. “The preparations are ready, sir,” says the soldier, holding onto his reins. “Should I give the alert?”

Salvador looks back at the two of them and then turns to the man on the anqa. “Do it.” The soldier nods and rides off.

Canta jumps to his feet. “AHA! I knew it! You suspicious fucks!” he yells. “What are you up to? An alert for what?!”

Valenti and Salvador exchange a look before turning back to him. “You really are rather untrusting, sin-eater,” says head-priest Valenti, before sighing. “The gods’ chosen are warmly welcomed to our home.”

“No…” mutters Canta, knowing what's coming next.

“- So, now that I’ve ruined the surprise,” starts Valenti, clasping his hands together and smiling brightly. “Let me, in the name of the church, welcome you to the capital of our nation!” says the head-priest.

“No!” barks Canta, “Don’t welcome me to the city! I don’t -”

A bell starts ringing loudly in the distance. He stops, his finger drooping as he listens to its chorus echo out around him from each and every wall of the city, filling the lively place with sharp reverberations. The city, filled with chaotic noise only a second ago, suddenly seems to have fallen deathly quiet, as if the only sounds left were the churning of the carriage-wheels and the singing of the bell.

Then another one starts ringing, then another one.

The cart, going at a marching pace, lurches as it slows down further. All around, Canta can hear voices start to gather, excited whispers growing into murmurs, which then grow into solid, strong words that fill the air all around them. It feels as if the carriage had intruded on a buzzing hive.

“Tell them to stop!” pleads Canta.

“What’s the matter, sunflower?” asks Alleluia.

“You know damn well what’s the matter!” he snaps at her.

She frowns at him, lifting her nose. “You’re being very rude to me and to our hosts; they clearly went through a lot of effort!”

Canta clutches his head. “I’m the one going through a lot here right now, okay?!”

A voice calls out from outside. Canta recognizes it as belonging to one of the higher ranking soldiers from the troop. His words echo out around the streets and down every alley, as the carriage seems to rise up a gradual incline. Canta hears a heavy thudding of boots above his head, as someone climbs up atop the carriage.

“THE NORTH-WIND COMES!” yells the guard. The crowd around them erupts into a series of vehement cries and jubilant cheers. Canta quickly climbs onto the back of the bench and slams his fist against the roof from below.

“IT BETTER FUCKING NOT!” yells Canta, knocking against the ceiling. Alleluia grabs him, pulling him down with a tug. “Shove your ‘north-wind’ up yo- HEY! Let me go!”

“The wicked shall be cleansed!” The crowd cheers. The bells ring. “The deviant shall be made pure!”

The cheers begin to turn into a series of chants. Canta recognizes the voices of the first chanters as belonging to the priests who had accompanied them. They seem to lead the chant, which then infects the many people all around them, turning their chaotic hollers and shouts into something organized and defined. Faces, hundreds of faces, look in through the carriage window. People stream out of houses, out of shops, out of parlors and sheds, and out of every nook and cranny of the city.

“Sin-Eater! Sin-Eater! Sin-Eater!” start the priests, and then the crowd follows, their thousands of eyes, thousands of words, and thousands of footsteps moving after the carriage, which is starting to slow down. Canta silently prays that Alleluia will crush his neck and let him not exist for a little while, at least until all of this is over.

There is the sound of a loud thudding, of metal striking against stones. The cart comes to a stop.

The thudding comes again.

Then again.

Then again, like a drumming, like the beating of a heart, as hundreds of lances, spears, swords, axes, boots thud against the stones of the world below.

“GLORY!” The ground shakes. “GLORY!” The ground shakes. “GLORY!” The ground shakes. Someone grabs the door of the carriage and pulls it open.

“It’s going to be fine,” she promises, tilting her head and smiling down at him, her wide eyes not blinking. “I’m sure they’ll like you just as much as I do!” she says, reassuringly. “Let’s have a lot of fun in this new life of ours together, Can-ta!” exclaims Alleluia, rising to her feet and yanking him out of the carriage after herself. Head-priest Valenti holds his hands out to the side, gesturing to the door with a bowed head.

Canta is holding his breath, trying to suffocate himself. But he doesn’t manage, his natural urge to breathe overrides any impulses for escape that he harbors. The burning in his lungs acts as undeniable proof of his shattered hopes. He was right to be paranoid. He should have listened to it and escaped while he had the chance.

“In the name of the holy-spirits, welcome to our home,” says Valenti, as Alleluia steps out of the carriage, into the cool evening air. Canta looks all around himself with wide, animalistic eyes as they step out onto a large stone platform. The platform seems to be a stone foundation that is raised above the street, blocked off for anyone not permitted to enter. It is a white-stone balcony of sorts, which overlooks a plaza below from a good height.

“Glory!”

“Save us!”

“Make us clean!”

It doesn’t matter how much Canta fidgets and kicks and squirms and struggles; he is unable to escape Alleluia’s ironclad grasp as she pushes him forward towards the balcony. Heavily armored guards stand on either side of them, creating an alley, the bases of the shafts of their lances thudding against the stones.

It doesn’t matter how strong his own heart thuds in his breast; it doesn’t matter how many drops of sweat bead and pearl down his face as their steps continue to move forward, like the rhythmic pulsation of the chanting and of the weapons striking the ground, all of it coming together to create one all-connecting heartbeat that, in this moment, binds every single soul present here as one. None of it matters. Because this time, there is no escape.

There is a strong breeze present up here that washes over his skin, as a thousand faces down below and then a thousand more behind them all stare up towards him as the two of them reach the balcony.

Head-priest Valenti stands next to them. “HALLOW!” shouts the man, spreading his arms out wide as his voice echoes out over the crowd. Canta isn’t sure what he expects now, if anything at all. Some great speech on moral virtue perhaps, or maybe some song and dance number, maybe even a verse of some holy scripture to be cited. But all that happens is that Valenti points to Canta.

Alleluia pulls him forward next to herself as she excitedly waves to the crowd, turning this way and that as if she were trying to wave back to every raised hand down there.

“SIN-EATER!” yells high-priest Valenti, and the crowd erupts into a roar and a cheer like Canta has never thought possible, especially from just the single phrase. The collective noise of their thousands of voices comes up to meet him as one great roar, as one destructive, furious cry of a dragon that envelops him and his spirit whole.

He does his best to hold his stupid frilly shirt in place. But the oddly strong wind makes it very difficult, billowing it together with the strands of his long hair. Ten thousand eyes stare at him in adoration and excitement and reverence, which isn’t so bad. It’s what he deserves, clearly.

But he really wanted to look cooler and more dramatic for his first big appearance and not like some pretty boy, noble-blooded stick creature.

Canta sighs, lifting a hand to wave back to the crowd.

Oh well. At least people are finally starting to understand his position in life. That’s something, right?

“WE WILL BE PURE AGAIN!”