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Sparking the Inferno
Chapter 38: Answers..?

Chapter 38: Answers..?

Nevin sipped at his tea, stopping just short of a bitter mouthful of mint and lemongrass sediment. He made a face, remembering the unpleasant surprise at the bottom of his first cup and decided to cut his losses. Despite that final sip, Donald's tea was fantastic – tart, slightly sweet, peppery. Energizing. The first two cups had woken him up, had given him the presence of mind necessary to make it through his story from calamitous start to gloomy finish.

Aurnia ignored her tea, her eyes elsewhere as she gazed toward the still wrapped Sharasil. Neither she nor the previous hour had been easy on him. The woman's attention to detail rivaled his old mentor's, only she didn't let up and give him time to gather his thoughts like Ishen would. Question after question passed through her thin lips, and sometimes she failed to give him the proper time to answer the first before throwing out a second or even a third. As some point in the exchange, Nevin had gotten smart and begun using his tea as a means of taking a break, however small.

To his annoyance, Theis had opted completely out of the discussion, even going so far as to vanish upstairs with Donald right about the time Nevin got to the part of the story where the man in black showed up in Ishen's cabin. The tall pawnbroker had returned alone a few minutes later, offering Nevin a overly hard pat of encouragement before refilling his glass from that tall decanter of dark liquid and dropping gracelessly back down on the couch. He'd spent the last hour staring into the waning fire and fiddling idly with that small lump hidden beneath the chest of his nightshirt.

Aidux hadn't exactly been much help either, but at least he was present. A handful of quips and misused words led quickly into back to back yawns and finally some light snoring and twitching paws. Nevin envied his friend. Stress just wasn't a word in his limited vocabulary. The past week's events had rolled off of him like water off a duck's back.

He smiled, reaching down to brush the top of the lynx's head. Maybe, in some strange way, the cat really was the wiser of the two.

Aurnia straightened in her chair, the small adjustment to her posture returning her to the present and magnifying her aura of self-control. When she spoke, no emotion painted her words, and every uttered syllable was precise and purposeful. “And that brings us to the present. You and Theis split up as you entered the city, and eventually, you found your way here.”

She tilted her head. “Why did Theis set out on his own? Did he say?”

Nevin shrugged. “As usual, he wasn't specific. Just that he needed to pick something up, and he might not get another chance if he waited.”

“I wonder why not.” Frowning, she pressed a thin finger to her bottom lip. “Of course, he's not here to tell us himself. Still, there's nothing that can be done. I'd be surprised if he did more than dance around the topic if pressed, anyway. That man has more secrets than a retired streetwalker.

“But what of you, Nevin? Is that the whole story? From start to finish, you've left nothing out?”

“Not that I can think of,” he lied. Of course he'd left things out. He'd left plenty out. His encounters with the dark figure, for one. His own personal hallucination – a shadowy manifestation of fear, stress, guilt, exhaustion. It would do him no good to have her think him crazy, even if it was true.

He had also kept to himself the dream of talking to the disembodied voice in the dark. He still wasn't entirely sure if the whole experience actually pertained to coming in contact with the Sharasil, or if it was little more than the consequence of untreated head trauma and coincidence. He couldn't remember most of it anyway, and with the way Aurnia had dissected every detail of his story, he dreaded the idea of spending the next hour or more lost somewhere between frustrated and confused.

She opened her mouth, no doubt preparing to assault him with more questions, but Nevin beat her to the punch.

“Look,” he began, leaning forward in his chair. “You asked me to tell you my story. I've done that. You told me I'm in this mess because of you, and I think it's time you told me why.”

“Couldn't have said it better myself,” said the man in black from above, trailing a gloved hand down the banister as he casually descended the stairs.

Nevin scowled up at him. “Now you show up.”

“You were there for just as much as I was. What's wrong? Don't think she'd believe you 'less I was there to grunt in agreement with everything you said?”

Donald craned his neck. “Get what you needed?”

Theis nodded, circling around the dining table to lean against the wall opposite Nevin. He crossed his arms and set his burning eyes on Aurnia. “Alright, then. Let's hear it.”

Her face smooth as emotionless stone, the woman stared at the Sharasil as if trying to mentally unwrap the burlap cover to glimpse at what lies beneath. He could tell it was frustrating her, the object of her desire within reach but wholly inaccessible. It was the only leverage Nevin had in the situation, and he had no qualms with making her wait until he was satisfied by her side of the story.

Finally, she wiped a hand through the non-existent dust on the tabletop and began her tale.

“For hundreds and hundreds of years, man has depended upon a varied pantheon of gods to guide them through troubled times, with those who devote themselves fully to religious service being granted positions of both power and prestige. Entire nations have formed around specific spiritual ideals, and over time, some have grown to become major players on the world stage. The theocratic state of Volludon on the Delphine Continent is likely the most well-known of these, but throughout history, there have been and still are many others.”

Nevin rested his arms on the table. “Volludon...that's Empyria, right? The god supposedly responsible for creating mankind and gifting us with language.”

She nodded. “Among other things. She's also known as the Dreaming God, as it's said the act of creating us took so much of her energy that she fell into a deep slumber, leaving her physical form to float on a bed of wind until the day she wakes and ushers in an era of absolute truth and peace.”

He knew about this. “I heard she's in the highest tower in Volludon, a hard-to-reach temple called The Chapel in Repose. Only the most devout or the rich are allowed to see her.”

Aurnia shot him a look of genuine surprise. “Where did you come by such knowledge? Surely they didn't venerate Empyria in a remote farm town like Elbin.”

“I spent a few days a week being tutored by one of the locals. He had quite the extensive library. Most of our discussions revolved around world history and the different religions.” A pang of longing stabbed him in the heart. He hoped Ishen was alright.

“Seems odd to invest such knowledge in someone who would never use it. What other topics of discussion did-”

“Where is this going, woman?” asked Theis, twirling a finger in the air. “You already asked your questions. Now's the time for answers.”

She rolled her eyes. “I liked it better when you were gone.

“As I was saying, religion has become a keystone in nearly every pillar of mankind's development, but the world...the world is changing. Too many powers in too little space meant conflict was eventually inevitable.”

She chuckled - a soft, brief sound that barely touched her narrow shoulders. “Not that the gods got along with one another when there were few, but they thrive on religious fervor, and a man has only so much energy for worship when he's trying to feed and shelter his family. The more gods there were, the less worship there was to go around.

“The gods can be petty. Vengeful, at times. But most of all? They get jealous. They are the very definition of attention seeking, and as the pantheon grew bloated and man's attention spread thinner and thinner, their envy only intensified.”

Nevin held up a hand. “Wait, what are you saying? I thought we were talking about religion, but now it almost sounds like you're talking about the gods themselves, like they're people with wants and flaws and feelings.”

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“On some level, Nevin, the gods and their followers are indistinguishable from one another. Every leader is like that. Their power, their authority, what they represent, what they stand for...this is all an extension of their followers' wants and needs. The closer they adhere to the interests of those who lift them up, the more power they are granted. The gods are the purest form of that process, though whether that power lies in mind of the believer, or in some otherworldly figurehead...well, that's a discussion for another time.

“Gods...followers...it doesn't matter. What matters is that when the fighting began, followers died, and gods vanished. Little ones at first. The Church of La'Rei, The Fog Templars, Totero Alunveh, to name a few. Many more have been lost to history.”

Nevin shared a look with Theis. “Ivvilger.”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to pat his arm. “I forgot Elbin was originally settled by the refugees of religious persecution. The last surviving members of the struggle against the unforgiving wild. Ivvilger fell near the last days of the religious wars. One of the few major religions to lose that fight.

“They called it 'The Hallowed Schism', as if anything about genocide could be hallowed. Men with pens are always looking for ways to polish clean the rough, ugly patches of history with fancy words that reframe the truth. But the cold fact they often gloss over, is that, while the resulting war between the gods was ultimately inevitable, it was started by only one.

“Heddaster.”

“Wait, Heddaster? The Living Hearth?” His final lesson with Ishen was a study on the church of Heddaster, god of family and civilization. Nevin suppressed a shiver. The coincidence gave him the creeps. “Weren't they known for building a network of hostels along major thoroughfares? I thought they took in the homeless, the weak, the sick? You're telling me that's the religion responsible for starting the great war?”

A small smile tilted the corners of her lips, pushing her confident aura to the brink of smugness. “Benevolence can be an effective mask for malicious intent. Take the hunter's snare. Works well enough when placed along a game trail, sure. But the smart hunter learns to bait it with food, draw in his intend prey with promises of a full belly.

“And then...snap.” She punctuated the word with her fingers.

Donald snorted in his sleep. He squirmed, sinking deeper into the plush cushions of the lavender couch.

Aurnia waved off the tension and sat back in her chair. “As the war entered its final act, the armies of Heddaster were naught but unrecognizable hordes banging on the walls of Volludon. The largest and oldest religion in the world was practically on its knees. In some accounts, the Empyrians were but days away from extinction.

“And then...the war ended.”

“Just like that? What happened?”

She shrugged. “That's where the history books go quiet. No one really knows. Empyria survived where others didn't, Heddaster included. Within a decade, the Living Hearth had all but vanished from the face of Stragus. For all their strength and reach, they may as well have never existed.”

“That's enough.” Theis barked, pulling the third chair from the table and tossing it aside in frustration. “Know you well enough to know you've got a point to all this, so how's about you get to it?”

“Theis.”

“It's fine, Nevin.” Aurnia pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded. She reached beneath one of the folds of her yellow dress and retrieved a worn letter. The edges were blunted from regular handling, and the surface was yellowed with age. A blot of red wax colored one of the folds – the remnants of a broken seal.

She didn't open it. She didn't remove the letter from the confines of the envelope. She didn't read its contents aloud to the men gathered around the small dining table. She simply held it, turning it over and over in her hands like a puzzle with no solution.

“Five months ago, a young man I'd never met before delivered me this letter. He sought me out in a place only one another knew me to be, recognized me on sight, and called to me by name.”

She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. “Scared the wits out of me, if I'm being honest. I think about that moment every time I read this letter, and believe me when I say, I've read over it more times than I can count.”

Gone was her aura of self-control. For the first time, an emotion other than annoyance had found its way into her speech. Aurnia was nervous, and for some reason, that made Nevin nervous, too.

“Gonna read it to us this time?”

“No,” she barked, a little too quickly. “And it wouldn't matter if I did. The letter wouldn't make any sense. Most of it doesn't make sense to me and it was meant for me.”

The letter disappeared back into the folds of her wispy dress. Out of sight, but decidedly not out of mind. “Had it just been a fetch request, I could have ignored it. But the letter...knew things about me. And it wasn't just what it said about me. It claimed to know the real reason for the Hallowed Schism and what caused the war to end so abruptly. It said that, and I quote, 'The children of Heddaster will soon rouse to make real the dreams of truth, but the light they shine will only burn.'”

“Prophecy.” Theis snorted with disgust. “What a waste of ink.”

“Prophecy is the sole reason our civilization survived to become what it is today. Only a fool discounts divine revelation. It's the purest form of truth.”

“It's horseshit, is what it is.”

Nevin scooted to the edge of his seat. “Wait, you said the letter knew what really caused the end of the war. What did it say?”

Aurnia turned her chair until her back was to Theis. The man in black mumbled something under his breath, but the young man couldn't make out what was said. Something unpleasant, most likely.

“We've always assumed the war ended because the Emyprians successfully fended off the armies of Heddaster, but according to this letter, their forces were in the process of breaching the walls and razing Volludon to the ground on that final day. Their leaders though, the heart and soul of the Heddaster invasion, were elsewhere, protected by elite warriors and a powerful cabinet of magicians. They were practically unreachable.”

She turned her eyes to the Sharasil. “Until someone wielding that came along.

“The letter claims that someone, and it isn't clear who, single-handedly took the battle to their leaders, breaking through the perimeter and killing each and every guard, mage, and commander. Somehow, word quickly reached the front lines, and with no one to lead them, Heddaster's armies simply fell apart. And just like that, the Hallowed Schism came to an end.”

“Seems awfully convenient.”

“Agreed. Which is why I looked into it.” Aurnia finally took a sip of her tea, unconcerned by the fact that it had gone cold an hour ago.

“You see, historians have always wondered at the identity of the mastermind behind Heddaster's war campaign. Nothing could ever be definitely proven, and the list of potential candidates is a long one. But the letter spoke of a citadel hidden in the upper reaches of the Pelasik Mountains, indicating it as the hidden base of operations for the Heddaster forces. The location wasn't on any maps I could find and none of the more well-known historical compendiums referenced it.

“So I went there. It took me a few weeks and a fair amount of shils to locate it, and when I did, I could tell that fire and nature and time had reduced it to little more than overgrown rubble. But there were skeletons, and many bore evidence of being killed in battle.”

She shook her head. “It didn't perfectly wrap the letter's claims up in a bow, but it was enough. Add in the rest of its contents, and I was sold. The letter continued, informing me that the blade was now in the care of a particularly infamous warrior, and that in order to find it, I first had to find him. No mean feat, considering no one had seen him in a decade, and he didn't want to be found.

“Turns out the letter was correct about that, so maybe it's right about all of it. The world is changing. It's not felt as strongly in small, out-of-the-way provinces like the Lancowl Barony, but even here the ripples are felt. Deific symbolism has been banned in this province since before the current baron, and magic not long after. Similar things are happening elsewhere, all over the world. The rumblings of war. In some places, it's already started. The person who wrote this letter seems to think that sword will be an integral component to the coming struggles. Or, at the very least, important enough to be kept out of the fight.

“And yet...the letter bears no signature. No instructions on where to take the sword once I'd gotten hold of it. No indication whatsoever of who sought my help or what I'm supposed to do once I complete their mission. Only that I must do everything in my power to figure out what the sword is, and to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

Nevin picked at the tabletop. “Do you think maybe...maybe you failed even before you started? There's no way these hands are the right hands. I've got no combat training. My best defense in a fight is to let Aidux fight in my stead. I don't know what I'm doing here.”

Once again, Aurnia reached out and took hold of his hand. “Nevin, you're here because you have a part to play in Fate's plan. Trust in that.”

“That's a great excuse for being full of shit.” Theis scoffed, striding briskly toward the door. “I'm going out. Maybe when I get back, you'll find something worthwhile to say.”

He slammed the door behind him as he left, causing both Donald and Aidux to jerk from their slumber with a snort of surprise. Aidux quickly laid back down, but the tall man looked around in confusion for a moment, rubbing his eyes as he fought to center himself. As the room came into focus, a slow smile broached his lips and he pushed to his feet with a groan. “I could use a cup of tea. Any takers?”

The woman in the yellow dress sipped at hers, watching Nevin over the rim of her tea cup. The young man answered with a silent, numb nod. Had Aurnia answered his questions, or had she only raised more? There was so much left unexplained, but Nevin got the impression that no matter how well he understood Theis and Aurnia's intentions, no matter how much he learned about history or the origins of the Sharasil, nothing would change the fact that sword was bound to him and him alone.

Setting his jaw, Nevin placed his hands on the table and stood. “I think it's time we finally talked about what you came here for.”

With trembling hands, he went about undoing the burlap ties holding the sword's cover in place.